Masks......

When we were kids, we couldn’t wait to see the stores line their shelves with boxes filled with Halloween costumes.  It was the 70’s, and they were nasty plastic/fabric wonders – think “hospital gown with two ties in the back to hold it all together.  Yeah, those…..  But the best part of it was the mask.  You weren’t that character until you put on the mask.  You couldn’t see, and the elastic band was totally too tight, but you could be anyone you wanted.  Whether it be Superman, Wonder Woman, The Lone Ranger or Princess Leia……. It was so exciting.  Do you remember that feeling?  You could BE an entirely different person.  The power, joy, FREEDOM coursing through your veins…….

It’s all still there as an adult…. But we probably don’t enjoy putting on those masks anymore.  We do it because we “have to” or we need to be someone that we are not.  We might have to use them to empower ourselves, because we really don’t have it inside of ourselves to do what needs to be done.  Or maybe we are hiding something about us that we don’t want people to see.  Possibly we are putting on that brave face that everyone has come to expect from us.  There are so many reasons.  But I have found that as adults, we simply can’t remove the mask.  We tend to just put another one on top of it to hide the first one.  Over and over this happens.  We could barely see through the first one, but the layers are making our sight of those around us and ourselves more obscure.  We come to a point where we finally forget who we are deep down inside, before we started wearing the masks.  I,  for one, would love if we all just dropped them to the ground, but know that is easier said than done.  I’ve created that façade that is hard to break and the emotional insecurities are just too much to handle. 

Wouldn’t it be nice and refreshing though if we all COULD do that? 

Fear on the Roller Coaster

Clink, Clink, Clink…….that sound of each notch of the roller coaster climbing up that hill.  Anticipation, joy, excitement, but then knowing that that fear is coming, waiting for the bottom to drop out from under you. 

Then you are plunged full force into the abyss, faster than you expect or want. Falling……not knowing when the bottom is going to hit.  Then twists and turns, every which way. Making you dizzy and losing your way.  Smaller ups and downs, unexpected and out of place – not knowing if they are going to be big or small ones. The rush of going faster and faster, the excitement of mania.....shopping, eating, everything more, more, more. Some areas of the track bright and clear…… clarity abounds.  Then a new turn and you are forced into a dark tunnel and you can’t see your way out.

If it goes on too long – you are ready to get off.  Then the sweet relief of coming to a halt and getting off of the ride…..

But – you can’t.  There is no relief……no way off…..no ride operator to stop the coaster.  The utter sadness that you can’t just run away from it… to close your eyes and make it just all go away. The utter fear that you can’t just jump out because other’s need you.

This is how I feel……. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Numbness……. Just for a week, a day, an hour………that would be sweet relief.

I’ve wanted to jump out of the train more times than I can remember. As a child, I was torn between this and being the caregiver to my ill mother.  She needed me to cook, clean, even take off her socks. I felt like I couldn’t leave her – that I had to be there to help her.  As an adult, I held on tightly to the little hand of a blond boy that I loved to keep me from jumping.  He needs me in the car, as I fear that someday he will need to hold my hand on the roller coaster that will be his life. 

I’ve been too afraid of the unknown to just hop out onto the tracks.  Fear has held me back from every important decision in my life. I still haven’t dealt with the lowest dip of the ride.  That is tucked on a shelf, sealed up tight with layers of tape – I will not open it, it will sit there while the dust collects, but my mind is never far from forgetting about it.

This is the first time I have written about this in anything other than my journal. I am tired of being bi-polar……. Manic depressive……. The really high highs, the really low lows……..I want the ride to slow down and to let me off…..

Mohawk, fauxhawk…. or no-hawk???

As any autism parent knows – haircuts can be a *nightmare*, *hellish*, *horrific*, *scream inducing, panic attacking* (and that’s just me – not the kid!) …… whichever word works for you .

