On Car Bingo, Marriage and Penguins

With Valentine's Day behind us, I've had time to reflect a little on my relationship with my husband. What keeps two people still so much in love after twenty years? I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I know what is working for us. Of course, we are a work in progress, but so far, so good! A key component to our relationship? Humor. NEVER never never take yourself too seriously.

I have a prime example of our relationship. When we were in New Zealand, we invented a brand new travel game to pass the time. Though the South Island is beyond beautiful, there isn't a lot to see to keep your brain busy, so some creativity is in order.

JNerd and I invented New Zealand Car Bingo. The rules are simple. There are five items in this game, short and sweet. Simply call out the item, and see who's first. Because you'll see one of the five at least every few miles, it passes the time. See who can spot it first. Then laugh. A lot. A variation is to call out the items in a dead-pan voice, a la Monty Python. Laughter is still required, however.

Cow

Sheep

Tractor

Old Church

Statue/War Memorial

Honorable mention goes to the obligatory statue of Queen Victoria in every major city that we visited. Either in the botanic gardens, or in the middle of a park...there she was, towering over everyone. Victorian era, indeed.

No matter where we went, these items were ever-present. It livened up the drive (which was beyond gorgeous anyway) and allowed JNerd and I to loosen up and enjoy playing together. It's amazing to me how much we had forgotten how to play. But it is like riding a bicycle...it comes back. Over the two weeks we were together, we rediscovered how much we like each other, and how much fun we have together. I wish we had more opportunities, but I know that we will both make more of an effort to just loosen up and have fun. Because it made us young, and silly.

One of my very favorite animals is the penguin. They are awkward little guys. Slow and clumsy-looking on land, but lithe and amazing in the water. As if that's not enough, most species mate for life. I just love the romanticism season after season of the same female pairing up with the same male to make more babies. (I don't want any more babies, but I can appreciate that they might). There is something endearing about finding one another over and over again. Sounds like marriage. I wonder if penguins laugh, too?

I remembered (and I hope he did, too) "Hey, I like you, you're a blast to hang out with!" And isn't that why we married in the first place?

T, who shares my cookies and my recess (and even my chocolate) with him

all pictures taken by me except Cow (have you ever tried to take a picture of a cow, from a moving vehicle?) Cow picture by FelixLaCat used under a cc license Share-Alike 2.0

I am tired of banging my head against your Wall. I think I'll just sit here outside until you let me in.

You would have an iCrush too, if it happened to you

So you want to know where I have been, right? I mean, you love me and miss me and you have to know what I am doing with myself, yeah?

Sadly, my computer, he went boom. Or rather, crash. Or Floop. Or a ton of other onomatopoeias to describe, "Rip out my heart and stomp it into the ground while losing ALL of my data." It was ugly.

On July 4th, my computer, he wouldn't boot, he was slow. So I called tech support at Apple (after trying to repair and verify the disk on my own.) The tech took me through a few higher-level fixes, and finally, after two hours, I got this message:

could not repair disk after three tries. Disk fail.

It was ugly. BUT, it was under warranty...Well, there was nothing left to do but make an appointment with the Apple Genius and see what could be done.

His name was Jordan. He had sweet, dancing eyes. And he was quick to smile. Had I been about twenty years younger, I'd have fallen for him. As it was, I was at his mercy. He had my baby. I brought him (ok, it) in, laying him it on the bar, taking my place at the hipper-than-thou counter. There was my name, up on the screen, it was my turn. Time for him to work his Apple Magic. I raised my eyes anxiously, as I handed him my Macbook. Be gentle. "Tech support said hard drive, " I said. He smiled and said, "Yes, that's what it sounds like." He licked his lips. Eying me seriously: "It can't even find the partition. Definitely the hard drive. He clucked his tongue, sucking it a bit. Needs a new one."

I looked down. "Can you fix it? I need it by the end of the month, I am due to take it to Chicago." He winked at me. "Oh we will definitely have it happy by then! It will be done in 4-6 days. We'll get you all fixed up. You can't be without a computer longer than that!" I stifled my cougar impulse. It was natural to be grateful. This was my computer, after all.

