September is over, why didn't anyone wake me up?

I pretty much hibernated for the last month after I came home from New York. With the migraines, school starting and the planning associated with that little venture, we had some other unexpected events to deal with as well. Which, of course, I will blog as I get back into the swing of things. And I? Just bugged out. I needed to take a break, to recuperate from life, and come back to blogging renewed. So, if you will still have me, I am back. So buy me a drink, pass me the mike, cause Radio Tee is back on the air. Ok, not really. I am just blogging again. But you can still buy me a drink. I missed you. You look great in that. Have you lost weight? What? Do I want to go somewhere? Let's take it slow, have some conversation, and then see where that leads. Tina

We Interrupt The Regular Flow Of This Blog...

Warning, this post is about girly stuff, and time of the month and flow and bad skin, so be warned. If you are squeamish, come back tomorrow. Just know this is part of a being a woman, and sometimes you just have to talk about it. Because our mothers didn't talk about it, and now, we have to find all of our information on Google! More autism posts to come, but today we are discussing getting older and how much it sucks.

I didn't start my period until I was 15 and a half. I was the last of my friends and I used to read Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume and just lament the fact that that special thing that makes me a woman hadn't happened to me yet. When it finally did, I was so excited, I just about told my father! (but I didn't tell him because, come on, my dad??) Also, he would have been absolutely mortified. He was a bit reserved, a firm gruff Army guy. Don't show weakness, never let them see you sweat. When I kissed him goodnight, it was on the forehead. So, yeah, telling Daddy all about my period? Not such a hot idea.

Ok, so like I said, I was 15 when I started, and I started with a vengeance. For years, I have had very heavy bleeding, 7 days, we are talking the Superwoman plugs. Right. I used to get cramps so bad in high school that I popped Advil like candy. Very hideous. Sometimes, I would even stay home, but I didn't get to do that very often. My mother was more the slave driver "If you aren't dead you can make it to school" type. So I suffered for womanhood every 28 days, like clockwork, spent 7 days sloughing off the dead lining of my uterus and called it part of Being a Woman. I got used to it.

After my 3rd child, I started slowing down a bit. It was nice. Now, no longer did a period last an entire week, I was down to 5 days. And a bit lighter flow, which was also a welcome change. Getting older has some perks, I suppose. But with age, comes your child growing as well. Which is all well and good, unless they are female and teenage, then they start the whole process as well.

I pride myself upon being a strong woman. When I was in an office environment, I was usually the strong hormone leader, and women would line up behind my cycle. (Did you know this happens? When many women work closely together their cycles will coincide, with one woman being the evolutionary hormonal leader.) I was the driver, and of course, right? And then SHE showed up on the scene. My daughter.

In the last year, she has played havoc with my cycles, and it is killing me. This last time, I was done. Done, I tell you! And just a few days later, I started my cycle all over again. And it is because she was PMSing and now is the young, fertile (ack I don't like using that word in the context of my daughter!) strong hormone woman. And I? I am a crone.

I am only 42. (and I am staying that age, after all, it is the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything...so only anniversaries from now on..the 1st Anniversary of my 42nd year and so on). I have noticed in the last few months that I have moles and brown spots I didn't have before. My wonderful smooth skin isn't so smooth anymore. Even on my eyelids, I have little bumps that make putting on eye makeup a pain in the butt. Don't get me wrong, YOU can't see these things. They aren't that noticeable. But I can tell, and it is bugging me! I now have a bump on the side of my nose that wasn't there a year ago. I see little laugh lines (bull, they are wrinkles you can't fool me) around my eyes. I look tired. In short, I look kind of like my mom!

This is not okay with me! My mom is old! And I am young! Vibrant! Energetic! I feel like those hot young 24 year olds! Except...

About six months ago, I wasn't feeling very well. I was running an errand and had a cold. I stopped in at Starbucks to pick up a chai tea latte, one of my favorite pick-me-ups when I am feeling under the weather, and noticed a schlumpy woman in Jamba Juice as I walked by. She was about my age, but was wearing a green velour sweatsuit. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she didn't look well. My thought was, "Wow, that woman is really letting herself go." And then I realized, I was looking at my own reflection! Yeah.

