I think I've lost my mojo. No, really. I am not joking; it's not funny. I have never been one to complain, and I know how to avoid/block/ignore pain. The longest I have ever been down with anything was 3 days, and that was the Kill-An-Elephant-and-Leave-It-There-To-Rot flu. It got JNerd, too. We were both very, very sick. I think that was February, before last. So...2009? But lately? I am just...sick.
I wrote about it before...how after I came home from blogher, I was dealing with migraines, on a daily basis. They had me down, for a month. No joke. They started 8/5, and I saw the doctor on 9/2. All the time I was waiting? Languishing in a darkened room like some demented character out of a gothic novel. Talk about the drama! I spent so many days flat on my back I could have paid for my mortgage had I been doing anything more remotely interesting. Instead?Ice pack at the base of my skull, cold, weighted eye mask over my face. I did a lot of listening to tv...it was all I could do.
And now, thanks to a god-send of a doctor, who saw me in the grips of a terrible migraine attack and immediately fixed it with a shot of Imitrex and then a prescription, my head is better, or at least on its way to becoming better. But. There were...complications. I won't go into my bathroom habits, cause that shit lives forever on the internet, but let's just say they're non-
existent. at this point. And not from ...lack of trying. And then, there are complications to that.
And while all that sucks, what's worse is that my cycle is all screwed up. I have had not ONE, not TWO, but THREE periods in the last TWO months. Yep, that's right. Three. The only good news is that proves I am not pregnant. But I am sick of my period, sick of feeling sick and ready to get off my freaking bed. And I just..can't. I am achy, tired, bleeding. Despite this all, I am trying to find the funny, you know, fkeep up my spirits.
I am failing miserably. I have spent the last month begging off of most things I am supposed to be doing. I have missed karate, eye appointments and countless other things I am supposed to attend. I missed a good friend's birthday party, blog events, and just, everything. My house is a disaster, my dog is a monster (She needs my attention and training, no one can handle her the way I do) and my kids are being raised by wolves. ENOUGH. I have an MRI sometime in the next week or so. To make sure I am not dying of a brain tumor (I'm not.) I called the doctor's office and was told that all of my labs: thyroid, hormones, were normal.. Well, that's just awesome, possum!
Then tell me why I don't feel normal?? I am OVER this. I have never been down this long, and I am having a hard time seeing around it to the light at the end of the tunnel. Which is probably a bus, anyway.
ANd that is why I have lost my mojo.
posted from my iPad
I am bringing over my articles from Examiner, in the hopes that they may help or give you information you need or were not aware of. I start with dyslexia, because my son has it, and now we think my youngest may, as well. So it is a subject I know a bit about.
See if this sounds like your child:
He is very bright, but doesn't meet his potential. It takes him longer to do his homework then you think it should. His penmanship is messy, floating either above or below the line. His spelling is almost indecipherable, vowels are almost nonexistent. He is behind in reading and/or math, has had extra help and his academics just aren't improving.
If this sounds like your child, you might want to check out dyslexia.Dyslexia is not recognized by many school districts, and chances are you will be told it is a "medical diagnosis" that the school isn't prepared to make. They may instead guide you to remediation for the individual areas in which your child is behind. This may work. But understand if dyslexia is the problem, it is not just merely an academic issue. It is a question of how your child's brain works to process information. Language is processed differently; Broca's area, responsible for speech production, and Wernike's area, responsible for understanding spoken language, have neurons connected differently. the Right Hemisphere of the brain is 10% larger. So there are actual physical differences with dyslexia. This can cause sequences, such as a reciting the alphabet, counting or rote memorization such as multiplication tables to be very difficult. It isn't the child, it's his brain.
Most parents are under the impression that a child with dyslexia will have trouble with spelling, and that's true. But there are so many more symptoms. The most common and publicized symptom is reversal of letters, but not for the reason most think. The child doesn''t see the word backwards. Due to their visual processing problem, that is often present with dyslexia, the child sees the word the right way, but writes or reads it wrong. Don't panic, if your child reverses letters early as they are learning to read and write. Many children do this. The concern would be if the reversals continue past the first couple of years.
Some other symptoms include:
There is no hard and fast test for dyslexia. But if your child has some of these symptoms, you may want to pursue help from an educational psychologist. Or, you can treat the symptoms with some coping skills. I am working on a pst about the various interventions available for the treatment of dyslexia. Stay tuned!
