How Was Your Weekend?

Our house has a very fancy alarm system. It looks fancy to me anyway. Two control panels and a light that blinks on when there is movement in the house. Normally that's all I have to say about it because we haven't bothered to set up a monitoring system. I don't see much use in alarm systems. In homes or cars.  When an alarm goes off, who looks really? I know I don't. I'm certainly not going to pay a monitoring service to keeps tabs on it.

Besides if I was really concerned about break ins I wouldn't have selected this neighborhood.  Also if I really had a house nice enough to contain awesome things I would put in aa really whizz bang system that had a direct line to the cops. Also a moat. I would put in a moat with snapping crocs in it.  But that just me.

As it is if someone gets in they would see an awesome collection of Little Pet Shops figures, Warrior Cats books and a few Xbox games. Not even the good Xbox games that apparently all the cool kids have that are bought by awesome mothers. Plus, I believe I have mentioned Sasha..the worlds craziest and LOUDEST dog. She's a big wussy once you get near her but from a distance she has a bark that peels paint. Ask they neighbors, I'm sure they will swear to it.

So no, I really don't need any alarm.  But we have one. It came with the house. Haven't really thought that much about it I n the 2 1/2 years that we've lived here. That is until this past weekend, when we have thought of little else.

Saturday was a fantastic wet day. When it decides to rain Australia Mother Nature does not muck about. It pours straight down - a real wrath of God and Noah's Ark kind of drenching.   Now most normal people will complain about this, but not me. Rain here means cold weather. Not like Texas, where rain in the summer still means hot. Nope, here in Australia it can be so hot that you can feel the skin contracting on your body but if the rain starts it drops in temperature. Of course the temp may jump back up at soon as its done, but while its bucketing rain you can feel the cool. In Texas there were times I felt like I was taking a shower outside. Reason #127 I was thrilled to leave the Lone Star State.

So it rained all day and sport was cancelled. And there was much rejoicing! We have a house inspection coming up in a few days and yes we did clean some...but moslt we did spend time goofing off. Watched movies, kids played video games and I did my best to forget there even was a laundry room.  Not a bad way to spend a Saturday in my book.

That night we went to bed and around 11ish we lost power. Annoying yes, but the house had cooled off dramatically because of the rain so it really wasn't bad. One annoying thing though, was the alarm. It started this weird chirping sound every five minutes. Kind of like when the smoke alrm battery needs to be changed, only more shrill. Since one of the control panels is in my room I heard it at its loudest. Ted of course, has heard nothing. Sometimes I am utterly impressed by his ability to sleep through the most obnoxious of sounds. Other times it just.pisses.me.off. This was one of those times.

I laid there for about 2 hours. I would listen and wait for the chirp sound and then listen to him snore. Finally I got so fed up I stormed downstairs to sleep there. I would have slept on the upstairs couch but somebody had "forgotten" to put away her collection of LEGO Friends, Barbies and Warrior Cats books away and the couch was covered the.

 A part of me wants to know what game she concocted with those 3 toys and another part of me thinks I'll hear the testimony about it in court someday.  I think I will be patient and wait a while.

Down to the couch I stumble. It's the middle of the night, no lights and I have to descend the stairs without killing or maiming myself. I'm carrying the Precious and Precious II...ie iPhone and iPad. Hey, these things are sacred to me. What if the house burns down? I can't be too far away from them.  Oh and the kids! Yes,  I can't be too far away from the kids! I forgot....

I was on the couch for maybe an hour when this god awful klaxon began. It was like the Star Trek red alert, shrieking kids when the ice cream has run out and that high pitched wail of a cat when the food bowl is empty...all rolled up in one wailing screeching sound that was deafening.  I ran to the alarm control box and just started randomly hitting buttons. 

Obviously I have watched far too much televsion and not read enough criminal justice textbooks to realize how stupid this is.  Why I thought there was even the slighest chance this would I have no idea. Come on? Any burglar that could be thwarted by the OH CRAP! Just hit anything, technique of code breaking, really isn't worth installing the alarm for in the first place. Yet I stand there. Fervently pushing buttons in hopes that somewhere, somehow the alarm will figure out it is supposed to shut up. Obviously, it didn't. Ted comes barreling downstairs and we yell possible solutions to each other. Suddenly it stops. We can breathe normally again.  Then it's up and skreetching again. So Ted runs out to the fuse box and turns power off. No luck, so back it goes on. I see a number on a card taped to the alarm and try to call them to  see if they can help us.

Normally that would be the right thing to do.  Sadly since we don't pay for the service they aren't monitoring us anymore. Oh they have the address as being a former customer alright. But since there is no contract between us there is nothing she can do. She does take a moment to ask me if I knew the code. "Um, really?  The code? I did mention that were renting and had never used a monitoring service. Wouldn't I have entered the code if I had one?"  No. I have no code. As we are renting she suggests we call the rental agency.  

We search for the number and I start dialing. Here's were the fun really starts. Connor and Tessi start stumbling downstairs asking why we've turned this loud noise on.  Yes, I can see why I would have done this on purpose. Connor really starts to freak about the noise and hides on the couch underneath a blanket. Tessi has to follow me room-to-room bombard me with questions

She asks, me what the noise is, where is it coming from, who turned it on, why is Daddy outside saying bad words, why am I saying bad words, do I know where the cat is, is it time to get up and when will I turn the sound off? 

