Hey Village--Keep Your Hands Off My Kid!

I was reading an article the other day about a school aide who was distracted by a 10-year-old boy who has autism because he was fiddling with a loose tooth. She took it upon herself to pull it out. The school nurse checked him out and sent a note home (with the tooth) explaining the situation, and apologizing in advance if it bothered the parents.

Well, hell yeah, it bothered them. The aide pulled out the wrong tooth. One that wasn't loose.

Before you ask, "how could that be if the tooth wasn't loose?", let me just say this: Some kids who have disabilities have sensory integration problems (like my son) and don't feel pain the way other neurotypical people do.

And then there's just the whole WTF factor!  They can't give your kid an aspirin, but they can pull his tooth out?

There is that saying, "It takes a village to raise a child". But what of those villagers who overstep their bounds?

Once when Big Kid was in kindergarten, we got a note home from school. "Please send Big Kid to school wearing both socks and underwear daily." WTF? I laid out all of his clothes each morning. Including socks and underwear. There wasn't a plethora of unaccounted-for unmentionables thrown around his room, so where were they?

After some investigating, we discovered that for at least a week the kid had been stuffing both socks and underwear down an unused heating vent that was left when the house was converted from electric to forced air gas (he also stuffed a bunch of spoons down there for some still-unknown reason). Why? "They're too tight!", he whined. So we switched to boxers and footie socks which didn't feel as constricting.

So while on one hand, I appreciate the school bringing this to my attention, I know that eventually I would have noticed the disappearing socks and undies. Like at laundry time. But my first thought was---how do they KNOW he wasn't wearing underwear? Do they have a designated person who peeks down little kids' pants every day?

Little Guy was so sweet and endearing that some aides thought that he was their child:

Like the aides who either took him to the teachers' break room to eat birthday cake or donuts or brought him homemade cookies constantly, even though it clearly stated in his IEP from the 3rd grade on..."do NOT feed him snacks outside of class parties." Why? Because he had sensory integration issues. He never felt full and would eat until he vomited. He was starting to have a real weight problem, which was documented by his doctors. Little Guy would put on his sad, "I'm hungry even though I had lunch a half hour ago" face and they'd stuff him with cupcakes.

One year there was an aide who took it upon herself to cut his hair. Was it long? No. He had four cowlicks (in the exact same place his dad has them), which defied gravity. She thought that they might lay down if she cut his hair down to his scalp. Did she have any barber training? No. He ended up with 4 bald patches on the back of the head. She ended up with a threat of a restraining order (and a royal ass-kicking) if she came near my kid again.

Early on, the school identified a problem that we worked on for 2 years. Little Guy would run up to anyone friendly to get a hug. Sure, some little kids do that, but we as parents try to make them beware of strangers. A kid with a significant delay has a harder time with the concept, so it might take longer to train him out of it. I mean really, how socially appropriate is it for a full-grown man to run around hugging strangers? Knowing him, and knowing his heart, I think it's sweet, but it would probably scare the hell out of people who don't know him.

Anyhoodie, we were able to get him to stop. For awhile. Then inexplicably, a few years later, when he started middle school, he started up again. I asked his coordinator if she had any idea why he might be doing this. She had no clue. Figured it out in the middle of that school year when I brought Little Guy to school late after a dentist appointment. He had a resource period in the self-contained classroom (the special-needs room).

We poked our heads in the door, and as he was putting his coat and backpack in his cubby, the aide-in-charge hollered, "You can't come in here unless you give everybody some sugar!" So he ran in the room and gave everybody a big hug. urk. Apparently, that was her "rule". Every day. Give a hug to whoever's in the room.

Before you think I'm a terrible ogre, you have to realize that some people who have cognitive disabilities are terribly vulnerable. It's not appropriate for them to run up and press themselves up against other people, especially if they can't differentiate who it's appropriate to hug. Some people aren't nice. Some people are horrible beings, and might see this as an opportunity for abuse. It's just the way the world is, and it's our job as parents AND educators to protect our children and teach them to protect themselves.

I think the coup de gras was the day Little Guy came home from the bus stop in his socks in the snow. Where in the HELL were his shoes? I called the bus barn, and since his was the last stop, they were able to intercept the bus as it came in. They talked to the driver, who didn't notice that the kid didn't have shoes on (not that he should have, I'm not blaming him). They searched the bus and found a pair of boots under some seats.