Well, except my husband – but that part of the story will come later…

So, for the past 7 years, I have armed myself like a solider going into battle - with a portable DVD player with his favorite movie, my iphone so that he can play games, and an extra dose of patience for momma.  I have prepared him multiple times with what is going to happen, I have let him pick out how he wants his hair from pictures on the ipad and reminded him of the beloved balloon he will get at the end as a reward for not going ape-shit….. (ok, that’s not the term I use with him – but go with it – you know the drill!)

As the years have passed, he has gotten better with the routine of it and looks forward to playing with their nasty germ-ridden duplos.  He likes the girls and finally feels comfortable at our local haircut place. Woo – hoo!!!  He still isn’t all that happy with putting on the cape or having them wet down his hair, but playing Angry Birds has kept his meltdowns in check.

Now – insert DAD!  You know, the guy that knows all about our struggles and processes to get said haircut – but has yet to experience it firsthand. Just write "newbie" on his forehead.

He decides that he needs to get his own haircut, so, low & behold, he is going to bring along the boy.  Since I’m at the grocery store (don’t be jealous that I was solo on my trip), he thinks that Little Man needs his haircut too, since it is past his eyes.  He asks the boy how he wants his hair cut. A boy in class has a “fauxhawk”, but since neither of them knows what that means, Little Man tells my husband “Mohawk”!  Fine with dad! Without further ado, my husband drives to a NEW hair salon in town. In the parking lot kiddo freaks out and tells him that this is NOT the place! On the fly my husband tells him “but this is the only place that cuts mohawks!”  They proceed to give him a super long, super crooked no spike Mohawk.  And you know what happened while they were doing this………..absolutely fucking NOTHING!  That’s right folks…….. no iphone, no movie, no meltdowns or tears!!!  FUCKING BITCH! 

Hubs now thinks that I have made this shit up all these crappy-ass years.  Beginner’s luck asshole!

In the days that followed he would not spike his hair at all.  I think he did it twice. My mother called it a no-hawk.  Three weeks later he begged me to get rid of it because he didn’t like it.  I am happy to report that his next haircut did go well (thank you iphone). He has come a long way.  I’m making hubs take him next time and pray that a meltdown ensues…..just kidding (really, but not really).

I envy...

I envy……….

I envy the people who can afford vacations – how nice must it be to get a break a few times a year to recharge your batteries, have a change of scenery…. Some place to just get away………..

I envy the people who don’t have to deal with the school day in and day out about their child’s behavior – how nice must it be just to pick up their kids and find out how great a day they had……..instead of hearing how their child hit or acted impulsively and just broke down crying.

I envy the people who get invited to parties and events – how nice must it be to interact with others in a festive atmosphere ……..instead of being left out only to hear about it later when feelings are hurt.

I envy the people who don’t have others talk about their kids and always look at them as “the bad kid” or the one who doesn’t act “properly” – how nice must it be to not be looked at and judged.

I envy the people who don’t have to clean poop off of their walls, bathroom, clothes and hide it from the world – how nice must it be to not deal with accidents from a grown boy.

I envy the people who have physical help and support – how nice must it be to not feel alone in the struggle.

I envy………I know I shouldn’t, but I do and that makes me feel worse and then I feel guilty……...along with the envy.

below rock bottom

So - I’m not sure what is below “rock bottom”, but I think I’m about to find out. 

Little Man has been having problems at his summer program.  He just can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.  He feels the need to react to other kids and disagreements by hitting.  I can’t tell you how many times I have gone over and over it…….. I really can’t – I’ve completely lost track in the past 5 years!  How can he not get this through his thick skull?!?!?  He KNOWS he will be in trouble, no matter who started it if he uses his hands.  He just acts impulsively and just lashes out when he feels he has been wronged.  The other kids know that, which just makes it worse….. they  try to get him to react – but his actions get him into trouble.

I’m so frustrated – beyond words – that I just want to cry. 

I don’t want my child to hit.  I don’t want my child to be looked at in a “bad light”.  I don’t want to get the phone calls or the messages that he can’t handle himself and that I have to leave work to pick him up. 

