Asshat of the Week

I haven't done an Asshat for awhile---not because there weren't plenty of them, but because maybe there's just a kinder, gentler me.

Ok no. That would be lying. For the last year I've just been drifting in sort of a cloud of ennui. I think that what my good friend Kim Ayres said in my last comments section about getting a protective emotional layer stripped off when facing a tragedy holds true.

I avoid engaging in stuff that pisses me off, because I already have enough scary emotions to deal with.

Life goes on though, and I need to get over it.

So this week's Asshat goes to AOL commenters.

I have AOL, and now, after 13 years, I pretty much loathe it. BUT I have a lot saved on here. I don't want to lose any data, and I don't want to spend the time changing it over to something else.

Please don't comment on all the better things I could have. I've researched it, and just don't want to go through the hassle.

I click on the links on the welcome page if something catches my fancy. Many articles are inane and totally tork me off with the piss-poor writing and content. Some are interesting. What is consistent is the incredible ignorance and hatefulness of the number of AOL users who bother to comment on articles.

In practically every article, some nincompoop has to make it about race. Or immigration. Or Obama (If the article is about Scarlett Johannson's bikini wax the comments run to how it's the President's fault the rainforest is shrinking). Or their so illiturate thet u cayunt unnerstan wa thar talkin bout. And then there's the large percentage who don't read for comprehension.

Holy crap. It's scary to think these people can vote.

Last night I read an article about Baby Jessica McClure turning 25 and coming into the trust fund that was established by well-wishers when she was stuck in that little drainage hole. She's a married mom of two now.

Her parents were very young poor people when it happened. Over the years, AS her parents, they could have made all kinds of demands on the trust---we need a bigger, better secluded home (mansion) to keep us from the media---we need fancy cars to tote her around in, etc, etc.

Think of Michael Jackson and all of HIS hangers-on and their demands. Or any of those child stars (Gary Coleman, Patty Duke come to mind) whose parents' spent their children's earnings/assets on themselves.

But Jessica's parents didn't do that. The principal of her trust---800K---is pretty much intact.

So now that she is getting it, here is the gist of some of the AOL comments: She doesn't deserve it because she married someone of Mexican descent. "How dare she have some money to put in her little brown babies' college funds!" Gah!

Her parents are trash. How dare they profit from this. (WTF?? How did they profit from this?)".

Yes, Jessica got a windfall from people who were touched by her plight when she was a baby girl. Yes, it's easy to be envious of the whole thing.

But these comments are ugly. And stupid. It makes you wonder where in the hell these people come from.

So this week's Asshat goes to those ignorant, racist AOL users.

Humble

When Big Kid got so sick a little over a year ago, I really had the smug knocked out of me in dozens of different ways. I confidently thought that I could handle most any hits that came our way, as long as I could put on my killer bunny slippers and kick butt.

Pre-H1N1, I used to watch the news and tragedies across the world in a somewhat detached manner. I would send up a prayer to the ether for the victims and their families because yes! what a horrible tragedy!, but would feel kind of superior watching 3rd World mothers wail, tear at their hair and faces and rend their clothes at the death of their children. That's not really the American Way, or maybe not the Anglo-Protestant Way. We're civilized and have better control of ourselves.

Stupid, superior Me.

That whole month when Big Kid hung between life and death on life support, minute to minute, I finally got it. The primal urge to rail against the helplessness, the hopelessness. The physical need to tear at myself, to let loose, to howl, to scream out my fear and grief.

Of course, if I had done that at his bedside, I would have probably been sedated and introduced to a nice soft hotel room with a sportcoat that ties in the back for my own protection. Because that's the way it is in our culture.

It was a very humbling experience.

Since then, this past year, I've tried to be more understanding of people's circumstances, to be less judgmental. I'm still very raw, and cry at the drop of a hat. Lost and found Doggy on the news? That's a crying. The tragedy in Japan? That's a daily crying. Geico commercial? That's a crying too. I've cried at real and stupid stuff more in the last year than I have in my previous 44 years. I guess having doctors tell you that your child is dying and they can't do anything more for him will do that to you.

But I guess I'm not done with being taught humble lessons.

Little Guy, who has Autism, has had a pretty crappy year. I talked a little about how his Fall Semester at our local high school was a bust, and how his and a few other transitional students' rights had been violated under IDEA. I was able to secure an extra semester(he ages out of the system next month) to make up for the lack of services, but I'm not going to get into it here. If anyone wants a private run-down, feel free to email me.