Well, no, I explained. Those aren't his. He doesn't wear boots.

It took until the next day to figure out what happened. His aide just decided that either I was a neglectful mother or too poor to provide my son with boots when it snowed. Guess she didn't notice the extra pair of dry shoes that were in his locker in case his other shoes got wet.

HE. WON'T. WEAR. BOOTS. It's a sensory thing, fully detailed in his IEP.

She bought him a pair of boots, and sent him home in them, instead of giving me a call and telling me of her concerns. He took them off as soon as he got away from her, and ended up walking home from the bus stop in his socks.

I'm all for the concept of "it takes a village" in principle. I honestly believe that the people I listed above thought they were being helpful. But the "village" needs to remember that I'm the mom, and unless they talk to me first, they need to keep their hands off of MY child.

Off With Their Heads!!

I don't know what it's like to have daughters. I'm surrounded by doods. I love them all dearly, but sometimes I want to grab a shovel and beat them on the heads with it.

You'd think that after all of these years, some things would be like second nature to them. I mean, they're ALL adults. And hubby has been an adult longer than the rest of them.

So is it a dood thing? An Attila household thing? I'm pretty darn easygoing, but I have a few simple rules that haven't changed over a gazillion years:

If you didn't buy it, make it, or if I didn't tell you it's for you, it's not yours.  If you're not sure, ask.

Little Guy has got it down. He doesn't open things or help himself unless he knows for sure it's there for him.

Big Kid was really bad about this, but he doesn't live here anymore.

So who does that leave? Hubby and the Aspiring Adult. They are driving me CRAZY!

I'm not a freaking ogre. There's a whole shelf and canister of "everybody eat this" foods and snacks. They ask me to get certain things they like, and I do it.

The problem is that they see food made for someone else, or ingredients I've bought for some big meal and decide that they just HAVE to eat it right then and right there.

For example:

I roasted a chicken for dinner. Everybody had as much as they wanted, and the carcass sat in the fridge for a few days. I deboned what was left, and made myself a chicken salad for lunch. Only had a few bites from my bowl, left the fork in it and threw some foil over it because I had to run to an appointment.

Came back an hour later in anticipation to finishing it, and it was gone.

WTF? Aspiring Adult and girlfriend were hungry, and decided it must have been made just for them. Pointed out that it had my mouth germs all over it because it was MY lunch in a bowl (not a tupperware) and what were they thinking?

Last week I made dinner for everybody, and it was on the stove. I've been sort of dieting and have lost 55 pounds in the last year. Little Guy has lost 25.

Hubby was going to drop by the store and pick up a couple of things after work, including some crackers. I wasn't going to eat the dinner I had prepared for everybody, because I'd made myself a little tuna salad and planned on having that instead. With the crackers. That was the point. I'd wrapped it up and put it in the fridge.

I was reading in bed and fell asleep before he got home. When I woke up, everybody had eaten dinner, and I went to the fridge to grab my tuna salad. It was gone. Hubby had been digging around while warming up his dinner in the microwave and thought I'd made it as an appetizer just for him! Grrr

Ok, I’m not a pushover.  I was pissed at both of the above actions.  When it happened, I made the Aspiring Adult roast a chicken, debone it and make a chicken salad for everybody.  Learning experience for when he was on his own and wanted chicken salad, and for what happens when you help yourself to other people’s stuff.

I also made hubby run back to the store and buy some tuna because there wasn’t any more and dammnit, I wanted my salad!

You’d think that after all this time, they’d “get it”.

Big Kid has been seeing a nutritionist because his weight has become a problem and it’s difficult to control it when he has to take Depakote for his mental illness.

Portion control is a big issue for him, so I’ve been making him meals that are a “no brainer”. 

Yesterday, I made Italian for the family.  Pasta, meat sauce, etc.

And I made 3 pre-made dinners for the Big Kid..  Vegetable pasta, turkey meatballs, and a special-ordered low-sugar sauce, for people who have diabetes, which is not inexpensive.

There were leftovers of the family meal.  Free for everybody to help themselves.

When I got up, Hubby and the Aspiring Adult had already left for work early.  I opened the fridge to get cream for my coffee and had a revolting surprise.