For more information:
Overcoming DyslexiaT, who says reversals and reading problems are the tip of the iceberg
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I don't find myself funny. I have been told people enjoy my humor, but honestly? Every time I hit publish, I second guess myself and have to walk away from the computer so that I don't delete what I wrote. They say that humor is a defense mechanism; a way to keep what cuts you in two from finishing the job. It is how I bind the wound and staunch the flow.
Life delivers the kill-bite, and laughing it off is my way of sidestepping the throat-ripping Pit Bull of Pissdom. That last bit didn't sound right. The Boxer of Bitchy Life? How about the Afghan of Autism? Ok, that is all kinds of ridiculous. See how good I am at distracting myself from the frustration at hand?
Some of my best friends are very funny. In fact, I have a hard time relating to anyone that doesn't find life funny. I mean, really, what is life but a comedy of errors? If I see the pathos in the product, and you can't appreciate it? We probably aren't going to stay friends. I don't mean that you have to laugh at my jokes all the time, because, face it, I'm not that funny. But if you don't see at least a bit of humor in the Situation we call life (as opposed to the guy in New Jersey) then you pretty much cannot relate to me, and to most of the people I know. Also, if you laugh with me, I am more apt to buy you drinks. Ask my friends if you don't believe me.
Sometimes humor covers up anger. And of course, anger is always a secondary emotion. Because underneath, just like the layers of an onion, is more: hurt is often what lies beneath for me. It hurts to raise children with autism. No, really, it does. I am not being flippant. It sucks, much of the time. And though I don't get mad at my children, I am often mad at God. Because, face it, through his Infinite Jesting, he has placed me as the mother of these children. I mean, he has to be laughing, right? How else do you explain:
Expectations are everything. I expected, when I had children, to have a child I could dress up and take out. I expected she would enjoy going places and chatter excitedly about it. And I have that. But I also have a child who has to do her homework in a certain order. She needs to have her socks on *just right.* Dressing in the morning is like attending a meeting at Camp David… it has to look good, feel good and be neither too hot or too cold; it cannot be too short or too tight. And it has to reflect the way she is feeling. We have tried the week-long organizers, but she didn't want to wear what she sets aside at the time. Insisting caused such a shit storm that it just wasn't worth it. The crayons need to be sharp enough. Make sure to give her plenty of notice if you want to walk out the door to get somewhere on time. Chances are, if you don't, she will come unglued, and then you aren't going anywhere.
So, to combat all of this? I laugh. A lot. And make others laugh, too. I see the humor in the unfunny. Honestly, there are few things I cannot find the humor in. Death? Check. Dismemberment? Check. Autism? Anger? Augh? Check. Check. Check. It is absolutely a matter of survival.
They say, "Laugh, and the world laughs with you." And here you are.
"Cry and you cry alone."
And that's why I choose humor.
T, who is laughing, right now, on the inside
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Confession.
I hate change. I mean, I really hate it. I don't get dragged in kicking and screaming, but I get a white-hot ball of crap in my stomach and feel like I am going to throw up and like someone kicked my puppy. Which by the way is a really crappy thing to do, and whomever is responsible should feel really ashamed!
I like the same stuff. At least, until I like the new stuff. I bought a wallet to replace the one I loved that just fell apart. I couldn't find the same, so I bought one markedly different, different style, shape, color, all of it. In a moment of abandon, I tossed reason to the winds and bought a hot pink and turquoise Liz Claiborne wallet to replace the black leather one I had before. And at first, I hated it. Really. It sucked. I couldn't find anything, it was bulky, hard to open. Now? I know where everything is, each item has it's place. I'm used to it. I love it, and worry what I will do when it gives up the ghost. There is a lesson in there, somewhere. Damned if I can find it over all my worrying.
I try to be open-minded about change, but it rarely works. I can try to convince myself maybe it won't be so bad. I might grow to like it. And then? I stress. I like things the way they are, and I hate getting used to new stuff. Sue me. I don't consider myself meticulous (not like my daughters, that's for sure) but I don't like upheaval much. I know there are those out there who like the variety, it's the spice of life. I like spices, I suppose, but, I prefer salsa, thank you. From a jar, in the fridge. Some things are meant to be predictable.
II am a trooper, I have been told. On the outside, I handle change pretty well, at least at first. But when a bunch of little changes all conspire? It makes me grumpy. Not just a little bit, either. But you won't see it...I hide it really well. But, if it ain't broke, I say why fix it?
