My Blogher Recap: The Third Time was the Charm, Four Balls, That's a Walk

This is not the popular opinion, and I feel the need to write a disclaimer. This is my fourth Blogher, and it has treated me well, for the most part, but this year the star didn't shine nearly as brightly as it has in the past..

Back from BlogHer and there is one word that comes to mind for my experience: disconnected. I know, sounds like I had an awful time, but that's not true. What is true is that there were a lot of people at BlogHer, which, at times made it very difficult to find my people. It is true that the first night I came this-close to heading back to my room after cruising The People's Party, saying hi to the scant number of people I recognized, and a few I didn't. Then, feeling like a fish out of water, I flopped on to a nearby bench,where I had a great conversation with someone I had never met. Later I went back to the party, and found people I knew. And it was good.

It's true I spent sessions mostly alone or with new people. It's true that I ate lunch, again, mostly by myself, or with new people. I headed into parties and saw a sea of unfamiliar faces, all of whom were already attached. My wing-woman friends didn't make it this year, so I was on my own to find companionship.. It proved to be a challenge. Because, really, how long can you hang out in a cocktail circle of people you know in real life (but better online) without seeming like some sort of creepy stalkerish person? I can tell you. Exactly ten minutes. Beep. Time to find a new circle. Ever wonder how you can be lonely in a sea of 3000? I do. Everyone is very friendly; but where are your friends? Hopefully, you brought those with you. That sounds pathetic. I don't mean to complain.

I don't want you to feel sorry for me. In some respects, I had a great time. There were high points. I did a lot of dancing with friends, (When I could find them) and hung out in hotel rooms for great conversations with both old friends and new..pizza at 2 a.m. in the lobby, as well. I had some nice meals with people I basically foisted myself upon (thank you to you, by the way). In outward appearance, I am sure it looked like I was having a grand old time. I did have fun, in snippets. It was just the overall package that didn't work for me. At some point, you get tired of inviting yourself along and just want to be included by someone who wants you there. You want to be expressly invited to dinner, to the party, to wherever, instead of just...tagging along.

On the way home, I had a lot of time to ruminate and I have decided that as much as I like Blogher, that ship has sailed. That martini has been shaken. That blog has been posted. This was Blogher #4 for me, and I think I am just done. I am at that awkward stage: I am too old to drink 'til distraction, but I still like to stay up until the wee hours. I just feel like I have no business there, with the cool kids. I love almost everyone at Blogher, but am a friend to few. I enjoyed seeing people, but as far as deep connections? Few and far between. I felt in the way, a lot. If you fall off the face of social media and no one is there to see it, do you even make a sound? That's where I am right now.

I will continue to blog, and to tweet, but think during the week of Blogher, I will take a sabbatical. I am too old to feel "in the way." High school was a long, long time ago, and wasn't much fun; I really don't cherish reliving it. So I won't be doing that again.

Ever want to feel like the only girl in the room? Go to Blogher by yourself. The experience will trigger every insecurity you have ever felt. And you will find just how far you have yet to go in order to feel accepted.

So Blocked This Post Has NO Title

It's like when you get constipated. You have the urge, but can't do the purge. The problem is not that I don't have ideas. I am so clogged up with ideas that one can't make it through the pipeline. I can't seems to narrow my focus or lessen my stress enough to actually get something of *import down on paper. I read others' blog posts and think, "I could have written that! I had that thought, I just didn't take it to fruition.

I think I need my Eighth grade english teacher. She is the one who taught me to write. She gave me permission to develop my voice; I believed that what I had to say was important, and it was. Of course, later that year, she leaned over me, took a big sniff, smelled the acrid second-hand smoke that I was marinated in from my mother smoking in the house and said, with disdain: "Do you smoke?" She was loud enough for some of my classmates to hear, and they snickered. Yes, she wasn't named Mrs. Dick for nothing. True story. But the damage was done; I believed I could write. It was in my blood.