"Just be gentle with it, it is pristine, it has been in an after-market case." "His blue eyes twinkled, "I noticed that, clearly a lot of care is taken with it. Not a fingerprint on it. We'll put this baby straight into a foam sleeve, don't worry. I'll take care of everything. He flashed me a reassuring smile and met my eyes across the top of the bar. I'll be gentle, I've done this before."

And just like that, I fell in love with an Apple Genius.

P.S. Ok, so I can't really be in love with the Apple Genius, because I am in love with my husband. The paper in my birdcage, my man, JNerd, he saved almost all the data that my computer tried to eat as the hard drive went south. He saved the pictures, and the Keychain, (which means I can find all my stuff and passwords from like forever). He saved my blog posts, and my writing and images and most everything else. So, there really isn't room for the Apple Genius. Just don't tell him that...I want him to want to do good things for me.

P.S.S. well, not for me, for my computer.

P.S.S.S. which really, when you get down to it, the two are the same.

P.S.S.S.S. me and the computer.

P.S.S.S.S.S. I am not really a Cougar, I just apparently play one on my blog.

T, who is counting the days

We Interrupt This Blog Post...

So tonight I was actually going to write a blog post. And then? Twitter happened. You guys are all so funny, personable and entertaining to hang with that I just wasted my night, at least if you figure my night was supposed to be about writing. Which it was. But people like @whithonea, @undomesticdiva @smuttysteff, MagnetoBoldToo and many others keep me busy replying and laughing, not necessarily in that order.

And then, when I was ready to sit down and write after midnight? After my Starbucks mocha and kahlua and was feeling sufficiently mellow? JNerd waggled his eyebrows at me and said, "Let's turn in..early." And well, he is getting...

and you are... getting this. I would apologize but hey, priorities, my dears. Happy husbands are worth all of the blog posts I don't write. Because in the end? I have to live with him, and he has to support my career and be happy that I go to BlogHer and meetups.... so there's that.

See you tomorrow.

T, who is feeling more mellow than usual and shouldn't hit publish but will, anyway...

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How to fix a suck-egg day in one easy step

Yesterday was one of those "everything go wrong" days... I can't point to a ton of things, just little stuff. The cat decided to make my house her litter box (anyone want to kill my a cat??) Yeah, right now, her poop is very weak with me...I am wondering why I keep her around.

I was still dealing with the aftermath of going out and things going wrong. My son had a "diet incident" while staying with his aunt and spent Saturday afternoon in the bathroom, missing a soccer game with his grandparents, and guess who is mad at me? Yeah, they are. As if I could control my son's bowel habits. (autism sucks sometimes, seriously) Then JMan and I spent the afternoon bickering over a misunderstanding, that just sucks eggs. So I was already in a bad mood.

Then I didn't sleep well, had nightmares. Sunday, we all had stuffy noses and sore throats so we missed church. And JMan and I woke up grumpy, and just there was more miscommunication all day. (Asperger's can #suckit) I was feeling really down, and wondering why I bothered to stick around instead of running away with the gypsies get outta bed. I broke a glass, dealt with JBear's sass (can I just put him on the curb for the gypsies??) and was not very receptive or expressive when JMan came home from Costco. I was running around doing laundry, and trying not to snap at the kids when I looked on the couch and burst into tears.

These were waiting for me in front of my computer. For no reason, except just to be thoughtful (and my Love Language is Gifts and Acts of Service, so it meant the world to me). Notice the chocolate. This man knows the way to my heart.

I think I'll keep him.

T, who was pleasantly surprised

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All I Wanted Was A Beer, Not My Ego Handed To Me

I have always looked younger than my age, a fact that was much to my chagrin in high school. It was horrible in high school when the other girls matured and grew boobs and nipped waists and long, flowing hair, and became, well, women. And me? I looked like I was 12. For a long time. I would cry and lament my fate, that even as a teenager I still looked like a "little kid." (my daughter is going through that now, and I empathize). But.

I got the last laugh. Because now, I just stepped into my 40's and have been told, over and over again, that I look nowhere near my age. I have to admit, I freakin love that. Keep saying it! I was a bit of a late bloomer and am sexier now than I ever was in my younger days. And of course, there is the confidence I have at 40. If I could go back in time and be that little Senior again? I would rock the joint. But, that only happens in Disney flicks, right?

