OK, so my ENTIRE life I've been told that I really am some lost refugee from the '60s. That I was born 10 years too late. That I should have been at Woodstock (go look it up if you don't know what it is :D), that I should have lived in the era of tye-dyed shirts and bell bottom hipster jeans and peace signs, and sex, drugs, and rock & roll. Peace rallies and Folk Singers with songs of protest. When everyone had a CAUSE they believed in, and would fight, risk going to jail, because of that cause. All of a sudden, at the ripe old age of 47, I've managed to find myself in the position of ACTIVIST.
I fit the definition. I have a cause, I'm passionate about it, I'm diligently gathering as much information as I can on the topic, AND, I'm continually looking for ways to 'stick it to the man' as they would have said in the 60s/70s. Now, we'll just say, 'paralyze my opponents'. It's truly been a fascinating, eye-opening experience (by the way, I haven't started writing folk songs...yet). One I'm sure will get passed down at the family dinner tables when I'm 102 and my great-grandchildren want to hear about what a rebel their Great-Grandma was. How much trouble she caused (I'm still wondering if I'll end up getting arrested yet or not, that one is still out for debate).
One thing I've noticed is that people, in general, are stupid. They get "stuck" on an idea, regardless of how preposterous, and you can't change their mind for anything.
Another thing: people LOVE conspiracy theories. UFOs, JFK, can Twinkies survive nuclear holocaust? Did Bill Clinton REALLY inhale?? Was Arlen Specter really a robot after his brain surgery?? (honestly, it kind of appeared that way). The more outrageous the theory, the more likely people are to believe it. Or, at least be influenced by it.
In the past few months, I've watched more "responsible, reasonable adults" resort to name calling, tantrums, and other childish behavior that I truly care not to mention. Instead of working together as a community to solve a community's problem, people are divided, yelling at each other, insulting each other, resorting to pot-shots behind anonymous names on FaceBook (ok, I can almost understand kids doing this sort of thing because it's childish and ridiculously immature, but ADULTS???, come on, be serious).
I feel like I'm stranded out alone on a desert island. I'm trying to figure out REAL methods to solving the issues, while everyone else is acting like 10 year olds. I'm spending DAYS doing research, I'm contacting the people I need to contact and sharing what I need to share and moving on. They think I'm a radical. I've been called "evil", "diabolical", "genius", "insane", "naive", and "ridiculous". They think there's not much hope for what I'm working for. I DON'T CARE. If I can get ONE person in a higher position that me to think, than my efforts won't be in vain. I'm so frustrated, I have a few close people that I can trust to talk things out with. But, I can't share what I'm thinking with too many because now, on top of everything else, we're playing "spy". If the other party finds out what I'm doing, then there will be time for them to counter my actions. That would not be good. So, I'm running around in secret, digging up information, trying to figure out how best to use it, afraid that someone is going to inform on me.
And all I WANT to do is sit back and flash peace signs at everyone, wear tye-dye and put my purple hair up in pigtails.
I said, WAR, huh
Good God, y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again
-Edwin Starr
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
It is in my world...
That's my son's new expression. If I've not mentioned it before, he's on the Autism spectrum. PDD-NOS, which for those not Spectrum-oriented means "Pervasive Developmental Delay - Not Otherwise Specified". Pretty much meaning, he's got delays in speech, in fine and gross motor skills, and in social skills, but we can't be any more specific than that about it. Duh. He's 8 years old but acts more like he's somewhere around 4 or 5. So, he's DELAYED, and there's no specific reason for it. Good technical name for the condition, eh? It mostly just confuses people.
He's smart as a whip. Has a nearly photographic memory. Remembers conversations practically verbatim, but if you try to sit him down to take a standardized IQ test (which doesn't make sense to him because that is NOT how his brain is wired), he'll test close to what is considered "mentally retarded". Which, just by talking to him for 2 minutes, you can tell he is not. That sort of makes me angry. Standardized tests cannot be used to test EVERYTHING. Sometimes, things just don't quite fit into tiny little boxes.
The very best example I've seen of spectrum thinking was at Sesame Place, an amusement park based on Sesame Street which is about 10 minutes from where we live. The Variety Club (BLESS THEM) works with the Autism Society of America to create a day JUST FOR spectrum kids. They tone down the lights and the music so that the kids with the sensory issues don't melt down. They instruct the character players not to go TO the kids, but rather, let the kids come to them, which is necessary as some of these kids cannot bear to be approached by a stranger....even if that "stranger" is someone they feel they know, like Elmo. It's a great day. The kids have the park to themselves all day and it's not very crowded, so there aren't long lines at rides or anything like that. It's pretty cool. On to my example. One of the absolute favorite "rides" is the MoonJump. It's basically a giant pit of huge air filled tarps, and kids go in there and bounce around all over the place. They bounce higher than they can jump because of the air beneath them. It's sort of like a trampoline, only kewler. Well, our son, like everyone else wanted to go in there. They let about 30 kids go in there at a time, now remember, these are all spectrum kids going onto this ride at the same time. If it were what we now refer to as "typical" kids, you'd have 30 kids bouncing around like jumping beans for the 5 minute duration of the ride. Watching the spectrum kids was miraculous to me, it showed the spectrum in a way I'd never seen it before. Some kids were standing perfectly still, or trying to as the floor flowed beneath them. Some sat down, like they were in a boat on the high sea. Some laid down flat on their back to watch the sky and enjoy the sensations, while others laid on their stomach and just rode the waves. Some were jumping like ping pong balls, never stopping for a second. Others were jumping as high as they could only to collapse in a heap on the mat beneath them and then ride it out. Every single kid was riding that ride their own individual way. 30 kids, 30 unique ways to use that bouncer, as opposed to the "typical" kids who all go in and literally jump (or 90% of them) like sheep because that's what you're "supposed" to do in there. But, our kids did this THEIR way. It was kind of awe-inspiring, finally a little glimpse into the minds of these kids. That they looked at this ride and saw it a totally different way than it's intended use, and that's how they used it. In a way that felt "RIGHT" for them. It didn't hurt anyone, it didn't bother anyone, it was simply different.