I think I have some sort of Body Morph Disorder. Many women look in the mirror and are appalled by what they see. I look in the mirror and see someone hotter than she really is. That day in front of Jamba Juice was a rude awakening. I am no longer young and hot. (if I ever was) I am growing old. Now I suppose I could just lie down and die, or grow old gracefully but I refuse to do that, I am too stubborn. Instead, I will just continue to be hot, thank you very much. Even if that hotness is just in my own mind. Sex (ack! She said THAT word) is pretty great at 40+... and youth truly is wasted on the young. If I could take my knowledge at 42 back to when I was 22, I would be unstoppable. But, since I can't do that, I have to settle for my new title, a badge of honor, and let the silly 20 year olds be young and insecure.They don't want to play with me anymore...to them, I am old. That's hard to accept. I am secure in my age, now I just have to become secure in my image.

T, who asks who that middle-aged woman is in the mirror

A Potato for Autism?

Trying to teach any child self-control is tough. When you are dealing with a child with autism, there are added challenges. It isn't that they can't learn, they do. It's just that with autism, often learning takes the form of rote scripts that are hard to apply to situations that deviate from the taught scenario. The ability to adapt just isn't there. I tell you this so that I can tell you this story.

Last night, J and I wanted to go out. We don't get a lot of opportunities to do that, because even though I have given birth to the World's Most Responsible 14 Yr Old, let's face it, leaving her in charge of two younger kids with autism is something to question. But last night, my littlest one said that J and I needed to go out. You need to understand that she was falling apart earlier, not so much in a catastrophic way but more in a "I am really whiny and complaining about everything" way. The Wii can do that to all of my children. Hell, it can do that to me!

JBean was trying to convince me that we needed to let them stay home. We were planning on a late movie, so there would only be an hour that the kids would be up. JBug puts them to bed for us. To assure me that I was making the right decision, JBean said:

"Momma, I can do what they taught us in Sunday School today... SPUD.
Self-Control
Pause
Understand
Decide

I can control my self!"

Most parents would be thrilled by this. Instead I took it to heart as my failure. When you homeschool, everything is your fault. I said to to J, "I have been trying to teach her this stuff for years, and she picks it up in five minutes in Sunday School? Maybe I need to send her to school to learn, because she isn't getting it from me. I'm failing." He looked at me and said, "She got it today because you have been going over controlling herself over and over again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. It clicked because of you." My eyes filled with tears, and I spoke..

"That was the right answer."

T, who takes it all too personally

Technorati: autism, self_control, anger_management

A Place For US?

I have decided to start an "autism stories from the trenches" blog. To the best of my knowledge, there is nothing out in BlogLand like what I am envisioning. My vision of this new blog is that ANYBODY who deals with autism can write on it. We are all in this together, and we are not alone, even if it feels that way sometimes. With multiple authors, we can share our stories and get validation and encouragement from those that get it. NO judgment. So. If you are interested, leave me a comment here, and/or go check out autism sucks and leave a comment there. I will add you as an author, and that's all it will take. I really want to see this take off, and for no other reason that we are a Community and it helps to know we are not alone.

I am not doing ad revenue over there, I am not trying to drive traffic to another site. I won't be doing reviews or trying to sell anyone anything. I just really believe in the Internet as a community, a help and a place to land. I want to provide a place where parents (and siblings?) can just vent to one another in a safe place.

T, who lives it everyday and understands

Technorati: autism, Aspergers, community

The One Where I Get All Serious On You

So I was talking to my therapist today what you thought I stayed mostly sane by myself? Sorry to disappoint... and we were discussing feelings. I was telling her how I have a tendency to separate mine into "positive" and "negative" categories. You know the negative ones: those sloppy, in the way, spilled-milk ones that once they are out you have no idea what you are supposed to do with them? Anyway, I explained that, sure, I feel, but I more categorize and summarize than actually experience the entire emotion. I am really good at identifying what I am feeling and I can tell you all about it. I may even stick my toe in it. But to actually roll my pant legs up and put on my wellies and stomp through it? Not so good at that..