Last week, he came home with a flyer that advertised a "social" for adults who have disabilities down in the city. We live in the mountains, and there isn't any such activities here. Since Hubby was going to be out of town, and Little Guy really wanted to go, I made arrangements with Big Kid and Kitty (his girlfriend) to take them out to dinner while Little Guy attended this shin-dig.

This event is held monthly at the city's Senior Center (had no idea!). The place was packed. Tons of young people his age (the event is for 16 and older). I got Little Guy checked in, made sure of a place and time to meet (he didn't want his old mom hanging around) and went off to dinner.

I came back a half hour before the party was scheduled to end. There were a lot of parents/caregivers etc sitting around the foyer, which was very large. I came in, sat down and waited. Little Guy breezed through, we chatted a minute, and he went back into the event room to mingle and dance.

This incredibly gorgeous and well-groomed man stopped by and asked me how it was going. I looked around. Was he talking to me? Frumpy me? I said fine, how are you? Laughed. Said I was waiting for my son. Assumed he was a parent, a sibling, a caregiver waiting for someone too.

He sat down next to me and introduced himself. I told him who I was and said "it's nice to meet you".

He said, "this week is my birthday, I'm going to be 45". I congratulated him (while thinking it was a little weird to tell a complete stranger that). Looked at his ring finger to see if maybe there was another half to this Adonis. No ring (and no, I didn't forget there was a ring on MY finger!).

He went on, "Last year I was 44 and the year before that I was 43. Can you names things that they have at a birthday party?" So for the next 15 minutes we came up with everything we could think of (ponies, clowns, pirates, cake, presents) that could possibly be appropriate at a party. Then Little Guy found me and told me he was ready to go home. I shook hands with the gentleman and told him again how nice it was to meet him. "Will you be here next month?" he asked hopefully. I said I just might.

All the way home I mentally kicked myself. I like to pride myself on being a fairly astute person, but I guess I still let my assumptions lead the way. Humble pie.

Little Guy had a fabulous time. He didn't ask anybody to dance, but danced with himself to the songs he liked. Since Hot Cutie (his girlfriend) wasn't there, he didn't want to be a "scumbag" and dance with anybody else. I explained that since Hot Cutie doesn't like these kind of activities, and doesn't like dancing (and he does), I didn't think it would be a bad thing to dance with other people "as friends". He pondered it a minute or two and decided that "next time" he'd ask some of the girls who were sitting on the sidelines. LOL

Happiness Is...

Ok, my last two posts were kind of bummers.

I've been kind of thinking on a theme about blessings, good things, happiness.

Remember when Charles Schultz did the whole riff on "Happiness is a Warm Puppy?"

Well....

This is it for me:

Happiness is when I do my great big morning stretch and nothing hurts or is stiff.

Happiness is when I get up and there is no emergency late night calls on my answering machine.

Happiness is when I wake up and Hubby is holding my hand.

Happiness is racing into the bathroom (still taking diuretics) and finding that somebody else put a new roll of toilet paper on the hanger (doesn't happen too often in THIS house).

Happiness is when I step on something sort of round in my slippers and find out it's a magic marker and not one of the Little Sh*t's turds.

What about you?

I Don't Know Whether to be Pissed or Proud

The other day was a day from hell. I don't know how to feel about it.

Spent the morning running errands. The the Aspiring Adult (forgot to tell you guys that he's back home with us, but that's another story for another time. Let's just say he learned his lesson, is attending school and doing really great and working as well), needed me to pick him up after he dropped off his car for an alignment.

Ran to the store and the post office (selling all that crap for my mom on ebay--this time my dad's postcard collection). The Aspiring Adult had been sick for about a week, and finally manned up and got a doctor's appointment for the afternoon, which he needed a ride for.

Little Guy came home after culinary school about noon. Since I needed to run more errands in the afternoon, he had a choice---come and help, or stay home. He's been so responsible that for the last 6 months or so we've been able to leave him at home alone for an hour or two. When he comes and helps, he asks for a treat, so we agreed on a Creamslush from Sonic.

Took the Aspiring Adult to the doctor and dropped him off. Our agreement was that after his appointment, he'd run across the street to the store, get his prescription and call me when he was done to be picked up.

I waited. And waited. Tried calling the AA on his cell, but just got voicemail.

Since I had other errands to run, I figured I'd try to call him later from my cell. Little Guy and I were off.