And I think that's pretty much how their whole lives are in general. At least, for my son. He doesn't hurt anyone, he doesn't really bother anyone (except, I must admit, the hyperfocusing thingy can really work my last reserve-nerve), he's just seeing things different. It's not his job to explain to me how he's seeing it is different from how I see it. It's enough for me to just know it's different, and if I need to know, then it's on me to figure it out.
People need to be a lot more understanding. The number right now is 1 in 150, that's going to drop. I think it's closer to 1 in 100 now. I read an article about why there are more boys affected than girls. I'm thinking that it's possibly the next step in the evolutionary chain. The super male gene. Males are more systematic, more analytical, less emotional, less empathic. They're checking the testosterone levels in pregnant women now to see, and the females that are developing autism have higher levels of testosterone. This is a very new study. But, it wouldn't surprise me a whole lot. We just have to learn how to unlock the puzzle. Not try to fix them.
My son's favorite expression right now is "It is in my world." Or, "Not, in my world". Like he'll say the sky is green and I'll say, no, it's not and he'll pipe up with "It is in my world."
I would dearly LOVE to see his world.
~marz~
He's smart as a whip. Has a nearly photographic memory. Remembers conversations practically verbatim, but if you try to sit him down to take a standardized IQ test (which doesn't make sense to him because that is NOT how his brain is wired), he'll test close to what is considered "mentally retarded". Which, just by talking to him for 2 minutes, you can tell he is not. That sort of makes me angry. Standardized tests cannot be used to test EVERYTHING. Sometimes, things just don't quite fit into tiny little boxes.
The very best example I've seen of spectrum thinking was at Sesame Place, an amusement park based on Sesame Street which is about 10 minutes from where we live. The Variety Club (BLESS THEM) works with the Autism Society of America to create a day JUST FOR spectrum kids. They tone down the lights and the music so that the kids with the sensory issues don't melt down. They instruct the character players not to go TO the kids, but rather, let the kids come to them, which is necessary as some of these kids cannot bear to be approached by a stranger....even if that "stranger" is someone they feel they know, like Elmo. It's a great day. The kids have the park to themselves all day and it's not very crowded, so there aren't long lines at rides or anything like that. It's pretty cool. On to my example. One of the absolute favorite "rides" is the MoonJump. It's basically a giant pit of huge air filled tarps, and kids go in there and bounce around all over the place. They bounce higher than they can jump because of the air beneath them. It's sort of like a trampoline, only kewler. Well, our son, like everyone else wanted to go in there. They let about 30 kids go in there at a time, now remember, these are all spectrum kids going onto this ride at the same time. If it were what we now refer to as "typical" kids, you'd have 30 kids bouncing around like jumping beans for the 5 minute duration of the ride. Watching the spectrum kids was miraculous to me, it showed the spectrum in a way I'd never seen it before. Some kids were standing perfectly still, or trying to as the floor flowed beneath them. Some sat down, like they were in a boat on the high sea. Some laid down flat on their back to watch the sky and enjoy the sensations, while others laid on their stomach and just rode the waves. Some were jumping like ping pong balls, never stopping for a second. Others were jumping as high as they could only to collapse in a heap on the mat beneath them and then ride it out. Every single kid was riding that ride their own individual way. 30 kids, 30 unique ways to use that bouncer, as opposed to the "typical" kids who all go in and literally jump (or 90% of them) like sheep because that's what you're "supposed" to do in there. But, our kids did this THEIR way. It was kind of awe-inspiring, finally a little glimpse into the minds of these kids. That they looked at this ride and saw it a totally different way than it's intended use, and that's how they used it. In a way that felt "RIGHT" for them. It didn't hurt anyone, it didn't bother anyone, it was simply different.
And I think that's pretty much how their whole lives are in general. At least, for my son. He doesn't hurt anyone, he doesn't really bother anyone (except, I must admit, the hyperfocusing thingy can really work my last reserve-nerve), he's just seeing things different. It's not his job to explain to me how he's seeing it is different from how I see it. It's enough for me to just know it's different, and if I need to know, then it's on me to figure it out.
People need to be a lot more understanding. The number right now is 1 in 150, that's going to drop. I think it's closer to 1 in 100 now. I read an article about why there are more boys affected than girls. I'm thinking that it's possibly the next step in the evolutionary chain. The super male gene. Males are more systematic, more analytical, less emotional, less empathic. They're checking the testosterone levels in pregnant women now to see, and the females that are developing autism have higher levels of testosterone. This is a very new study. But, it wouldn't surprise me a whole lot. We just have to learn how to unlock the puzzle. Not try to fix them.
My son's favorite expression right now is "It is in my world." Or, "Not, in my world". Like he'll say the sky is green and I'll say, no, it's not and he'll pipe up with "It is in my world."
I would dearly LOVE to see his world.
~marz~
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Duh Moments
My WonderHubby and I were discussing our DUH MOMENTS this morning. You know, those moments in time when you are being so incredibly stupid and don't realize it and when you finally do, you feel like you should be whacked in the head with a heavy object?? Not heavy enough to kill you, but heavy enough to knock the stupidity out of you. If you're REALLY lucky, you can manage to not have any witnesses to the DUH MOMENT. But, generally, there's at least one person present who will see or hear it, get hysterical and will never EVER let you forget that it happened.