At least I think that's all that she said. I stopped listening part way through the barrage as the recording on the phone of the real estate agency was telling me the office was now closed. 5 am on a Sunday morning, no shit Sherlock. If I had an emergency, the pleasant sounding recorded voice said, I sould contact the numbers provided in the rental agreement.

Rental agreement? Where the Hell was the rental agreement? I knew where my car keys were. Usually that's a good enough of a display of  memory for what I need. Rental agreement....oh no....that has to be somewhere in the paper abyss called "the computer room"

5 am, no sleep, Tessi clambering in one ear and a slightly quieter "The Marauders  are Here" alarm in the other ear and I have to find a document in a from exploding with paper.

At this point, I wonder if it would be better just to start a small fire and have the fire brigade come. A small one, just a little  one in the kitchen... Lot of tile in there, they'll get here before it spreads too much.  No I can't. As bad as my luck has been the joy thing that will burn is a Warrior Cat book and I'd rather have the house alarm in my ear rather than listening to Cpnnor carry on about the loss of one of her precious books.

Ted and I dive into the computer room. It's amazing what your brain can do for you sometimes. In the middle  of the chaos my mind conjured up this brief random memory of me putting some important papers into a a plastic cover and sitting it on the desk. I can not remember which day of the week is Library day or when I have to have school excursions paid for but I pulled this usually uneeded thought out of nowhere. Low and behold it was there, albeit covered with bills, a few Xbox games to sell and extra copies of Winx Club BELIEVE coloring book pages. At least it was there.

Sadly, we shouldnt have bothered. The only numbers there were for an electrician who didn't respond and a plumber, who we didn't bother to call. This is the moment when the cracking began. Not the house or the alarm but me. The horrific sound of Connor Tessi and that damn alarm have driven me off my nut.  I start to look around for something to hit and pray Tessi has backed up when it occurs to me...where is Teddy? Where is Damn Dog? I lunge across the room to Teddy's door and its locked. Using a butter knife I pry it open and there they are. Sound bloody asleep, the two of them. You cab barely hear the alarm in this room. I yell for the girls to come in here and Himself finally awakens. "Why are they coming in here, is something wrong?"  I yell something adroit and witty, "Can't you hear the damn alarm!?"  

I get the girls settled in Teddy's quieter man cave; leaving Ted and me to brainstorm. This is humorous because at this point there are more functioning brain cells in a dead politician than can be found in our combined skulls. Fortunately as in many things; in the end, might makes right. Ted went up to klaxon box and cut the wires. Now we're left with a much quieter, random chirp again. Something much, much more tolerable for us to listen to.

It's another 4 or 5 hours until Ted and I crack enough for him to completely sever the wires as we both afraid of getting dinged by the real estate agency for deliberately damaging the property. Of course it was anther 24 hours until we heard from some one there so I stopped feeling bad many, many hours ago.

It's Tuesday now. I think I' m finally able to answer the question, "How was your weekend?" without punching someone in the throat. But just in case, stand back when you ask, I do have a fairly long reach.

No Pearls of Wisdom Today

Sadly, there's no time for my mommy musings today.  Tomorrow we have yet another house inspection by the real estate agency.  Unlike with my friends, I actually do have to give a damn what these people think of my house cleaning skills.

Bugger.

The real estate market being what it is here in the North Shore agents can nail you for just about anything.  For every house that goes up for rental in this area there are at least 15-20 applicants.  It's a nightmare.  We've been here over 2 1/2 years and I panic each and every time we get the dreaded inspection letter.

Ted has even taken off work to help me today.  Of course that is also to do with the fact that Saturday night we were both up all night because the stupid house alarm was activated by a power outage and it screamed and caterwauled for hours.  Does anyone remember my sob story post the other day about a child with Sensory Integration Disorder and her aversion to loud noises?  Yes, in case you are wondering, a loud house alarm counts.

Since we don't pay for a monitoring service we have no code to punch in.  No one from the real estate agent returned our calls all weekend.  Did I mention how they don't HAVE to?  :)  More about this fun story tomorrow.

A very bleak day in the Tencza household today.  But at the end of it I will have a very, very clean house.

I Will Not Kill the Dog in Front of Witnesses

After yesterday's fairly intense post I decided to retreat a bit and go with a fluff post.  I can't see anyone getting too emotional about me talking about my dog.  

I don't have the normal pet owner/pet relationship with my dog, Sasha that most of my friends seem to have. I think of normal as enjoying having a dog, liking them and are usually genuinely happy to be around them daily.  Most days with her my mantra is "Do not kill dog in front of the kids.  They will give you up someday in therapy"  Other days I find myself trying to use the Force to crush her larynx.   So far all I've managed to do is give myself a bad headache.  I think I popped a blood vessel once in my eye once.  In my defense though, I was also trying to get Teddy at the same time.  It's hard to pace yourself when you are caught up in awe-inspiring rage.

I consider myself animal person.  No, really.  I love dogs and cats and have always had them in my life.  I understand that they are living creatures with distinct personalities and obviously do not act like the well-trained animals we see on TV.

That being said my dog is a raving nut case sometimes.  Here is a brief video of me catching her doing something she's not supposed to.  1.  She's on the boy's bed and groomed her paws so much she has SOAKED the sheets.  Seriously?  Who does that?  2. The boy's lunch box is magically on the bed.  When I walked in she was curling her paws around the sides and essentially doing a canine belly up to the bar stance.