My daughter is also a writer, and a more prolific one than I was at her age. I would write what I called "story starters," pen several tens of pages of my "novel", then either get stuck or bored and intend to go back and add to it. Sometimes I actually did. My daughter, on the other hand, has done a program for writers called, NoNoWriMo, which is simply National Novel Writing Month. In one month, she has written 50,000 words. And not only has she done this once, but twice. I could only hope to have that kind of commitment.

Why is it that when you are young, with nary a story to tell, the pen flows freely, almost on it's own, but once older and with more experience, it is much harder to find the time to tell the story? I consider this God's cosmic joke. I know I have a story to tell. I just can't FIND it.

College Room and Board will be cheaper than I thought

This exchange took place in the car on the way home today:

JBean: Yay! When JBug goes off to college, can I redecorate the room just for me, all to myself?

JBug: No! I will be living at home, forever, in the basement.

Me:
[to JBean:] JBug isn't going off to college, she is living at home for a while while she is IN college. Don't sell her off just yet...you two will still be sharing a room.

[to JBug;] You can't live in the basement; we don't have a basement. Besides, we have Basement Cats...there would be no room in the basement.

JBug: JBear will be living in the basement. Playing first-person shooter video games.

Me: Probably. You can live in the ceiling. We don't have a Ceiling Cat.

JBug: ...

Autism is a vampire and it sucks out your soul

Today was promotion Sunday, an annual event through our homeschool group. It is usually a big deal with all the kids going up to receive their promotion certificates, and graduates of both the eighth grade and high school. I don't have any pictures; we barely managed to get there. Today was one of THOSE days. Those who have kids with autism will understand. We just keep on, keeping on, trying not lose ourselves.

My son is twelve, going on sixteen, he thinks. He has a real problem with being told what to do.

every interaction between us seems to go like this:

Me: polite request
Him: protest
me: again,with the polite request
Him: "logical" reason why he should not comply
me: a bit more forceful request
Him: complaints about how I think he is stupid/difficult/it's not his fault, it's mine
me: [frustration ensues...either walk away and take a deep breath or yell]
Him: [depending upon what I do] yells at me, how I am such an idiot and I don't get it..
me: come back,and try again, cajole/plead/explain why he would do whatever it is I wanted him to do in the first place
Him: [grudging compliance]

Part of the problem is that he and my youngest are absolutely oil and water these days. JBean, my youngest, is usually a very happy little girl. Unfortunately, this extends to her high-pitched voice, often singing, or talking, incessantly. It makes my JBear, my son, crazy. He starts lashing out, and getting on edge, and will say mean things to her about can't she just shut up, and her voice is driving him crazy...hurtful things. She doesn't know how to fight back verbally (nor should she learn...he is out of line) so she does one of two things. She will either hit him, or yell at him. Neither of these things are particularly useful in dealing with him, and often make things worse. Where am I, you ask? Probably the bathroom, or taking the dog out, or loading the dishwasher....I cannot be in their face 100% of the time. They have to learn not to aggravate one another. Of course, when there are problems, I am always right there. Often the damage is done.

My son has no remorse. I realize this is part of his autism, no matter how high-functioning it may be. The lack of mirror neurons that allow empathy are definitely a hindrance for him. As a teenager, his cerebral cortex is not quite connected to his brain. He is in fight or flight, all the time...he sees the entire world as against him. He is rarely sorry, and doesn't think he ever does anything wrong. He does not admit mistakes and generally has a self-absorbed entitlement attitude. I did not raise him this way, and am still trying to fix it. Often, I feel like I am banging my head against a wall. I know he is trying...but he just has such a long way to go. I feel like I am not helping him much. I seem to be the problem, as far as he is concerned. He is oblivious to his role in the whole mess.