WH and I had a united DUH MOMENT, fortunately with no witnesses. So, of course, what am I going to do about that?? Blog about it, what else? I figure revealing to everyone at once is better than telling one person at a time, right?
We lived in a little town approximately an hour away from my parents and had been visiting them after work one evening and got ready to head home. Now, on the FM dial on our radio here, you can pick up ABC. I've no idea, but it was always fun to be able to listen to the network news and such when we were driving. As we were leaving the house, Jeopardy was coming on. Kewl. We got to play along. We listened to the questions, bantered answers back and forth and even tried to figure out how much we would have won. I even think we managed to get the Final Jeopardy question right, believe it or not. Well, Jeopardy ends, and everyone knows what comes on after Jeopardy, right??
WHEEL OF FORTUNE!!!
Oh, we were PUMPED. This was so cool, we didn't have a totally boring ride home. We sat in anticipation of the show, heard the announcer, the music, introduction of Pat Sajack and Vanna White, their little banter, the introduction of the contestants, and are you ready??? Let's see the first puzzle!!! Boo-da-da-bing!! (is anyone here seeing a problem yet??...we didn't) Pat says, "The category is famous sayings, let's have the r, s, t, l, n, and e", ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. (we're STILL not seeing a problem) Pat says to the first contestant (for sake of argument we'll call him John), "John, go ahead and spin the wheel". Josh spins the wheel, we hear the clickety-click-click till it slows down, "$800.00!! Pick a letter!!". John says, "Pat, can I have an H??", ding, ding, ding.
RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT, Wonder Hubby and I looked at each other and realized that:
a)We couldn't SEE the puzzle.
b)We had no idea how many words or letters were said puzzle.
c)We had no idea where those three "H"s that John just called went.
d)We were morons.
We also laughed ourselves simple. Here are two college educated professionals, who couldn't figure out immediately that you can't play a VISUAL game over the radio. DUH MOMENT!!!! That was many years ago now.
I got to have my own very personal DUH MOMENT a just a few years ago, only this time, my children were witnesses, and I will never live this one down and yes, they do periodically remind me of it, just to let me know they remember, I think.
We drove across the country. My husband, our three boys and I drove the entire Lewis & Clark Trail, WHICH, is probably one of the most cool things I've ever done in my entire life. Once on the west coast, we had family obligations in Seattle, and then we had to drive rather quickly back to PA. We did opt to make a few select stops along the way. One was to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, OH, and the other was to the Black Hills of South Dakota so that we could see Mt. Rushmore. Seeing Mt. Rushmore had been a childhood dream of mine and I couldn't be *that* close to it and not go see it.
We made it to the base of the mountain and our hotel just before the time that they would be lighting it up for the evening. Every night they have a ceremony, and then light up the entire mountain face, if you EVER get a chance to see it, do so, it's an amazing experience. Well, we drove up the mountain, and got to the main gates, after all, it is a National Park, and we had to pay admission. All of a sudden, I noticed this big white dog kind of meandering among the cars waiting to go through the toll gates to get into the parking area. I looked at it kind of quickly, it was white, had a beard, lots of long white hair. It looked like an Afghan Hound mix of some sort. Then I realized there were three, maybe four of them just milling around the cars, and I went OFF on a rant.
WHY would people let their dogs out NOW, HERE?? Here's these DOGS, roaming around this area streaming with cars and trucks and RVs and stuff, and any one of them could run over these dogs in a heartbeat!!! What were those idiot owners thinking by letting their dogs out NOW to do their business, especially since it wasn't off to the side somewhere, but just out in the middle of the pavement???
While I was going off on this rant, I was mostly watching one of these dogs until it went close to the guardrail where the mountain just dropped off. All of a sudden, while I was in mid-sentence, one of those big white dogs OOOP and slipped underneath the guardrail like nothing and disappeared!!! I stopped speaking and looked really HARD at one of the other big white dogs.
THEY WERE MOUNTAIN GOATS!!!!!
So, now, here I've gone off on this 5 solid minute rant about irresponsible people and their big white dogs, for mountain goats, AND, there are witnesses. I suppose I'm just going to have to keep bribing them to keep from humiliating me.
DUH MOMENTS. Everybody has them, we all hate them, and we pray that nobody sees them. They're not always funny when they happen, but make for GREAT stories over the family dinner table years later during the holidays. Welcome to the beginning of the holiday season everyone, get those DUH STORIES out, dust them off, and be proud!!!
WH and I had a united DUH MOMENT, fortunately with no witnesses. So, of course, what am I going to do about that?? Blog about it, what else? I figure revealing to everyone at once is better than telling one person at a time, right?
We lived in a little town approximately an hour away from my parents and had been visiting them after work one evening and got ready to head home. Now, on the FM dial on our radio here, you can pick up ABC. I've no idea, but it was always fun to be able to listen to the network news and such when we were driving. As we were leaving the house, Jeopardy was coming on. Kewl. We got to play along. We listened to the questions, bantered answers back and forth and even tried to figure out how much we would have won. I even think we managed to get the Final Jeopardy question right, believe it or not. Well, Jeopardy ends, and everyone knows what comes on after Jeopardy, right??
WHEEL OF FORTUNE!!!
Oh, we were PUMPED. This was so cool, we didn't have a totally boring ride home. We sat in anticipation of the show, heard the announcer, the music, introduction of Pat Sajack and Vanna White, their little banter, the introduction of the contestants, and are you ready??? Let's see the first puzzle!!! Boo-da-da-bing!! (is anyone here seeing a problem yet??...we didn't) Pat says, "The category is famous sayings, let's have the r, s, t, l, n, and e", ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. (we're STILL not seeing a problem) Pat says to the first contestant (for sake of argument we'll call him John), "John, go ahead and spin the wheel". Josh spins the wheel, we hear the clickety-click-click till it slows down, "$800.00!! Pick a letter!!". John says, "Pat, can I have an H??", ding, ding, ding.
RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT, Wonder Hubby and I looked at each other and realized that:
a)We couldn't SEE the puzzle.
b)We had no idea how many words or letters were said puzzle.
c)We had no idea where those three "H"s that John just called went.
d)We were morons.
We also laughed ourselves simple. Here are two college educated professionals, who couldn't figure out immediately that you can't play a VISUAL game over the radio. DUH MOMENT!!!! That was many years ago now.
I got to have my own very personal DUH MOMENT a just a few years ago, only this time, my children were witnesses, and I will never live this one down and yes, they do periodically remind me of it, just to let me know they remember, I think.
We drove across the country. My husband, our three boys and I drove the entire Lewis & Clark Trail, WHICH, is probably one of the most cool things I've ever done in my entire life. Once on the west coast, we had family obligations in Seattle, and then we had to drive rather quickly back to PA. We did opt to make a few select stops along the way. One was to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, OH, and the other was to the Black Hills of South Dakota so that we could see Mt. Rushmore. Seeing Mt. Rushmore had been a childhood dream of mine and I couldn't be *that* close to it and not go see it.
We made it to the base of the mountain and our hotel just before the time that they would be lighting it up for the evening. Every night they have a ceremony, and then light up the entire mountain face, if you EVER get a chance to see it, do so, it's an amazing experience. Well, we drove up the mountain, and got to the main gates, after all, it is a National Park, and we had to pay admission. All of a sudden, I noticed this big white dog kind of meandering among the cars waiting to go through the toll gates to get into the parking area. I looked at it kind of quickly, it was white, had a beard, lots of long white hair. It looked like an Afghan Hound mix of some sort. Then I realized there were three, maybe four of them just milling around the cars, and I went OFF on a rant.
WHY would people let their dogs out NOW, HERE?? Here's these DOGS, roaming around this area streaming with cars and trucks and RVs and stuff, and any one of them could run over these dogs in a heartbeat!!! What were those idiot owners thinking by letting their dogs out NOW to do their business, especially since it wasn't off to the side somewhere, but just out in the middle of the pavement???
While I was going off on this rant, I was mostly watching one of these dogs until it went close to the guardrail where the mountain just dropped off. All of a sudden, while I was in mid-sentence, one of those big white dogs OOOP and slipped underneath the guardrail like nothing and disappeared!!! I stopped speaking and looked really HARD at one of the other big white dogs.
THEY WERE MOUNTAIN GOATS!!!!!
So, now, here I've gone off on this 5 solid minute rant about irresponsible people and their big white dogs, for mountain goats, AND, there are witnesses. I suppose I'm just going to have to keep bribing them to keep from humiliating me.
DUH MOMENTS. Everybody has them, we all hate them, and we pray that nobody sees them. They're not always funny when they happen, but make for GREAT stories over the family dinner table years later during the holidays. Welcome to the beginning of the holiday season everyone, get those DUH STORIES out, dust them off, and be proud!!!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Can I throw you out the window?
When we were growing up, our parents all told us their wise words of wisdom gleaned from their hard learned life lessons. We'd all listen politely, sort of, then basically write them off because, as everyone knows, you cannot learn from someone else's mistakes.
Wrong.
Friends of ours had twin boys. When this happened, they were probably 7 or 8 years old. They were having the age old debate over "Can" vs "May" in their house as most parents do at some point or other. One of the boys ran in to his father and said, "Dad, can I (do whatever it was he wanted to do inserted here)?", his father's response was a very calm, "Can I throw you out the window?"
His son looked at him in horror and said, "NO!", to which his father said, "WRONG!", and unceremoniously picked him up and bodily deposited him out the window to the ground below (the room was partially below ground so he only let the boy drop about 3 feet, so don't panic here). The kid came STORMING back into the house, red faced and furious, yelling the whole, "You can't do that to me!" thing, and his father calmly said, "Let's try this again. Go ahead and ask me your question".
Once again, the boy asks, "Can I (insert whatever he wanted here)?". His father responded, "Can I throw you out the window?" The boy said, "NO!!!" The father said, "WRONG!!!", and promptly dumped him out the window yet again. Now, this scenario played out three or four more times. Are you seeing a pattern here?
Finally, totally defeated, the son comes back in, and his father tells him to try this again. So he says to his father in a weary voice, "Can I (insert it one more time for posterity)?". His father says yet again, "Can I throw you out the window?", and in total exasperation the son says, "YES, Dad!! YES, You CAN throw me out the window!!! You've done it (some exaggerated number) times already!!!" With a smirk, his father then says "MAY I throw you out the window?"
The light finally dawning on the boy, his jaw drops open and he just stares at his father and he utters a stern "NO!! NO you may NOT throw me out the window!!" Smiling, the father said, "Well now, I think you've FINALLY learned the difference between "CAN" and "MAY". We won't be having an issue with that again, will we?" And they did not. The boy is grown and off to college now without ever having to be thrown out of another window, to my knowledge.
I told my boys that story when they were roughly 4 and 5 and we were having that same, exact Can/May issue. They thought it was really funny at first. Especially the "throwing you out the window" part. However, for about 3 months when they'd start out a question with "Can I?", all WonderHubby or I would have to do is say, "Can I throw you out the window?", and they instantly converted the question to "May I?" After about 3 months they didn't ask "Can I?" questions anymore. That's the only example I actually know of where someone truly learned from someone else's mistake.
Well, that, and it's about an 8 foot drop to the ground from our windows. *g*
Wrong.