So, all that to say, I am pretty comfortable with myself these days. How I look, the condition I am in, and my age. That is, until last Saturday night. JMan and I went to see Star Trek (in IMAX, thank you, which is another post altogether, about how we went to one theatre, were lied to about the size of the screen, got a refund and hightailed it to a real IMAX theatre) and had some time to kill before the movie started. We ducked into a sports bar to have a pint. We bellied up to the bar, climbed on the stool, flashed some cash, ordered our poisons, (Fat Tire for me, Guinness for him), and this is the part that kills me. JMan was carded! I was NOT carded. I was pissed, and seriously.

Granted, JMan looks like he is 16, and has always looked really young. In reality, he is 42, thank you very much. And the numbnuts bartender carded him. AND NOT ME! Now, it seems to me if he was smart, he would have carded us both, just so he could get a bigger tip. But no. He looked at me, and dismissed me, the jerk. He asked my husband for his I.D. because he doesn't even look old enough to buy beer!

JMan tried to play it off, tried to placate my ego by saying it was due to my confidence in ordering, but the damage was done. I realize that I am not 21 anymore. I don't want to be 21 anymore. But dammit, I also don't want people to think I am some Dixie Wetsworth cougar preying on some innocent (and yeah right!) young man.

So, to the bartender at Champs Bar in Irvine? You might want to have a bit more tact when you card those you don't think are old enough to drink. The more I think about it, the more ticked at you I become. Yes, your tip reflected your treatment of us. If I had more guts and wasn't such a nice person, you would have gotten even less, like nothing. But I can't do that, I tipped you the least amount possible, and it was because of your insensitivity. I get that you are busy, and you are trying to serve everyone and you are just doing your job and all. You have to check those you are unsure about. But for chrissakes, you need to at least card the woman if you are going to card the man she's with! Didn't they teach you that in bartending school?? It's only like Bartending Rules 101. Or did you fail to graduate? And just one more thing?

Bite Me.

T, who will think twice when ordering alcohol in the future

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Who, Me and My Weird Marriage?

The other morning, J. was out of the shower and rushing around, getting ready for work, just like he does every morning. And I was doing what I do every morning, sleeping. There, the secret is out: I am a night owl, and the earliest I go to bed is 1 a.m. That's early. Usually, I am closer to a three ay-am girl. Consequently, I sleep until at least 8:30 in the morning. So I was just waking up as J walked into the bedroom, announcing:

bye honey, I'm headed to work.

I rolled over and cat-stretched luxuriously:

"Whee! Work!

He glared at me, more mock-glare than anything else, and arched an eyebrow.

"Do you wanna go to work?

Thinking of blessed freedom, interaction with adults all day, not dealing with tantrums and cajoling little people to do things they don't want to do or running around picking up after them, I was probably a bit too enthusiastic.

"Uh huh, uh huh!"

J rolled his eyes.

"Ok then, you go to work, I'll stay home."

I shot back with:

"Works for me! ...I'm goin' to wo-oork, I'm goin' to wo-oork!" ...Wait, do I have to wear pants there?"

I could tell he was laughing at me, inside, where it counts.

"Yeah, they kind of frown on you if you don't wear pants."

Now I could gloat. After all, I was just getting up and he was headed an hour and a half away to work. (I know, right? Crazy, but that's his commute... )

"I don't have to wear pants at work. Just typee, typee, on the keyboard."

He grinned sardonically.

"Hmmm, I better leave that comment alone, it's too easy."

Me: busy realizing where this conversation has gone (where most of them go around here, the gutter)

"Apparently, so am I."

There went that eyebrow arch again.

"Oh really, then why am I going to work?"

I closed in the for the kill.

"So you can buy me things and I'll sleep with you. I'm good that way."

Flashed him my best come-hither stare, followed by a big, goofy grin...

He kind of choked a bit as I waggled my eyebrows at him.

"Annnnd I definitely need to leave that comment alone and walk out the door while I still can."

After almost twenty years, I still have that boy right where I want him, friends. This hot mama says so.

