Archive for the ‘sisters’ Category


Do you have siblings?

I do. I have two brothers, both younger. BroOne, who has two daughters, is two years younger than I am. BroTwo, who has two sons, is ten years younger than I am. Yes… I’m the eldest. In case you haven’t been able to tell from my writing over the years and my parenting style, I’m an eldest child.

Are you close to your siblings?

When I was growing up, I wasn’t close to BroOne but I was loyal to him. We had a lot of sibling rivalry, which I’m sure my shrink would say is due to the fact that we’re two years apart. [NOTE: That’s what she says is the reason my lovely Dear Girl has rivalous feelings towards Sweet Girl and Darling Girl. SIDE NOTE 2: Eldest of mine, Dear Girl and I chatted, and she shall henceforth be known as Bunny. That is all] We fought constantly as kids. My mom tells this story, which I remember because I was so distressed: I was little and he was a baby. I had this amazing little musical carousel for little kids, and it was one of my favorite toys. It ranked up there with Barbie dolls. We’re talking serious child currency, here. Well, my mom played the musical carousel for my tiny brother and I was devastated she took my toy and “gave” it to him without asking. I took it back, hefted it under one arm, and stomped down the stairs declaring the whole way down that it wasy MY toy, NOT my brother’s, and he wasn’t allowed to touch it. My mom didn’t do that again. She asked to share other toys that had less value to me after that, ha ha. I think that set the tone for our entire childhood and majority of our teen years.

We, BroOne and I, began to fight less frequently in high school. I think it’s because we were both out of the house less, and a lot of our friends were siblings to each other. There was always loyalty, though. We may have driven my mother up and down every wall in the house due to our constant fighting and bickering, but when it mattered we were loyal to each other. I hated seeing him in serious trouble, so I started to protect him at home when I could. Once, I locked him out of the house when my parents were out and he was so angry with me he tried to kick the door in. It was a wood door, and getting old, and it cracked in a few places. We had to press the door back into place but the cracks were huge. We found wood glue, filled them in, and then found wood stain to match it to the door. It was a bonding moment. Ha, see what I did there? Wenever told my parents until I told my mom after they were planning to replace that door. She still couldn’t tell the door had been essentially broken since I was 14/15 years old.

And of course, no one could bully him in school. No one. I’ve always been anti-bully, but to family? Oh no.

We got a lot closer when he met his now-wife. We’re close enough now that he’s Godfather to two of my daughters; I’m Godmother to both of his daughters. I have a great relationship with his wife, and always have. She’s an incredible woman, wife, and mother. I envy her in a lot of ways. I’ll bet she’d be shocked to know that. That said, we have a lot of things in common in our lives including health issues, but mostly in our views on life and parenting. I would do anything for BroOne and SisOne. Their girls are like my own daughters. People say that, but having daughters of my own, I know what that love feels like.

I think I was closer to BroTwo when we were younger. Since he was born when I was a skinny little ten year old girl, and I was thrilled to have a baby in the house, I helped take care of him. I didn’t even mind most nights when he woke up to be fed and changed; I would change him and warm his bottle so my mom could feed him. Sometimes I would feed him myself during the night, just snuggling on my bed. I begged to have him in my room. His crib was in my room until he was three years old. I learned how to care for a baby, and as he got older I learned to babysit during the summers. I loved it. We had a rough couple of years, which I believe I blogged about at one point. We have a much, much better relationship now, but it’s not like it was. We’re still working on it, finding the balance. I’m not sure he feels the distance, but what’s really good is that since his boys were born it’s been easier to relate to his wife. I love them, I love those boys. I love spending time with them. They’re generous and BroTwo is Godfather to Bunny. That’s important to me.

Do you visit your siblings often?

We try to visit with them as often as we can. We live about 18 miles away from my brothers, and around the same from our parents. When we bought our house, we were in a stage where we needed some physical space from the family where no one could simply drop in without calling first. It’s different when family lives anywhere between 2-to-6 miles away. Now, 14 years later, we miss that closeness. I think part of it has to do with the fact that my brothers both have children, and also miss getting to see my nieces and nephews from my Spousal Unit’s side more often too.

I never thought, growing up, that I would feel a need to be physically close to all of our siblings. I guess we’re lucky that they’re only about 20 minutes or so away, for the most part. One of my husband’s sisters lives about 40 minutes away. They’re all in state, so there’s that. We mostly see each other at my parents’ house but that may be changing. We also see each other for events we might host at a restaurant or something, or another family member does.