Our church (which has the coolest pastor and is all postmodern and stuff and I love it) is considering some major changes. With the youth department, and with the building we are currently in, as in, moving from the existing property and buying a new lot and rebuilding. (those are two different changes, by the way) I like things the way they were! And these changes give me a knot in my stomach. So much is left to the unknown. Will I like these changes? Will anyone? What if things really change for the worse? Isn't that where the anxiety comes from? It's scary!
Then, last night, twitter pulled the #fail of doing away with replies from friends of friends. To some, that was no big deal. To me, it was huge. Twitter claims only 2% used that feature, but we were a vocal 2% (and I really question those numbers) It cut my twitter stream noise by about three-quarters, and I am very sad to see all of them go. I feel like I lost friends. It is almost scary to me to see how much I cared about these changes! I am actually...depressed over it.
My M.O. is that when a bunch of things change, I get hyper-sensitive to other things changing. And it makes me want to crawl under a rock and just make it all go away. My anxiety gets harder to control, and I don't handle my childrens' anxiety (which is always present) well. PMS just makes it worse. Thankfully, I don't feel like this very often. I am never depressed, except during that special time of the month.
When I feel like this, I like to rely upon the things I can count on. And I am hard-pressed to find any in my current state of mind. While J was gone in Canada for a week, I barely slept. Pretty sure that and PMS aren't helping my mood any.
I don't like unpleasant surprises. When my daughter was a toddler, this was what? Over 13 years ago, she wanted a My Little Pony sticker. There it was, in the machine at Toys R' Us. She was so excited, and though I rarely allowed it, I let her put her money in that machine. Picture this sweet little toddler, eyes wide with anticipation, hand held out for the cherished mirrored Pony sticker to instead have a rubber roach slide out into her hand. Can you say shock and dismay? And do you remember who else is phobic of those things? Yep, that's me. My daughter never again wanted something out of those rip-off machines.
That is how I feel, when people mess with things I cannot control. I like to be in control and do a fine job of it in most areas of my life. There are things however I don't get a choice in, (I know, I can't believe it either!) But I guess I just want to know... why do things have to change when they were fine... before?? And whose to say that if we put our collective quarters into the Cosmic Gumball Machine, we won't get a nasty plastic bug?
Suppose that's the million dollar question, isn't it?
T, who just wants to get over it
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You've heard the textbook definition of Asperger's, "A pervasive developmental disorder ...distinguished by a pattern of symptoms rather than a single symptom. It is characterized by impairment in social interaction, by stereotyped and restricted patterns of behavior, activities and interests, and by no clinically significant delay in cognitive development or general delay in language. Intense preoccupation with a narrow subject, one-sided verbosity, restricted prosody, and physical clumsiness are typical of the condition."
but I want to tell you what it means in our life.
It means a lack of self-regulation. for my 7 year old. Going from 0-60 in intensity in about five seconds. Not being able to police herself and her reactions. Hit and/or scream first, ask questions afterwards. It means 24/7 monitoring her choices and constantly teaching her better ones. This includes teaching her to know her bodily reactions, her adrenaline levels, her anxiety.. (Incredible 5 Point Scale, How Does Your Engine Run?)
It's not being able to be patient, at all. Needing something right now. Think: toddler parenting. If the need or want is important enough to verbalize than it must be taken care of RIGHT NOW. Or else.
It's speaking in a sing-song voice, breathy, with no support from the diaphragm. Sounds very toddler.
Needing routines to go "just so" and when they fluctuate, noticing and struggling. Sunday, we didn't go to church. After church, daughter gets a donut. No church, no donut. She wanted me to drive to the donut store yesterday and get donuts. This caused no end of struggle.
Lack of spontaneous activity. She must have some sort of notice before I just spring things upon her. I always wanted to be the "fun mom" and do spur of the moment things. When my eldest was younger, I used to take her on "Pajama Runs" which was a surprise trip after lights out to dessert, in her pajamas. The youngest would never do well with that kind of diversion.
For my 10 yr old....It's asking a hundred times a day if he can play _____________ or go _______________ or buy _________. It varies, depending upon his current obsession. It can be an activity, a subject matter or a food. No matter what, it is freakin' annoying! He is like a train that is barreling down the tracks, one-minded, a machine. The only way to head it off is to switch tracks completely. As he gets older, this isn't as easy as you might think.