T, For the Win

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A Snapshot of my Bizarre Marriage

Tonight, Jon and I went out to a quick dinner and caught a movie together. We don't get out much. This exchange followed in the car on the way home:

(after discussing serious political wonkiness and Christianity influenced by pagan traditions)

Jon: (who has a habit of injecting "monkey butt into conversations. No, I don't know why, you would need to ask him...)
"Monkey butt!"

Me: "Yes, monkey butt, we were talking about pagans, though."

Jon: "Yeah, huh?""
"Classic pagans weren't really around monkeys much, ..."

Tina:"Probably would depend upon where they lived.... so what did they have instead? Llamas?"

Jon: "Llama butt? Doesn't really work."

Me: No, it doesn't, does it. How about flying llamas? Llamas...with wings?"

Jon: no, no. Flying monkeys, see, it just works better."

Me: Yeah, don't make me get my flying llamas, it's kinda lame... not very scary."

Jon: What are they gonna do spit on you?"

And this is why we don't drink.

T, who likes llamas, but alpacas are better

Technorati: randomness, humor, llamas

It's Not the Jerry Springer Show, 'cause Those always end badly, you know

warning...this post is a bit long...it's worth it, I promise

The year was 1989. I hadn't been divorced a a full year yet. And I was a cynic. I married the wrong guy, and we were too young...a story for a different day I was out with my girlfriends, who drug me out of the house on pain of death, and we were up to no good. Decked out in our short skirts, too-high heels and Bad Attitudes, we were a force to be reckoned with, so we thought. We were out to see and be seen. And we were. A voice yelled, "Hey, come party with us!"

My best girlfriend hit me on the arm and said, "Turn the car around! Go find him!" I wasn't so sure. But, it was Saturday night, my car was freshly washed and I was cruising Main Street, why not? When you grow up in a smallish town there isn't anything else to do at night except cruise Main. All the clubs were 20 miles away. Besides, with an army base nearby, this was the place to meet new people. A singles bar on wheels. And, if you had chemistry, there was always Lyon's, the coffee shop down the street. Or Denny's, for a mug o' coffee. I was going to have fun if it killed me.

I was wilder in those days. So I took the challenge to find the orangeish Chevy Nova the guy who had taken an interest in us was riding in. I hadn't gotten a good look at him, but my friends had, and they were happy. And I am sure he had friends, because, don't they always? Besides, I was the cruise director for this particular adventure. I couldn't let my friends down.

We spent most of the night trying to find them again, and just when we were about to give up, we spotted the Nova, a bit ahead of us. I stepped on the gas and my friend leaned out the window. "Park over THERE, " she yelled, as she gestured behind a strip mall. Our cars pulled over and my heart was thudding wildly. I wanted to go home. But hey, we were a group, and nothing happens in a group. I decided to put on a brave face for my friends. If I was lucky, this might actually be fun.

There were three of them, including the driver. And three of us, how convenient. We stood there and talked.The driver Rob, said less than than the others. I learned he was from Michigan, stationed at the nearby army base. He proved to be a really nice guy. One I wouldn't mind getting to know. My friend had found her guy. We all decided to get some coffee at the coffee shop down the street. It would be quieter, and since it was November, it would be warmer!

My girlfriends and I had an understanding. No one went off with any guy alone, ever. We stayed in a group, it was wiser. So we all piled back into our cars and met up again at Lyons. Over coffee, I learned he liked Monty Python. We shared the same taste in music. We both were passionate about social justice. We both hated superficial people and situations. We both ran deep. I decided I wouldn't mind seeing him again.

And I did. He became a good friend. For whatever reason, we never made a love connection, at least on my end. I found out much later that Rob had feelings for me. I never realized that, for whatever reason. That elusive "thing" just wasn't there for me, though. It should have been, he was everything anyone could ever want. We went out a lot. As friends, since we enjoyed one another's company. And he said he had a friend he wanted me to meet. This friend was funny, and a nice guy to be around. He proved to be everything Rob said he was.

The three of us became fast friends. We went to movies together. We went to Tequlia Tasters at El Torito together. We drank beer and talked to the sea lions on Wharf #2 together. I loved them both, they were my stars. The guys that I counted on, through thick and thin. I dated other men, but kept my friends. We would get together at least twice a week. (Back then, I went out almost every night, I was young and stupid). It might seem strange, that I hung out with two men, but at the time, it was just....right. There was nothing weird about it, and if other people thought there was, well, I never knew it.

