So I'm trying to keep busy while the world continues caving in, because I hear that helps to pass the time and make things seem less dire. HAHAHA. It's not working, yet, but hope---and MIIIIIIIIINT!---springs eternal. This means, of course, that I am turning all of my energy to my gardening efforts. Because school never calls to tell me that my tomatoes are poorly behaved! Basil never screams that it hates me! And although I'm no fan of the slugs, they are entirely predictable and survival-oriented in their quest to ravage my harvest, whereas the Mother's Day discovery that a certain surly...
I enjoy order and predictability. Having a kid on the spectrum has made The Schedule even more important to my life---he just plain functions better when he knows exactly what will be happening when. It's easier to get his cooperation when things are planned. And so it came to pass that every Saturday I call for the children to bring their hamper downstairs, and every Sunday afternoon I announce that I need the basket of clean clothes put away (if they haven't been already) and the basket should be returned to me, emptied, before dinner. This seems to work out pretty well; the children never...
I have (had) all kinds of exciting things to tell you about today. I am (was) feeling productive! And accomplishment-y! And like a worthwhile member of society, and I couldn't wait to tell y'all that I'd stopped wallowing long enough to get stuff done. My weekend was FULL OF WIN! But then I saw that Osama Bin Laden was killed, and because I don't want to get into anything political and I'm also uncomfortable with the notion of being happy about murder (even of someone who certainly appears to meet all objective criteria for "pure evil"), all I can say is this: Hey, thanks, President Obama,...
You may have heard about a little storm that blew across the country yesterday...? We've had a few tornado scares since I moved to Georgia, but this was the first time that our local weather guy was basically spinning around and screaming "DANGER WILL ROBINSON! DANGER!!" It's times like these when I kind of miss having a basement. Oh, sure. We have a "safe interior room" in our house---it's underneath the staircase, through the laundry closet and behind the washer and dryer. (Have you tried the Turkish Delight back there? Delish!) It is precisely big enough to hold the four of us and...
When I last left my dentist's office, it was in a state of semi-hysteria over having just been informed that I needed a $2,000 bite splint that my insurance (you know, that thing you pay for the pleasure of being told everything is ineligible for coverage?) wouldn't pay even a little bit towards. I came home and had a small tantrum and then vowed to cure myself of TMJ the old-fashioned way---I would simply will it to improve. It actually worked, if by "it" you mean "that whole 'willing' thing, plus changing my diet some and doing nighttime relaxation exercises." I went from being unable to...
It's a funny thing, about reputations. I always insisted, as a kid/teen/young adult that I didn't care what anyone thought about me. And that was total crap, of course; I did care, desperately. I care less now than I used to, but probably more than I will confess to most of the time. Doesn't everyone want to be well-thought-of, more or less liked? I'm not going to sit around and cry about it if someone gets the wrong idea about me, but you know what I mean. I am fond of telling the kids, "It doesn't matter what other people think, it matters who you are." I believe that. But it's not...
I'm reading recaps of Mom 2.0 all over the place, this week. It sort of makes me wish I could do one of those deep and profound sorts of rundowns, the kind where I tell you all about how I was inspired and enchanted and finally met this or that person and they were astonishingly lovely and whatever. I mean, that sort of thing does happen, for me, but somehow I come home and put my hands on the keyboard and tell you a story about how I fell down, instead. Le sigh. The truth is that I the anxiety I normally feel about heading into a conference situation is topped only by the concern that once...
As part of birthdaypalooza, Chickadee was allowed to choose any restaurant for dinner out, on Monday. We don't eat out all that often, and we almost never go out to eat during the week, so this was an auspicious occasion, indeed. Her debate with herself was arguably the most entertaining part of the evening. Should we go to the Mexican place she likes? No, Otto and I had had Mexican the night before. (No amount of assuring her that if that's what she wanted, we would happily eat it again would convince her it was a good choice.) The vegetarian restaurant? Possibly closed on Mondays, and also...
So on the heels of having a very rough few weeks, I headed to New Orleans for a conference. Because the thing to do, when you're a depressed, stressed-out introvert, is to head somewhere loud and crowded where the streets are paved with vomit* and you're expected to be your very best self and wow everyone you come into contact with by being a consummate professional. Yeah. I am not a smarticle. But I was slated to go and so I crossed my fingers and packed some 6-year-old Ativan I found at the back of my bathroom drawer and my pretty red shoes and headed off to the airport, muttering some...