For my 14 yr old, it's being a perfectionist to the point of making herself sick over assignments. She doesn't pick up shades of gray, and it all must be one way, that's the only way it can be seen. There is little wiggle room in her opinion. Some would call this rigid. In fairness, as she gets older, she is becoming a little less...structured in her thinking. It still is on a daily basis. One of her favorite characters is Sheldon, on Big Bang Theory. Coincidence?
It's not only something my children must do. Navigating these waters, these sink-or-swim rapids is often my own journey. And if I am sick, or just not feeling like dealing with red is blue and green is the new black thinking?
Well, it's crazy-making.
I wish that I could say it's always fun, or enlightening. I wish I could say I was a great mom 100% of the time. But the truth is, half the time (and more some would debate) I am just blindly doing what feels right. And, on nights like tonight, when I have been fighting the after-effects of the flu, including laryngitis, I am just...
Tired.
T, who sometimes can't even get the words out to explain it...have you been there?
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I used to be a writer. Really, I did. I came here every day and wrote something, and edited it, and hit publish. I would see it there in print and I was a writer. But lately, besides being busy (because isn't that always a great excuse) I have sort of been avoiding the writing. I know, you want to know why. Here's the bottom line:
I think too much.
No really, I do. I don't do feelings. Sure, I feel a smidgen of frustration, or joy, but I go past the negative emotions, preferring to dissect them in my head. I write about them, process them and whittle them down to the size of an ant. Then I stomp on them. But they get killed before I ever feel them. That used to work, but now I am more aware that I have those feelings, and well, they have to go somewhere. Where they go is anxiety and irritability, and I am tired of feeling tired.
So I have been writing less, and making myself feel the emotions instead of analyzing them, by writing about them. I know it sounds crazy, but it really makes a difference for me. I don't say, "What do I think about that?" any longer. Now I ask myself, "How do I feel about that?"
Thinking and analyzing emotions aren't the same as actually feeling them. And they bottle up, coming out sideways. It makes me a terrible mother, because the only way to deal with the stress I am under every single day is to numb out. And it took me a long time to realize I do that...because I DO feel something. But mostly, I feel anger. And for the most part, that anger is unexpressed. And I have realized that the knot in my stomach, my shoulders and my neck is just repressed feelings: powerlessness, disappointment, fear. And, because those aren't powerful emotions, I let the anger coat it like armor. It feels safer.
Sarcasm is an ego defense. It is a way to deny what is going on around you. Keep it at arms' length. Makes it safe. And Wit is just Sarcasm with a college degree.
Let's get this straight. I am absolutely not quitting. I am still writing, still blogging, still around. I am just around...less. As I journey through this new territory, I just have less energy to create. But I fully expect that once I have come far enough, it can only improve my writing. So I will be posting, just not every day. Know I still love you all, and still read your blogs. I just don't have the time to comment as much as I did before.
In the mean time, I recommend the new Wally Lamb book, In the Hour I First Believed. It is very good, as good as I Know This Much is True.
T, who feels....yeah.
A rare species was spotted today. The screaming loon poked it's head out of hiding. It was me.
JBear turned 10 today. And I turned into a monster. Ok, not really, but I was very stressed this afternoon. I am headed out of town for the weekend, so there are a million things that I have to get done first. Recipe for me to freak out. My anxiety is ratcheted up so far, I can't begin to even explain it. It is like a separate being right now, walking outside of my body. It has no patience, no empathy, and wants to kick ass and take names. Stay out of its way.
Beyond that, I had to get to the store and finish buying presents. I left the kids at home, came back about an hour later, and that's when the trouble began. JBean fell apart over every itty bitty little thing. I made lunch, JBean didn't want taquitos. They are icky! She didn't like the way the card she made for her brother came out , but didnt want to remake it. She wanted presents and was jealous. She wanted my attention, period. ( she didn't want to wear a certain dress to dinner, I told her it looked good, JBug told her it looked good, but apparently it did not match the necklace she was wearing...except it did. Lots of fit, frustration on both sides, her insisting it looked bad, me finally telling her to change if she wanted to (while trying to get out of the house) unbuttoning the dress only for her to decide she wanted to wear the damn thing after all. Calgon, take me away!