First off, Little Guy got agitated because I hadn't turned the clocks in my car forward for daylight savings time. I explained that I didn't know how to do it, that I needed his dad to do it, and that I'd ask him as soon as he got home. It just wasn't enough. Little Guy kept going on and on about it. I finally said, "Please! I don't want to talk about this anymore! I'm stressed out and I need to concentrate on driving!"

Arrrggghhh. He got all bent out of shape about it. Not just the hairy eyeball, but kicks to the floorboard of the car and big huge sighs.

We went back to the post office to mail more stuff, and Little Guy was all stompy and rude to the postal workers, who he's really on friendly terms with. We went to the dry cleaners and he refused to get out of the car. So I ran in and out. We ran by Sonic, got the creamslush, and FINALLY got a hold of the Aspiring Adult. It had been 3 hours since I had dropped him off at the doctor's.

Well duh. While waiting for his prescription, he ran into some old friends and they were now at Starbucks. So "sorry", he didn't know that I had other things to do other than to wait on his call. Grrr. He'd get a ride home by himself. He wasn't aware that I had a life beyond his immediate needs, so he didn't think it mattered what he did.

Drove back to our little burg's shopping center, ran in to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine we'd ordered for a gift and that was being held for us. I was in there for maybe 4 minutes.

Came back to the car, and Little Guy was gone.

He was gone. Totally gone. My heart just about stopped.

The creamslush was sitting on the seat, practically full.

I looked around the parking lot (which is large), and there was no sign of him. I called for him. No answer.

For the next 20 minutes I drove around, asked people if they'd seen him.

Of course, I said, "have you seen my child?" or "have you seen my son?"

I ran in and out of the various shops.

They all got concerned (my child) until I described him. He's almost 21 years old and an adult.

My big fear was that he might have seen someone he knew and went off with them, because he thinks everybody who knows him is a friend, and unfortunately, there are some people who don't wish him well. He wouldn't have taken off with a stranger. He's NEVER wandered off before. EVER.

My other fear was that he was so annoyed with me about the clock thing that he might have tried to walk home by himself up the highway.

I was about to call 911, when I saw him up by where I had left my car originally. He was looking around. I jumped out of where I was and yelled at him across the parking lot. It had been 30 minutes since I had discovered him gone.

So, the end game is that he had to go to the bathroom. He knew there was one in the grocery store across the parking lot from where we were. He decided to be capable and took off on his own.

I cried all the way home. I just couldn't help myself. The crying really freaked him out, but the situation really freaked ME out!

When hubby came home, we sat down and had a talk with him about it.

One one hand, I'm really proud that he recognized his need and found out how to take care of it on his own. On the other, he really scared the crap outta me.

Gah. I don't know if he was able to benefit from the teaching moment or if my immediate hysterical reactions of "I thought somebody took you!!" has colored it all.

Getting Older Bites

I like corn, but corn doesn't seem to like me any more.

Yes, I said corn. Not porn. We still get a little giggle out of that. The word, I mean.

Neither do oranges.

Or salsa.

Now they all bite back.

Anything you used to be able to enjoy giving you heck now?

The Things We Do For Love

aka No Good Deed Yadda Yadda Yadda

If you guys remember a couple of years ago my mom was trying to sort through and get rid of a bunch of crap and collections my step-dad (her late husband who passed away 4-5 years ago) had amassed over 75-plus years that were stuffed in her basement.

Bless her heart. She's spent the last few years trying to find good homes for some of this stuff. Since they didn't have any children together, she made sure that all his family heirlooms went to the obscure relatives on both sides of his surviving family however far and wide they might be.

There were over 2000 books---mostly theological (he was a Presbyterian Minister) that she called seminaries all over the country to try to donate them to, but since a lot of gone digital, it was hard going. They did take his yearbooks for their collections though. :-)

One of his collections was over 700 78-records. A friend from her church had a nephew or somebody who was an "expert" appraiser of that venue. He looked over the collection, told her that they weren't worth more than 10 cents a piece and offered her like 100 bucks for it all.

I said no, let me take a look, brought about 30 heavy boxes home. Sold most of it for 11 thousand dollars on Ebay. Feh, That mofo better cross the street when he sees me coming. But now that little endeavor has made me the "go to" gal for finding value in crap that family and senior friends have stashed in their attics.

Since she has remarried, she's agreed to try to get rid of more stuff from her basement. The biggest problem is that she just won't THROW ANYTHING AWAY! So I haul a trunkfull of stuff two hours home and throw it away here.