2 of the 3 special pre-made meals for the Big Kid were gone.

I really don’t get it.  And they don’t have answers, other than, “it looked good and I wanted it”.

I made them bring them home.

Yeah, I guess I’m a bitch that way, but the whole thing perplexes me.

Just Wondering...

You know how some TV commercials just bug the crap outta me.  The latest to make me grind my teeth is the one for Christianmingle.com.

Their slogan?  "Find God's match for you!"

How would they know it's God's match?  How would they presume to know His plan?

What if you're single because He thinks you're an asshole?

Just wondering....

Dementia---er I Mean Demented

A long time ago, I wrote about how Big Kid used to needle the crap out of Little Guy, and the end result was sometimes a smackdown of epic proportions.

Well I have to say (somewhat proudly) that Little Guy has finally learned how to use his words.

A few days ago, Big Kid and Kitty were visiting. SOMEBODY (whistling, eyes averted) let out a silent but deadly fart that would curl your hair.

The stench hit everybody at once.

Big Kid: Holy shit! Who did that? Little Guy, was that you?

Little Guy: No, that was YOU!

Big Kid: I'd know if something that nasty flew out of my butt!

Little Guy: No you wouldn't. You have brain damage. You can't remember what you had for breakfast!

I can't stop laughing. This family is demented. Does that mean I'm going to hell?

Warm Fuzzies

Little Guy has this amazing internal clock. I had one too before I got all old-farty.

If we have to go somewhere in the morning, I tell him what time he has to get up. If he has to be up at 6am, he's awake at 5:55. If he has to be up at 7am, he's awake at 6:55. I go to knock on his door, and he's already up and dressed.

He's going to be 22 on Wednesday, and it hasn't failed him yet. Since he finished culinary school last fall and we haven't found him a job so far, he basically sleeps until 10 unless we have something scheduled.

Last week, Hubby had to go out of town for a few days for a conference. He scheduled his day so that he didn't have to hurry to drive there. Of course we let Little Guy know in advance so he would be prepared and wouldn't stress out.

I usually stumble out of bed at 4 or 5am. And since I'm the first one up, I make coffee.

I walked in through the living room on my way to the kitchen, and Little Guy was fully dressed, sitting in the dark. Scared the heck out of me.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "Are you ok?"

"I wanted to be sure to be up and give Dad a hug goodbye. I was sleeping last time he went away."

Could anything be sweeter than that?

Finally Done

Well, after a 4-year ordeal, we finally got a decision on Big Kid's social security case.

I'm exhausted, emotionally and physically. It's been a nightmare.

To recap:

We applied 4 years ago--almost 2 years after Big Kid had his psychotic breakdown in college. He wasn't stable, couldn't maintain an attention span of more than 15 minutes, couldn't take any meds to help with that because it would throw him into a manic spiral. He would rage often and wasn't rational (aliens laying eggs in his digestive tract). They turned him down initially (which is most often the case with applicants) and we appealed.

The judge ruled against him, and actually stated in the ruling that he didn't believe Big Kid would be bipolar if he didn't smoke pot.

1). Big Kid didn't smoke pot with any frequency. It wasn't allowed in my house (I have an allergy and even contact with the clothes of someone who smokes it causes my throat to swell), and the kid didn't have any money. Whatever pot smoking was done happened at his friends' places, and he wasn't invited too often because he didn't have any money. ;-)

2) None of the 3 doctors who have been treating him for most of his life, or the social security doctor who was charged with examining him felt he had a substance abuse problem. Self medicating is not rare for people who have bi-polar disorder. As he told our family doctor---the only time he felt emotionally normal was when he was high. In fact, less than a year after the judge's ruling, it became legal in our state, and Big Kid could have gotten a medical marijuana card for that very disorder.

3). The point of law that we actually appealed this decision on is the fact that the judge is not a doctor and can't make his own medical diagnoses arbitrarily.

While we were waiting for a date for our new appeal in 2009, Big Kid caught the swine flu, and as you all know, our life went to shit.

In May 2010, we filed a second claim based on the kid's new physical impairments. At that time, we found out that his previous case had been closed without notification, denying him all due process. Our advocate hired an outside attorney to deal with the trickiness of the situation, and because of the egregiousness of it, the attorney took it on pro bono.