Note to self...must discuss with boy why the lunch box is not with him at school today.

Did you notice how she looked away when I asked what the lunch box was?  She KNEW damn well that she wasn't supposed to be near it.  She's like a kid who looks away from the problem.  "Lunch box?  What lunch box?  Oh my, is that the time?  Sorry, I have to go herd some cattle somewhere!"

For a few weeks now I've been having Connor and Tessi give Sasha a walk in the morning.  Teddy has so much extra walking to do now I feel bad asking him to do it.  Unless he's in full Pre-Teen Angst Battle mode.  Then I have no problem having him walk her up and down the death hill at the end of the street.  Teenagers are very similar to dogs.  A good teen is a tired teen.

But Mommy Guilt has been kicking in and I've been giving the girls a turn.  Now the first problem with this is that Sasha doesn't share the same view of the family hierarchy that we do.  It begins with Ted and me at the top.  Thank god we all can still agree on that. Then Teddy, Connor, Tessi and then Sasha.  

Sasha disagrees most strenuously about this chain of command.  To her it's Me, Ted when he's yelling at her, then sort of Teddy but not really, then her.  Then the cat, the trees, birds, air molecules, her food bowl and THEN Connor and Tessi.  One of the girls will stand in front of her and command her to sit to put the leash on and Sasha actually snorts and walks off.  She will walk up to me with this, "Do you believe this crap?  Someone is a bit impressed with themselves.." look on her face.  Yeah, not good.

This makes the walking especially difficult as Sasha has a few issues with her fellow animal world.  Manly issues with smaller members of the Animal Kingdom.  When I say a few issues I mean she utterly loathes and detests all pocket, purse pooches, "rat dog" or even just small dogs.  Pretty much anything smaller than her...so a lot of animals.  Every other dog in my neighborhood is a Maltese.  Those small white curly haired dogs that bark a lot.  Sasha loves them....roasted on a spit.  Corgi's?  Betsy's preferred canine companion?  Oh man.  There is one who lives around the corner who escapes a lot.  Every time Bolt comes by Sasha flings herself at the gate trying to get out at him.  

Sasha's hated of the small and fluffy was well documented in the unfortunate guinea pig murder of '08.  She stormed into a yard, dug through the hutch of guinea pig, ripped one out by the throat and shook it to death...all in front of the 6 year old girl who owned it. Yes....that tale was well documented in our tiny hamlet of Normanhurst that day.  

The upside of that shocking horror was that I have never, ever been asked to watch guinea pigs, rabbits, ferrets or even chickens of vacationing friends.  Hell, I've never been asked to watch the class fish during school holidays.  So evil dog....good dog...guess it all depends on whether you call heads or tails in the coin flip.

Back to today's point.  When she sees a small dog she flips her lid and chases it.  She weighs almost 30 kilos and if she doesn't want to stop...she just doesn't have to.  I have visions of Tessi being dragged down the street behind the running dog with Connor meandering behind them.  Connor really wouldn't have the interst in actually running to save her sister but since our street is a dead end she would follow behind so we could eventually find the bodies.  Ever so helpful my girl is.

To help the girls have a wee bit more control with the Beast I have invested in a harness for Sasha.  I specifically use the word invested because the stinkin' thing cost enough to count as one.  It does seem to help.  Sasha feels pressure across her chest and back and I think it fools her into believing the girls have more control than they actually do.

They look like they are in full control right?  Please? 

 FYI, you see Connor running with her sister and the dog here?  This after I sent her back to go get them.  Why wasn't she with them the entire time?  She couldn't find them.  Connor actually said that with a straight face.  A 100 yard loop with one other girl, dressed EXACTLY like her and a dog and she couldn't find them.

Yes, I did in fact spend the rest of the morning practicing using the Force.  No luck, but man did my head hurt.

Looking Beyond the Headlines

Because I am a tech geek I am never too far from my iPad and phone. Sad sure, but but you never know when you will need to have immediate access to important news or even more pressing; Words with Friends. I woke up briefly around 4 am and checked ABC news to see if the world imploded during the night. I saw an article called "Newtown Shooter Had Sensory Processing Disorder" 

Here is the link:

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/newtown-shooter-adam-lanza-sensory-processing-disorder-controversial/story?id=18532645

Immediately I became angry. Yet again a story about this kid's apparent Autism diagnosis and a desperate attempt to say that this is why he murdered all those people. Another revolting effort to pull it away from the fact that he had unfettered access to assault weapons and was severely mentally ill.

I have read at least 15 different news stories since December pointing out that the shooter had Autism and then more specifically Asperger's.  How he was a loner and how he sought out solitude and of course played violent video games. Society needs to blame something tangible for this tragedy, I get that.  Hell I want to know why he did it, if for no other reason that I want to make sure it never happens again.  I just we wish a bit more common sense and less sensationalism would be used PRIOR to passing judgment.

Side Note:  I would like to quickly explain my opinions about violent video games.  I do not believe they are the cause of society's ills.  They are a form of entertainment.  HOWEVER there are games that are conceived, designed and written for adults.  The hard core, intense graphics depicting gore and violence should not be viewed by children, in my opinion.  I believe that each game should be thoroughly vetted and reviewed by parents for EACH child.  My son can handle games such as the HALO series and historical war simulators.  My daughters can not.  