Several months ago, she gave me a box of shag-carpet toilet covers from the 70's. Seriously. The elastic was completely destroyed, making them unusable (as if the colors wouldn't make you run screaming from the room). This last time (her recent wedding) I took away with me a buttload of 70's Xmas centerpieces made of plastic pine needles.

I also came away with several drawers full of expired film (she was dithering about them, no sentimental value, didn't know if she should throw them away or not so I just dumped them in a bag and loaded them into my car). She also gave me some albums and boxes of vintage postcards my step-dad collected.

So being a "get to it" kind of person, I dutifully listed a bunch of this stuff on ebay. Amazingly enough, the expired film got snatched up right away (who'd have figured?) and there was a lot of lively bidding. I mentioned it to her---astounded that there was actually a market for this stuff---and what did she say?

"Maybe we should keep some of it to help sell the camera equipment!"

Whaaaa?

I explained to her that once somebody started bidding on items, you couldn't just pull them off auction unless you discovered some major flaw that you hadn't disclosed or the item was destroyed. Once you have bids, you have a contract.

Postcards aren't nearly as bad as 78's, at least in the storage/haulage department. But you still have to scan each one and edit it. Doing a couple of hundred can eat up a few afternoons. Many of the cards, although vintage, simply aren't collectible. A few garnered a lot of attention and bidding. Like a fool, I chatted with her about it instead of waiting until it was all over.

"Maybe we should keep those if they're valuable", she said.

Face Palm!! Arrggghhh!!

Next up? Pop's stamp collection. From what I've heard from my brother, there are about 60,000 of them.

Oy.

Whimsical Wishes

I wish I was eccentric and graceful enough to wear a sari.

What is YOUR Whimsical Wish (talking about whimsy, not world peace)?

Joy and Sorrow

Hubby's sister passed away peacefully last week in hospice. He flew out and just got back today. I stayed behind because I had to travel to my mother's wedding yesterday on Valentine's day and just got back today myself.

Took Little Guy with me.

Since somebody had to take care of the dogs and the house, Big Kid, Kitty and the Aspiring Adult all stayed here together to keep an eye on things and each other. ((sigh)) At least they didn't burn the house down. More on that another time.

We arrived on Sunday, and Mom was a basket case. LOL She's anal retentive on a good day and this just about blew her sockets. She had to go over every detail again and again and my job was to assist her and keep her calm.

I helped her get ready on the big day---and surprise! At 78, my mom had gotten her ears pierced! I had to put her earrings in because she was so nervous her hands were shaking.

It was a lovely service---just Beau, Mom, their kids and grandkids. It was held in the chapel of the church we've gone to since we were children. I was the matron of honor and Beau's son was the best man.

Both of my brothers walked Mom down the aisle---that's when I started bawling. ;-) She looked so beautiful!

Beau lost it during the vows part. He was so emotional and sobbed a bit. Which of course set off his son and daughters. Not a dry eye in the house! When my mom was saying her vows, "I promise to love, honor and cherish" Beau jumped in with, "What happened to obey?" LOL

At the end, after they were pronounced man and wife (and kissed), Beau's son and I helped them down from the dais, one on each side (didn't want anybody to break a hip).

The pastor introduced them with their married name to the congregation, and before anybody could start clapping, Little Guy jumped up from the front row, shouted "Group Hug!!" and almost knocked them down! snarf

It really was a very very special day.

Many Thanks, and This and That

Thank you all for all your suggestions! After looking at tons of boobs, I found the perfect peignoir set! Can't tell you how much I appreciate it!
________________________________

We just found out a few days ago that one of Hubby's sisters is dying. She had breast cancer some years ago, and thought she had beat it. In December she had a hernia operation, and they found that she had cancer throughout her body. Apparently the chemo wasn't successful this time and she's going into hospice. We had no idea, as she is a very private person. He's devastated as are we all. :-( With all the snowstorms and cold, as well as personal obligations, we're trying to juggle to get him a flight down to the south.

__________________________________

I haven't written about this or anything else, simply because of number 1) the stress has just exhausted me, and number 2) there might have been legal ramifications if I wrote about it prematurely.

Little Guy and several other students who have disabilities had their rights under the law seriously violated this last semester at school. When it was brought to the administration's attention, the head of disability services shit-canned the offending teacher, but offered one remedy, and one remedy only to make up for it. Take it or leave it.

I decided to leave it, because I didn't feel that it would be beneficial to Little Guy, and I thought she was being pretty freaking high-handed about the whole thing.