Today, while I was trying to finish in the kitchen, he was having a hard time with his sister. Everyone ended up yelling at everyone else, and I had had enough. JNerd tries to out yell them, and it doesn't work. I told them all I was not going to live like this anymore; I have had it. We weren't going today, not with the way they were acting. So I decided to take a drive for a bit, to cool down. After about ten minutes, I came back, a bit calmer. Apparently, all hell had broken loose while I was gone. My son had tried to goad my husband into a physical altercation. He hit my husband, as hard as he could. Apparently, it was side-stepped, and I was able to defuse the situation. We ended up going to the ceremony, and everyone was on their best behavior.

When we returned home, I tried talking to my son, and he was not receptive at that point. He hates to be called out on his behavior, and will deflect as much as he can. I stayed calm for the most part, and finally was able to get through to him, for now. Eventually, my son did admit he was wrong, but it was several hours later.

Remember, on top of this, I also deal with a younger one who was diagnosed with autism, as well. She has her own issues, usually pertaining to transitions, change, rigidity, anxiety and MamaMustBeThereAtAllTimes. The worse he gets, the more she clings to me. The more unrest in our home the more she clings to me. She tries so hard, but she has a hard time coping at times. That means relying upon me, more often than not.

I am DRAINED. Exhausted, and really questioning every decision for my children I have made thus far. I am hoping tomorrow will bring more clarity. So tonight, I sleep. And pray and hope that I figure out what I am doing wrong. Autism is hard. Teen boy is hard. Putting the two together: feels insurmountable. My migraines have gotten more frequent and worse. I don't sleep well. I am, so far, staving off the depression that threatens to crush me. (I eat well and exercise, both help) But so help me, if I survive his growth into manhood, I hope it is with my soul intact.

Apparently, New York makes me sick

Sitting here in the lobby of the Sheraton, doing what bloggers do, you know. Which is? Find the nearest: 1) outlet for charging, iPad, phone, camera. 2) take advantage of free wifi in the lobby It's what we do. It's how we roll.

Speaking of rolling, I spent all day traveling from the OC to San Francisco (to pick up Califmom) and then from San Francisco, our non-stop flight stopped in Las Vegas. Awesome. And we had to actually deplane for 20 minutes before we could get back on again. Even. More. Awesome. By the time we got to New York, an entire day of traveling with only coffee, a horrible cheese plate and an even more horrible half a sandwich took it's toll. I was sick. DId I mention was up at 5:15 a.m. and went to bed at 2 a.m. Smart is NOT my middle name. Apparently.

So we catch a cab, after walking through a hot, humid airport that literally smelled like ass. And vomit. Can't forget that. Which is not conducive to keeping your lunch down if you happen to be ready to lose it, like I was. I bought some crackers and ginger ale and thought I was going to be ok.

Instead, my intro into a New York cab was throwing up in the back of it. SO. Not.Fair to have the hangover before I start drinking? And the weird thing, before that happened, my hands literally went numb. Long story short, turned out I had a migraine. After throwing up again in the hotel room, Leah gave me a magical unicorn pill (Imitrex, for migraines) and it made it all go away. So much so that when friends came a-callin I was able to jump up and party until dawn.

Night one, check.

T, who can't say so far that I love New York, but I love my friends. posted from my iPad

Yes, she's adorable, isn't she?

It's been a little over a month now since Poppy came to live with us and all I can say is... wow. Wow, that she's such a sweet-natured obedient pup. Wow, that she requires so much work. Wow, that she sometimes doesn't want to listen. Just like kids. She has grown so fast! She is huge, already.

Still, it is so nice to have her with us. She has a crazy period around 9 at night, when all she wants to do is chew on the leash when she is taken outside. We are working on it. I am in the process of getting her enrolled in puppy classes, but so far she is doing quite well. She will sit, lie down, shake and even heel most of the time. We are still working on "come" but she is getting there. She does "leave it" and "off" pretty well. She is just squirrelly at times. What do you expect? She's a pup!