That is not a sexism thing by the way.  I just know and understand their limits.  As much as my son would like to play some of the more hard core games (Call of Duty, Far Cry and the like) I do not allow them in my home because I believe he is too young to process the imagery and understand that it is fantasy.  Adults have every right to make that decision for themselves.  

If I can add more of my opinion...Adam Lanza did not murder because of video games, but I do question the judgement to allow him to play them when he had shown such extreme anti-social behavior.  That would have not been my choice. However, I refuse to go so far as to lay blame on the games.  I dare say these crimes would have occurred even if Xbox and Playstation had been banned.

Back to my story.

So I began stewing.  I decided that I would write a scathing blog post about conservatively run news outlets and their sad, pitiful need to draw attention away from gun control and blame a poor group of misunderstood kids who can't defend themselves.  Niiiiice. Well enough is enough, you rat bags are going to hear from me! I am not misunderstood and my voice works quite well thank you.  No one has ever said that I couldn't defend myself.

Obviously this is hitting startlingly close to home to me because my two girls have Autism, one with the Aspergers label.  That same daughter also has Sensory Integration Disorder, known as SID. She cannot handle the feeling of cold.  Until 2 years ago she despised the water and light touches on her skin. She used to sob hysterically when she got wet. 

I remember the first time she got in a pool. Memorial Day weekend 2005.  She had the most adorable blue swimsuit with a pretty tiny fish on the front.It was during my try to steer away from pink phase.  There was a white ruffle around her waist with a few sequins inside. She loved to rub the ruffle and make oooohhh sounds when the sunlight hit the sequins. Miss Thang saw the pool, pointed and grunted to go in.  She didn't know what it was…it’s just that Teddy was in it so she had to be in it too. I swooped her up and sat her down in the pool to wait as we set the pool up. As the pool was still empty she was happy and smiling. We began to fill the pool with water and I dug my camera out. I took several pictures of her.  Just was the water began to touch her and the smile started to shift to something else. 

Here are the pictures I took that day. I had the first one in a frame for a while.  I thought it was nothing more than yet another adorable glimpse of her.  The second one I filed away as yet another picture of her crying.  We had so many of them after all.  Later on, when the diagnosis was given to us and we learned that she was in pain...I took it down and now every time I see them, I cry. 

Here is the face of a child suffering from Sensory Integration Disorder.

Certain noises like vacuum cleaners, concerts and unusual electronic sounds (the TV shutting off do to power outage) will send her into a sobbing fit.  Not once did she ever fly into a rage because of her sensory issues. Not once. And believe me she used to have many, many rages. But they were never caused by water touching her or because of me hoovering the floor.  

Pain and fear. Those are the emotions brought out by SID.  Surely, any decent human being can understand my ire at reading over and over about how Autism and SID were the “real” causes of the recent horror.  Well.  If they didn't, by God they were after I was done writing my missive.  I started planning my indignant response to the article and wondered if I could actually release fire from my fingertips as I typed. 

  

I woke up again two hours later and started the day. After the daily fight with Connor about not eating her fruit at school and digging out a pair of clean socks for Tessi I sat down to read the article. I wanted to get some quotes to copy in my scathing rebuke of the writer's premise that all delayed kids are evil and about to release the hounds of hell upon society.  

Imagine my surprise as I read the article and found credible, non-Jenny McCarthy related, sources stating that Autism and SID are NOT linked to violence. The article was about a television show produced by and aired on PBS. Hardly a front for lunatic conservative right fringe.

One doctor was also quoted as saying, " There is insufficient data....we don't know who diagnosed him" 

Wait....intelligent thought? 

Holding off on judgement until all evidence is gathered? 

I hardly recognize it.

"You have no idea what it was like at home" quite possibly the most accurate sentence ever written down.

I began to see that my rant was going to have to be altered a bit.  Truth can have that affect upon you.  

Well, at least it should.

I am really interested in watching this program and will try to find it online. I still wish the writers didn't use sensational journalism and partial information in their headlines.  I do understand the philosophy about attention grabbing and that you have less than 5 seconds to grab a reader's interest.  However since many people never bother to read the articles and claim their knowledge from just headlines (Yes, thank you USA News and the birth of sound bite journalism) all they see is that a large scale murderer has the same impairment as my beautiful daughter.  Since I've had some asses come up to me and ask if I worry about my girls "snapping like that" yeah, you people are impacting my life with your words.

Autism. Understand it before you blame it.

Dinner Date

 Last night I had a dinner date with my husband Ted.  That's what I'm calling it. That's my story and I am sticking to it.  Of course if you insist on being technically accurate, other people refer to it as the parent teacher conference night at Normanhurst Public School.

Usually this evening is a difficult one for me.  I do not look forward to it at all. The last 6 years I've had to take all three kids with us.  That's not the problem because many people bring their kids.  The kids run around and since they are at school they know they can't leave the grounds and generally behave.  The principal is usually walking around room-to-room and no one wants to get caught....I mean no one wants to disappoint anyone by breaking school rules so everyone just plays and runs around.

There are two session times that run back to back. With 3 kids we were spread out over both meetings.  With one less parent than kid, one has to master the art of sneaking out early, not causing a disruptance and then stealthily slip into the next class and blend in. The goal is to appear as if you were there the entire time.  It takes you right back to high school and once again you are facing the wrath of an annoyed teacher and smirking friends. Only this time you are a few pounds heavier and the furniture is a helluva lot smaller.   