Friends of ours had twin boys. When this happened, they were probably 7 or 8 years old. They were having the age old debate over "Can" vs "May" in their house as most parents do at some point or other. One of the boys ran in to his father and said, "Dad, can I (do whatever it was he wanted to do inserted here)?", his father's response was a very calm, "Can I throw you out the window?"
His son looked at him in horror and said, "NO!", to which his father said, "WRONG!", and unceremoniously picked him up and bodily deposited him out the window to the ground below (the room was partially below ground so he only let the boy drop about 3 feet, so don't panic here). The kid came STORMING back into the house, red faced and furious, yelling the whole, "You can't do that to me!" thing, and his father calmly said, "Let's try this again. Go ahead and ask me your question".
Once again, the boy asks, "Can I (insert whatever he wanted here)?". His father responded, "Can I throw you out the window?" The boy said, "NO!!!" The father said, "WRONG!!!", and promptly dumped him out the window yet again. Now, this scenario played out three or four more times. Are you seeing a pattern here?
Finally, totally defeated, the son comes back in, and his father tells him to try this again. So he says to his father in a weary voice, "Can I (insert it one more time for posterity)?". His father says yet again, "Can I throw you out the window?", and in total exasperation the son says, "YES, Dad!! YES, You CAN throw me out the window!!! You've done it (some exaggerated number) times already!!!" With a smirk, his father then says "MAY I throw you out the window?"
The light finally dawning on the boy, his jaw drops open and he just stares at his father and he utters a stern "NO!! NO you may NOT throw me out the window!!" Smiling, the father said, "Well now, I think you've FINALLY learned the difference between "CAN" and "MAY". We won't be having an issue with that again, will we?" And they did not. The boy is grown and off to college now without ever having to be thrown out of another window, to my knowledge.
I told my boys that story when they were roughly 4 and 5 and we were having that same, exact Can/May issue. They thought it was really funny at first. Especially the "throwing you out the window" part. However, for about 3 months when they'd start out a question with "Can I?", all WonderHubby or I would have to do is say, "Can I throw you out the window?", and they instantly converted the question to "May I?" After about 3 months they didn't ask "Can I?" questions anymore. That's the only example I actually know of where someone truly learned from someone else's mistake.
Well, that, and it's about an 8 foot drop to the ground from our windows. *g*
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Do you need shots for those bites?
WonderHubby is a great straight man.
When the stuff that inevitably happens in our weird-shit endowed life, he's the first one I look to for that totally dry, sane, comment that will set me off onto something that will then make the situation funny. At least to us, and frankly, the way our life works, we're the only ones that matter at the time.
WonderHubby is amazing, and I adore him. He's had 2 heart attacks, one at 36, and one at 38, and is now the Rock of Gibraltar and nothing can touch him. His cardiologists are thrilled with him every year at his check ups, and we celebrate every year that we have together that we might not have had if he hadn't been so smart and didn't fight going to the hospital like a lot of men do. But, I digress, that's a story for another time.
His second "event" (yes, that's what they call them...."events"....I'm sorry, but that sounds like a party or some other social engagement) was on October 4th. I can't remember the exact date of his first one, just that it was a day or so before my birthday in April, but, the second, was October 4th. There's a reason I remember.
When you have an "event" they give you a blood thinner (whose trademarked name I can't mention here but it rhymes with blavix) to keep anything in the blood from adhering to the walls of the arteries along with that, it also prevents the blood from clotting normally. They keep you on this for a month (at least they did then) after the "event" to make sure that the blood flows through the arteries as smoothly as possible to prevent any further issues that close to the "event".
That October was a particularly stressful month. I was 6 months pregnant with our youngest son, there were some unusually ugly financial issues that were out of our control, two older sons (ages 5 and just 4)who had to be convinced that their father wasn't going to die, it wasn't necessarily the most relaxing environment for him to recover in. But, we did the best we could with what we had, and actually, by the end of the month things were relatively back to normal. WonderHubby had gone back to work, things were going fairly smoothly, all things considered.
Until...
October 29th we decide we're going to do the Jack-O-Lantern with the boys. Again, trying to get things back to normal, we'd gone to a local farm, hand picked our glorious pumpkin, brought it home. The boys were PROUD of this pumpkin. It was a perfect orange color. There weren't any flaws on it anywhere that you could see. I mean, this was the *perfect* Halloween Jack-O-Lantern pumpkin, and the boys couldn't wait to get their hands on it and create their masterpiece of pumpkinry.
So, WonderHubby takes the boys out onto the porch with the newspapers and spreads them out. They carefully place their spectacular pumpkin in the middle of the papers, drew the circle on the top where it needed to be cut and WonderHubby walks out onto the porch brandishing....the implement of distruction...the 12" butcher knife. Now, my maternal instinct has kicked in and I'm busy trying to keep the boys back away from him and reminding him of the "knife circle" that I learned a bazillion years ago in Girl Scouts. He's assuring me in a calm voice that he knows full well how to handle a knife and I start to relax....a little. But, I kept watching him anyway, because, well, that's just what Moms do.
He had the boy's complete attention. They were mesmerized by the huge blade of the knife. WonderHubby was explaining in detail how sharp the knife was and how they couldn't touch a knife unless one of us was with them. The normal "good parent" knife speech. Then he put the tip of the blade to the orange flesh of the pumpkin, rested his hand on the pumpkin itself and said, "You have to be very careful...."
Now, while he's setting himself up, it's running through my head in slow motion that he's got his left hand in the way of the blade and when he pulls up he's going to cut himself. BUT, I don't have time to say anything SO, as he's saying the word "careful", he sliced not only the pumpkin, but the skin between his forefinger and his thumb. He wanted to curse SO bad but had these two LITTLE boys staring at him with HUGE eyes and he couldn't, and I ran for a towel, and his hand started to bleed.