Do you babysit your siblings’ children?

Most often, when I do babysit, it’s BroTwo’s and SisOne’s girls. Recently, Darling Girl [my youngest, 13 years old] and I went to BroTwo’s house to babysit all four Littles. Both of my brothers and their wives had an event to attend, and it made sense. GoddaughterOne is seven years old now, so she’s not quite so little, but her sister, GoddaughterTwo is three years old. NephewFour [we have three nephews on my husband’s side of the family] is also three years old, and his little brother, NephewFive is two years old.

My brothers left pizza and we had a lot of [tiring] fun that evening. It had been awhile since I’d cared for multiple toddlers before; not since my best friend’s children were toddlers at the same time Bunny and Sweet Girl were toddlers.

While watching the kids, I was thankfully able to use the ladies’ room due to having brought my youngest daughter. LIFE HACK: When you babysit multiple toddlers, limit your fluids that evening.

BroTwo has crucifixes on nearly every wall in his home, and images of Jesus on several walls. He’s very, very dedicated and passionate in his Faith. He has several statues around the house too. Upstairs he has a beautiful, simple, distraction-free prayer room.

While in the ladies’ room, I noticed one or two religious inspirational quotes sticky-noted to the mirror. One says, “God, Others, Self,” which is kind of nice.

As a child, whenever my parents or the priest during homily or my CCD teachers would say,

“God is always watching you; Jesus knows your heart and is always watching,”

I would always, always get nervous not because I have something to hide but because I wanted to ask if that included showering and using the toilet and changing my clothes. Therefore…. The statue of Jesus on the window sill of my brother’s bathroom gives me heebie jeebies.

Sigh.

Jesus Statue, image from Amazon

Jesus, with a kind, loving expression on his face, one hand raised to his Sacred Heart and the other palm facing outward, is facing the toilet most often; sometimes the shower. I swear the eyes on that statue, that particular statue have a mischievous glint in them. He knows what I’m about to do, and it’s like He’s daring me. Or maybe He’s begging me, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a bit of both. Based on stories told about him in the Bible, and stories Jesus told, I know Jesus had/has a sense of humor. Plus, if he would never force his way into anyone’s home to witness, he’d never, ever force his way into someone’s toilet.

Just sayin’.

So I take up the dare.

Every time I’m in the bathroom, I turn Jesus to face out the window to get a nice view of the trees and creek in the yard. I love Jesus and all, but I doubt he really wants to see me peeing. I say a quick prayer when I turn Jesus.

“Hi Jesus, it’s me, Jessica. But you know that. You’re Jesus. So hey, here goes.

Dear Jesus,

Most holy, he who sacrifeced his life so that we could have eternal life in Heaven, I have the utmost respect for you. My brother has this statue of you in his bathroom. Please don’t be offended when I turn it away from the toilet. I know you’re not in the statue, but it feels like a privacy thing. I’m sure you can understand. Toileting stuff probably isn’t even your thing anyway. I apologize for any offense I may have caused you. You’re still awesome.

Amen

P.S. I love you

Double Amen

And every time I come over, there’s Jesus facing the toilet. Again.

And every single time, I get the overwhelming feeling that I have to turn Jesus away from the toilet. I’m not turning away from Jesus. No, no I’m not. I’m turning Jesus away from something he doesn’t need to see. I stay out of Jesus’ toileting business, he can stay out of mine.

I finally admitted it to my brother when we were about to leave after babysitting. He chuckled. So I’mma keep on doing it.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »


I have a lot of thoughts that are combating the issue of palliative care regarding in-the-home versus in nursing homes. In the early-ish part of the summer we received the news that a nursing care home finally had an opening for both of my grandparents. I should clarify that the “finally” part is really due to the fact that it took a long time for them… well, I should clarify that “them” is really my grandfather agreed to the move and my grandmother threw the mother of all tantrums, but relented. Once my father and uncles made the decision for my grandparents, and once they informed my grandparents, it only took a month or so for a health care facility to open up space for them.

There was relief in this. A lot of relief, actually. The fact that they would have on-site 24-hour nursing care and a doctor on staff. Their doctor would be on call. Emergency care would be available instantly as needed. There are a couple of hospitals within minutes from the nursing home, if needed.