As if this joy isn't enough for me I have the added bonus of knowing at any minute all hell could break lose with one or both of my girls having a colossal meltdown.  The stupid thing doesn't start until 6:30 at night; this after a full day of school.  This does not coincide well with our regular ight time rituals.  We are more ritualistic than the Nazi Party when comes to bed times. Tessi 7:30, Connor 8:00 and Teddy 9:00. this for my sanity as well as theirs.  My kids are tired and on their (and everyone else's) last nerve.  Waiting patiently for 8:00 to come so we can leave is not their strong suit. Alright, I know.  I could have just ended that last sentence at patiently and it would have been correct.

At last year's soiree Tessi burst into tears around 7:30 and tracked me down to Teddy's room and then had to sit on my lap sniffling for the last 30 minutes.  To give you an idea of how well known my kids are, I got compliments in that class about  how well Tessi held it together.  She, ah...isn't known for "pressing through the pain"  Finish the evening with an 18 minute drive home and if we only have 3 fights we call it a Christmas Miracle.  It's just not a pleasant way to spend and evening.  Personally 2 or 3 days before I start trying to find people with colds so I can give them a big hug and hopefully come down with a nice plague and have to skip it.  6 years and counting and so far no luck.

 This year though...Well, I think it really was a late Christmas Miracle.  I've been a stay at home mother for 12 1/2 years. Obviously I've learned to dramatically lower my standards over what actually constitutes a miracle.

We started off the evening down a child.  Teddy is at high school so this year we only have have to attend 2 classes. Tessi is in the infant section (K-2) and her class went first. Connor's class, being the primary section (3-6) went second. This meant that both of us could go into the same conference at the same time.

My neighbor and new friend agreed to watch my girls so I didn't have to drag them along.  That's right. this year they did ot even come with us! They happily walked to her house excited about an evening of Skylanders, TV and jumping like hell on the trampoline.  They had a bonus for the night too as Himself would not even entertain the idea of making an appearance.  Teddy is FAR too evolved to be watched by a friend of mine, even if it means nuggets for dinner.  No, no, no.  Instead he stayed home pondering his life and wondering how the hell he can get money without actually working for it.  I'm sure he spent the bulk of the evening watching shows I don't approve of and in the process kept Damn Dog company.  She gets lonely during the day sometimes so I hate for her be alone at night too.

This left Ted and I alone chatting over a bag of chips and two sodas while we waited for the conferences to start.  I watched other parents leading their kids around and refereeing their fights.  Funny, it really isnt that bad when its not your kids raising hell. It didnt bother me in the least to see or hear some other kid chucking a tanty.  That's Aussie speak for having a tangrum, by the way. Slowly I am being assimilated.  (Warning!!!! Geek reference!) Ted and I were able to sit through both conferences in their entirety...sitting together.  I sat and looked out the window and saw kids running around, some chasing other kids....some being chased by parents.  At one point I heard a tiny muffled shriek of rage and all I could think was, "Wow...somebody has a real problem.  Oh well! It's not me!"

Hell, I didn't even get guilted into being a class parent for either of the girls classes! 

The gods of fate were surely smiling upon us last night for sure.

I'm calling that a dinner date. In fact, I'll go one further. I will call that a GREAT dinner date.  Judge all you want.  When you are married with kids and 8000 miles away from family who have to think your kids are adorable and a joy to be around you take whatever alone time you can get. Sure my 21 year old self is lighting another cigarette and chugging her Sloe Gin Fizz with a whiskey side to ease the pain of knowing what's in future for her.  But my 42 year old self is reaching over and slapping her and saying, "Are you nuts?! Do you have any idea how bad this could have all gone?! Girl, you have it good"

Yes, I have to say I do.

Sympathy for the Devil

Connor has an incredible memory. I'm not sure if its eidetic but she has the capacity to remember some things with uncanny accuracy. She will stop and out-of-the-blue describe an event, large or small, from 2 or 3 years ago. Its usually something I can barely recall occurring and then describe it down to what everyone was wearing, the temperature of the room, the items left on the table all the way to including the order in which statements were made. It's very impressive to people outside the family who hear her. 

What about me? Am I still oh so impressed?  Meh,  not so much. I have insider knowledge. I know that that is the same girl that can't remember that dirty clothes go in the hamper, the hair brush is kept in a special box in the kitchen and that she has to wear a hat every day for school. Every.bloody.damn.day. And yet she forgets. So no, I hold back my glee for her ability to remember that 4 years ago Teddy wore a red Star Wars LEGO shirt after school on a Tuesday before I yelled at him for not dressing correctly for rugby practice and told him to find his mouth guard. I drastically dislike wondering if Connor is going to remember which parent I called a boorish git and ask them to explain WHY I called them one.  It just gets old. 

Today I'm actually starting to feel a bit sorry for Connor.  No, that's not right. I am feeling sorry for Connor's Autism. 

That sounds funny I know. Bear with me, there is a logic to this, I promise. 

See everyone spends so much time feeling sorry for my girls because they are Autistic and yes, Christ knows I wish they weren't. Now I have to say that I'm recognizing that Connor is having trouble because she has to live with us...the neuro typical ones. I say her Autism because it seems that its the Autism that  allows or brings out her ability to hold onto the inanae details the rest of us forget almost instantly.  It has got to be insanely annoying to see and know things that others can't.  Think of it as constantly living like Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory and be surrounded by the "simple folk" who have to be constantly explained to and try desperately to get them to keep up with you. 