May 2011, Big Kid was granted social security based on the second claim. By this time, we had spent over $50,000 in securing him a safe place to live, a caregiver, continuing care expenses, etc. This didn't even touch what was left of his hospital bills. Luckily, he had good insurance, but even with that, he had thousands of dollars in deductibles, etc.

A couple of months ago, our appeal to have the case reheard was granted and it was put back into the original judge's court. The one who ruled against us. Why do they do that?

For the hearing, the judge brought in his own expert to examine Big Kid and to go over the case files. He wouldn't allow me in the courtroom to give Big Kid moral support, and the kid was a tearful wreck. With his new impairments, he doesn't process a lot of what's going around him and he was frightened.

Anyhoo, the judge's expert ended up testifying FOR us. He told the judge that he was wrong, which seemed to put the judge in more of a pissy mood.

He told our advocate that he was willing to entertain the claim starting on the date Big Kid was admitted to the ICU for the swine flu. Our advocate demurred---basically said, "Judge, our claim was filed two years before that. Your expert just testified that Big Kid was significantly impaired THEN. We want the whole enchilada."

Well, we didn't get it. However, the claim was backdated to when Big Kid entered the hospital, so we'll be able to get medicaid to pay some of the medical bills that the insurance company didn't cover. We could appeal again, but that could take years to go through the system.

So we're done. Finally finally done. Hallelujah! Now I'm going to sleep for a week to recover. LOL

Spring Bling

It's time to bring in spring!!


Our collaborative craft studio has made a whole bunch of spring wreaths, and Joanna Jenkins at The Fifty Factor has been kind enough to host a giveaway!

Click on her link to register. Giveaway ends April 5th.

Smooches!

ATM

Sloppy

Sloppy, sloppy work.

After all these years, I don't know if I ever said what I do in my real life, other than my passion---my work with adults who have disabilities in my collaborative craft studio.

I work as a freelance editor and I proofread legal documents made by court reporters for law firms. You know, depositions, interrogatories, etc. I don't really write about it, simply because it's confidential work, and there's no point to discussing it .

I'm not perfect, and I certainly don't go around correcting the mistakes made by others in blogland, but some things really chap my heinie.

One of those things is the inane headlines written under the guise of "news" on AOL. I've written about it before---my annoyance with the overuse of the word "Icon". Who in the heck edits this stuff?

I've collected a few AOL headlines lately that I want to bitch about/share....Not so much about structure, but about content and---ok, well you'll get it:

How Celebs Stop Sibling Rivalry:

Number one, who the eff cares? Does the fact that they're celebs make them better parents? I imagine them ordering the nannies take the brats to separate wings of the mansion. It's like trusting Tom Cruise to be the expert on mental health (you GO Brooke Shields!), or trusting Spicoli to handle our country's foreign affairs.

Kim Kardashian Spotted in Skintight Dress:

This is news? I thought maybe if she wore a tent designed by Omar it might actually be noteworthy.

Ron Paul: I Subscribed Birth Control:

Uh, as a doctor, he might have PRESCRIBED birth control to his patients, you dorts. You make it sound like he received multi-themed condoms from the "dick of the month club". And IF he prescribed birth control to patients, whose biz is it? Not ours!

How Man Monitored Wife's Sex Life:

Well duh. You'd think he'd notice every time they bumped uglies. Was he unconscious?

I made a vow not to use the word "stupid" in my blog posts a few years ago.

But geez, what else would you call it?

Tide is the New Crack

Apparently, there is a new "Grime Wave" we have to look forward to. In certain U.S. cities, thefts of the laundry detergent Tide have sky-rocketed.

Due to the low economy and rising costs of name-brand detergents, thieves have taken to stealing and selling Tide on the street.

"We sent in an informant to buy drugs," Sprague said. "The dealer said, 'I don't have drugs, but I could sell you 15 bottles of Tide.'"

Never in a million years would I have seen this coming! LOL

Getting Out of a Rut

I really hate the term "thinking outside the box". It's so freaking cliche. But I don't know what other phrase to use.

As you guys know, my stress levels have been high for months. Mostly it surrounds Big Kid and his care, as well as his appeal for his original claim for Social Security (will get into that after we hear the ruling). He's pretty much recovered as much as he's going to recover from his bout with the swine flu. Now it's just aftermath and trying to gather the pieces together to help him have a life that is meaningful for him.

