Wednesday, September 17, 2014

YM and Seventeen did not prepare me for this!

I was saying good night to D when he stopped me. "Mom, I just don't understand what guys are thinking." I looked around to make sure I wasn't in a Seventeen Magazine article and realizing that this was happening I replied. "Well, you're a guy. What do you mean?"

"Well, a lot of guys are always thinking about b-o-o-b-i-e-s [yes,he spelled it out], and humping and sex..." I stopped him and asked him if he knew what sex was. "No. And I don't want to know."  Patti-1 Puberty-0

So I explained to him that people grow at different rates, and that as you get older your hormones change which leads to wanting different things. "No, I'll never want to think about stuff like that." I said, "okay," and told him that if he does change his mind, it's okay. It's natural. He then asked me what "fuck" means.

I paused, mentally slammed my face against a hot iron, and answered him the best way I could. "Well, Daniel, it's a crude way for people to talk about sex."

"Oh, like 'I'm going to eff.... someone?"

Yeah. Like that. He then mentioned hearing the word rape and things got serious. I explained to him what rape is and that no means no--when girls or guys say it. I told him it's not something to joke about EVER. He understood (at least, he didn't question it) and I thanked him for talking to me about this stuff. I told him that he can come to me with any questions, and that I was proud of him for talking to me.

I was getting ready to leave when I hear, "Mom?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"What's 'humping'?" Internal face-iron.

"Well, it's when people rub their privates up against each other--usually in clothes."

"Weird. Good night, Mom."

I think we just had our first sex talk. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go drink a bottle of vodka.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

In which a Facebook post turns into a blog post;.

Dear Rooster-Owning Neighbors,

One: I can sort of get it. "Ooh! We live in Kansas....let's get a rooster." I won't lie and say that's a thought that I would never have; I'm quirky like that. I've had many brilliant ideas (drunk AND sober) that I haven't followed through with. Ideas are fun. Irony is fun. Owning a rooster may be fun as well; I can't say for sure because I do not own a rooster. I feel fairly confident, though, that if I did own A rooster (not enough to necessitate an entire rack), I wouldn't own one here. In Manhattan. In a housing development. But we'll agree to disagree on that point. Which brings me to Point, the second...

Two: Your rooster sucks!!! Call me a naive "City Girl" (even though Northern Valley, NJ is NOT the City) but I was under the impression that roosters (much like three-year-old's) are Nature's Alarm Clock. I have a list of cartoons to back that fact up, Juvenile-style. (Points if that reference makes you giggle.) It is three o'clock in the afternoon and your rooster is cock-A-doodle-dooing as if it was the break of dawn. Or 1999.

Dude, I'm trying to knock out a hundred peas on Papa Pear right now and your damn rooster is distracting me. What the hell kind of rooster can't tell time? A sucky one, that kind. Sometimes getting stuff on clearance is a good deal; sometimes stuff is clearance for a reason. Again, call me an ignorant city girl but I don't think livestock should be purchased at a yard sale. Teach Fogghorn Legghorn's illegitimate son how to tell time.


I received a lot of feedback on what I should do about this situation: have the neighbors deported, get a fox, scream painfully as if the rooster's call is actually causing me physical pain. Well, I did some research (read: made something up) and I've concluded that the rooster is actually a service animal. The owner has narcolepsy and the reason the rooster yells at all hours is to wake the owner up. That makes him ... *puts on sunglasses* 

An alarm cock.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Tuesday (sorry, can't think of anything clever.)

Daniel has his music program at school tonight. Tuesday. At 7:30.  From what I have been told by his Para, there is NO organization to this, the 4th graders are supposed to show up DURING the 3rd grade performance, then there will be a guitar hand-off between the 3rd and 4th, they will take to the risers and sing, play recorder, and play guitar. No rehearsal during the day to see how it will work out, nor will the 4th graders be meeting in a classroom or even the hallway to walk in together.  Curt and Mrs. Nehila would NEVER allow such a haphazard production.

Anyway, Tuesdays are Daniel's long day. He has therapy in the morning before school (and today's was tough), then school, then his acting club goes until 5:30. We don't get home until about six and then we have eat dinner, change clothes (Daniel, not us) and go back to his school for a concert that, by my guessing, will be 30 minutes MINIMUM. Also,his meds start to be weaning off during late afternoon/early evening and going into this situation with lots of chaos, and noise....I just don't know.