Think about yourself when you are forced to interact with stupid people. Not just dense, but the really unintelligent. The type of people that free you to speak slower and louder to. The people who just blink a lot when you and and you find yourself sim plying your sentences to simple nouns and limit the verbs. 

"You.....hat....box....put...... "

Don't get defensive, we all have dealt with those kinds of people. Sometimes at work, sometimes at school with other parents, sometimes on the phone with Customer Service. We all do it. We just don't think that someone has to deal with US like that.

Today I realized that Connor is dealing with me like that.

This morning Connor announced that she had finished reading her latest Warrior Cats book. I was in the middle plaiting (braiding for the non-Australian) Tessi's hair, yelling at Teddy to pack his lunch and occasionally taking a swig from my tea. My much determined goal of doing nothing but sit and drink a cup of tea for 10 minutes every morning went to Hell fairly early in Term 1. I think I made it 3 days. But back to Memory Girl. Connor waited patiently for me to tie up Tessi's hair before she jumped with with her plea for more books. 

That and in of itself is impressive because with the first 4 of these books she kicked my door in at dawn to announce her finishing them. Maybe she has been reading this blog?

Sorry, I'm getting lured by other thoughts today. Must be my simple, small mind at work.

Connor wanted more books and I told her I would get to the shops when I could. I needed to know what titles to look for. She began rattling off which books she has read. There are about 8 or so that she has and they mostly have odd sounding names. She gets to the second name before I blink hard and say, "No Honey, I need the names of books you don't have. The titles you want me to buy." "Oh, ok," she says and then begins again.  This time rattling off another list of equally weird names.

 "Connor. Stop! Please. I need you to write down the list of books for me"  I beg.  "Why?" she honestly responds, "I just told you what I want." Then she gets up and walks out, shaking her head as she goes. I tried to explain that I don't remember what she said and she says, ""Oh fine, just get the first and third one, I don't need the second, fourth or fifth."

Wait...first one? FIFTH one?  I though it was just one weird long title name. It was 5 different books?  Oh great, now I've forgotten the first part of what she said and now Damn Dog is barking at a vicious attacking air molecule and I have totally forgotten what I'm to get at all.  A book. Yes, I'm supposed to pick up a book....but which one?!

I follow her out to the living room and ask her to again write down. "Mummy, I have already said it it twice. Why aren't you listening to me?"  

Yes, that cracking, snapping sound is the sound of blood vessels popping in brains. The good news is that both Connor and I are seething. Me because my 8 year old has the GALL to suggest that I'm not listening and my  8 year old for having to deal with the incompetent troglodyte.

At this point I have no choice. I have to find something positive in all of this or else I'm going to jail. Thats when it hits me, like a big book slapping me in the face.  It occurs to me then that she is treating me like I treat the terminally stupid. She is really overwhelmed with how to explain herself and trying to communicate her needs with me.  Living with this frustration is what all people with Autism and Austitic-like traits do daily, along with trying to figure out life.  Once I realized that I really did have a bit of sympathy for her, for her Autistic tendencies. 

Of course that sympathy all went flying out the window when we get in the car and started driving to school. "Mummy, I don't think I've ever been on this street before!" Sigh..."No Connor, it's the street leaving our neighborhood. You've been on it at least twice a day for 2 1/2 years". 

So much for the genius dealing with the simple folk.

Raising a Tech Head

When my son was first born I had ideas in my mind of what I wanted to teach him. What I wanted him to know about life and how I hoped he would act. That's nothing special all parents do that; except the silly parents who can't seem to tell the difference between their child and their pocket pet.

Part of the charm of my parenting style is that I combine different philosophies to explain what I do and think. I think its part of my personality to have seemingly opposing thoughts running around at the same time. So I must either enjoy a challenge or the voices in my head are right and I am schizophrenic.  I'm really ok with the latter being true. At least that way I can have conversations with people who really understand me. Plus I don't have to buy them birthday presents.

I classify my thoughts as a combination of traditional and fru fru granola muncher looney land.

Traditional:

1. Respect for Elders. We are not friends or equals. At all.

2. Education is the answer to many, many problems.

3. You kill for family.

4. We eat dinner together just about every night of the week.

5. Don't care about fair, just what makes things run smoothly

Fru-Fru Looney Land:

1. Question authority. Do not blindly accept that the government is your friend.

2. Pretty soon I will gladly buy condoms/birth control rather than diapers.

3. If one kid gets hit I make him/her hit the offender. Then ask how offender liked it. Doesn't have to be my kid either.

4. My husband and I are heads of the house together. Neither one of us is above the other. 

These are just a few of the ideas or actions that describe my values. Nothing too outrageous or too conservative. I think I'm middle of the road. Well, I think so anyway. I'm sure some of my more conservative friends think of me as running a commune but you can't please everyone.

Of course this is all going out the window because today Teddy is getting his first Facebook account today. I seem to be flying in the face of everything I believe in.

Sigh...I really don't want him to have such access to the real world. There are too many yucky people out there.

 Yes, yes, I do understand hypocrisy of what I'm writing. Didn't you see item #5 in Traditional? Hel-lo? That was screaming I'M A HYPOCRITE AND I DON'T CARE!!!!

I do want him to be involved with the ever-changing tech world. Yes, he already has online computer gaming, a smart phone and the fun apps that go with that.  But Facebook....oooh that's really reaching out and touching someone.