The latest? He still has good insurance, but now that he has medicaid in addition, he can't see his neuropsych (of 5 years) any more. In fact, there isn't a psych (neuro or otherwise) doc in 100 miles that is taking medicaid patients. We can't just ignore the medicaid part of it and pay the co-pay (or just pay cash), because there is a law in our state that makes it a felony for providers to accept this. The county, which accepts medicaid through their mental health program, has psychiatrists, but not neuropsychs (in fact, they referred us back to his original neuropsych, believe it or not), who deal with brain injuries as well as mental illnesses. :::sigh::: Right now it seems we're up shit creek without a paddle.

So with the medical crap and the constant drama (he and/or Kitty call me 5 times a day to deal with all kinds of "crises"), I had to think of something to get me out of this rut somehow. This CAN'T be what the rest of my life is going to be like!

I love to cook. It's therapeutic for me. I'm not a natural cooking genius, like Rootietoot, nor am I a culinary marvel like Warner. I just like to cook, and I'm really good at a few things.

Last summer, when Mom and Poppa G were visiting, we were able to have a family party and I got to cook for everybody. We had gotten around to talking about the senior centers (they belong to several---LOL) and the food programs available. While balanced and nourishing, the meals served are usually bland and tasteless. I guess when you get older, you lose a lot of taste buds, so there needs to be some extra zing! to make food flavorful (at least according to my mom).

Anyhoo, early in January, in the midst of my funk, I was trying to think of a project or activity we could do as a family. Something out of the ordinary---that didn't involve doctors, or lawyers, or advocates, or angry feelings.

Well, we did it! Last week we cooked and served a Chinese food feast at our local senior center as a family! It was sort of a dim-summy kind of meal---sesame chicken wings, pearl balls, crab rangoon, cantonese egg rolls and more.

All the family got in on the prep work----rolling egg rolls and pearl balls, etc. All we had to do was fry, steam and bake at the site. The guys and Kitty created festive baskets for the tables, full of condiments and fortune cookies.

Everything went smashingly well. Except that Big Kid started to have a panic attack in the middle (even friendly crowds frighten him after a point) and Kitty had to zip him home. That was ok---there were plenty of volunteer servers on hand.

They had reservations for about 75, but we cooked enough for 100. Good thing we did---all that was left was a couple of egg rolls and wings!

Little Guy had a blast, and went around volunteering for us to do this again. LOL Next time I think we're going to do lasagna.

So that was my idea of getting us out of a rut. Of course, I had to sleep for two days afterwards! Snarf.

Hope you're having a great week!

xo

Cutting Through the Bullsh*t

Cripes on a cracker, I have had two weeks just steeped in bureaucratic BS.

Our family doc of 15 years recently became chief of staff of our local hospital. His practice is separate, although the billing office of the hospital has started taking over that part of it. The hospital farms its billing service out of state.

About a month ago, I got a call out of the blue from their collection department. They asked for Little Guy, and said they were representing the hospital, and wanted to talk to him about "his account".

I explained to the woman about his disability, and that I was his parent/guardian. She said she couldn't talk to me because of the HIPPA laws (which I fully understand) and asked me to fax over my guardianship papers. I declined. I mean, who in the hell are these people? I suggested she contact us in writing, because my son has never even stepped foot in the hospital, much less had "an account". We've never received a billing statement for anything ever, and now it's "suddenly" in collections?

Instead, they kept calling and calling. I refused to send them my son's personal info, and they (for some reason) declined to send me anything in writing. I went to the hospital personally and talked to the director of admissions. They had no record of Little Guy receiving any treatment. The director suggested I contact our doc's office, since their crack business office (which has nobody on site) is now handling his billing as well.

I called the office, talked to the office manager, and she pulled up his records. The last time Little Guy was in there was for his yearly physical 7 months ago. The insurance had paid up, and I had paid the co-pay, so no problem.

In the meantime, the business office kept calling to talk to Little Guy. I finally told them, "do NOT contact us by phone again. I've already spoken with both the hospital and our doctor's office, we don't owe a balance at either place. If you feel this is incorrect, then send me a statement."

So I get a statement, and they were billing us almost 200.00 for the kid's physical 7 months ago. And they said we had 10 days to pay or they were sending it to an outside collection agency. Sheesh.

