Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
February 03 2012
Walking to the bus stop one morning with Jedi tagging along beside me yammering on about something or other, as is his usual way, when he turns to me in mid-run-on-sentence with a request.
“Hey, Mom, can you teach me how to whistle?”
“I don’t know how to whistle”, I tell him. It’s true, I don’t know how to whistle. I’ve attempted, others have tried to impart their wisdom, but they all say I’m just blowing air out of mouth. Hot air, no surprise. To further blow his mind, I also offer this extra piece of information towards my inadequacies. “I don’t know how to swim, either.”
“You don’t know how to swim?”, he asks, shocked. It was as if I could have told him I was born with a tail. Though he doesn’t know how to swim, either.
That’s right, kid. Your mom has no idea what she’s doing on many fronts. So please don’t fall into a large body of water, because not only can I not swim, but I also can’t whistle for help.
A list of other select things I can’t do:
- understand a large part of his 2nd grade math
- crafts
- drive in Chicago, or any large city, without incurring an anxiety attack
- fall asleep without the television on
- properly accessorize
- roller skate
- read or write or talk about s.e.x. without blushing
So tell me, as that I may feel better about myself and everything that escapes my ability, what are some things that you can’t do?
January 30 2012
My hands are full. I suppose I could see how this simple statement that spectators like to offer might come across as offensive, but I never saw it as such. To me, it appeared as a way to notice that I was doing the best I could considering, but there’s just not enough of a single me to go around.
The thing is, I do have my hands full. They are spilling over, actually. This mothering gig doesn’t come easily. I’m not the only one.
Because aside from what you see, there is what you can’t. There truly is something to be said about not judging a book by its cover. If all I had to deal with was my daughter and all of her exaggerated 3 year old antics. This really is the hardest age. Except there’s more, as there always is. There’s the worry and stress that come with Jedi’s diabetes. It adds an additional question on top of everything. He’s your typical 8 year old in every other way, however, a barrel of contradiction and steadfast opinions. So even that doesn’t say it all.
There’s more, as there tends to be. Without knowing him, Buzz looks like a typical 5 year old boy. And when he acts out in public, you could assume that I just don’t have a grip on my son. But his autism manifests in many extremes. He is exuberant energy and emotions that range from the highest high to the lowest low with nary an in between. At his best, he is difficult to manage. His attention and focus are limited, tried and true discipline doesn’t work. He lashes out when he doesn’t know what else to do. Which is often. Even with every great quality, of which there are many, he could take up the only two hands I have by himself.
So yes, my hands are full. To those who say it out loud or just think it to yourself as you pass by. I completely agree with you.
January 23 2012
Being that I am a stay-home mom myself, I’m familiar with the dress code. Or lack thereof. Mostly containing such staples as yoga pants or sweats. Old t-shirts. Slippers to flip flops. Hair in a disheveled ponytail. There is some room for preference, but the main loose style remains the same. Comfortable. Like we just woke up, or about to go back to bed. With a glass of wine and a box of chocolate.
I kind of wish that stereotype held true to my real life.
Just like I wouldn’t go out without a bra, the same goes for pants. I don’t feel right leaving my house without pants on. I have an affinity for pants. Pajamas are surely the more comfortable alternative, but I can’t bring myself to wear them in public, no matter how far. Not pajama jeans. Pants, people. It’s where it’s at.
Maybe this is my own personal hangup. I should embrace my role, become one with the uniform. They say everyone else around me is doing it. I’d fit right in. Maybe never changing out of your pajamas is the key to happiness.
There was a woman, new to the scene, waiting at the bus stop with her daughter. While I was in a pair of pants, there she confidently stood in her pink fleece pajamas adorned with monkey faces. And I was jealous. Not only was she was more comfortable in that moment than I, but the convenience was a revelation. I have no idea what her day entails, but I imagined her seamlessly slipping back into bed for a few more hours of gainful, restful sleep.
Never have I been able to go back to bed after sending my boys off to school.
Clearly, I’m going about this gig all wrong. I blame my pants.
January 02 2012
So, 2011 sucked.
There’s no sense pussyfooting around it. Last year sucked, excessively. It sucked hard. It was a terribly awful year where every time I turned around another bad thing was happening, to where I just wanted to throw my hands up and surrender at life. Come to think of it, 2010 wasn’t much better. It’s hard to make lemonade when all the juice has already been sucked dry.
Cue the tiny violins.
Because then, there’s perspective. Everyone I love and that matters is still here. It’s not easy, but we’re making it, together. My children are resilient and flourishing. And even though I’ve been knocked down, repeatedly, I’m still standing. Beat up black and blue, but on my feet.
I believe 2012 has to be better.
Dear lord, it has to be.
Which is why I’m making 2012 about finding my happy.
In case I didn’t make it clear yet, last year wasn’t filled with many happy moments. I have not been happy. For a long time, my days have been barely functioning. Something has to change. It’s not a resolution. I don’t expect anything miraculous. I just need to find my direction. To begin taking the right steps, wherever I’m supposed to go, towards a better place of happier. Because essentially, I just want to feel like I can laugh again.
November 29 2011
Growing up, we played a lot of board games. This was back before the days of iPads and internet, when the only computers I knew of were Commodore 64′s and regular old Nintendos were the must have video game console. And so we spent the majority of our time sitting around a table playing board games, as we had no other choice.
There were many that I loved: Monopoly and Life were great if we had nothing to do the rest of the day. Hungry, Hungry Hippo for noise. Yahtzee and Battleship for a quick round of fun. Then, Memory and Connect 4 because I was really good at them, and it’s always better when I knew I would most likely win.
Even though we do have a choice now, we’re beginning to appreciate the classic board games again. All weekend, Jedi and I were immersed in a battle of Monopoly. Abby has a Toy Story 3 Memory game that she loves to play, although she’s a rather sore loser. And Buzz has taken to Connect 4.
Well, his own superhero version of Connect 4.
For those who don’t know, Connect 4 comes with 2 different color chips, the goal of which is to connect 4 of your color. There are yellow and red. But it’s now not just yellow and red. To Buzz, it’s Spiderman and The Incredible Hulk. To stack one on top of the other equals a SpiderHulk. Though it has to be in a certain row. And judging by his prominent vocal annoyance, every chip I dropped in was done wrong. I’ve never lost so many games of Connect 4 in my life.
I miss the days when I was good at Connect 4, back when I knew what I was doing. I just don’t seem to understand these new rules.