No one can handle her as well as I do. Even JNerd has a bit of trouble at times, but she will come around. What's hysterical is to watch how she obeys JBean! JBean is maybe 40 lbs. soaking wet. Poppy is 41.3 lbs as of Friday. But JBean says, "SIT." and Poppy sits. She will allow JBean to lead her by her collar to me. I don't really let her walk her yet. That may be soon. She really has an aura of power about her. And to think...JBean used to be afraid, bordering on phobia, of dogs!

Poppy has been good for us all. I have learned to actually get up in the morning, something I hate. But when 40+ lbs. th-thumps the bed next to you, as front paws end up on the bed and tongue lolls in your face? You get up. And pretty happily, I might add. I really look forward to our morning walk after breakfast!

So, all in all, it is working out well. I enjoy her, and she enjoys my treats. No really, she likes us all.

It's true what you've heard about Newfoundlands: they drool. And they shed (though she hasn't started, yet!) She has started to drool, so that's fun. I am doing a lot of laundry. Woo! Slimy jeans! I knew the risks. And talk about loving water? I have two bath towels in the kitchen to mop up water when she inevitably dumps or spills her water dish...on purpose. Yep. She loves to be wet. What's one more special-needs member of my family, you know? Besides, look at this face! How could you not love this?

And as, JBear says, Puppies are a lot of work. But puppy kisses are more than worth it.

T, who admits to being in love

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Something wicked (or at least slobbery) this way comes...

Image via Wikipedia

When JNerd and I married, we were apartment dwellers. Though I had dogs all of my life, most apartments don't allow them. I wanted a pet, so we had a cat. But not just any cat. Kalila was amazing. She was a Russian Blue with the softest fur, greenest eyes and quietest meow I have ever known before or since. You could throw a toy mouse down the hall and she would fetch it, bring it back, and wait for you to throw it again. You know those little brown salt-and-pepper moths that get into grains? We would get them in our little-used spare room and she would lead us there to hunt. After picking her up, she would stand on her hind legs on JNerd's palm, and catch the moths off the wall, often near the ceiling. Think: the Dobie-Matic from Far Side. She would also do acrobatics trying to capture a feather on a wire. Flips, backflips, it was a sight to see. She was very polite, unless you were eating chicken, and then she would sit on the arm of the couch and bat at your hand with her paw. Sort of the cat equivalent of tapping you on the shoulder.

About a year later, we acquired Beleu. Small, grey and fuzzy, his quiet grey eyes missed nothing. He picked me as I walked by a pet store near the coffee house where I worked. He reached his paw out, grabbed on to my sweater. Of course, I had to stop to disentangle and that's when he got me. I took one look at the small ball of fluff with the serious eyes and, boom, I was his. I hadn't intended to bring another pet home: Kailey was pretty happy being on her own. But he just spoke to me, and became a member of our family. He was small enough to sit on our record player and in JNerd's hand. In fact, that is where his name came from, the big gray bear in The Jungle Book who would float down the river on his back. Beleu loved to be on his back, much like his namesake. We were happy, the four of us. In fact, there was a time I thought the two cats would be the only babies. It didn't work out that way, and a couple of years later (four years from the time we got the cats) our first baby was born.

The cats settled in well with JBug. They treated her like one of their own. The day after she was born, JNerd brought a hat and a blanket home with her scent on it. Before she was born, we made sure to let the cats see, sniff and thoroughly explore her room, and her belongings. So once we brought her home, it was really rather anti-climactic. I could almost see the thought process: they sniffed her head, and her car seat, looked at us, then yawned and retreated to the corner to sleep. "Oh, that's what all the fuss was about, hmm?" New addition added, they seemed to say, "What's for dinner?"