I spent a good 25 minutes setting up his account. I set all the privacy settings to "Go Away or I'll Cut You" and did my best to dig a virtual moat around his page.  Worst of all for him, he has to be friends with his parents, his grandmother and his aunt. I know everyone who knows me thinks I'm doing that so we can all jack with him, but that's not true. I'm doing it because so many people do not understand what they should not post. Or just understand that if you write it online it's there forever. I'm an adult and I can and do take responsibility for what I say. I have made and lost friends over my online comments. I accept that. I don't want him to say something or put a picture of something online that someday he will have to explain in a job interview. So right now all his postings will be vetted by family.  

If you can't say it in front of Grandma who loves you and sends you money then don't type it.

Sounds like a good mantra to me. I have the settings all up and will sit down with him tonight and explain how to work it all. I will stop myself from posting on his page and warning all his friends not to say nasty stuff to him. I WILL check every few days and make sure he hasn't changed his password. The first time he does change it I will make life uncomfortable for him.  The good news is that he already knows first hand that I can do that. 

Excuses for Doing What I Want

 I have a head cold today. Nothing really to alert the media about but I'm using it as an excuse to hide from cleaning for the house inspection and to make changes to my blog.

I'm an adult, a grown woman and I can't simply decide one day to not do something productive but simply to be lazy and prettify my blog. I have to have an excuse. Personally I find that a wee bit pathetic. What's worse is that I'm doing that to myself. Ted is many things, but a jerk husband is not one of them. He doesn't care if I spend my time building a cabinet, going for a drive or hiding in my room, as long as I'm happy he's fine with it all. I'm pretty lucky with him, I have to say. No, all my justifications for not doing what needs to be done are all for me.  No one beats me up quite like I beat myself up.  I think I need to go back and reread my post from a few days ago.

So today's post is more of announcing new blog appearance rather than a rant about the latest from the Under 13's. I've switched the template but its not enough, there are still a lot of things I want to look different. I did yearbook in high school and took layout design classes in college so I know enough to not like what I see but not enough to really change it to what I see in my head.  The perils of being a dabbler in everything but a master of nothing.

I will be making more changes over the next few weeks. Nothing too drastic, just enough to make it took more like me. Of course, if some laundry has to wait to be washed, some sandwiches not get made and permission slips not get signed....well, sacrifices must be made. Remember, I have a head cold.

Learning the Language

I have always thought I would be the kind of wife and mother that could communicate well with her family.  Talking has never been one of my weak points. I believe I was told once that my Indian name would have been She Who Talks a Lot During Movies and my middle name would have been listing all the other times and places I talk.  At the time I was pretty pissed about that description and said so. Rather vehemently.

Yeah, you get the point.  I can get my meaning across to people.

I find though that with a family the basic sentences aren't enough. For every mundane and obvious situation there is not one simple explanation that everyone can follow. I never would have believed the amount of threatening, cajoling, pleading and explanation it would take me to explain the most common of  scenarios. I have had to employ charts, graphs and the occasional game of charades to express myself well enough to group of people that claim to speak English.  I'm thinking of streaming a PowerPoint and Keynote presentation to the TV, iPad and Touches thoughout the house.

Actually, that's not a bad idea....will look into that.

But back to communicating with my family. 

Below are some situations that come up in our house and God help me, I can't believe that I have to explain this in such detail to them. Here we go, a glimpse into my world.

1. When the trash can is full, EMPTY THE DAMN THING. Continuing to fill an overflowing can does not make it magically empty itself. Filling it so that the dog doesn't even have to bother with her lid-tipping skills and just grab your ketchup covered half eaten sausage and finish devouring it on my rug will make your life uncomfortable. No no, not because of odor or filth on the floor but dealing with my rage. After all these years there is no plausible excuse for not knowing that I will explode when this happens.

2. When I take the time to show you how to do something it's because I want you to do it that way. Let me repeat that. This is the way I want you to do it. Don't pretend to watch but look over my shoulder. Yes, I will be checking on you and yes, I will be mad when you do it a different way. Do not look shocked when this happens. And for God sake, don't roll your eyes and say, "Yea, whatever" this will force to me to go medievel on you. It will be painful. Mainly for you.

3. Don't ask me where something is unless you make a bonafide attempt to look for it yourself. A bonafide attempt does not mean lifting your head as I walk by. It does not mean opening the cabinet but look at the TV.  It sure as Hell doesn't mean telling me to find it. Telling me to find something is the one way to guarentee that I won't look for it. Yes I am that vengeful, are you new?

Looking for something entails picturing the object you want in your head and concentrating on the place you are looking until you see it. Sometimes, yes, this means MOVING THINGS AROUND WITH YOUR HANDS to look behind objects. This items are not made of acid, it will not burn you if you touch them. I however, do have acid spewing from my mouth when I have to stop what I'm doing to find something you didn't really search for. 

This is not just for children by the way. Ted, I love you, but that's for you too Babe. 

I'm talking to you.

4. The phrase, "Stop it!!!" means to cease and desist the activity in which you are currantly engaging.  As in right then. Stop what you are doing. Do not do it anymore.