Don't get me wrong, I do feel. I feel great love for my kids, and I know they love me. I am absolutely and madly in love with my husband most of the time. I like warm fuzzies and cuddles and gratitude and comfort. I feel pride in a job well done. I cry at sappy commercials and the end of romantic comedy movies. But when it comes to the real life gut-wrenching anger or frustration or disappointment, I don't stew in that. It seems to be like snow in Southern California: remote and far away from me, where it belongs..

Lest you think I am some kind of flat-lined automaton, you can ask my kids, I get mad. Oh boy, do I get mad. Mama has a temper. And I would characterize myself as passionate; others have also described me thusly. I laugh and giggle and tease. I smile easily and have a good sense of humor. So I know I feel my emotions, especially the positive ones. But for the negative feelings, the ones that seem threatening and don't feel safe? I have to pull them in, dissect them, figure them out, and then experience them. By that point, there isn't much left. I apparently practice a lot of self-mastication: it is important to chew on those feelings, understand them and then move on. I am just too busy to soak in them at the moment, and I will trot them out another day. This works on a short-term basis, but as a long term plan, it falls short. Eventually, those emotions learn how to hide..now you see them now they're gone. Problem solved! But once I close the door, like cockroaches, the feelings come back out into the dark again. I know they're there, but I cannot reach them. I feel them nibbling on my sub-concious. .

I have asked myself Well, how did I get here? seriously, why I tend to temper negative emotions, and I realize it is a defense mechanism. I grew up in a family where only dad could hold the anger. Don't get me wrong, I was plenty angry. I just couldn't show it. Also, I found out when I was twenty-five that I am bipolar, and over the years, I have learned to keep myself on an even keel. I regulate my phases pretty well. I am fortunate that I have only ever had one major manic episode. Everything else ends up in the easy to manage hypomania cycle. When you have two kids with autism who are not very good self-regulators, you learn to be very, very good at it. It wouldn't do for all of us to throw a tantrum, now would it?.

It scares me to think what would happen if it comes out in one huge slimy pustule? I wonder if I would ever stop the emotion, or if it would just swoop me away for good? I tend to feel emotions strongly when I don't filter them first. It can be difficult to control them. Emotions have a way of lying. They can say life isn't worth living. They can say no one understands you. They can say, why don't you just go back to bed and not bother getting dressed today? And they can whisper, wouldn't it be easier if you'd never married or had kids? I don't have time to fight those phantoms, so I just refuse to even entertain them. They can say your family would be better off without you and you know there is a rubber room out there with your name on it, right? I am rather hard on myself, I guess. If I get depressed, I mentally kick my butt to get me going again. I am not mean about it, but goodness, there is always something to be thankful about, so get to it! Stop feeling sorry and move on, already. This works pretty well..

But sometimes, sometimes, I am just weary. It might be that I got up on the wrong side of the bed. It could be PMS, but whatever it is, it isn't quite Right. And it is at those times, I can't stave off the voices. I listen to the whispers. I don't believe them, but I lack the energy to banish them for good. So I send them up the river. I'm the Panama Canal, baby. Those emotions ease into that lock, it closes and the water rushes in. Once the boat is under control, it glides through the next lock, and so on. Finally, it comes out on the other end. In one piece. This is key. Controlled, steady-as-she-goes and in one piece. Then often I head to the keyboard. I was asked today what would happen if I released that disappointment, anger, frustration, grief. My reply? I already have. It's what I do here.

T, who is sorry to be such a downer, but sometimes,like Starbucks, writing is therapy

Technorati: emotions, feelings, therapy

And Now For Something To Blow Your Mind

I've seen juggling. I have even seen good juggling. J juggles, though he isn't a professional by any stretch. So, when it comes to juggling, I probably ask the same question you do: "How many more can he hold?" Well, this video blew me away. It is a bit long, but if you stick with it, you will see things I have never seen before. This is beyond juggling. This is dance. This is art.

T, who can barely dribble a ball

Technorati: juggling, video