I can’t afford that – emotionally, mentally, financially………..

I want a break, I need a break…….and yet - I can’t afford a break from all of this………This is a full time job that I deal with daily.  I’m tired, so very tired of it all.

what if.........

I’ve been pondering all of the tragedies in our society lately.  It saddens my heart and soul to see all of this go on.  This post is not about guns, it’s not about mental illness, it’s not about any of that………it’s about what each of us can do, each and every day that might make a difference.

What if………

What if we cared more about saying “hello” to people than looking down at our phones? 

What if we said “how are you” and actually meant it and listened to the answer? 

What if instead of answering “fine” we actually said how we felt?

What if we were genuine and told people “thank you” and “have a nice day”?

What if we actually knew our neighbor’s names?

What if we took enough time to help each other?

What if……….

How would we all feel if we thought that someone else actually cared about us? Would that make us hurt less? Would that make people act out less? Would that let us reach out for help when we needed it? Would we reach out to those that we thought needed help?

I personally think it would.  I might be naive, but I think that if we cared just a little bit more about those around us, if we had a vested interest in the people that were around us, that we could make a personal difference in each other’s lives.  I’m not talking about surface Stepford façade interest, but actually getting to know one another.  Just little steps into making each other matter, because, we all do matter!

I'm not losing my funny

So,  I think it’s apparent to pretty much everyone here……..I’m not a writer.  Am I funny  - hells to the yes!  BUT……(and I do have a big butt……..) I am used to playing off of someone – a back and forth banter.  You say something, then I say something witty and maybe slightly inappropriate (ok – usually inappropriate), then you say something, then I say something to tie it up with a big funny bow…….and we all have a good laugh.  That’s how it works. 

The bad thing about the internet is that………there is no banter.  I’ve got to pick up your slack!  You are such a slacker!  Has anyone else told you that, because…..geeze……this is getting ridiculous!

Anywho…… I guess this means, that since I’m having a hard time with this writing thing – I thought I was losing my funny – then I thought it was writers block – then I figured out – fuck no – I’m not a true writer……ha ha!!!  Suck it……….I’m just gonna “blog” whatever the hell I want.  So…… If you can hang with that and follow along, you will see a little of what clouds my head.  Don’t expect “writing”…… because – yeah – I just told you – disclaimer - I’m not a fucking writer!

(gratuitous picture of our elf on the shelf to prove I'm damn funny!)

The trouble with shoelaces, blogs & why I will never get an Olympic Gold Medal

So – you know how you are watching the Olympics and that one figure skater just makes an incredible leap……..and then falls right on her ass?  Well, that would be me.  Well, with one exception – she gets up off the ice and keeps going.  Me – not so much!  I would be that one skater that would sit there, crying into my hands, ugly tears……. until someone came out and escorted me off the ice.  Yup - THAT’s me!

That brings us to the shoelaces…… no, really, it does!  My Little Man just turned 8.  He is totally afraid of learning to tie his shoes.  I mean, like he refuses to even touch them, try to tie them…….. get anywhere near them without just slipping them on.  As soon as he tries to do it, he gets one little step wrong, or it doesn’t work exactly right – and BAM – tears start flowing and he throws a fit and won’t try again.  I can’t figure out how to get him to do it……….so the kid still doesn’t tie them.

Yeah – that getting back up on the horse really doesn’t happen around my house!

Finally that brings us to this little blog right here.  I’m afraid of rejection I guess.  I want approval – well who in the hell doesn’t???  BUT, I’m so afraid of rejection or failing, that I’ve never even told my family about this page.  Actually, I’ve told almost no one about it.  Making it worse, I’m too afraid to “post” anything because it might not be funny enough or good enough – so I let things languish in my head and saved folder.  Cyclical – yes – hell yes – you betcha………. But that doesn’t mean that the feelings aren’t real and scary.

So, here’s my getting my ass off of the ice – medal be damned.  Although, maybe I could get a medal in “Ice Sitting”!