As soon as they moved in, my grandfather felt relief. He could see that he really wasn’t able to take care of her any longer. That was hard for him. Not being able to pick her up when she fell was something that had been normal for a long time, but the emergency paramedics finally told them that unless she agreed (or he forced her) to go to the hospital when they called 9-1-1 and she was clearly injured (she was) then they were going to stop coming to the house for her. Whenever he fell, he knew enough to go to the hospital. So that was the tipping point.

I spent my summer with the girls, off work and visiting my grandparents as they adjusted and took turns with one being upset at being there and the other saying how wonderful it was. Yeah. Being in your 90’s and married for 70 years can be like that.

A week ago we held a party for my grandparents at the nursing home for their 70th wedding anniversary, and it was beautiful. My grandmother looked beautiful. She held her rosary the whole time. As I was growing up, and let’s face it her entire life and mine since at 40-something I still feel as if I’m growing up, she always put herself last. She always put all of her focus on the person who was in front of her. She made everyone in that room feel special, and so when they came for her and my grandfather’s anniversary, they made sure that she felt special.

She wasn’t quite herself, and I could see that. The entire week prior, she’d been declining. Her mood shifted. She started seeing hallucinations. Night time was the worst. She hadn’t slept for two or three nights, and so the day before the party, when I visited, they made sure she slept. She was in a great mood for the party, but something had changed. She knew who we all were and why we were there but she heard music that we couldn’t. She asked and talked about odd things, for her.

And then this past week things got worse. My grandfather and uncle swore to me yesterday that she wouldn’t recognize me, but she did. She couldn’t move much, but when I held her hand she held it back as much as she was able, and even lifted it to point at my youngest daughter when she wanted to see her. She would pucker her mouth and move towards us when she wanted kisses. The whole time since being in the nursing home, that’s all she’s wanted, is kisses.

They swore she wouldn’t understand anything we said to her, but she did. She tried to talk to me, so I told her about my girls and my husband, how school and work were for them and how much I’m enjoying being a stay at home mom again. I knew she wanted to know about my pain levels too, but I avoided that topic. I told her that I finally prayed for what she had asked me to pay for, for her and that I’d done so at Church yesterday morning right before coming. She blinked a few tears and tried to nod, leaned for kiss, and I cried. I told her that I prayed for it even though I didn’t want it, because I know she needs it and she’s ready, and because I love her. I told her that I love her no matter what, and that I’ll be okay, that the entire family will be okay and she can let go.

We stayed, Darling Girl and I, for hours with her. It was very difficult to leave. We let the nurses know we were leaving, and then we saw my grandfather coming down the hall from his room with a priest trailing behind him. He told me that the priest just got there, and could I please stay. This was their parish priest. He was there for Last Rites.

So of course I stayed. We stayed. I held her hand. When she saw her priest, she gasped and said his name after not being able to speak for a few days. My grandfather was shocked because he had been 100% sure that she didn’t… couldn’t recognize anyone and nor could she understand what anyone said. It was beautiful from start to finish, and I never thought it could be. Maybe it was beautiful because it’s what she wanted.

Now it’s Monday morning, and my Darling Girl is sad. This is making her think about when my husband’s father passed away four or five years ago. It’s very similar, but she didn’t understand what was happening then. She told me this morning on the way to school that she’s remembering what happened to her Nonnu, but with a new understanding and so she’s feeling the experience of his death all over again as her great-grandmother is dying.

What she’s having trouble understanding is how my grandmother could be choosing to refuse to accept her medications, even the pain meds; how she could be choosing to refuse to accept any food or water. At 12 1/2 years old she knows how long a person can without food, and without water. I don’t know how to explain that to her, how a lifelong devout Catholic could choose, in her mid-90’s, to stop it all and to leave directions for the nurses, doctors, and family to refrain from any extreme lifesaving measures. It’s not rational to my daughter. I told her that as much pain as her great-grandmother is in from her illnesses, she’s in far more pain when she eats and drinks because her insides don’t work as well any longer, and she wants the pain to end. That didn’t satisfy her, and I know that nothing will. It sounds weak in my ears too.