So I went over her head.

We had a meeting with her and the superintendent on Friday, armed to the teeth with the case we were planning on presenting in a lawsuit. It didn't come to that, because the superintendent could see the long-term issues and couldn't see why what we asked for (an additional semester of transition services for what our son had lost) wasn't offered by his employee.

There was a positive outcome. Woohoo. I'm still tired, though. LOL

Ladies, I Need Some Help!

Sorry I haven't written or checked your blogs out lately, but things have been hairy around the Attila House. I've just had too much damn anxiety to write anything. Will share soon.

But I have some funny/good/precious news. And I need your help.

I've talked a lot about my mom in my blog over the years, and my struggles with our relationship especially when I searched and found my birth family (I'm adopted). I even shared the sorrow when my step-dad passed away a few years ago.

I've shared her struggles as a newly single gal, how she dumped a bunch of old guys because they just wanted to get married and have someone take care of them.

She was done "taking care of sick old men". And she had a checklist for the men she was going to date:

1) He had to be able to drive
2) He didn't want to get married (she was married 24 years to my dad and 24 years to my step-dad and was done with being married)
3) He had to be in reasonably good health

Also told you guys about this older beau she's had for a couple of years. She's 78, he's just turned 88. For the first time, she's the trophy hoochie. LOL

Anyhoo, he's a gem. A real sweetie. They're both really active and go to plays, concerts, senior events and seminars. He's taken her to Vermont to see the leaves change, to New Mexico for the Hot Air Balloon Festival. When my son was in the ICU, he drove her down (2-hour drive) frequently to sit vigil with me.

The year before last at Easter, I wrote about how the families got together for a meal and to meet each other for the first time. His adult children, her adult children (except for me) went out to a restaurant. They sat at opposite sides of the table, like a mafia sit down.

Both sets of "kids" were wary---worried that their elderly parents might be taken advantage of.

Beau's son somewhat superciliously asked my mom to tell him about herself.

She said, "well I've married and buried quite a few men in my time". He was agape. She and beau laughed their asses off.

Then she added, "didn't you have a minister at your wedding?" Snarf. She's a retired United Methodist Minister. I wish I had been there!

Anyhoo, a few days ago, she called me and told me that she and Beau have decided to tie the knot. They'd just been to a lawyer and signed a prenup keeping all their stuff separate. For the last year or so, they'd been going between his house, which is full of crap, and her house, which is full of crap.

They were just worried about what the neighbor's were thinking. On one hand, they could live in sin, but my mom was worried that if something happened to Beau, his kids (who don't actually live close) might not be available if decisions about their dad needed to be made.

Ok, that's her story and she's sticking to it.

So I asked her when the big day was and she said Valentine's Day.

I was stunned. "Why so soon?" I asked.

"We aren't getting any younger. How long should we wait?"

Gah!

Ok, so here's the deal. We had a talk tonite and I asked her what I could do to help. She's running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

Since she isn't having a bridal shower, and she won't let me arrange the bouquet or contribute, I decided that I wanted to buy her a romantic peignoir set or something for her honeymoon. I've seen her jammies. LOL

I can't find anything that isn't crotchless, nippleless, too short, too staid, vinyl, etc etc etc, even when I look at "bridal" stuff. Or boyish stuff. Or hiphugging stuff.

I'm looking for something in blue, aqua, medium pink---pastelly but not white. I mean she's 78, fer pete's sakes. Something somewhat froofy. You know, romantic. It can be mid-length or long.

She wears an XL, and price is not a problem. I'd rather something a little more highend than Kmart polyester, if you know what I mean.

If you guys could help me, I'd love you forever!

Train 'em Early On!

I once read an article about relationships that said, "start it out the way you expect it to continue". Basically, the whole gist was that if you started out trying to impress the new guy with foot massages, coffee in bed, and laundry service (trying to show off what great wifey material you'd be), you'd be stuck doing it for years.

Hubby and I had a 3-month courtship before we stepped it up a notch. He was a long-time bachelor, and I was a newly single mother of two. He was very correct and somewhat prim in his wooing of me---a true gentleman. We met when I had been contracted to provide an entertainment service for the restaurant/bar he co-owned.

We had a laugh over the fact that we both were raised on the east coast, about a half-hour from each other. How weird was that we'd meet up here? Reminisced about how we both spent our summers in the same place (Ocean City), and watched Captain Chesapeake and Ultra Man as kids. I thought he was adorable.