And bleed...and bleed...and bleed. Did I mention the part where they keep him on that blood thinner for a month and it keeps the blood from coagulating??? He'd had the "event" on October 4th, this was only October 29th, it hadn't been a month yet. He was still taking that medication. We tried direct pressure, we tried elevation, we tried pressure point, it wouldn't stop bleeding. It wasn't big enough for a tourniquet. After each solution failed, I'd say, "I think maybe we need to go to the hospital, you may need stitches." He'd growl "NO, I'm NOT going to the hospital for the second time this MONTH!" at me. Finally, when we got to the tourniquet point I looked at him and said, "We're going to the hospital."
What I haven't said at this point is that I'm cracking up through this. The madder he's getting, the more I'm laughing. Who the HELL has a pumpkin accident??? WonderHubby. By the time he finally agreed to go to the hospital, he was FURIOUS, and I was hysterical. I kept apologizing but he didn't want to hear it, which just made it worse for me. I couldn't help it. That inappropriate laughter thingy that I have was going at full tilt.
We get to the hospital and the triage nurse asks him what he's there for and he says, "Because I'm an idiot." I lose it, the nurse laughs. She settles down and asks him again. Remember he's mad. She asks again why he's there, his response was, "Because a pumpkin bit me." I lose it again, the nurse loses it and a couple of other people behind the desk start laughing too. He's not laughing. Finally we all settle down and she gets him to tell her what happened and we're all trying not to laugh. Needless to say, the pumpkin injury wasn't the most critical in the ER that evening so we had to wait a little while.
Finally they get to us, and he has to explain this AGAIN to the doctor. I can't live through this again. I'm laughing as the doctor is asking the question. So is one of the nurses who happens to be walking by. WonderHubby is GLARING at me while he tells the doctor what happened (he left out the pumpkin biting part for the doctor). He needed about 8 stitches and we got to leave.
I think the relief of having to be at the ER for something that I KNEW wasn't going to kill him was what was making me laugh so hard. Being there for something routine instead of something life-threatening makes a world of difference. I'll take stitches any day.
But, there hasn't been a Halloween since that I don't hand him oven mitts or work gloves before I give him the butcher knife to cut the Jack-O-Lantern. Being the perfect straight man he'll tell me something like, "The pumpkin's already eaten tonight, but thanks anyway."
When the stuff that inevitably happens in our weird-shit endowed life, he's the first one I look to for that totally dry, sane, comment that will set me off onto something that will then make the situation funny. At least to us, and frankly, the way our life works, we're the only ones that matter at the time.
WonderHubby is amazing, and I adore him. He's had 2 heart attacks, one at 36, and one at 38, and is now the Rock of Gibraltar and nothing can touch him. His cardiologists are thrilled with him every year at his check ups, and we celebrate every year that we have together that we might not have had if he hadn't been so smart and didn't fight going to the hospital like a lot of men do. But, I digress, that's a story for another time.
His second "event" (yes, that's what they call them...."events"....I'm sorry, but that sounds like a party or some other social engagement) was on October 4th. I can't remember the exact date of his first one, just that it was a day or so before my birthday in April, but, the second, was October 4th. There's a reason I remember.
When you have an "event" they give you a blood thinner (whose trademarked name I can't mention here but it rhymes with blavix) to keep anything in the blood from adhering to the walls of the arteries along with that, it also prevents the blood from clotting normally. They keep you on this for a month (at least they did then) after the "event" to make sure that the blood flows through the arteries as smoothly as possible to prevent any further issues that close to the "event".
That October was a particularly stressful month. I was 6 months pregnant with our youngest son, there were some unusually ugly financial issues that were out of our control, two older sons (ages 5 and just 4)who had to be convinced that their father wasn't going to die, it wasn't necessarily the most relaxing environment for him to recover in. But, we did the best we could with what we had, and actually, by the end of the month things were relatively back to normal. WonderHubby had gone back to work, things were going fairly smoothly, all things considered.
Until...
October 29th we decide we're going to do the Jack-O-Lantern with the boys. Again, trying to get things back to normal, we'd gone to a local farm, hand picked our glorious pumpkin, brought it home. The boys were PROUD of this pumpkin. It was a perfect orange color. There weren't any flaws on it anywhere that you could see. I mean, this was the *perfect* Halloween Jack-O-Lantern pumpkin, and the boys couldn't wait to get their hands on it and create their masterpiece of pumpkinry.
So, WonderHubby takes the boys out onto the porch with the newspapers and spreads them out. They carefully place their spectacular pumpkin in the middle of the papers, drew the circle on the top where it needed to be cut and WonderHubby walks out onto the porch brandishing....the implement of distruction...the 12" butcher knife. Now, my maternal instinct has kicked in and I'm busy trying to keep the boys back away from him and reminding him of the "knife circle" that I learned a bazillion years ago in Girl Scouts. He's assuring me in a calm voice that he knows full well how to handle a knife and I start to relax....a little. But, I kept watching him anyway, because, well, that's just what Moms do.
He had the boy's complete attention. They were mesmerized by the huge blade of the knife. WonderHubby was explaining in detail how sharp the knife was and how they couldn't touch a knife unless one of us was with them. The normal "good parent" knife speech. Then he put the tip of the blade to the orange flesh of the pumpkin, rested his hand on the pumpkin itself and said, "You have to be very careful...."
Now, while he's setting himself up, it's running through my head in slow motion that he's got his left hand in the way of the blade and when he pulls up he's going to cut himself. BUT, I don't have time to say anything SO, as he's saying the word "careful", he sliced not only the pumpkin, but the skin between his forefinger and his thumb. He wanted to curse SO bad but had these two LITTLE boys staring at him with HUGE eyes and he couldn't, and I ran for a towel, and his hand started to bleed.