Also this morning, Sweet Girl was having a really difficult time. She asked me last night to explain what was going on. She was more angry about getting up than usual, and complaining about everything that’s ever made her angry. I nearly lost my temper with her, and when I realized that my temper was shorter than usual I knew it was because of my sadness and the anxiety of the vigil. I realized my mistake, shifted gears and told her I recognized how sad she must be, and she could visit with me after school but that I won’t force her. She finally managed to cry, sad crying, and it seemed a relief to her to be able to identify with words what was wrong.

Dearest Girl, my eldest, turned 17 yesterday. She was amazing about me spending the day with my grandmother. She seems to be holding up well on the outside. In that way, she’s a lot like me. Being the eldest, like me, it’s natural. I know that she knows she can talk to me; she will when she needs to talk.

I don’t know how to do this. It just feels as if I’m doing it all wrong.

Read Full Post »


Dear Kathy Griffin,

I hope today finds you, well, I hope it finds you well. I’m assuming that today, likely now to be known as Two Days After That Execution Video & Photo Shoot, you’re having some internal dialogue as you and your publicist continue with damage control. I’m not going to assume too much about your state of mind prior to that stunt; I’m not going to assume too much about your current state of mind either.  

I’m not interested in being part of your character assassination. I’m not going to flame you or try to hurt your feelings. My intent here is to try to bring you back down to Earth where the little people are. I’ve peripherally noticed your career, since I’m not a fan of your brand of comedy.  I do appreciate your activism and find your serious acting roles interesting.

So when Wednesday I only peripherally noticed your name in one or two vague Facebook statuses late in the evening, I assumed that you had simply pushed a sensitive political button for Republicans. I went to bed blissfully unaware. I had a nice balance of polite dislike-sometimes-like and respect.

Thursday morning (yesterday), the morning news and radio were kind enough to share all of the gory details of the “Execution Video” showing you holding the decapitated head of Donald Trump. They shared your interview about the video you made with Tyler Shields behind the camera. I saw the video with the blurred out “head.” Thanks to the internet, later on, I saw the more graphic images ie. no blurring. It drove the point home that the intended “joke” and the edginess, provocativeness of the juxtaposition between yourself and Trump and an ISIS terrorist and a hostage. They talked about your apologies, and mentioned how they’re not being accepted by organizations such a the VFW. They talked about CNN canceling your future job engagements with them.

It took a me a whole day to process what I had seen and heard. I’m appalled and disappointed. I’m sure you wish you had thought things through and considered that the only approving audience might actually be ISIS. I’m writing this because I’m not entirely sure that you understand why your apologies haven’t been accepted, and why many people won’t forgive you for a long time, if ever. Just think about the Dixie Chicks.

You’ve owned that what happened was wrong, yes. You say that you know it was wrong and won’t do it again. The tricky part here is that people aren’t convinced that you know why it wrong. I don’t think people are convinced that you know why people of all political persuasions and regardless of their opinions on Mr. Trump are as equally appalled. 

We’re already in a very precarious political situation. I know that I’m not saying anything new. It’s not a secret or anything even profound. It’s well known as a fact that it’s been a nonstop fiasco since this dumpster fire of a president announced his intent to campaign. I share the embarrassment over the fact that this man is sitting in the Oval Office. I share in the feeling of moral disgust and automatically-triggered rage and anxiety by simply looking at that man’s face.

We all want to have the balance of power restored. We all want to feel empowered in our lives, and to help others find that which makes them feel empowered.

This video didn’t come from a place of power or empowerment, and it doesn’t evoke those feelings in most Americans. There’s a shared shock, mortification, disgust, and genuine outrage across all party lines, and it’s one of the few things uniting those who support Trump and those who vehemently oppose him .

It doesn’t matter that he’s the most hated president in our history; that he’s made history by having the lowest approval ratings not only in his first 100 days, but of any president; He may be the biggest embarrassment in the international stage of leaders; He may be the most corrupt not-politician that ever politicked and the most corrupt individual to ever sit in that chair in the Oval Office; but none of that matters.

The problem is that what you decapitated wasn’t really Donald Trump. You didn’t figuratively cut off the head of the snake and speak out against his policies, ethics, morals, authority, or even his goings on in his personal life. Take Trump out of it. The decapitated head you held was not viewed as a symbol of removing Trump and his power and control. Those of us who are appalled could look at that head and blur out the features, and in our minds imagine any President in its face. We can imagine every President, past and future, in its place.