He called my answering service and left a message saying it was a "social call". I tried to call him back for two hours and kept getting a busy signal. He was afraid I wouldn't call him back right away, so he took his phone off the hook and went out to wash his car. LOL

On our first date, he invited me to drop by his restaurant after work. He had closed the establishment to the public and treated me to an incredible candlelight dinner and dancing for two. The next day I baked a dozen long-stem cookies and had them delivered to thank him for his hospitality, which he thought was utterly charming.

We went out off and on for the next few months when our schedules permitted. He wanted to take my guys with us, but I demurred. I didn't want my guys to meet or get attached to someone I wasn't in a serious relationship with.

Finally he invited me to his little house in the mountains for a weekend (he rented a condo with a roommate in town across from the restaurant during the week). Since it was going to be our uh "first time" together, I was spritzed and poofed and shaved and had picked out my sexiest lingerie.

Man plans. God laughs. Sometime during the week while he wasn't home, his power went out. It's amazing that his pipes didn't freeze. Not only was the place colder than a witch's---you know---but the heater in his waterbed was out too. He was able to get the furnace started, but the bed was like an ice cube.

Instead of a sexy encounter in my racy undies, I ended up bundled up in a pair of his sweats. We snuggled up together in several sets of comforters to keep warm. He was embarrassed and kept apologizing. Not the romantic evening he had planned. It was a little awkward.

Then to top it off, right after I dozed off, I farted. I can't control it when I'm sleeping. It wasn't some ladylike fluff either, but an event that shook the foundations of his house.

I was thinking, "I'm never going to see this dear man again. He's going to drop me off and run screaming for the hills."

I blurted out, "What in God's name did YOU eat for lunch?" He snorted and we laughed ourselves silly. Awkwardness over.

Since then, if I inadvertently have an attack of the barking spiders, I blame him, the boys, the dogs and my girlfriend from Alabama. Even when she's still in Alabama.

So in the wee hours, some 18 years after our first night together, I rolled over and woke myself up from the equivalent of a sonic boom emitting from my heinie.

"Oh My God", I muttered.

Hubby, that sweet, well-trained spouse of mine, stopped snoring long enough to respond.

"Excuse Me," he said in his sleep.

I laughed so hard I woke him AND the dogs up. Not so sure about my friend in Alabama though.

Train 'em early! LOL

Family Frustrations

Recently, Little Guy has been driving me crazy. When he gets stressed he becomes either really touchy or really needy. Although he is excited for the semester of culinary school to begin, he's nervous about the new classes and new people. He has mantras that have expected required responses, and if he doesn't get them, he becomes upset.

For example, he'll say (twenty times a day):

"You're my baby."

I'm expected to respond with, "No you're MY baby!" (I'm not sure if this exchange is just rote on his part, or if he really needs an assurance that he'll always be my baby).

If I don't respond correctly, or if I'm on the phone or distracted and don't hear him, he gets frustrated and acts like I've deliberately set out to mess up his day. He'll silently stand there and shoot me hairy eyeballs until I get it right. Even if it takes a half hour. I'll be obliviously loading the dishwasher and he'll be silently standing behind me glaring at me. When I turn around----gah! There he is with the ol' stink eye.

Another one is his constant use of the word "sorry". He picked it up from a peer in his transitions class a few years ago and hasn't stopped since.

Every time I ask him to do something---put the folded towels in the bathroom/let the dogs out/put the milk away/whatever and he'll say:

"Sorry, Mom. Sorry."

Zillions of times I've explained to him that he doesn't have to be sorry, he did nothing wrong.

Wrong answer. I'm supposed to say, "It's ok. I forgive you."

Well, I'm not going to do that. So it's another 20 rounds with the glare for the day. He'll even stand in the hall when I'm in the bathroom and shoot me the stink eye through the closed door.

And now for the cherry on top. Constantly he asks, "Do you still love me?" or "Will you always love me?"

The expected answers to these questions are "absolutely" and "forever and ever". Any deviation from that earns the double stink eye.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out where the heck that came from. Hubby and I have never ever threatened to withhold our love from our children, yet this seems to be a constant worry for him.

I recognized how darn tired I was with all of this the other day when Little Guy and I were in the grocery store. We were shopping and minding our own business, when I noticed a woman giving me the hairy eyeball (by now I'm an expert on that). I looked down at myself, wondering if I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe or a bit a lunch on my shirt.

