Feh

Finals this week. Be back soon.

ATM

Crack Me Up

A few of weeks ago, I was encouraging THD to get in touch with his birth siblings (he's the second youngest of 6---none of whom were ultimately raised by their biological mother who died of a drug overdose a couple of years back).

His medical records are sketchy and incomplete, and not only did we think that it would nice for him to connect with them on a social level (despite their rocky beginnings, the oldest 4 are doing tremendously well), it would be helpful to find out if any of them have experienced any medical issues that might have a genetic cause.

Right now we're in the middle of having him completely medically and psychologically re-evaluated, because he'd previously been "diagnosed" ::koff koff:: and is currently being medicated for some conditions that seem to be absolute bullsh*t. More on that soon.

Also, as a fellow adoptee, I talked with him about some of the neat/funny aspects of connecting, and we touched on the nature/nurture debate. Learning about some of the amazing parallels I have in common with my biological mother and family piqued his interest, and he's thinking about writing to his siblings this summer.

So I wanted to write about something that totally cracked me up recently.

Couple of years ago, I wrote about finding my biological mom after a really long search. While navigating this new relationship we discovered that we had a lot in common. We had some odd parallels in our lives. We shared the same thought processes. We had the same off-beat, demented sense of humor.

I was delighted. I no longer felt like some weird alien being that had been dropped off in a field after my planet exploded. My adoptive mom was delighted as well.

She had always feared that maybe she screwed me up because she didn't breast-feed me. It was nice to know that it was somebody else's fault. ;-)

Anyhoo, understandably, my mom felt a little left out and insecure (something that has worked itself out over time) in the beginning while I was getting to know my birth family. My birth mom and I were trying to go at our own pace, while my adoptive mom---a compulsive micromanager---was busy trying to plan family vacations together for the next 10 years. It took her awhile to "get" that my birth mom wasn't interested in co-parenting, and that I certainly wasn't looking for another mommy. I was 35, fer chrissakes.

I tried to keep her included without letting her get in the middle and direct my reunion. It was like walking a tightrope. So whenever she asked if I had talked to my mother, I'd share. Maybe not the wisest decision, but one made with the best intentions at heart.

One day I relayed to her a conversation we'd had that ended up being a 30-minute snickerfest about blow-jobs and fart jokes.

::crickets chirping::

Dead silence.

Finally, "How come you never talked about blow-jobs and fart jokes with me?" Mom complained.

Waaaaaa? Are you nuts?

First of all, my mother is a retired minister. I'd as soon joke with her about blow-job techniques as I would to my son's elderly girlfriend (sarcasm alert!). It just seems so wrong on so many levels.

Second of all, my mother has been notoriously humorless on any topic that even smacks of sex since my dad seems to have shagged every female assistant he ever had before their divorce 30 or so years ago. In fact, although she's a wonderful woman who I love very much, she's always seemed to be somewhat humorless period.

And last of all, let's come to the obvious. Can I see a show of hands? Who wants to talk to their moms about blow-jobs? Any takers? Duh!

On Easter Sunday, Mom had holiday dinner with her new beau and his grown kids. And my brothers.

Now let me say that my brothers aren't too taken with Mom's new beau. They're protective boys and worried that someone might take advantage of her.

They really don't need to be worried. She has absolutely no intention of marrying again or taking care of any sick old men. She's been there, done that. In fact, the second new beau comes to a point where he can't drive any more or asks her to marry him, she'll toss him faster than Lorena flung the Bob-bit in the trash heap. She's become a car and driver tart. ;-)

Understandably, beau's adult children are worried themselves about someone taking advantage of their 84-year-old dad. So this dinner had the makings of a war council of the mafia with the two families on either side.

Mom and beau were highly amused.

As my brother relates it, beau's son asked with studied nonchalance (like he was interviewing a prospective employee), "So, Attila's Mom, tell us about yourself."

Very sweetly she replied, "Well, I've married and buried quite a few men in my time."

Beau's kids gaped like fishes.

Then Mom went on, "Didn't you have a minister at YOUR wedding?"

hehehe.

Okay Mumsy, you win. Next time I have a juicy blow-job joke, you'll be the first one I call. LOL

Screw You, Jenny McCarthy

You don't speak for me. Or for these people either:



Thanks so much to the ABFH for passing it along. To read more about the "No Myths" project, drop by her blog for a number of handy dandy links.

Leave the old stereotypes behind.