And bleed...and bleed...and bleed. Did I mention the part where they keep him on that blood thinner for a month and it keeps the blood from coagulating??? He'd had the "event" on October 4th, this was only October 29th, it hadn't been a month yet. He was still taking that medication. We tried direct pressure, we tried elevation, we tried pressure point, it wouldn't stop bleeding. It wasn't big enough for a tourniquet. After each solution failed, I'd say, "I think maybe we need to go to the hospital, you may need stitches." He'd growl "NO, I'm NOT going to the hospital for the second time this MONTH!" at me. Finally, when we got to the tourniquet point I looked at him and said, "We're going to the hospital."
What I haven't said at this point is that I'm cracking up through this. The madder he's getting, the more I'm laughing. Who the HELL has a pumpkin accident??? WonderHubby. By the time he finally agreed to go to the hospital, he was FURIOUS, and I was hysterical. I kept apologizing but he didn't want to hear it, which just made it worse for me. I couldn't help it. That inappropriate laughter thingy that I have was going at full tilt.
We get to the hospital and the triage nurse asks him what he's there for and he says, "Because I'm an idiot." I lose it, the nurse laughs. She settles down and asks him again. Remember he's mad. She asks again why he's there, his response was, "Because a pumpkin bit me." I lose it again, the nurse loses it and a couple of other people behind the desk start laughing too. He's not laughing. Finally we all settle down and she gets him to tell her what happened and we're all trying not to laugh. Needless to say, the pumpkin injury wasn't the most critical in the ER that evening so we had to wait a little while.
Finally they get to us, and he has to explain this AGAIN to the doctor. I can't live through this again. I'm laughing as the doctor is asking the question. So is one of the nurses who happens to be walking by. WonderHubby is GLARING at me while he tells the doctor what happened (he left out the pumpkin biting part for the doctor). He needed about 8 stitches and we got to leave.
I think the relief of having to be at the ER for something that I KNEW wasn't going to kill him was what was making me laugh so hard. Being there for something routine instead of something life-threatening makes a world of difference. I'll take stitches any day.
But, there hasn't been a Halloween since that I don't hand him oven mitts or work gloves before I give him the butcher knife to cut the Jack-O-Lantern. Being the perfect straight man he'll tell me something like, "The pumpkin's already eaten tonight, but thanks anyway."
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Yanno....((WARNING: Non-Humorous Post))
Everyone else blogs about these socially important things. Either that, or highly personal, poignant, emotional things which tear at people's heartstrings. I read some of these blogs, and then look at mine. Mine, as I state in my "About Me" section, is of absolutely no socially redeeming quality whatsoever. It's merely snippets of my history, or of my present, living in what I so lovingly refer to as "weird~shit~land". Some of it is truly funny, when looked upon with the passage of time. Some of it is sad or is simply outrageous. But, it's mine. I've been told so many times to write a book, or to do stand-up comedy, that I can't even count them. However, that seems so, well, public to me. That puts these intimate pieces of my life so far out into the public domain for public ridicule that I don't know if I can bear it. Call it fear, call it vanity, I'm not sure which.
I just read a blog of a woman who's given birth to a baby who has anencephaly, literally meaning, the baby has no brain. They determined this when they did the baby's first ultrasound at 19 weeks gestation. They wanted her to terminate the pregnancy, but she didn't. She carried the baby to term, knowing that she might only have hours with her baby after birth. The baby is now over 40 days old. She's blogging about her and her life with this little soul when she gets the chance. It's compelling. People are now sending her hate mail, I can't for the life of me understand why. Because she didn't kill the baby?? Because she didn't let her die at birth and harvest her organs immediately?? Because she let her live at all??? She's not going to live long, the mom knows and accepts that. She's already got a DNR in place for her. But, she's doing "normal" things for her. They say that babies like that can't hear, but she startled at a dog barking, so she CAN. So, there's some sort of brain activity beyond brainstem.
I don't know, it sort of makes this blog seem rather lame. One of my friends writes about the social wrongs of censorship. Another writes about the things he sees in his line of work where there is distruction, or the stupidity of others. But, me, I write of the whacked out world that I see. From the weird things that happen to me, which are a lot. It sounds pointless and stupid, but, somehow, in the seriousness of this world, where there is so much pain, and so much ugliness, I think that people need to be reminded that there are funny things too. That there are things that are totally beyond our control that when you look at them in the right light are downright funny. That I have a way of looking at things that I can see the humor in these situations rather than simply seeing the negative in them. Yes, I could just wallow in the drama, but I *CHOOSE* to find something funny in them and make myself laugh rather than stay miserable all of the time. Sometimes that's hard, and I have to remind myself that "Someday" I'll find the situation humorous. Sometimes the situation isn't funny at all, but, when I think about it later, I see *something* amusing in it that I couldn't see when I was in the throws of it.
Maybe that's the point of my blog. To show people not to take themselves or their lives *too* seriously. Not to dwell on the negative, but rather to find those amusing attributes to the negative situations so that they can let their brains cope with them better. Maybe it won't work, I don't know. But, maybe it will. But, I think perhaps that's part of what I had in mind when I started this little endeavor, a peek into my real life *weird-shit-land* window so that people can relate. See their own WSL and maybe find their own humor. Once you find that humor, the situation isn't so horrible. Isn't so bad. Isn't so frightening, and can't hurt you quite as much. At least, that's how it works for me. A defense mechanism? Probably. But, one that I'm willing to share, sort of. Right now, only a few people know how to get in here. When I get braver, I'll let more in. They'll read the other posts before this one and either think I'm crazy and stop reading, or they'll laugh until they see this one and see the "method to my madness".