When we moved to a one-level house from an apartment (which had stairs and a paranoid mama with a toddler) we decided to get a dog. At that point, I hadn't had a dog in many years, but still remembered the way they lavish affection upon those they love. So we started looking. JBug was 18 mos old and I wanted them to grow up together. After a lot of searching, I found Tess. Given up by a family who was moving to the beach and didn't have a yard anymore, she was just waiting at the shelter. She was 7 months old, and her name at the time was Lady. She looked anything but. Scraggly, tall, half chow-chow and golden lab (which gave her a decidedly rakish terrier-like face). She was gangly, and goofy-looking, and it was love at first sight for us both. Even when the animal control officers tried to tell me that I didn't want her because she was "mean" (she was afraid of men in uniform) I knew she was the one. Because I have a lot of experience with dogs, I tend to trust my judgment. I was right. Tess never forgot that we gave her a "forever home." She was always so grateful and beyond sweet. In fact, there were times I felt so guilty because she seemed to love us so much, that sometimes, I just wanted her to GO AWAY. With little kids,a dog that needed so much love was the last thing I wanted. But, like a child, she was mine, and I loved her. Tess was with us for twelve years, until she died of cancer in 2006. That was a year after we lost Kailey to kidney failure. She was 13 and a half Six months later, Beleu, at 13, perished in the house fire, along with Siobahn, our 7 year old cat, and a 4 month old kitten, Maia. After that, we were done with pets for a while.

Currently, we have Perry & Winkle (Twinkie) a brother and sister who were rescues from the park where we meet every Monday. They were so small we had to feed them by bottle, teach them how to eat and I had to teach them to use the litterbox. They are pretty nice cats, and like us, though they still have a streak of wild in them at times. I love cats, I really do. The warm lump of fur in my lap is one of life's great comforts, it's true. BUT.

They're going to hate me in about a week. I am bringing a new puppy into the mix. And nothing will ever be the same again.

T, who is so excited I can't hardly stand it

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You're small fry, stop baiting your mom

I think I'm a pretty good mom. I don't beat my children, and I give them dessert once in a while. I work hard to be painstakingly fair. I let my oldest daughter borrow my shoes. I take my son to the mall to buy a used video game he desperately wants. (even though he was grounded from the Nintendo at the time). I cuddle and read and go fun places. I strive for consistency. But these days, it feels like my children hate me. This is a sample of what I have heard this week from my little guppies:

• You're so evil!
• I wish you were dead!
• Get off my back!
• Leave me the hell alone!
• I don't have to listen to you!
• Go away go away go away!

I recognize it's not always going to be unicorns and rainbows and lollipops and cotton candy, but it is disheartening. I don't particularly like fishhooks and sea monsters in trade. Maybe just a little cotton candy once in a while would be nice.

My son is 11 now. And I can't stand him on more occasion than not. He is belligerent and snotty and just generally thinks he doesn't have to listen to me half the time. The other half the time he spends begging me for:

• money
• a ride somewhere to buy something
• more video game/computer/toy time/snacks/insert whatever the hell he wants at any given moment

I have no idea if this is typical behavior, or if it is perseveration from the Asperger's on his part. He is like a mongrel dog with a piece of meat: once he gets hold of something in his head, I dare you to try to reach out and pull it away from him. It's just not going to happen. And if you try, be prepared to lose a digit or two. He doesn't back down, and he says what he is thinking. You know all those things we hold in our head that we never speak? He speaks them. At least to me. He just doesn't seem to get it. He doesn't quit. He generally says what he is thinking, no matter how hurtful it may be. Two days ago, he made me cry by calling me names. I tried something new: I grounded him from all electronics. He won't shut up about wanting to play video games. I have mentioned, "I said no, geez, stop badgering me!" Only to hear, "badger, badger, badger…." (oh Internet why must you taunt me so?) I have added more time, and he still won't stop asking, over and over again, whining about how mean I am, and just generally being a boil on my backside. I told him, "Son, you are completely in control of how this plays out. Your mouth is what got you in trouble. Once you stop, it stops." He doesn't have that limit line that most of us have, at least when it comes to me. It concerns me because if he has this attitude now, what will it be like when he is sixteen?