When one was in the field, (that's where army guys get dressed up in uniform and war paint and run around and pretend to shoot one another) I would go out with the other one. It was completely platonic, and never felt awkward. I expanded my friends, and included them as well. They were a fixture.

We had some great times. We attended The Rocky Horror Picture Show together. Denny's at 3 a.m. Sleeping on a friend's floor. Running on the beach at dawn. Driving to San Jose to an alternative club. I felt more alive that year than probably ever.

At the time, I was madly in love with a man that was very bad for me, Sean. He was smooth. He said the right things. And he was a liar. And yet, I just kept coming back for more. His mind games nearly killed me. But that's a story for a different day.

Rob got out of the army and prepared to make his way back to Michigan. That's when my other friend, approached Rob about dating me. I was oblivious to this. Rob dented his car over it, rather than hit our friend. I found this out much later, I never knew about any of this behind-the-scenes drama.

I had a friend, Maile, who thought she wanted to date our mutual friend. And I felt a pang of jealousy. Don't get me wrong, I didn't want to go out with him romantically, but he was mine, and I didn't want to share him. About that time, I started looking at him differently. But just for a moment. You see, I couldn't afford it.

I believed that friends are friends forever and guys were a dime a dozen. I didn't want to risk my friendship by dating. I made a decision to take him out of the running, if he was ever there in the first place. We were friends. Best friends. I could call and cry to him about Sean and the way he was treating me, and my friend just listened. He didn't judge. He would say, "Let's go get something to eat, " and take my mind off of the situation. He became indispensable to me.

One night, Sean played one mind game too many, and I was done. (or maybe he was done with me) I was broken and bleeding, and just done. Rather than sit around the apartment and become suicidal, my friends dragged me out for ice cream. Just what a broken heart wants: company and ice cream.? No, it was the furthest thing from my mind. But I went.

At some point, a song came on the radio there in the ice cream parlor (and I know this sounds so childish and dramatic) but I burst into tears and ran out of the restaurant. What do you expect? I was in my early twenties! My friend followed me. He tried to talk to me, but I didn't want to hear it. I was done. Done with men, done with love. I ranted about how I wouldn't ever trust again. And that's when he said,

"Don't give up, because you never know..the person who loves you might be right beside you."

And I was so wrapped up in my pain, and my drama that I l didn't get what he was saying. I guess you have to hit me in the head with a brick. But, he was easy to hang out with, so I did. We started spending time together, more and more. And at some point, I admit, I made a decision that he would be my Rebound Guy. Only after he promised that whatever happened, we would stay friends. That came first. I figured we would be short-lived, because rebound relationships almost always are. But I never got antsy, never felt it was time to move on. This should end, I told myself, no commitments. The thing is? He wasn't asking for one. And I was comfortable.

You know when you watch those talk shows where the friend reveals a secret love to another friend? What happens? They always say, "I don't think of you in that way!" You know what? We are the success story.

I don't know how love happens. I have heard others say that they just "knew." For me, it wasn't that simple. He knew not to push. I would have run. I dated who I wanted, when I wanted, and he stood by me. It probably sounds like he was a pushover but he really wasn't. He was a very strong man and apparently he was very sure of himself. He knew I had to heal. At some point, I told him I didn't need to date anyone else, he was enough. I knew I was done for. I loved him truly, deeply and in a way I had never loved before. It was right. We knew one another. He was my best friend.

Three months later, we were married. (I asked him, for the record)

And that's how I met my husband; I was dating his best friend. That was 19 years ago. He is still my best friend. And I love him more now than I did then.

Happy Anniversary, J. I miss you. Hurry home.

T, who really is an incurable romantic

How did you know you were in love? Tell us about it!

Technorati: marriage, dating, love_story

A Magnetic Personality?

Welcome to new readers from Blogher! Glad you are here! I decided to post a favorite post from days gone by for your entertainment.

and my husband's chagrin

He is headed to Germany on a business trip next month. Shall we take bets on what he brings back?