The more I think about it, the more I want to keep him home. Does that make me a bad mom? Obviously, if he really wants to go I will take him, but I have a feeling that he might be okay with it since yesterday afternoon he was already getting nervous about it.

This part of the Spectrum is hard: He is so talented and loves performing, but the pre-performance anxiety nearly destroys him. *sigh*

Sunday, April 20, 2014


Earlier, as we were leaving Dillion's.....

D: [pouting]
Me: What's wrong, buddy?
D: My heart doesn't feel good. I feel lonely.
A: You're not lonely, bro, because I'm here and I'm still your brother.

I smiled when I heard that, and I felt so proud of A. But then in that same moment I got scared because one day, that unconditional love A has for his big brother isn't going to be there. And it will be D's fault. 

While I hurt for D as he struggles and lives his life on the Spectrum, I mostly feel bad and sad for A. He has heard so much screaming and yelling, seen his brother meltdown numerous times, seen his parents physically restrain D, and also been physically hurt by him. There have been days that I have seen nothing but pure terror in A's eyes after doing something to D. (Don't get me wrong, A knows how to instigate, but he still doesn't deserve pure terror.)  He's heard his big brother threaten to kill himself and seen him pull a knife on me.  But A loves him. 

Maybe it's because I relate to A in a different way. I grew up seeing my parents scream and yell and throw things and inflict fear and pain on us kids. It kills me that A has to see all that happening. Granted, it's different (my parents were horrible, horrible people; D is on the Autism Spectrum), but I know how much it hurts to see things that you can't change--that you can't help. 

Then, on the flip side...A follows all of D's modeled behavior. Good AND bad. So he's started hitting himself, and saying, "I'm stupid, nobody loves me," and saying that he should be gone from the family. Earlier today he said, "Mom, just hurt me. I'm stupid."  He's been tested and he's not on the Spectrum; this is all just mimicry. Nonetheless, it sucks. And is why my 4-year-old goes to counseling. (Well, that and his dad being deployed.)

I don't know. My head's all over the place right now. I'm thinking it's a sugar crash. Also, I'm trying to get back into the habit of blogging so that's that. 

The best conversation ever

This happened. Warning: It may be offensive to some. It is full of sacrilegious and blasphemous theories. There is some mild vegetarian/vegan insults, as well as a brief officer insult observation. The names have been shortened to letters because I felt like it. It also contains a link to one of my favorite clips from The Simpsons. There. There's your warning.

Easter on Facebook

Me:  Happy Zombie Jesus Day!
LM:  Jesus isn't a zombie... He's a vampire
Me:  He died and came back from the dead. That is the very definition of a zombie.

JS:  I know some officers who fit this definition
Me: Fair point.

LM:  Yeah... But the same is true for vamps! Plus, he tells us to drink his blood and live forever...
JS:  Jesus. Or as our friends south of the border call him, Jesus is neither. He is a necromancer with an Oedipus complex and daddy issues. He's Teflon and a great dude to have at a party. Peekaboo is not a game to play with him
-written from hell

Me:  But if he were a vampire, HE'D be the one drinking blood. And he would have had to be bitten by a vampire to become one (according to lore). So while yes, a person gets bitten, dies, and then reanimates as a vampire, the main thing keeping him in zombie status is that he doesn't drink blood to infect other people to also turn them into risen messiah-figures.
Me:  And, if I want to get VERY sacrilegious it could be argued that technically zombies eat brains. Well, in certain cases doesn't it seem that super religious people are brainwashed? So perhaps this zombie is metaphorically "eating" their brains.
Me:  J, I'll see you in hell.
AS:  ^ brilliant thought

LM: I think he was always a vampire... He did raise Lazarus from the dead before he was risen. Maybe Jesus was one of those nice zombies that only sucks the blood of bunny rabbits so he doesn't have to hurt people.
LM: Vampire! Not zombie! Haha
Me:  Damnit. Forgot about Lazarus. I'm still on Team Zombie, though.
LML: Lol

AS:  Could be a vegetarian zombie like me, "Grains"
Me:  A vegetarian zombie makes as much sense as Vegan breastmilk.
AS:  Ouch. I will never be able to hurt anyone. If zombie-hood were to approach. Lol.
Me: This is seriously the best conversation I've been a part of.
The Simpsons - Sacrilicious
Homer eats the waffle God.
AS:  Hahaha!!! I will be saying that often now.

JS:  I'm leaning a tad toward vampire. How else could billions call him Father if they weren't "changed" by his blood. Unless he's a pimp. Then that's ball game