Speaking of sixteen, it sucks, thank you very much. I am not so old that I don't remember what it is to be a teenager. I know that it feels that your parents are on your case constantly, that you can't do anything right, that they think you are stupid. I know how much you yearn for independence and wish you could do things on your own without everyone watching to make sure you complete homework, make deadlines and do chores. I know that feeling. BUT. As a teenager, there is a lack of concern for the above. Priorities don't always match up with what you think is important. So, the internet may appear to have more appeal than say, getting an assignment done for school. And maybe, in my daughter's case, parents have to step in and make sure that the distraction disappears long enough to get said assignment done. And in doing so, that parent may end up feeling exactly the way they swore they never would based upon doing the exact thing they swore they never would. (By the way, this is probably where I say "SORRY MOM!" if you're reading this..I guess you were right and I was a shit as a teenager). Anyway.

I admit since I have been home from New Zealand, my tolerance for crap has been extremely low. I have stepped up my game and been more firm, because I am seeing that not setting clear boundaries for my children is starting to bite me in the butt. I am not a pushover, but I never saw the value in what I saw as authoritarian parenting. I always listened to my children, let them logically discuss issues. These days, that flat isn't working, and it is like living with lawyers. If there is a weak point or a loophole in my argument, they will find it. And you know what? I am just too damned tired to argue with them. Sometimes, you have to do things you really don't want to do. That's just life. And you don't get a choice, and you don't get explanations of why the dishwasher needs to be unloaded in the morning first thing (because if the dishes are clean, there is nowhere to put anything and the the dirty dishes just pile up in the sink, making more work for everyone for your simple convenience of doing the dishwasher later because you "don't want to, and if you want it done right now, why don't you just do it yourself" And? I'm the MOM).

Maybe the answer is just..because I said so. God, how I hate that I have turned into that kind of mother. But. I am tired. Really, really tired. And I cannot explain one more damned thing to ungrateful little yuppie larvae. It just so happens they were spawned by me. Doesn't change the fact that I just can't do it anymore. So.

Just. Do. It.

And, oh God, here it comes…Because I said so.

Or I will take you to Laguna Beach, and so help me, I will feed you to a really big fish.*

*I wrote this before the Sea World catastrophe, and while it may not be in the best taste, I am not changing it. It's humor. Deal with it.

T, who is at a loss

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The one where we go uphill...both ways!

Day 3 here in Wellington, New Zealand dawned warm and sunny. Just the kind of glorious day that makes you glad to be alive. The tour started out with a walk along the water front. We had a tour of the capital building, called the Beehive. See if you can figure out why!

We had to go through security, and check all of our bags. There was no photographing of the building, so I missed out on some nice shots. Kiwis are very proud of their heritage. And symbolism is very high on their list of priorities. The artwork in the gallery area of the courtyard is fraught with meaning: the earth, the sky, the night, it all has a deeper point. It was interesting.

Afterwards, we set out for a walking tour of the Thorndon area, where there are some quaint cottages. We started out touring a beautiful old church, and I didn't want to leave. It was spectacular.

We walked to the Botanic Gardens (uphill, thank you very much!) and stopped for lunch. Then there was time for a wander as we hiked up more steep hills to to get to the top and take the cable car back down to the city. What's wrong with this picture, you ask? Shouldn't we have taken the cable car UP and then walked back DOWN hill, you ask? And, you would be right to question it. I don't make the rules though, so though it killed a lot of us, we just toughed it out.

Here you can see just how high we were. YES, we had to walk the entire hill to get there. Flat ground, to mountain slope, complete with switchbacks. I now know why people in Wellington are so fit! They are masochists!

Back in town, the geeks cooked dinner at the hotel and we were in for the night. I was really too tired after my hike to go much of anywhere!