I realize that much of this just sounds like motherhood, but I swear it is more than that. It is all three of them, all day long, arguing, disagreeing, being rigid and black & white with no shades of grey. It is me, trying to remain sane in an insane environment, and who the hell knows, maybe I made them that way.
It's trying to walk JBug through her Logic homework for the class that I insisted she take and now I wish would just fall off the face of the earth, but that she likes, except when the young, wet-behind-the-ears, smarter-than-you tutor, who still has acne gives open-ended assignments, like this last one. Cue: fall apart and not know what to do. Cue: 40 minute teenaged tantrum over not knowing what to do. Cue: not wanting to admit she has no clue. And then I get to walk her through it, only she doesn't listen, cause what the hell do I know, I am only her mother, and could not possibly get what she is doing. When I point out how it works, she gets all rigid and tells me that couldn't possibly be right, because that is not the way her tutor explained it. I point out she has a textbook that is saying the same thing I am... cue: argument why both me and the textbook are WRONG.
Good God, just kill me now. I might go to Hell, but at least it would prevent the long, slow descent into Hell I live now.
Yeah, ok, that was melodramatic. I know tomorrow will feel differently. I can rationalize that. But today. Today this is how I feel. I want to QUIT. I want to just throw in the towel, tell the Powers That Be that this motherhood thing? It just flat ain't workin' out. That I would like another, easier job. Oh, you know, like rocket scientist. Or the guy that is bailing out the banks....he has an easier job. I am imminently qualified for said position. I am always bailing out my children. It counts.
So I want a change of scenery. I want a job. Shall I get my resume together? Let's see...something that allows me to use my brain, where I am not constantly interrupted, and is less dangerous than my current gig.
I was thinking the answer was Starbucks barrista, and then it hit me: a Bomb Diffuser.
Yep, that's me. Only now? I ain't gettin' paid for it.
T, who will write more about JBear's bday tomorrow
Disclaimer: I don't Really cage my children....
This exchange took place on twitter today...after mentally wrestling with my children again...in exasperation I posted the following:
@sendchocolate: Some days I ask myself why I do it, and don't say, run away to Costa Rica and categorize monkeys
@sendchocolate: I already categorize monkeys, but at least in Costa Rica I wouldn't have to TEACH them. Or clean up after them
I received this reply:
@missbanshee: @sendchocolate I'M sorry, WHAT? You CATEGORIZE MONKEYS? Helloooooo, best job EVER!
And I answered:
@sendchocolate: @missbanshee it's not all it's cracked up to be. They fling poo at me. A lot. And they are disrespectful. And don't do their schoolwork.
Well, after this little exchange and a withholding of the monkey chow I am happy to say, the monkeys straightened up and now are flying right. (flying monkeys??) They finished their schoolwork and actually listened and did what I asked. In return, I let them out of their cages. Of course, in the process of getting them to do what they are supposed to do without me blowing a gasket, I probably sounded like one of those screechy monkeys you hear when you go to the zoo...I hurt my own head. No, really. I did.
I get so tired of being the bad guy around here. Why do I have to ask someone 
multiple times to get them to do what I ask? Kills me. They finally do it, but in the meantime, I am thisfar from the intellectual equivalent of flinging poo. Between two with autism and a teenager? I want to know where I go to quit. It is so much faster just to do it my own self. But if I didn't, I have a boatload of excuses to choose from...the monkeys have taught me that.
Apparently:
*it's not my fault
* I didn't get it out
*It's not mine
* I cleaned it yesterday
* the garage is scary
* I want to play
*I forrrrrgotttt
*I finished it already
*It's not my turn
*I didn't see it
*I didn't know where it went
*you wanted me to do that, too?
*I didn't hear you
*I didn't know it was my responsibility
*I have other things to do
*I am not a slave
*what would you do if I wasn't here??
*it's not on my schedule
*nobody but you cares about that
*you worry too much
*you're making more work
None of these reasons flew. (not like the monkeys, anyway!) I guess it appeared I was serious, because I didn't have to repeat myself (or fetch my flying monkeys) that much in the afternoon, and things were actually done! of course, I cried at one point, in frustration..amazing what that does to childrens' attitudes. I would suggest you use it sparingly, however. Might lose its impact. I'll let you know the next time I use it.
