here’s some “spice” (not the fifty shades kind sorry)

I was at the first monthly stitch-n-bitch that my Alterna-mom group had put together when I got a call from the husband. Truth be told, when I’m out on social business I tend to “ignore” his calls because he’s got a history of calling about frivolous things on the spur-of-the-moment. However, in the past two years he’s really turned his history around (like to the point of “are you really the same person?” sometimes. I said SOMEtimes) so he’s knowledgeable about the fact that I will ignore his call if I’m socializing. So he called my best friend. For future purposes we shall henceforth refer to her as LaFemme. Cuz she is. Anyways, Baph (that’s husbands sobriquet) calls LaFemme right away and she answers cuz she knows if he’s calling HER it must be actually important. She hands me the phone.

“I fell off my bike” says Baph and immediately I envision him standing on top of the seat doing some kind of balancing act to the cheers of his friends and then falling down. This, of course, is ridiculous and not at all what he meant. I can tell because his voice sounds tense and shaky, just like someone who’s been in a wreck.

“I think I broke my leg” says he.

‘oh gawd,’ I thought,’ not another hospital co-pay’ because I am a devoted and loving wife like that. Meaning I’m so loving I thought that but didn’t say it at all.

“where are you honey”

“North Carolina”

“uh… do you want me to come and get you?”

“no, Lou’s going to drive me down home so you can take me to the ER”

“Honey, dont’ you think that if your leg is broken maybe you should go to the ER sooner? like NOW?”

“I called the Blue Cross Nurseline and she said I can put ice on it and come home”

“uh, okay I guess I’ll see you in two hours”

Well his leg wasn’t broken. Which is great because that’d really mess up a lot of plans we both have been making for the next few months. Like I said, I’m a devoted loving wife so I can tell you right now that I’ve been taking care of everything around here and filled with happiness to be waiting on my husband while he lays up his incredibly bruised and hideous-looking leg.

Well, I would be if it weren’t for the fact that this accident came about because SOMEBODY just HAD to go on a motorcycle ride with his pals while it was raining. yeah, see I am not particularly antsy about him riding, but I do get somewhat displeased when he rides in the rain. Every time he rides in the rain I can’t decide whether I want to brain him for being so stupid or disable his motorcycle until he promises to stop doing that. I know sometimes its really inconvenient to wait out the weather but you know, we DO have another vehicle so there’s always the option to call me and come get him. If he’s on a mountain ride? What is so outrageous about the idea of waiting once it starts to rain? I am willing to bet that any rain that happens is of the brief variety.   Even if “brief” means 3 or 4 hours: I’d rather have him be late than have him make a call like that to me again.

So while I’m trying to be helpful and sympathetic, I have to admit to a certain amount of emotional salad:  bitter “I toldja so”, anxious “why did you do that!?”, and angry “you DUMB SHIT!”

yeah there’s maybe a little relieved “well I’m glad you’re mostly okay”

maybe

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Hello Internet

This is first because Lil Miss is nearby. So of course there’s no way I can expect to keep typing. Yep. She’s going through daddy’s desk drawer (because he’s asleep and I don’t think he’s earned any watchdog points with me by napping) and found various small objects which I can vaguely name and dismiss or confiscate without paying close attention. Well okay the cold medicine got my brief attention. Ah now its on to rifling through her own stuff. Well that’s novel!  At least she’s not insisting I smell her vitamins again. Yes, dear, putting them in the refrigerator really brings out the fruity flavors.

Was that a “beep!”? I believe it was. COFFEE TIME!

An early childhood story…

I was about 7 years old. My parents and I lived in a little house that rested behind an apartment building about two blocks away from Piedmont park. There was an alleyway to get to our house. In the middle of essentially downtown Atlanta, we lived in seclusion. The upstairs of our house was rented out to some other couple but I believe at the time there was no one there. My parents were hippies. They didn’t “believe” in guns and thus never allowed me to have or play with them. I had gone to a friends house a few days before and played with the two boys there – Chris and Carl. They were twins, in fact, but because my class had another boy named Chris this twin was nicknamed “Pistol”. His choice. Pistol and Carl loved typical boy games, as did I, and we played happily that day with Pistol’s collection of toy guns.