 It does not mean to continue until I repeat it at an higher octave and volume level. It also doesn't mean to start again 5 seconds later. It does not mean that I interested in a spirited discussion about why you were doing it in the first place. I know this is shocking to all these people under 5 feet tall but I honestly don't care why you are torturing each other. Really. You did not invent hating your sibling, it's been going on since Cain. What I do care is that when I'm done listening to it, you will stop. That's it, see how simple that is?

5. When I am sleeping, either at night or a cherished nap during the day you should of course, wake me for an emergency. An emergency means blood (flowing, not crusty and yes it matters) broken bones, vomiting  or someone at the door. I do not consider the need for your glitter shoes an emergency. Oddly enough, your need to play on my iPad is not a pressing matter.  The cat looking particularly adorable wearing your school hat is not ever a reason to wake me. Ever. 

Coming in my room before dawn to check to see if the cat is still cute also will make me angry and say unkind things to you. Doing it several days in a row will make me threaten to melt your Littlest Pet Shop and Squinkees toys into one giant pastel-colored glob. Do pay attention to this threat, it gets more and more appealing to me every time I shout it out.

If I could convey the meanings of any of these scenarios any simpler I could gain an extra two hours a day. Three if the dog paid attention too.

 

Not My Mother's Motherhood

The past few days I've been re-listening to Wil Wheaton's book, "Just a Geek" and it's been helping me process a few things going through my head.  Wil seems to have had an epiphany about Life, how he handles things and what is important to him. While I don't enjoy hearing about his pain, I do enjoy knowing that I am not the only one struggling with understanding what is really important and how to achieve it.  Below are some things that I'm coming to terms with this week.

1. I love Star Trek.  I'll say it out loud.  I don't give a damn what you people label me.

2. Parenthood is difficult; doesn't matter if you are the biological parents or if you struggled with infertility and      should just be happy to have children.  Some days, man...NO ONE enjoys being a parent. Anyone who says," they just love every moment with their kids and each day is a joy" is either a delusional liar or psychotic.  Seriously.  Do NOT turn your back on these people.  You will most likely end up with McDonald's toy wedged somewhere in between the L4 and L5 vertabrae.

3.  I handle motherhood different from just about every single mother I know. I can not think of a single woman in Australia or the US that handles things the way I do.  I have friends who agree with some of my choices, there isn't anyone who 100% gets me.  My close friends are the ones who decide to overlook the weird stuff they don't understand.  There are less than a handful of them.

4.  This is the important part.  I'm choosing to decide that doesn't mean I'm a bad mother anymore.

My house is usually a mess.  I can usually think of 5 or 6 different excuses why it's a mess and 3 of them are my kids.  It's just not possible for me to keep up with the crap they leave behind.  However the 2 or 3 remaining excuses have to lie with me.  I don't give a damn enough to keep it clean and tidy.  Sure, I'm the first to do a mad dash when people are coming over but no....I don't come home after drop off and while the way the hours scrubbing with toothbrushes.  In fact, when I read about some things people spend time cleaning my first reaction is usually, "Oh, you're supposed to clean that?"

Not to say that I'm on my ass eating bon bons.  I'm an errand runner.  I'm here, there, everywhere.  A live action Savoir-Faire.....ooooh, just totally dated myself self with that reference. But I'm running around a lot.  When I'm home, I like to be on the computer.  Yes, there is a fair amount of mucking about but I'm constantly looking for information.  Information about Dyslexia, Autism, Xbox, Xbox and teenagers, why teenagers are stupid, why are 12 year olds not teenagers yet but still acting like teenagers, how do I not kill teenagers, how do I bury my husband's body in a yard filled with rocks....you get my meaning.

Information.  I need to find out things.  I'm always looking at something. In my desire to find out things well, other things slip by the way side.  I suppose I could use the internet to find new and interesting recipes to try but truthfully, I don't give a damn about cooking either.  Actually, if I'm honest, it's not that I don't give a damn, it's that I hate cooking.  I get angry every day around 4 or so because that's when I absolutely have to start thinking about what's for dinner. So spending time looking up new and interesting ways to cook sounds like masochism to me. I'd much rather try and find out when the Mongrels ruled China.  And then quote Bill and Ted all day.  That amuses me.  Not sure why, but it does.

When not doing that I like corny stuff to do like sewing, hair bow making and woodworking.  Nothing original but I'm happy when I'm doing it.  When I stop doing that I get sad and depressed.  So I'm trying to do more of that.

Which is what brings me to my point.  Doing those things instead of the good mommy stuff does not make me a bad mother.  I'm just different.  Just because I don't gasp in horror at toast crumbs on the table several hours later and dirty dishes in the sink doesn't mean I don't care about my family.  Oh I care.  The proof of that is that they are all still alive and made it to school this morning.  Two of them hand delivered by moi.

Everyone was clean, fed and dressed in uniforms, had packed lunches and I've made plans for 2 of them to play with friends after school.  I would have made plans for Teddy....excuse me, Ted....however I am no longer allowed to organize  his social calendar.  But since I've spent hours on the internet I know how to access his email, KIK, Instagram and other accounts on my phone so I'm still in the loop.  HA!  So top that clean counter tops, freshly baked nutritious dinner making, behind the fridge cleaning moms, how many of YOU can set up a VPN login, access Xbox and Steam and monitor game play usage in real time via remote?

Yea, I thought so.  Sit back down with your freshly pressed shirts and mopped floors.

This may not be how my mother, your mother or even you handle motherhood but it's all I got.  And I'm done with feeling bad about it.

So party on Dude and please....be excellent to each other.