T, who figures I'll be a size 2 by the time I go home

Fun with Closed Captioning OR Yes, my son is..unique

click to embiggen

Life with kids is always interesting. We were watching Star Trek tonight and we needed to put the closed captioning on over the noise of the clothes dryer. It didn't work so well, as you can see.

Me: What?? What crazy person typed this?!
JBug: they need some serious spellcheck!
Me: This is not going to work! How can we hear what they are saying?
JBear: It’s ok, I can read it, I speak Idiot.
Me: “…”

T, who never knew my son was bilingual

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Wanted: 10 minutes peace, but I'll settle for 5..ok make that 3

"Parents are not particularly interested in justice, they are interested in quiet." -Bill Cosby

I am a pretty easy going person, for the most part. No, really, I am. Unless I am tired, and then all bets are off. I can be irritable, easily frustrated, noise sets my teeth on edge. This week, I haven't been sleeping very well. I just got new braces (the clear kind...my ego is intact) and they are making it hard to rest. Also, there is a lot going on, and sleep is what suffers. I don't want to make my friends' problems about me… but one of my best Internet friends just found out her husband's cancer has reoccurred, and I am hurting badly for them. Also, another Internet friend is in a hospital ICU fighting for her life back. A good friend is being absolutely screwed over by her ex husband. My daughters have been fighting illness. And me? I am just trying to find some justice, some equilibrium and some peace.

Unfortunately, my youngest, JBean, doesn't understand what "lower your voice," "be quiet, please," "silence" or "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NO MORE NOISE!" means. She has no idea how to do anything quietly. It just isn't in her makeup. Ok, maybe it's the autism, or maybe it's just her, but enough. Her stim is making noise. She sings, constantly. She sings while playing. She sings in the bathroom. She tries to sing while she eats. She sings herself to sleep. And my ears are tired.

I cannot tell you what I would give for silence. And not the silence where someone else jumps in with a request once they hear dead air for more than 5 seconds, either. Gee, do you think that happens a lot around here? Part of autism is not always getting the nuances of the meter of conversation and where it is ok to break in. So there is a lot of stepping on others' words here. The kids talk over one another, and don't always hear each other. And I am just ready for no more chatter.

I am thinking, an hour, maybe two, of just blessed quiet. If you ask her to be quiet, she talks at the level she thinks is quiet, which is just below the decibels of a jackhammer. And she is just about as repetitive. Driving her noise into my brain, until I want to run screaming, into traffic. Now, this doesn't seem like such a bad plan, really. I figure one of two things will happen: 1) a car will run me over and save me from the noise or 2) they will commit me for being unstable.

And really, the hospital is quiet, for the most part. And I would get to lie in bed all day. And the hat factory wouldn't be such a bad place, when you think about it. Maybe I would finally learn to knit. Hats? Either way, the hospital or the funny farm, at least it would be quiet with no more demands. Three square meals a day,that I don't have to cook. Someone taking care of my every need. Time to nap. Oh, don't tell me you haven't thought about it! Hell, that would just about be a vacation. Where do I sign up?

T, who just wants a break

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Weasels totally don't make good pets and he's not that hot, anyway

Social Media. Admit it, it's a time suck. You know it is. There are 400 bazillion places to sign up your name, and you have to anyway, so people don't snarf your really cool moniker. Because, you never know when someone will take your uber-hip name and go and post on kick-yer-puppy sites or I Hate The Blind and then people come to your blog and leave you hateful comments and you have to explain that, "No, that wasn't me, it was an impostor who was pretending to be me, I would never hurt sweet little innocent puppies (they're so cuuute) and blind people rock" but if it was weasels, that would be a different story, because weasels are mean and fast and will probably get in your bed and bite your butt, so that's why they don't make good pets and why this post isn't about the care and keeping of weasels. But if it was, it would kick ass and be the best post ever. But it's not.