A few nights after my playdate, we were all sleeping when we were broken into. My father woke up and found a gun staring him in the face. My father wears glasses – can’t see anything farther than three inches from his face and the man holding the gun stood in darkness urging my father to wake up and tell him where the valuables were. We didn’t have any valuables; we were on food stamps and my mother was enrolled in technical school. My father remembers the man was very nervous and kept saying “where’s the drugs man?! where’s the drugs?!” My parents finally made the man realize there was nothing for him to take. He rooted around a bit in my mother’s jewelry box but it was plain we had nothing for him to take.
So he took my mother.
With the gun to her head, he told her to get up out of bed and come with him. She did. He led her through the house to the front door and out. Once they were on the porch, he paused, probably surveying his escape with her. She decided, in that split second that she didn’t care if he had a gun, she wasn’t going anywhere without a fight. Meanwhile, My father was out of bed and trying to find his glasses. We didn’t have a phone at that time.
My mother opened her mouth and screamed bloody murder. I woke up and laid in bed trying to figure out if what I thought I heard was real, my heart pounding. I heard movement outside, on the porch and a then the front door slammed. I laid in bed, trying not to move, willing this tremendous fear to go away and believing that if I laid still enough, I would wake up again and find out nothing had happened.
Then my parents burst into my room. Turning on the light they checked on me and dragged me out of bed to hold me. Then we all went outside as the neighbors came out to see what had happened. One of our neighbors came, rubbing his eyes, with a gun in his hand.
“Did you hear that scream?” he said incredulously.
My parents laughed.
Then there was police visits, questions etc, but my mom was okay.


When my parents had come to pick me up from Carl and Pistol’s, I had begged and pleaded with them to let me borrow one of Pistol’s toys. A little plastic cap gun that looked exactly like a revolver of the western style. My parents eventually relented, under the condition that I not bring any caps with me. I was amazed at my luck and took it home. Without someone else to play with, the gun lost its allure and I soon left it sitting idly in the living room on a chair. That was the “gun” the man had pointed at my parents. I gave it back the next day and told the story to my school.

general thoughts about Son Number Two and growing up

It’s been a while since I talked about him… because I don’t want to whine, rant or go on endlessly about something that can’t be changed.

But consider; he’s going to be a teenager soon. That’s right… my crazy sweety-b is going to hit puberty, adolescence, the hell-years etc.

It is like a reminder of something I often forget: he does develop, just slowly. Because his development is so slow and sometimes arduous I tend to forget that he is still growing, learning and changing. Do you realize that in ten years, he will be “ready” to get married, have a baby by my OWN standards of “acceptable normality”? Hell he’ll be a legal adult by then! good gravy.

His reading skills are improving… bit by bit. It’s almost weird to see him reading like other kids – albeit kids who are about half his age but anyways – and I think maybe I started believing that maybe he’d never “get it”. One thing is the same; I still am inspired and lifted up by his never-ending resiliance and tireless efforts to improve. I’m not talking about improving in the sense of somehow not being autistic, I’m talking about how he never stops trying to learn, trying to understand. It is not about faking his way through life, not for him and not for me. It’s about understanding where he’s coming from and understanding what he’s missing so that he can try to grasp, in some way, what other people are like and how to deal with them. He still seems to love people so much – he wants to talk to them, share with them, interact – the term itself “Autism” seems so incredibly wrong for him. I don’t see him wrapped up in his little world of himself any more than anyone else. In fact he interjects himself into every social situation he can which amazes me. He seems to have no social fear. Oh occasionally he is enveloped by his paranoia but even though that’s a symptom of his affliction, in some ways he can be sharply perceptive. After all, he is different and people do stare at him and kids do laugh at him sometimes. It gets hard to tell him to ignore his paranoia because I know exactly how he feels but I also know that ignoring it is pretty much the only way to deal with it for him. He’s not really a confrontational type and so I counsel him to not dwell on his fear and move past it. Which he usually does. Most times though, he has no fear. It’s only when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable that the symptom rears it’s head. Most times, he talks to strangers, jumps into conversations and attempts to connect to others.

It’s amazing to me.

Ahhh my thoughts are all jumbled and weary. I should try this another time.

…and he really was!

Baph was sitting down at table with guests. Looks over at C (my bestest friend) who has her newborn in the babypouch sleeping.

Baph: oh, now that’s too much cuteness right there.

[C giggles]

Baph: no kidding, that’s like painful…

Baph: you might as well be carrying a bag of hamsters, it’s so cute