I contacted doc's office manager. Our insurance is excellent and covers a yearly physical. She said she'd get right on it. I haven't had any calls, so hopefully they were able to straighten that mess out.
_______________________________________________

We FINALLY went to court last week on Big Kid's social security appeal. It has taken 4 YEARS from his initial claim. I don't want to say anything more before the ruling, because I have a LOT to say about this and don't want to jinx it (or have a judge who googles).

________________________________________________

The Aspiring Adult is working at a nursing home as a CNA while he works towards a degree. He started the semester last month.

3 weeks into it, I get an email from the college stating that there is a refund in our account. I go online, check to see what it is, and there is nothing there. I pull up the kid's schedule, and one of his classes has been dropped.

I left him a message on his cell. "That little sh*t", I thought. "What did he do, drop a class and keep the refund? We spent over 250.00 on books for that class!"

Thank GOD I didn't accuse him of it. He was as bewildered as I was. Since he works from 6 to 6, he asked me to call the registrar.

She told me that he had been dropped from class for non-attendance. To get back in, he had to get a letter from his teacher, one from the dean and we had to pay again. The money supposedly had been credited back to my credit card. Oh, and he had 3 days to do it, because of the cut-off date.

Great. He was working the 6am to 6pm shift for the rest of the week.

When he got home, he texted his instructor. He HAD been in attendance for all three classes, although he was 10 minutes late for his first class because he got lost. There is only 5 students in the class---how could the guy have MISSED him?

Luckily the instructor hadn't missed him---it was some snafu in the school's computer system. But rules are rules---they couldn't just reverse THEIR mistake. The instructor had prepared the letter and got the dean to sign off, but the kid still had to get down to the school in person. Grrr. So he had to take time off of work to take care of it, and I had to pay again, even though their initial refund hadn't been credited back to my card yet.

I need a nap before my head explodes. LOL

Farewell, My Friend

Martha Callahan called me to let me know that Charlie passed away this afternoon.


I was able to talk to him for a little while last week when he was moved to hospice. He didn't want anyone to blog about it until after he was gone. Charlie, being Charlie, didn't want us to fret over him. Martha has asked me to write a little something to let all his friends know.


I met Charlie when I started my blog 6 years ago. He was my first friend in blogland. We bonded over a mutual loathing of Nora Roberts and her writing, if you can believe it. :-) Although we've never met in person, we've talked on the phone from time to time over the years.


During a conversation after Christmas, he wanted his blog friends to know how much you meant to him. He hadn't been able to get out and around for quite a while, and having you in his life became a whole new world. And near the end, during our last conversation, he was thinking of us---people he'd never met in real life---but people who brought a lot of joy to him.


I looked around for an appropriate poem or quote to use for this---something solemn and deep and meaningful. But every time I found a poem with possibilities, I could just hear him snorting into my ear, "what a load of crap!"


So what would Charlie have said? I imagine it would have been something like "See, I told you I was sick!" That would have been more his style, smartass that he was.


There's an old Inuit legend that talks about the stars in the night sky. "Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy."


I want to remember you with that, Charlie.


Tonight I'm going to go outside and tell the stars how much I'm going to miss you. I hope you can hear me.


Godspeed, my dear, dear friend.


If anyone wants to say words in celebration of Charlie's life on his blog, I'm sure it will be a comfort to Martha.


Blessings to all,
Attila the Mom

Sometimes You Just Gotta Say...

Sorry I've been out of the loop for a couple of weeks. I took some much needed R & R to recover from the holiday season both at home and work.

I've been catching up on all the recorded shows I missed and trying to veg-out a bit. Hard to do with everybody in the family wanting/needing something, but I'm doing my best.

Ok, being the juvenile potty-humorist that I am (I blame adoption, I really do!), a couple of commercials have me going WTF?

The first is that vaginal deodorant ad where the character says, "I found out the hard way..."

How? How did you find out? Did your hubby come to bed with a clothespin on his nose? Did somebody on the bus exclaim, "girlfriend, you got some funk?" Did you sit on the lawn and make your own crop circle when all the grass and flowers wilted around your stanky butt? How?

The other commercial that has my head spinning is the new Activia commercial.

Jamie Lee Curtis says, "Keep a video diary and let me know about your new normal"!