Either way, that smile is all I'm hoping for. It's what makes people feel better. It's what makes me real to them. It's what'll make people come back. For now, I'll be happy if people understand why I don't write the dramatic blogs that most people do. That's important to me. I really want to be understood about this. It's not because I'm stupid, or that I want to be pointless, it's because what I have to say is different than others.
It doesn't make it less important.
~m~
Monday, April 13, 2009
It can't possibly get any.........
People have always told me NOT to utter the expression "Things can't possibly get any WORSE", because from that moment on, they will. I don't know if I didn't really believe them, or if I thought it was just an old wive's tale or what exactly, but, I personally won't ever use that expression again in my natural life.
WonderHubby's parental units live in the outskirts of San Diego, CA, having moved there on his mother's demands from New Jersey upon completion of her PhD in Cardio Physiology (YUCK). Once there, it dawned on her that she couldn't see us once a month like she was accustomed to (go figure) so, after a multitude of guilt trips, we went out to visit. It had been a horrible winter here in PA, literally an ice storm every Thursday, temperatures down to -15 to -20F. If you looked up the definition of "Glacier" in the dictionary, TECHNICALLY, we had one in our front yard - albeit a small one, it was a glacier nonetheless. Needless to say, we couldn't wait for a southern CA vacation. The ironic thing about it was, while we were gone, there was a weird "heat wave" here and it was in the 50's the entire time we were gone. Approximately the same temperature it was where we were at his parent's. I think it was a plot.
I'm not going to attempt to describe the oddities of my in-laws in this blog post. It would take up the entire post and that's not the point for this one. Suffice it to say that it was an exhausting trip. His mother needs to be moving constantly and had our agenda constantly *filled* from the moment we arrived until the time they left us at the gate to come home. We were absolutely exhausted for our return flight, and we were supposed to go to work the following morning.
We didn't fly into a major metropolitan airport, but rather a smaller, more local airport, so our arrival time was somewhere close to midnight. Not bad, we'd still make it home in time to get a good night's sleep so we could go to work in the morning. First, we looked for our luggage. We found a suitcase that looked EXACTLY like ours, but, upon inspection, found that it belonged to someone else. Apparently, the person that owned this particular bag took ours thinking it was theirs without bothering to look at the name on it. So, we took the bag that wasn't ours to the baggage claim office and told them what we thought happened and they said they would contact these people in the morning and would arrange to have our suitcase delivered to us the following day. So, great, going home with no luggage. One of us says the fatal words:
"It can't possibly get any worse.".......WRONG.
We drive home (easily, I might add, because a lot of the ice had melted, our glacier WAS still intact however), opened the front door to our house and discovered that one of our six (yes six, we were stupid) cats had knocked over a ceramic lamp onto the hardwood floor and it had crashed into thousands of little pieces, also landing on an antique glass turtle that was of great sentimental value to me. So, now, I'm in tears over the turtle, and we have to clean up the remains of the lamp AND the turtle before we can go to bed. Did I mention that it was now somewhere after 1:00AM?? Work was going to be tough, but was still doable. We finally get everything cleaned up, the cleaning supplies put away and we head upstairs. One of us AGAIN states those infamos words:
"It just can't get any worse, right?".......WRONG.
We leave all of the toilet lids in the house DOWN for a reason. We don't want stupid cats falling in. It's pretty simple. Slightly graphic moment here, when I'm done, standing up and lowering the lid is all one maneuver because we don't want stupid cats falling in at inopportune moments. Well, that night, stupid cat #6 (names Ziggy after David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust and the Spider's from Mars) came flying into the bathroom, jumped up onto the sink bashed into my arm as the lid to the toilet was going down and fell totally into the toilet uh...BEFORE I'd flushed it. So, now it's 2:00AM and we're giving stupid cat #6 a bath in the sink (cats REALLY don't like baths) with antibacterial soap; one of us doing the holding, one of us doing the actual bathing and rinsing part. THEN, the cat has to be blown dry with a hairdryer because he's a Burmese and only has one layer of fur and it's COLD and we can't let him run around soaking wet. OK, it's 2:30AM, work will be hideous but, will be done, the cat is taken care of, we finally get ready to go to bed, WonderHubby utters the inevitable:
"Thank GOD, it can't get any worse."......WRONG.
At 3:30AM our phone rings. WonderHubby vaults over me because if the phone is ringing in the house at 3:30 in the morning, someone is DEAD, right? Wrong. It's the stupid people who took our luggage home from the airport. The conversation went something like this:
Stupid Guy: "I have your luggage"
WH: "OK"
Stupid Guy: "Do you have mine?"
WH: "No"
Stupid Guy: "Why not?"
WH: "Because I'm not stupid and don't leave the airport with other people's luggage"
Totally Dead Silence....
Stupid Guy: "Well, aren't you going to meet me so we can trade luggage?"
WH: "No."
Stupid Guy: "Why not?"
WH: "Because I don't have it, it's at the airport with the luggage handlers for XXXXX Airlines."
Stupid Guy: "So, how do I get my luggage?"
WH: "You drive back to the airport, give them my luggage, and they'll give you yours."
Stupid Guy: "I have to drive all the way back to the airport?"
WH: "If you want to get your luggage, yes."
Stupid Guy: "Do you know how far that is from here?"
WH: "Well, since I didn't take your luggage and I don't know where you live, no, I don't."
((WonderHubby was losing his temper by this point, the sarcasm was building because Stupid Guy actually was annoyed with him for not being as stupid as he was and taking the wrong luggage home))
Stupid Guy: "Well, I guess I just have to waste another trip to the airport"
WH: "Maybe next time you should read the luggage tags."
He hung up the phone, came back to bed, and started to say that expression again. I interrupted him. We'd had enough for one night. So, we settled down and went to sleep. We never did make it in to work the following morning.
I never EVER use that phrase. I think my reasons are clear enough.
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