Nope. Then I thought about the exchange she must have overheard between me and Little Guy, who is actually a 6'1 inch 200-lb man.

Me: Honey, could you reach up and get that muffin mix? The blueberry one? I can't reach that far.

LG: Sorry Mom. Sorry.

Me: Thank you!

LG (glaring at me): You're supposed to say you forgive me!

Me: No, I'm not going to say that.

LG (changing tactics): Do you still love me?

Me: Absolutely!

LG: You're my baby!

Me: No, you're MY baby!

Then he happily marched around a little as this woman looked at me like I was a lunatic or a really bad mother. I barely noticed that little conversation with my son as we have it 20 times a day, and it must have sounded like a critical, controlling and withholding diatribe to a complete stranger.

I've tried to redirect him a gazillion times over the years, with no luck.

Anybody have any ideas?

Happy Happy Joy Joy

At least on the Big Kid front. :-) Will update you on the other two doods soon.

Saw his pulmonologist yesterday. The news is fantastic.

There is no extensive scarring on Big Kid's lungs. Or blood clots.

He does have a touch of pulmonary hypertention, but it is not the primary kind, so it is treatable. We're going to have to work with the physical therapist on strengthening his chest walls.

He will probably have to sleep with oxygen for an extended period (or unless he moves to sea level), but we have every reason to hope that with time and treatment, he'll be able to ditch the oxygen tanks during the day.

Big Kid won't be able take stimulant medication for his ADHD, because it exacerbates the condition, but if comes between breathing and attention, he'll take the breathing. LOL

The doc was impressed with the kid's new attitude and committment to getting better. Thought he looked really good. Wants him to step up with the walking and weight loss, because that will only improve his condition.

So AGAIN, I spent the drive back up the mountain in tears. But this time they were good ones. :-)

This and That

Sorry I haven't written in a while, but dammit, I'm just pooped.

Right after Christmas, we scheduled a myriad of tests for Big Kid. Well, I mean we scheduled them months ago, just wanted to do them after the holidays. One year after his H1N1 crisis, he's still on oxygen 24 hours a day. There are many reasons why this may be happening, ranging from pulmonary hypertension to intensive scarring of his lungs. So for the last two weeks, he's been in and out of the hospital and imaging facilities. He had an allergic reaction to the contrast dye they use for CAT scans, and boy-oh-boy, wasn't THAT fun! Not!

We were able to FINALLY get him switched on the insurance----it actually wasn't the insurance company's fault really---it was his bio dad's company that was causing us the problem. Right after he was released from the hospital last year, they said he had to continue with college to be insured. That last spring semester was a nightmare.

Big Kid took two classes online. Thankfully they were review classes (nothing wrong with his long-term memory), and his instructors were on board. Even so, he struggled and barely passed. He has significant processing problems, and was only able to complete a portion of the classwork. Luckily, since they were review classes and he maintained information he had learned before, he was able to do fairly well on the tests, which pushed him over to the "pass" section.

However, he'd never be able to accomplish that for any other classes, but it gave us time to gather "evidence" to switch him from "dependent student" to "permanently disabled". Whew.

So last fall, he wasn't in school. But this is what he's been doing:

Walking every day with his tank. He's committed to getting better physically.

A couple of months ago, his psych changed some of his meds. Some of what he's been taking has made him gain an enormous amount of weight over the years, and he was in a pre-diabetic condition. He's lost 40 pounds since July.

Big Kid has always been my "glass half empty" kid, while Little Guy is the exact opposite. Strange to think they came out of the same womb. ;-)

He started on Abilify about two months ago, and the difference is amazing. For the first time in his adult years, Big Kid has been thinking positive, and working towards improving his life. He's been working on all the goals set with his cognitive therapist, and even joined a church.

Not going to get into all the church stuff, but in my opinion, getting involved in things outside himself is a big huge plus for him.

Got more going on, but just wanted to send an update.

Catch up with you all later, Gators!

Bad Santa or Weird Christmas Tales

Ok, got a few here. Not to be a bitch, but hey, I'm a feel like bitching. I spent the entire season (yes the season isn't over) trying to be kind, but if I can't kvetch to you guys, then who can I do it to?

Nog for your Noggin

We've been expecting bad weather on and off for Christmas. Of course, since we only get the "B" team news-wise locally (our little town is an afterthought), all the dire predictions came to naught. But trying to stock up on holiday provisions, I asked Hubby to go to the store on his way home from work.