A couple of weeks ago this exchange took place:

Jon: Honey, I have the opportunity to go to France for a convention.

Me: Oh, really? (meaning, woohoo, when do we go??)

Jon: it's completely last minute, and I have to get a passport. It will be boring, computer geeks all day

Me: Oh, really? (meaning woohoo, when do we go??)

Jon: yeah, what do you think? Do you think we can afford to pay for you to come along? What about someone to watch the kids?

Me: Probably not. I am very jealous, you know. I would really like to go. (meaning, I would really like to go!)

Jon: Yeah, next time.

Me: Well, at least bring me back something.

(then I went in the bedroom and cried and moped around a couple of days)

So, I killed him drove him to the airport, and I was stuck parenting 3 kids alone for a week. And still managed to stay mostly sane. It was no small feat. (or maybe it was the small feet...the pitter patter of them!) I will spare you the trials of that week...there isn't enough Xanax. Suffice it to say, he owed me. Big. Like, bring me back some bling from France big. Got it?

So I pick him up at the airport, and if you have ever been to LAX, you know what a zoo that place can be. I hadn't been there by myself before. What can I say? I live a very non-jet setting life. After circling the place twice, and pulling into the wrong parking garage and ending up going out the exit we arrived to pick him up. It is after 3 p.m. I have three children in tow who are tired, and ready to see their father. But no! We have to wait for the plane to deboard, he has to clear customs...did I mention I had three very antsy children with me? An hour later, he finally materializes and we head to the car. Once there, he gives the kids their souvenirs. Little beanie baby teddy bears that say the name of the city he was in: Lyon. How cute! Teddy bears for the kids. As I shiver excitedly, thinking of what he brought me. Jewelry? Candy? Something racy? ooh lala? Uh, no.

Ladies and gentlemen, it would appear the romance is over. THIS is what my beloved partner of 18 years brought me back, all the way from Europe. (not the frog, that is my cool magnet from the San Diego Zoo)

That's right. A kitchen magnet. I suppose I should have spelled it out to him. I mean, I have been married to him for so long, I should have remembered that when I say "Something" he hears, "something." In his defense, he was at his conferences all day, and the shops close early in France. And then on Saturday, there was a rail strike, so he couldn't get anywhere. And he is a computer coder, in any case. WYSIWIG- what you see is what you get. I know how literal he can be. And he is a great guy, but face it, he lacks imagination. He goes all the way to Europe and stays at the Holiday Inn.

And it had a really nice view of the slums behind the hotel, too. And did I mention it was 29 degrees and cold while he was there?

But. Big but. He went to France! And brought me back a kitchen magnet! This is the part where I throw a fit, and it might get ugly. Ah, forget it, I'll spare you that. You came for fun and games, not a huge downer.

Still, the magnet, it has a decent stick to it. You know how some magnets slip down the fridge whenever you put anything underneath them? This one stays. So, there's that. And it is cosmpolitan, sitting there next to the pizza delivery magnets and the kids' magnets and the "Carpet Cleaning, One Room $25" magnet that came in the mail. It makes me seem mysterious and interesting.

I'm keeping it. I want something to remind me on our 50th Wedding Anniversary of that Time He Went To France. It will make a good story. Either that, or it will be Exhibit A in the divorce hearing.

T, who must have a magnetic personality

So, what's the worst gift or souvenir that you ever got?

edited to add, I really do love the guy, honest

edit me rest of story

Technorati: vacation, marriage, souvenirs

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

Finally, A Way to Get the Guys In Line! NSFK

I don't usually run things that aren't PG, but I couldn't pass this up. I know it is an oldie, but I love it. If you are a gamer, married to a gamer, or just know about gaming culture, you will love this. And even if you aren't, (we call that a N00b) it is still very amusing.

T, who IS a Level 70 and don't forget it

Technorati: video, marriage, gamer

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

This Has Never Happened Here...I Plead the Fifth

savage chickens

T, who refuses to answer on the grounds it may incriminate me

Technorati: blogging, Savage_Chickens,

THIS is Ridiculous!

How is this possible??

83 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Superior Take the test!

Must have been the "marital congress" thing...