Huh? What are you supposed to video? The results in the bowl? You with a smile on your face every day saying, "I just dropped a huge doody, and boy do I feel great!!"???

WTF?

Holiday Hell aka No Good Deed...

Ok, gotta get this off my chest. Hopefully you guys will throw me a bone and share a holiday from hell story from your past or present so I don't feel so crappy. LOL

My ex-father-in-law is a narcissistic control freak. I've talked about him before and about my issues with him. Both of his children have fled the state and want nothing to do with him. My ex-hubby's inability to deal with him played a part in my decision to divorce.

As the mother of his two oldest grandchildren, I've basically inherited the irascible bastard. After my divorce from his son and over the years, we've hammered out a civil relationship based on---"you follow my rules or you don't get to spend time with my kids".

It's not malice on my part. I recognize the need for my kids to having loving familial relationships. But I also know why Ex-FIL's kids want nothing to do with him. He was an autocratic, abusive bully.

Having f*cked up with his own children, I have to admit that "R", as I'll call him, has worked hard to stay on my good side and has worked hard to be a good grandfather over the years. We've come to have a mutual and tentative respect for each other and our roles in the boys' lives.

Now he is in his 70's, lives alone in an assisted living place, where he scares the crap out of the other residents by bullying them into joining him in his self-styled regimen of diet and exercise. LOL He gets around ok, it's just that he's had some financial and medical setbacks over the past few years.

And he's starting to lose what mind he has left. You know what I mean---some older people get to a point where they just don't care about good manners or they revert back to being the same asshole they were before they started "mellowing".

This year for the first time, he's started trying to march Hubby and I around like we were his actual children, not people who put up with him for the sake of the grandchildren.

Against everybody else's better judgement, I invited R for Christmas dinner. I mean the guy has NOBODY. He's chased his own kids away, and has few friends. I just knew that I couldn't stand the guilt I'd feel thinking that he would be alone for the holidays. And hey---it's good for the kids to spend a little time with him, as tough as it can be (R is the kind of person who has to be the center of attention and monopolizes every conversation to make it revolve around himself, his life, his opinions).

I said, "We'll have dinner and festivities from 2 to 4, so that will give you time to drive home while it's still light" (it's about an hour and a half drive).

Christmas Day dawned early and bright. Got up early, put the stockings under the tree, made breakfast. All the kids (including Kitty) were here, as well as a friend who has been staying as a houseguest. Had a lovely time opening gifts.

Then it hit me. I hurt. I hurt everywhere. From my scalp (which felt like it was on fire) down to my toes. My back ached, my hips ached, my legs ached. I was exhausted and could barely move.

I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia a few years ago. It's been very mild so far and treatable with aspirin or advil. I guess this was my first big "attack". I was down for the count.

Went to bed and woke up a couple of hours later. If possible, I felt worse. My friend said, "You know things are bad when even your eyelashes hurt". Luckily I had prepared the entire Christmas dinner in advance and all it needed was to be heated in the oven. Hubby to the rescue!

As usual, Ex-FIL called to say he would be late, never taking into account that he would upset plans other people made for the rest of the day. Hubby tried to head him off at the pass, saying that I was ill and that we should get together another time. But no, that would be too easy. R was "on his way" and nothing would stop him.

I woke up long enough to chat with him (and apologize for my state) for about 15 or 20 minutes before collapsing back into bed. The kids were kind of freaking out---mom sick? Oh no! The world is ending!

Slept through most of the rest of it, so it was relayed to me by the survivors.

After the meal and visiting, he Just Wouldn't Leave. Even though the Aspiring Adult had plans with his friends and Kitty and Big Kid had to go see her parents, R's car was blocking them in the driveway and he Just Wouldn't Leave. Finally, after ignoring hints and their obvious desperation, Hubby asked him to move his car (it was around 5pm at this time). He moved his car, parked it back in the driveway and parked his ass back on the couch.

Some time later he mentioned that since he was already down here, he thought he'd spend the night and go see some of his friends in the morning. Sorry Dude, no room at the inn. I mean really, where did he think we would put him? Our houseguest is sleeping in Little Guy's room, and Little Guy, Big Kid and Kitty were bunked out in sleeping bags up in the loft.