Because it’s not the current president whose head you decapitated.

It was the very notion of The President of the United States that you decapitated. You decapitated the very rich, full history, the respect, and honor of the Office of the President, and every other office. You decapitated the American People in a manner that was visually and morally repugnant; in a manner that was hateful, chilling, threatening, and violent. You decapitated the privilege, power, influence, giving the incredible potential and opportunity to do GOOD in that office, which is our right as The People under the Constitution.

We have problems in our nation, no doubt. That’s not news. Our country shares many of the same social issues and political issues as other countries. There’s corruption, racism, classism, ableism, and every anti-something you can think of. We have people that are anarchists and hate the government and authority. We have things to be embarrassed about and to apologize over.

But we are also a nation of advocates, allies, lobbyists, writers, artists, journalists, actors, parents, self-advocates, people that care and can make noise when our elected officials do and say things we dislike. We can speak out with our votes; writing letters; attending peaceful, non-violent protests; making phone calls; and anything else that’s protected by the Constitution regarding free speech. We want our messages to come from a true place of power, empowerment, peace, dedication, passion, advocacy, activism, patriotism, and non-violence as is our Constitutional right. This is what we take pride in, and what retains and maintains our Freedoms and our Civil Rights.

This is what Americans do.. we advocate, not decapitate.

I know it’s unlikely that you’ll stumble upon this entry, but if you do read it Ms. Griffin, I hope you read it with an open mind.

Sincerely,

Jessica

 

After The Press  Conference

EDITED TO ADD because I listened to that disaster of a news conference:

Back up the truck.

Kathy Griffin, you made a horrible mistake holding this press conference today. Justifying your actions and going on the attack and listing all of the horrible, disgusting things Trump has said and done as your excuse simply proves that you don’t understand why what you did was wrong. I’m no fan of Trump. I’m no supporter of the suppression of women’s rights. That doesn’t mean I can’t be appalled at that press conference.

It’s not appropriate to tell people to stop being angry because your feelings are hurt that no one “got” your joke and no one appreciated the art.

It’s not appropriate to accuse people of trying to suppress your right to free speech or violate your 1st Amendment Rights. You took offensive photos, and people are reacting. The nation is reacting. You say you don’t have a network behind you, you’re losing jobs. That’s not silencing you. It’s a business decision for them. It’s a consequence for you. People, men and women, have been fired for far, far less than what you did.

You have the right to free speech as long as it’s not hate speech; incites violence; can be considered a death threat or threat of violence upon someone else especially the president. You forget that people have a right to react to your free speech and what you believe is art.

I’m disappointed that you turned this into an equal rights issue for women. It would have been just as horrifying coming from a male comedian. It would have been considered just as inappropriate. This is what rich old white men say when they accuse us of “playing the woman card.” Turning on the tears and pointing out how you’re such a small frail woman doesn’t do any favors for you or for women. Your behavior in that news conference perpetuated every negative female stereotype, and as much as you want to claim Girl Power and pretend that this is about you being a woman, and there are some big bad good ole’ boy men silencing you poor little tiny female, you stomped feminism under your precious little feet.

There’s this thing where you tell a joke, and people laugh, and you know it’s funny. There’s this other thing where you tell a joke and no one laughs and you know it’s not funny. Then there’s this final thing when you tell what you think is a joke and literally everyone is angry and appropriately outraged, and you have to accept that maybe the problem isn’t everyone else.

Chastising others wasn’t the way to go. Humility was. Laying low and refraining from having a press conference where you said all of these things that you should have kept to yourself until you gained more perspective was the way to go.

You’ve only made it worse.

People don’t tolerate sorry-not-sorry nonpologies.

Read Full Post »


When it comes to parenting, the books don’t always have the answers. Each book has a special parenting method, and if you just stick with that special method you’ll have amazing children. They’re grow up to be well behaved, respectful, intelligent, daily blessings of joy and love.

Those books are lies.

Most parents figure that out by the time their children are 1-to-2 years old. Sometimes it takes longer, but that’s likely due more to the temperament of the child and not the stellar parenting as followed from the advice in those books. They just might make it to 5 years old, but if that child really is just a totally chill little human being, it takes having a second child with a completely different temperament.

The books were worthless except as kindling until our third child. By then, I had realized that it’s not the book but the child, and every child has a different mother.