Me: Can you pick up one of those half-gallon jugs of egg nog? The Aspiring Adult really loves it, and I'd like to have some on hand (the onliest people who like egg nog in our family is me and the AA).

Hubby: Sure!

A couple of hours later, after he comes home and puts all the groceries in the fridge...

Hubby: They didn't have any half-gallon jugs, and I think I got everything they had left in the store plus a little extra, just in case.

Me: You're the best!

The next morning, I look in the fridge, and there are 8---yes 8! quarts of eggnog in the fridge. Low-fat, old-fashioned, regular and Southern Comfort-style.

Me: Honey, why in the world did you buy 2 gallons of eggnog?

Hubby: I didn't. I bought a bunch of pints to make up 1/2 gallon, just like you asked.

Gah! My ass is going to be really huge by the time the holiday is over.

Weirdo Regifters

I'm all for regifting. Totally.

One relative sent us a bunch of puzzles, which really isn't our thing. I don't feel guilty regifting them on to another family member who is a puzzle-freak. Of course, they are completely unopened and unused when we send them on. Some years ago, my birth mom was gifted with an I-pod, and passed it on to my oldest son, because she wasn't interested in it, and he was.

Perfect regift!

Hubby's half-siblings are quite a bit older than he is. Some of their children are closer to his age then his siblings are. He insists on sending each of them a personal present every year, because he is THE cool uncle.

Anyhoo, his older half-brother is quite well-off. Not Bill Gates wealthy, but better off than your average bear. He started a company in college, turned it into a company that was prevalent on the east coast, sold it to a larger company for a mazillion dollars, and now dabbles in teaching at a few Ivy League colleges between spending time in Paris, on the Eastern Seaboard, and in Pennsylvania.

So this is the weirdo part.

Over the years, between Hubby's 1/2 brother and two 1/2 sisters (and what we've sent their adult children) we've all exchanged some really thoughtful gifts. Not really pricey, but with recipient in mind.

His half-brother and wife have regifted us with some really weird shit.

Frequently at holidays we've sent friends Harry and David's stuff. So I'm a little familiar with it.

Apparently Hubby's brother and wife get quite a bit of it, because they pick out what they want and send the rest on to other members of the family, like us. We'll get 2 half towers of treats. ;-)

Not complaining---all my guys will eat it---but it's weird.

A few years ago, Hubby's brother sent him a Playboy Bunny keychain, all wrapped up in a fancy box. What----did he have it in his sock drawer for years and think Hubby was 20? What decade is he living in?

So this year, they sent me a lovely square vase made of heavy glass. It was dirty and had dead flies in the bottom. I think sis-in-law cleaned out her knick-knack closet.

Yeah, I'm all for regifting, but WTF?

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I called my irascible ex-FIL, who I've bitched about here on this forum to make sure he got his gift in the mail. We sent him an assortment of Irish Cheeses, and it's perishable, so I wanted to make sure he put it in his fridge. God forbid we give him food poisoning.

Long story short, this man is a good part of why I divorced his son. His own children want nothing to do with him (he was a controlling and abusive father) and have moved far far away. The only family he has in these parts are my kids. Because he's their grandfather, I've worked hard over the years to have a civil if not friendly relationship with him. He's worked hard too---to try to be a good grandfather, but sometimes he slips into some bizarre and inappropriate behavior.

Anyhoo, when I called him, he asked if he could drive up to take the boys out for a snack on Christmas Day. Nevermind that nothing is open up here. He wanted to make a four-hour round trip to see his guys.

I guess that meant he was alone for Xmas.

So I did the only thing I could do. I invited him for dinner.

Luckily, Hubby was on board. Nobody should be alone for Xmas.

The next day he called and asked if he could bring along a couple of friends. I called Hubby and told him we needed to pick up a few more pounds of prime rib (Hubby's Xmas specialty). We would have been able to stretch it for one more person, but 3?

On Christmas Day, our guests parked in strategic places in our driveway, mindful of the other cars and drivers' needs to get out. Instead of parking on the street, ex-FIL plonked his minivan right in the entrance to the driveway, blocking the egress entirely, making it a necessity to move his vehicle if anyone was ready to leave.

And our luck being our luck, he couldn't get the freaking thing started when the first of our guests had to go. So a bunch of people dressed in their Christmas best had to push the behemoth up the hill to the street.

Where it promptly started.

Oh, and he didn't bring his friends either. But that's ok. More leftovers for us!
So any weirdo Christmas tales of your own?