What I wanted to tell you, after yesterday's post, was that my fears were for naught, and Monkey had a great day and a hard but meaningful farewell with his parapro. What I wanted to do was gently poke fun at myself for always fearing the worst, for always tensing up for the collision. I would make a joke about how being angry and worried had clearly appeased the Gods Of Suck, and everything worked out okay, after all. We would all exhale together and Otto would tell me I worry too much but look, everything's okay, and then life would go on. What I do not want to do is to detail the phone...
I'm trying to learn a little bit of self-discipline in the form of not blogging when I'm overly emotional. Which probably means I will never blog again. HA! I kid. See, that's me being all casual and detached. Ahem. So yesterday, I popped up my blog dashboard four or five times, and in the end, closed it again, because I just wasn't able to think of anything to say other than WE ARE ALL DOOOOOOMED and OMG YOU GUYS AAAAIIIEEEEE and that just seemed... not in accordance with my new rule of not blogging while inebriated with negative emotions. Instead, today you get the Wah Wah Hangover. Lucky...
So remember back when I said we'd finally landed a new therapist for Monkey, but we'd have to wait a while to see her? We finally saw her. I can tell she's going to be very good with him; there is such a difference, sitting down with someone who works with Aspies all the time, versus someone less well versed in "kids like him." "Monkey, why do you think you're here?" she asked him, after some of the initial pleasantries were out of the way. "Because my mom brought me here," he answered, ever the literalist. She laughed. "Well yes, okay, but why do you think your mom brought you here?" Monkey...
My poor father took something of a scolding yesterday for being mushy when I had really been hoping for a wacky story from my childhood. But which one could he have told? he wanted to know. What would've been the POINT of the story about the time I had my finger slammed in the car door, for example? My attempts to explain that there is rarely a point to what I talk about here seemed to fall on deaf ears. The family tales flew fast and furious last night, though, hitting on item after item where I would invariably protest, "Why didn't you write about THAT??" Because my childhood was FILLED...
I don't know where the time went, but suddenly it's baseball season again, and Monkey came back from his trip with his dad just in time to come play. The problem, of course, is that Monkey and Lemur haven't seen each other for a WHOLE WEEK, which meant that all four boys (Lemur has two brothers, remember) were much more interested in comparing Pokemon and finishing the lyrics to some song they're making up about death, destruction and farting (really, I tried not to ask) than in actually doing anything remotely baseball-like. But they ran around the field, and even kind of participated....
I'm having trouble tearing myself away from the earthquake/tsunami coverage, today. I just... can't even imagine. Even looking at pictures, I just can't imagine what must be happening there. I feel like I should DO SOMETHING, and if I can't, well surely my life---my non-natural-disaster-rocked, comfortable life---should just go into suspended animation until the world rights itself again, somehow. (I feel stupid, just typing that.) The news I was bursting to come and share yesterday afternoon feels inconsequential, except that it is still, for us, a very big deal: We found a therapist for...
It's true that our "kingdom" at present doesn't amount to much, and as many odd things as I've encountered thus far, I really haven't gotten the impression from anyone involved that the offer of a deck badly in need of refinishing or a falling-down fence or even the pond full of peep-peep-peeping frogs would significantly improve our odds of being helped, but whatever we do have, I would happily offer it in exchange for the ability to: 1) Locate an appropriate child psychologist, 2) discover said professional takes our insurance, 3) admire said professional's extensive experience in dealing...
I find my fingers itching to click "Buy" on polo shirts. I spend a goodish chunk of every day combing websites and sales and coupons for Want Not, and of course some of the deals I'm finding, I'm also buying. I consider it an occupational hazard. Though I don't really consider it a hazard, even when my daughter opens the pantry and beholds fifteen boxes of cereal and dryly inquires, "Exactly how many people do you think live here, Mom?" My standard line is that I am cursed with tightwad tendencies but impeccable taste; for me, the deals are about getting the expensive stuff for cheap, not...
Haaaaaaaaappy Valentine's Day! I hope that today brings you whatever form of either commercially-sanctioned or rail-against-the-MAN celebration you desire. I know that some women tell their significant others, "No, really, I don't need to celebrate, we don't need to do anything, honey," and then they would go sulk when their words were heeded and the day was, indeed, nothing special. Me, we're closing in on four years of marriage, and it is still 100% true that I am grateful for Otto every single day. I mean, sure, I guess I could demand/expect flowers or chocolate on this particular day,...