So he "instructed" my hubby to find him a motel in the area. He was willing to pay $35 a night.

Was he freaking serious? Really? On Christmas? Up here in a mountain town? Even in the off-season, you can't get a room up here for $35 a night.

Hubby, with infinite patience I might add, called up the locals. No go. So R called down to the city (about a half an hour away) and found himself a room. Told them to expect him around 8 or 9pm. Oy.

Around 7, I stumbled out of our room. I heard R's voice and thought I was hallucinating. I turned around and went back to bed.

A little later, just after Hubby had packed up the remains of Christmas dinner and cleaned the kitchen, R says to him. "Since all of the restaurants are probably closed, how about making me a meal to take with me?"

As it turned out, Hubby and Houseguest spent hours entertaining my ex-FIL long after the kids had bailed and left the reservation. Of course that meant listening to the incessant monologue about his life, his interests, his political opinions. He even went out to his car and brought in a bag of jewelry (that was his hobby before he retired) to show our houseguest every piece "because she was so interested" (she wasn't). And then tried to sell her some because he's hard up for cash.

I've apologized over and over for abandoning them to what is essentially, a problem person that I have inherited. They've been very kind about it, but it was a very stressful day. I slept for a day and a night, and felt 100% better afterwards.

The worst part is that next year I'll feel all guilty because he's alone and invite him again, because I always forget THERE'S A REASON HE'S ALL ALONE!!

Grrr.

Synchronicity

Well, I actually had a Holiday from Hell story, but I'm trying to be upbeat and positive. LOL

Maybe I'll share it later in the week if any of you have similar stories to tell.

As many of you guys know, I'm adopted and that after a long search and journey, I finally found my birth family about 10 years ago. My birth father didn't want to acknowledge a relationship, which I respect, but I've developed a close, loving and lasting relationship with my birth mother and her side of the family.

Many people who grow up within their intact biological families take their shared traits and experiences in stride as being part of a tribe. Is it nature or nurture? Really can't tell.

Parents who adopted from my generation were told that we were little "blank slates" ready to be imprinted with whatever they could "nurture" into us. "Nature" had no value in the psychology of the 60's.

Fast forward a number of years. Many adoptees and birthparents who've reunited have reported eerie happenings of similarity and parallels in our lives.

We call it synchronicity.

As an example, one adoptee I know moved to Arizona because her husband was transferred in his job. She had never lived there, didn't know anybody, or have any friends there, so she volunteered at a terminal cancer ward in a local hospital to bring books and visit with patients there. They were there for about a year.

A few years later after they had moved away and when she had a successful search, she found that her birth father was one of the terminal patients she was ministering to.

How freaky is that?

So here is my synchronicity story.

My birthmom's birthday is around Christmas, so I always send her two presents together. One is her favorite perfume, the other is totally random.

One year I was looking at designer purses online. Since I can't afford the REALLY expensive shit (Louis Vuitton, Kate Spade, etc), I was looking hard at some lesser designers. One designer I really liked, but I rethought it, because buying somebody a purse is as personal as buying underwear. I passed, and bought her something a little more neutral.

What did she send ME for Xmas? The purse I was loving and thinking of sending to HER!

Another year I sent her a zippy red patent leather tote that I thought she would be stylin' in. Turns out she bought the very same tote for a good friend of hers for Xmas.

The year I was diagnosed with heart failure and lost 100 lbs of water, my skin was really loose and dry. In early December I searched around to find SOMETHING that might help me retain some elasticity and decided to splurge on some Clinique Watertherapy (out of the blue. Normally I buy something cheap like Jergens or Vaseline Intensive Care).

What did she send me for Xmas? A basket of Clinique Watertherapy!

So this year, birth mother made a move farther up the east coast where it gets cold, cold, cold. I sent the same favorite foof, and thought I'd send her something to reflect her new climes. A cashmere scarf and gloves.

What did she send ME?

A fantastically gorgeous scarf and gloves. LOL

We had a huge laugh over it. It was another WTF moment.

I talked to my Mom about it today (my adoptive mom). She was one of the parents that the adoption agency told that "nature" was irrelevant and that I was a little blank slate she could imprint herself on. We had another laugh over it all.

She thought she "broke" me because I ended up so quirky.

Mom's so relieved to know that it's all genetic and not her fault.

Snarf.