Ok, something is wonky. I took it again, with more negative answers and got a HIGHER score? 85?! Must be because I am good to my husband. But..I don't want to get up for breakfast, I serve in my pajamas, I do the stocking feet thing. I wear red nail polish. I buy too much from "tin cans and the delicatessen"...so why am I scoring so high?

T, who IS a feminist and I have no idea how I scored so well

Technorati: quiz, wife,

On Ducks, Marriage & Autism (not necessarily in that order)

"So what is the rate?" She inclined her head towards me. I swallowed, stalling because I didn't know. I knew it was high. I looked at her and said, "Not sure, but I know it is higher than the national average. That's just over 50% now." So I decided to come home and google up some actual figures. There is no question that raising a child with autism, even high-functioning autism, is a challenge. It is a challenge financially, emotionally, spiritually and attitudinally. It is an entire paradigm shift. Like living with a duck who wants grapes...all the time. It isn't hard to feel at your wits' end ..often. Many times J comes home and I just have nothing else to give. I am spent. Absolutely worn out, and not able to give to one more person. And who gets the short end of the stick? You guessed it: J does. And yet he rarely complains.

As I write this, he has sallied-forth on a mission of mercy. Yes, the kids are tucked into their beds, and he has gone to procure Starbucks mocha, the nectar of the gods. He knows foreplay. Or maybe he just knows how to keep me sane. Since life can

often be a war zone, and I, crawling over enemy lines without hesitation (okay, maybe there is a little hesitation) a medic on duty is necessary. That's where J comes in. I guess it works because we take care of each other. We get along well, and well, we don't really have to work at it. Which is good, because there isn't much time to work on much of anything in this house, not the way the littles behave. We can't take on anymore.

There is a reason we have cats. Cats are independent, don't mind if they aren't the center of attention and often prefer not to be. We don't have a dog, though I would love one, and maybe someday soon, we may take the plunge. But I don't have the time to devote to puppy training and walking and just being generally slobbered over and followed around. I get that enough. We would probably kill a fish, forgetting to feed it. And you don't want to see my yard. When we moved back home after the fire, we decided to do our own gardening. But me, in my infinite wisdom decided that we would do the Green Thing and not use poison on the lawn to kill the weeds. And, did I mention that I now use a rotary mower to save the environment? Unfortunately, it is now my lawn that needs salvation.

Lacking time, I haven't done the requisite internet search for nematodes and other magic organic fixes to protect my lawn from the weedie beasties. Consequently, my lawn, which of course, someone forgot to water, is now brown with green things bobbing in not quite a sea of crabgrass. We do manage to get it somewhat mowed, but it seems to be a losing battle. The flowerbeds are overgrown, and all good intentions to clear them and plant something gave way to a brochure left on our front stoop about code enforcement and happy neighbors. We don't know which one of the wonderful residents of our 'hood left it for us, but there it is.

And my answer? You try mowing the lawn when you have a 6 yr old in the middle of a screaming fit for who knows the reason (sometimes, there are no reasons) and a 9 yr old being defiant and refusing to do anything except repeat, "Can I have a cookie? Can I have a cookie? Can I have a cookie?" And this after being told, as I am wont to do: "Question asked and answered," ad nauseum. And amidst this, I will take time to mow the lawn? What planet does the anal neighbor with the perfect yard and the perfect teens (only they aren't because I see them on the corner) who mows his lawn and trims his plants nearly every day...what planet is he from?

So, there is little time left to work on things like marriages, or dinner reservations or breathing. So it is a very good thing that my marriage is usually so easy. We figure we survived the fire, when the house was completely smoked out, everything was destroyed and we had nothing but each other. We survived the insurance settlement and the rebuilding process and the redecorating and even the relocating. Autism after that? Cake.

In any case, I came home and found the figures. According to a few online sources, it is over 80%. Dr. Phil even pegged the rate at 86% if you can believe it. 86% of marriages amongst couples who have a child with autism end in divorce. So, since we have two children, does that make our rate higher? In fact, statistically, we aren't married at all! Yay, we are living in sin, and have been for almost 18 years! (Then why aren't we having more fun?)

T, who feels very lucky

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Technorati: autism, family,