T, who says see how much fun we have on twitter?
follow me on twitter
Anyone who ever said that life being a barrel of monkeys meant it was fun, well, I have a bone to pick with you. Do you have any idea how LOUD monkeys are?? Today is one of those days where you wonder, "WHY am I a parent?" JBear and JBean have been at each other all day. Lots of tears and screaming (and when I say screaming, I am talking air-raid-siren-quality tinged with Bonobo monkey..the kind of noise that makes your teeth itch and desire to find the nearest bridge to jump from. or maybe that's just me In any case, they have just been obnoxious to one another. Witness this exchange:
JBean: You stole my Playmobil bandana![transmission redacted], as my head explodes...
JBear: Did NOT. You probably lost it (as it is behind his back)
JBean: You're MEAN! You are so mean. You grow on a mean TREE!
JBear: I know you are, but what am I?
JBug: You are MEAN. You are ugly mean! I WANT MY TOY!
JBear: ok, you can have it.
JBean: ::waiting:: then: where is it?
JBear: I don't haaaaaa-aaaave it, I lied. (again, with toy behind back)
JBean: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
Send chocolate... please? You'll be able to find me. I'll be the one in the corner, curled into a fetal position..
T, who knows what drives some people to drink in the afternoon
When you are a mother of three kids, you can't keep up with everything. Some things fall by the wayside. I mean, sure, you make sure the kids eat meals (if they can find food that is worth eating since you are too busy blogging to go to the store) And for the most part, you make sure if you are going out in public that the kids are wearing (mostly) clean clothes free of large rends or tears. Of course, you must fight your son in this department, who has glommed onto one particular pair of pants and eschews everything else, because they are "comfy." Did I mention he will only wear tan pants, like Indy Jones? And even if it is 99 degrees out (like today!) the kid won't wear shorts? Seriously. But I digress... What else is new, you ask...I can't seem to stay on topic for anything. See why I need an editor? ahem..
My point, if I had one, would be...I am only one woman. I can't do it all. If all kids are reasonably clean and clothes are free of visible dirt and don't smell like old bacon, I consider that a win. Once in a while, we forget to brush hair, but that's pretty minor. Who has time to stand still and have your hair brushed when you are JBean...and busy taking every toy you own to the car? I mean, JBean has to have the My Little Pony purse filled with My Little Pony toys and their My Little Pony houses and beg mama to carry them, even though she said she wouldn't and that they would be too heavy for a little girl to carry and mama IS NOT carrying, I mean it... and Mama ends up carrying anyway. This happens a couple of times a week. The child cannot go anywhere without toys. (this is not a post sponsored by My Little Pony, and after you read it you will understand they wouldn't want to be near it) But in the scheme of things, these are small annoyances.
My son does not have time for things like baths, and honestly, unless we are going somewhere, I guess I don't have time to fight him on it. I fight him on enough things Much too soon, he will hit that big-footed, shaggy-haired phase and will stink all the time. Then, we will make baths (or showers) an issue. For now, if I see visible dirt, into the tub he goes. Which brings me to today.
My son has a new(?) obsession: The Indiana Jones game for the Wii game system. And while I need to review it, because there are some fun surprises hidden in said game, that is not tonight's subject. Tonight is concerned with feet. Namely, my son's feet. Understand that yesterday he was outside, barefoot. But I didn't think about it at the time. Lazy days, summer, easy going, you understand. And really, if the body parts aren't showing, they don't count. He puts socks on, I don't see the feet, he's home free. Until today. He was sitting on the couch playing the video game again after he was done with his school...what kind of mother do you think I am and I was sitting on the other end of the couch, reading email. I glanced down and saw these things... and in the interest of proving I have no pride...
THIS is a picture of my son's feet (he asked, "Are you gonna blog my feet?? I'm gonna be famous!") Sure, son, just what you want everyone to remember you for... you know this is going to come back and bite you in the butt. But really, isn't the story of how you mooned the entire line at McDonalds going to do more damage? Ok, fine, guess feet are no big deal. So, to keep my son happy, here is a picture of his disgusting, nasty feet. any pervs who strolled in based upon a "dirty feet" search can just keep right on strollin' out the door, thanks...this blog is protected by Anti-Perv snakes. What? You don't see them? They're invisible. They see you. Best be off, now...
with apologies to Bill Cosby, but I have little original material, I am too busy policing my son's feet!
T, who understands if you never want to speak to her again
T, who is about to make a cat-skin rug
Glad you're here! I'm a freelance writer, specializing in autism, special needs and education. I freelance for numerous national publications. This is where I let it all hang out, sans editor.