P.S. I just received an email from a new reader who asked what my connection to autism is. Sometimes I forget that people pop in and out of each other's journeys online and miss the back story. For those who don't know about our connection to autism, you can catch up here if you like.

Cheers!

Busted!

Guess who got busted trying to sneak a lick or two of the Easter prime rib that was thawing on the kitchen counter?

Oh the humiliation!

These two are sulking because they didn't think of it first. Oh, and because they're too short.

Hope you all have a wonderful holiday!

A Little Bit of Joy and a Little Bit of Oy

I found a scrap of paper on the floor the other day. I glanced at it and the top said, "THD's To-Do List For Monday". Listed were:

Look around!
Is the bathroom clean
Are the dogs fed
Does the trash need to go out
Are there dishes in the sink
Tell the manager you need more hours at work for school credit
Finish reading assignment
Hint that you need your own cellphone

Bless his heart. LOL

-----------------------------------------------
On Saturday, Hubby took THD out on his errands to acquaint him with the geography of our town and to introduce him to whatever friends or associates they might run into. As I said in my last post, the phone has been ringing off the hook since THD has apparently given our unlisted phone number to every person who has asked for it (not that there is anything wrong with that). So while they were gone, I got to play social secretary.

When they got back, the Dood asked if anyone had called. I looked at my list.

"Ashley, Amber, Alyssa, Andrea and Azure called. And some girl who wouldn't leave a message."

Thanks! He grabbed the phone and raced up to the loft to start dialing.

Hubby looked at me. "Is it just me, or does it seem like he's working his way through the student body alphabetically? How many weeks do you think it will take him to get to 'Z' ?"
-----------------------------------------------
I feel like breaking my foot off in my brother's butt. He went on a bender shortly after THD's arrival, and he hasn't checked in to my mother's house for the last 5 days. There are several items of mail there from the Department of Family services from the state THD was in. Including, I'm supposing, THD's medicaid transfer. The kid has 3 days left of medication, has a mental health intake next week and a doctor's appointment. But no medicaid card. Mom won't just open the mail or forward it to me, even knowing it's regarding THD (because that would be wrong), and my brother isn't returning anyone's calls. Grrr.
-------------------------------------------------
Last night I was up to my elbows in meatloaf mix (you know, where you have to squish all the ingredients by hand) when the phone rang.

THD and Hubby were outside splitting wood, so I said to Little Guy, "Why don't you answer it?"

Little Guy is a bit afraid of using the telephone. Mostly because it involves spontaneous conversation, and he isn't very comfortable talking to strangers without having a rehearsed set of comments ready. Although we've practiced good phone etiquette, he was nervous.

"You can do it!" I encouraged.

So he clicked on the button. Hello? THD? He's outside, hold on. Wait. Can I tell him who's calling?

Suddenly his mouth dropped open. I'm not allowed to say that. That's not very nice.

I grabbed a towel and started wiping the glop off my hands. "Who is it?"

He pulled the phone away from his ear.

It's a VAGINA! he exclaimed in a fairly loud stage whisper.

"A what?"

He said it louder. IT'S A VAGINA!!

I took the phone from him. We've had our share of crank calls and I can verbally blister someone's eardrums with dispatch. What kind of idiot would make a nasty phone call when everyone has caller ID nowadays?

"Who is calling please?" I asked crisply.

A scared little voice said, "Is this THD's house?"

"Yes, and who are YOU?"

"Could you please tell him Regina called?" Then she hung up.

R-E-G-I-N-A. Rhymes with....

Oy. Poor kid.

Checking In...

I haven't fallen off the face of the planet, but have had such a busy week! Wanted to check in to let you know that we're all doing great, and will post more very soon.

The Happening Dude has been here a week, and we've been caught up in getting him settled in. He started school and his job, and has been making friends all over the place. The phone has been ringing off the hook---mostly girls (little hussies---snark!) with invitations for the weekend. I think he feels like the last $10.00 leather skirt at a Loehmann's sale. ;-) Fresh meat!

As always, the sad comes with the happy. He's a much more subdued kid than he was a couple of years ago. And he's so damn-uh-grateful, and feels the need to tell us constantly.

"It's like I'm dreaming!"

It's heartbreaking to hear, because all the chaos has been caused by the adults in his life who disliked each other more than they loved him and it was so unneccessary.

Hubby and I finally sat him down to tell him how very fortunate WE feel that he wanted to come and live with us. And we're going to keep telling him, and telling him and telling him.

Maybe one day soon he'll truly begin to believe it.