Every child has the mother they need because they’re all different people. The books should really only address the care, when it comes down to it. We need books that are honest and straightforward that will be Actually Helpful to new parents of babies, and stressed out parents of toddlers and teens.

Books parents need:

Mostly Judgement-Free Parenting Series

“How to Feed My Baby: Until he’s not hungry any more”

“How to Diaper My Baby: What’s best for your wallet, your tolerance for cutting coupons, your love of Pinterest, and ability to sew”

“The Best Ways to Get Baby to Nap: Learn baby’s sleep patterns, then work around it”

“How to Get Baby on My Schedule: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“Toilet Training by One: Good luck with that one”

“How to Feed a Picky Eater: Give her what she likes”

“Discipline? Yes, always, your child is not your friend or best buddy”

“Discipline: You have more options than ‘spanking’ and here they are”

“Going Back to Work After Baby: Why not, after all Dad gets to and who’s to say that Dad shouldn’t be the stay at home parent anyway?”

“Staying Home/Going to Work After Baby: Budgeting, Care for Baby, Scheduling, Family Time, Let’s Work it Out!”

“How to Prepare for Going to the Hospital for Baby: includes a tear out sheet of “List of People to KEEP OUT OF L & D and Maternity” to give to hospital staff so that you won’t have to be the bad guy to family that you don’t want there!”

“Reasonable Expectations of Success and Mistakes: your child isn’t an extension of you”

“When Friends, Family, and Strangers Offer ‘Well Meaning’ Parenting Advice: Smile and Nod, and other non-violent methods”

“OMG My Teenagers Are Trying to Make Me Go Gray Overnight! and other things parents of three teens have been heard saying”

“Organic and Homemade! the story of the crunchy mom, whose baby ate only organic until he tasted his first Twinkie and realized there was an entire aisle of the supermarket his mom had been hiding from him, and other stories of perfect parenting gone awry”

“How Not to Say the Wrong Thing to My Teens and Make Them Cry, the story of the mom with three daughters, so really you have to know that there probably won’t be a happy ending to this story”

 

 

Yup… I’d have bought those.

Read Full Post »


I’m a non-autistic mom who is blessed to parent an autistic daughter along with her two sisters. She’s an amazing, incredible young lady who is one of the three brightest lights in my life. This Sweet Girl finds being autistic to be a wonderful thing, something that she needs, something she doesn’t ever want anyone to take away from her. She says it makes things hard for her but she still needs it or she wouldn’t be who she is. She finds it shocking and appalling, and it hurts her deeply that even if Autism can make life difficult enough to cause some disabilities, that anyone would think up the idea, let alone that it’s a good idea, to cure anyone of Autism. She finds the notion of vaccines causing or having a correlation to Autism as ridiculous and silly. She can’t find words to explain how odd it is that she should have to defend her existence, or that anyone would insist on separating her from one of the very things that makes her the Sweet Girl that she is.

“Without Autism, I would not exist.” ~Sweet Girl

And so, with that reminder, I’ll just add my caveat now, before April: we shall NOT light up anything blue. We do NOT support puzzle piece comparisons. There are autistic self-advocates and bloggers who explain why far, far better than I can because it’s not my life on the line… it’s theirs. I value their opinions highly, especially those women who I’m so grateful to have found to show me what my daughter’s adult voice might appear like. Through their suggestions and sharing of experiences, it’s helping to make our journey through her childhood and my parenting go more smoothly. I enjoy the insights as much as I appreciate them.

Women like Amy Sequenza are your child. So I’m going to share two of her blog entries.

Why Autism Speaks Hurts Us – Amy Sequenza

Is Autism Speaks a Hate Group? – Amy Sequenza

Plus a bonus one from a different blog.

This is the last time I’m going to say this – The Autistic Beekeeper

And I’d like to suggest looking up #BoycottAutismSpeaks. You won’t regret it. Oh yes, and this handy dandy info-graphic. Share it. Download it. Memorize it. If you’re a parent to an autistic individual, pay special attention to the organizations that help autistic people. Include the Autism Women’s Network in there too. They’re pretty fabulous.

 

You may say, “But my child is autistic and we went to Autism Speaks, and they were really good!” or “But I know someone who speaks very highly of them because of their experience!” My response to that is, “Great. Good for you, I’m truly happy for you.” The issue I have is that any money you donated went towards research to remove the uniqueness from your child that makes him or her who she is. And if nothing else, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. I mean, last year even Autism Speaks came out and said, “Hey y’all, get your kids their measles vaccines.”