And social media like twitter, Facebook, a thousand and one Ning networks, blog directories, blogs, blogs, more blogs (I pretty much only read the stuff from my Blogroll anymore and the people who leave comments here...sorry, I know you are a kick ass writer, or you wouldn't be in my Google Reader, but I just can't keep up with that crap. It just sits there, mocking me and multiplies exponentially. Once in a while I read a post or two, but they just keep adding up, kind of like Octomom's progeny. So know it isn't that I don't love you, I am just freaking overwhelmed!) Besides, since the bloggy-bloggy thing is a community, I want to be able to comment on the blogs I read, and there's only so much time in the day. CPS frowns on ignoring children in order to read blogs. Apparently, kids gotta eat. Regularly! Who knew? If you want to be in my blogroll, let me know, and I will send you the proper forms and I assume you have a notary near you? And can mail chocolate? As you know, I prefer the dark stuff.

Facebook, I don't really know why I am there. Twitter is my love, and I hang there pretty regularly, and kind of feel like when I visit Facebook, I am cheating on my boyfriend. Only he doesn't know it? And you know, this new guy, the one I am steppin' out with? I am beginning to see he really isn't that hot, in fact his teeth kind of separate in the middle and he yaps about football all the time and constantly asks what my name is, and gets it wrong, a lot. Today it's some Celtic thing and tomorrow he calls me a hippie name...and he mentioned something about my True Nature being Vulcan, maybe he is brain-damaged. And he always wants to know what I would take to a desert island (which is strange conversational fodder and I think he is feeling me up out because he is going to kidnap me and take me there and then I'll have to escape using dental floss and bamboo to make a killer raft because I have seen Gilligan's Island and Survivor, thank you) and he's always yammering on about people I don't know and don't care about, but they know my friends or something. So apparently I am supposed to care that they are getting groceries or upset that Dollhouse is being cancelled or something. So, yeah.

There was this one awesome thing he told me, quizzed me about What Random Object I Was and I ended up being a Fishbowl, which is totally not me, I am not all see-through and shallow...

"A clear sphere, your purpose is to hold something interesting, without being so interesting yourself. However, if you weren't there, another life would go down the toilet...."

So then he says:

You're stranded on a desert island. You brought one item, and now you're really irritated that you brought it.

• What is it?
• Playstation 3
• Duct Tape
• A weasel
• Dental Floss
• Box of tissues

Facebook was also all flirty and told me I could answer "a weasel" to every question about the Random Object, so I tried that, too... then I was a Drinking Straw:

"An excellent suck-up. Despite your festive exterior, you're ultimately hollow inside. However, you're bendy, and that flexibility will help in your search to find the chocolate milkshake to fill your hollow recesses."

I like chocolate. And milkshakes. I wonder if weasels like milkshakes...?

T, who clearly needs to spend less time online

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Someone lied, it is definitely NOT the Happiest Place on Earth...they don't even have a bar!

I have a new gig, and would appreciate your support. I am now the LA Special Needs Kids Examiner over at Examiner.com. My latest article is about The Big Bang Theory and why I think it is such a great showcase for Asperger's Syndrome. Help me feed my kids, buy them shoes. Check it out. Stumble it, love me. Kisses.

For those who weren't following my tweets on my daughter's birthday, it was pretty much the day from hell. We got there, and it was beyond crowded for a Tuesday. I have no idea why. Our day was full of ride breakdowns, crowds, bad food (son is gluten and dairy free, remember, and ended up stuck in the bathroom due to dairy in the hamburger bun)... that took a long time. We finally left Disneyland and had a good dinner, but the 20-somethings next to us were dropping the f-bomb liberally and making my kids uncomfortable. It was just a day we would all rather forget.

click to see it bigger

It's a world of...

horse butt!

most pictures of my daughter look like this

I did manage to get some good pics of the kids, so it wasn't a complete wash. I quite like that they are standing on the C and the A, which makes CA for California. Will have to go back and get pictures on all of the letters...You can click on the pics to embiggen.

T, who has had enough of DLand for a while

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