And on the Today Show yesterday, their founder, the father of an autistic son, floundered over how amazing his organization is for parents. Parents, not the autistic individuals. The support is there for parents who are stuck in the loop of believing Autism is a tragedy that happened to them through their child, or that God is punishing them. Parents who believe their child is damaged, sick, and imperfect. Not whole. Hiding behind the Autism. The Autism took them away. Broke them. And you know what? Matt Lauer sucked it all up with a dewy eyed spoon. He may have been a little drunk.

Parents… I remember that initial shock and the feeling of wondering what to do next. I remember wondering what *I* was going to do. It took me too long of wondering “why me and my child, why my family” before I was hit with the bitch stick. It’s really not about me, it’s about this spirited young lady I’m privileged to parent. The only “me” part about this was what was I going to do for my child and how to teach her to self-advocate. How would I teach her to become an adult that could navigate an amazing world.

Your child needs you. Show your child how amazing the world is and you’d better remember that the world is still amazing. The world is only as small as you allow it to be. The world is only as tragic as you allow Autism Speaks to let you think it is.

Stop the silencing of Autism Speaks and listen to the autistic self-advocates.

#AutismSpeaksSilencesAutisticVoices

Read Full Post »


I’m going to start right out of the gate admitting that I realize there are probably hundreds of blogs addressing displeasure, calamities, and reasons for and against DST.

I’m not those blogs. 🙂

I know it’s a struggle for households that don’t have children, and households that don’t have children or adults with any sort of disabilities or neuro-diversities.

We’re not those households. 🙂

I could talk about the fact that during the week after Daylight Savings Time kicks back in and we’re forced to move our clocks ahead an hour on that predetermined agreed upon day, are the most car accidents and fatalities. People are late to work that entire week. It takes a week or two for most people to get their sleep cycles adjusted because it may seem like a simple one hour change, but we’re actually shifting our entire day to accommodate this change. We’re losing more than an hour of sleep.

I could do more than mention them and go into lots of detail, but I won’t. I’m too tired.

In a household where there’s someone with physical disabilities (me) and someone with neurological diversity (two teens) there’s far more involved. As small children and through elementary school we would try to prepare by adjusting bedtimes two weeks prior to DST. We’d try to adjust meals as well. Slowly, but surely we’d try to adjust the routine and schedule.

It didn’t matter. We end up dealing with a minimum of two weeks of tragic drama, and with Sweet Girl it’s gone as long as six weeks. With Dear Girl she usually adjusts within the two weeks, but it’s a tough two weeks. Youngest, Darling Girl goes with the punches.

This year, it’s only been five days in and I’m wrecked. My five hour work day should feel like it’s over earlier in the day, but it feels longer, and so I hit my wall earlier than usual. I’m up earlier than usual this week, that’s what my body is saying. I get home and if I don’t prepare supper early to heat up later, I know I won’t be able to from the pain or chronic fatigue. Already this week I’ve had days where I had to go straight upstairs to have a good lay-down.

Sweet Girl’s already-difficult time due to needing a break from school (our town skipped February vacation and they have to wait for April this year) has just been exacerbated. Mornings are already difficult, so ultra-creative motivations and soothings are in order. I just feel terrible because some days I have to simply get Completely Parental and use my I’m Serious Because I’m Your Mom Voice. 😦  Prior to coffee sometimes. Sometimes I’m so tired and grumpy right along with her that I actually forget to make my coffee.

Dear Girl informed me on Monday or Tuesday that I need to get to The Guy Responsible For DST prior to having my early-morning coffee while still in my prior-to-early-morning-coffee-mood and Have A Talk with him. I wouldn’t be making any friends. But he WOULD stop fucking around with time changes.

Read Full Post »


My youngest has taken to making declarations around the house. This past weekend she made a decision for the entire family, completely seriously:

Darling Girl: “We’re being British now.”

Mom: “Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know. I guess we’d better tell your sisters.”

Mom again: “Hey! Sweet Girl! We’re British now!”

Sweet Girl: “Mm hmm. Yes.” ::nods::

So that happened. I still have to inform The Mister and the other sister.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: