KU: Dad, what are these lumps below my dink
Dad: Those are called your testicles
KU: Can they explode if you squeeze them?
Dad: Well it can hurt, son. I don't recommend it.
5 minutes later said son walks into our room visably upset
KU: Dad, I am really freaked out now.
Dad: What about?
KU: (with tears in his eyes) Well I squeezed them really hard. I think they are going to pop. What happens when they pop? Do they explode and disappear? Will I die?
Dad: It's okay son. You won't die but it might really hurt later on. I think it would be a good thing to let them rest now and stop squeezing them.
5 minutes later KA can be heard asking KU
KA: What are you talking about?
KU: They are your tentacles. They are those hard things inside your dink. But don't squeeze your tentacles it can make you turn blue.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
When Momma's Unhappy
You know the old saying, "If Momma ain't happy then no one is happy" well that's an understatement if I have ever heard one!!!
Life with two autistic boys can be a bit of a challenge. Instead of one behavior issue there are often two running concurrently and in opposite directions. Sometimes it is enough to drive you to the brink of insanity. Fortunately, a hand always appears out of the mist to pull me back off the ledge because "someone" knows there isn't anyone else around to do the job I do. Mothering is often a thankless task and "SHE" knows it. Today was one of those thankless days. Dave knew it was "one of THOSE days" because when I arrived home at 7 p.m. with the kids I looked at him and said, "You have to take this child or I am going to commit a crime against humanity!!!." And with that I walked back out the door and went to indulge in a little retail therapy ALONE. One thing a mother of autistic children does NOT want to do is take them to the store with her. (Refer back to the mannequin incident involving a pulled up shirt and hands on the oh-so-perfect and perky breasts that some man having a wet dream must have designed.) This is only one reason I avoid stores at all costs when I have children in tow.
Another way I know its been a stressful day is when I am on a diet and I go ahead and buy a container of cookies. Call it tempting fate or Russian Roulette it doesn't matter when It's my favorite. Ummm, chocolate almond biscotti with it's s-o-o-t-h-i-n-g butter taste and the melt-in-your-mouth sweetness of the crushed almonds which cling to my tongue while the chocolate coating swirls around my mouth like a robust cognac. Unfortunately, all of this silky sweetness of serves to jump start my taste buds into action after a week of bland green food. Of course it is easy to justify said purchase. I usually do it by playing some form of the numbers game which goes something like this: "I will only have three cookies. Yep, just three. They only have 120 cal, 8 carbs which means I will eat salad for breakfast for the next week to compensate." Of course, before I even finish the thought and brush the crumbs from my lips the number of carbs and calories consumed have become so gargantuan that I can no longer do the math without a scientific calculator!
You also know it's a "Momma Ain't Happy Day" when you keep repeating back to yourself the simple reminder that you love your child and he cannot help himself no matter how much medication you or said child is on. Usually by employing this strategy I can convince myself that if I say it over and over again I will remember it and remain astonishingly calm the next time my child is on a mission to put me in the loony bin before his 8th birthday. Yet, if you are like me, repeating this mantra for the two thousandth time tends to put you in a trance. Tonight it happened in the store's dressing room and it wasn't until I arrived home that I realized the dress I purchased is in the most Gosh-awful shade of coral (who looks good in coral anyway?) and is three sizes too small. And because I will be leaving for a wedding tomorrow it means I must return the dress and take the kids into the store with me; thereby negating any therapy I might have gotten from the original excursion. Just the thought of taking said children to the store then gives me the shakes which ultimately leads to a third shot of vodka for the night. The result of being that I will most likely have a hangover the size of Texas tomorrow morning; once again proving the old adage that if Momma's unhappy...well you know the rest.
Life with two autistic boys can be a bit of a challenge. Instead of one behavior issue there are often two running concurrently and in opposite directions. Sometimes it is enough to drive you to the brink of insanity. Fortunately, a hand always appears out of the mist to pull me back off the ledge because "someone" knows there isn't anyone else around to do the job I do. Mothering is often a thankless task and "SHE" knows it. Today was one of those thankless days. Dave knew it was "one of THOSE days" because when I arrived home at 7 p.m. with the kids I looked at him and said, "You have to take this child or I am going to commit a crime against humanity!!!." And with that I walked back out the door and went to indulge in a little retail therapy ALONE. One thing a mother of autistic children does NOT want to do is take them to the store with her. (Refer back to the mannequin incident involving a pulled up shirt and hands on the oh-so-perfect and perky breasts that some man having a wet dream must have designed.) This is only one reason I avoid stores at all costs when I have children in tow.
Another way I know its been a stressful day is when I am on a diet and I go ahead and buy a container of cookies. Call it tempting fate or Russian Roulette it doesn't matter when It's my favorite. Ummm, chocolate almond biscotti with it's s-o-o-t-h-i-n-g butter taste and the melt-in-your-mouth sweetness of the crushed almonds which cling to my tongue while the chocolate coating swirls around my mouth like a robust cognac. Unfortunately, all of this silky sweetness of serves to jump start my taste buds into action after a week of bland green food. Of course it is easy to justify said purchase. I usually do it by playing some form of the numbers game which goes something like this: "I will only have three cookies. Yep, just three. They only have 120 cal, 8 carbs which means I will eat salad for breakfast for the next week to compensate." Of course, before I even finish the thought and brush the crumbs from my lips the number of carbs and calories consumed have become so gargantuan that I can no longer do the math without a scientific calculator!
You also know it's a "Momma Ain't Happy Day" when you keep repeating back to yourself the simple reminder that you love your child and he cannot help himself no matter how much medication you or said child is on. Usually by employing this strategy I can convince myself that if I say it over and over again I will remember it and remain astonishingly calm the next time my child is on a mission to put me in the loony bin before his 8th birthday. Yet, if you are like me, repeating this mantra for the two thousandth time tends to put you in a trance. Tonight it happened in the store's dressing room and it wasn't until I arrived home that I realized the dress I purchased is in the most Gosh-awful shade of coral (who looks good in coral anyway?) and is three sizes too small. And because I will be leaving for a wedding tomorrow it means I must return the dress and take the kids into the store with me; thereby negating any therapy I might have gotten from the original excursion. Just the thought of taking said children to the store then gives me the shakes which ultimately leads to a third shot of vodka for the night. The result of being that I will most likely have a hangover the size of Texas tomorrow morning; once again proving the old adage that if Momma's unhappy...well you know the rest.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sometimes Life Just Sucks...Other Times It Doesn't
What is it about crashes? Why is that ones that will ultimately be expensive sound one way while those that involve a $3 cheap trinket from China sound another. It is like the cheap ones have no oomph whereas the valuable/expensive ones shatter with a delayed sense of time so you can hear each atom splitting apart from one another in slow motion; like a chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong.
Crashes also for some odd reason sound different from one another based on whether the crash was intentional or not. For instance, when I was just a wee child of about age two my mother was having a fancy dinner party and borrowed china from all her friends and relatives. Being the helpful little lady I was I decided to vacuum for my mother. Now I am sure that when my mother heard the vacuum going she looked at my father quizzically and then they both made a dash for the dining room. But it was too late. For as they raced down the stairs I somehow managed to wrap the hose around the dining room table and pull the entire thing over. Crash. I suspect that it wasn't one big crash but the tinkle of each dish bouncing off one another as they cracked and chipped and went their own separate ways. That's the way of the "I shouldn't have borrowed so much" crash. It not only splinters your dishes but it also splinters your mind into a thousand little pieces trying to figure out how you are going to tell all those wonderful folks who lent you all that beautiful dish ware that their prize pieces are now sitting in the trash can along with the onion dip and the sweet gerkins.
Unfortunately, the crash I heard last weekend was a deliberate one. It was a crash created in moment of anger like a scorching red branding iron that is doused in water; so steaming and hot; it hissed louder than 100 angry hornets. A crash that was the result of two weeks without pharmaceuticals in the bloodstream and two minutes after a child was sentenced to some time alone. NO greater injustice could have been handed down upon a seven year old. And after a minute in which the blood was boiling so rapidly that the temperature of the brain went so high that it no longer functioned as it was designed to, a pool ball was shot through the window, shattering it into a million pieces right along with my soul. It was loud, angry and each shard of glass was jagged, twisted and capable of inflicting severe injury and pain. Glass that hid out of sight, like a private eye with his hand on the shutter, just waiting to open and expose the skin of a stranger to the anguished other. A crash so unexpected that one is now left to wonder if it is just the beginning or truly an anomaly but either way nothing will be quite the same again.
Then there was the crash of this past weekend. I was not there to witness it nor hear it but I am told that it was the sound a bowling ball makes when it captures a perfect STRIKE. A thud so deep that it resonates throughout the alley. In this case it was one of our old oak trees that guard the driveway to the cabin between the rocks that will catch a tire and the propane tank that lights our fire. Seems that for whatever reason this old oak split itself down the middle; the left half falling into the road while the right half fell into another old oak who strains to cradle it within its own feeble branches without falling over itself as it carries double its usual load. And should the oak lose its fight both will most likely crash into the cabin splintering everything from the roof to the foundation and carrying with it the dreams of past and current caretakers all in one fell swoop. Crash, Bang. It's gone never to be revived again unless, of course, you carry a good low deductable on your insurance policy .
I have heard the question asked that if a tree falls in a forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it in fact make a sound? After this weekend I finally have the answer to this perplexing question and quite frankly; it all depends on if you have good insurance with some sort of policy that covers dangerous trees. Seems that my insurance will not pay to have the two trees that MAY crash on my cabin removed. They will, however, pay to rebuild the cabin should the trees decide to fall upon it. CRASH...and I wonder why my premiums are going up!
Crashes also for some odd reason sound different from one another based on whether the crash was intentional or not. For instance, when I was just a wee child of about age two my mother was having a fancy dinner party and borrowed china from all her friends and relatives. Being the helpful little lady I was I decided to vacuum for my mother. Now I am sure that when my mother heard the vacuum going she looked at my father quizzically and then they both made a dash for the dining room. But it was too late. For as they raced down the stairs I somehow managed to wrap the hose around the dining room table and pull the entire thing over. Crash. I suspect that it wasn't one big crash but the tinkle of each dish bouncing off one another as they cracked and chipped and went their own separate ways. That's the way of the "I shouldn't have borrowed so much" crash. It not only splinters your dishes but it also splinters your mind into a thousand little pieces trying to figure out how you are going to tell all those wonderful folks who lent you all that beautiful dish ware that their prize pieces are now sitting in the trash can along with the onion dip and the sweet gerkins.
Unfortunately, the crash I heard last weekend was a deliberate one. It was a crash created in moment of anger like a scorching red branding iron that is doused in water; so steaming and hot; it hissed louder than 100 angry hornets. A crash that was the result of two weeks without pharmaceuticals in the bloodstream and two minutes after a child was sentenced to some time alone. NO greater injustice could have been handed down upon a seven year old. And after a minute in which the blood was boiling so rapidly that the temperature of the brain went so high that it no longer functioned as it was designed to, a pool ball was shot through the window, shattering it into a million pieces right along with my soul. It was loud, angry and each shard of glass was jagged, twisted and capable of inflicting severe injury and pain. Glass that hid out of sight, like a private eye with his hand on the shutter, just waiting to open and expose the skin of a stranger to the anguished other. A crash so unexpected that one is now left to wonder if it is just the beginning or truly an anomaly but either way nothing will be quite the same again.
Then there was the crash of this past weekend. I was not there to witness it nor hear it but I am told that it was the sound a bowling ball makes when it captures a perfect STRIKE. A thud so deep that it resonates throughout the alley. In this case it was one of our old oak trees that guard the driveway to the cabin between the rocks that will catch a tire and the propane tank that lights our fire. Seems that for whatever reason this old oak split itself down the middle; the left half falling into the road while the right half fell into another old oak who strains to cradle it within its own feeble branches without falling over itself as it carries double its usual load. And should the oak lose its fight both will most likely crash into the cabin splintering everything from the roof to the foundation and carrying with it the dreams of past and current caretakers all in one fell swoop. Crash, Bang. It's gone never to be revived again unless, of course, you carry a good low deductable on your insurance policy .
I have heard the question asked that if a tree falls in a forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it in fact make a sound? After this weekend I finally have the answer to this perplexing question and quite frankly; it all depends on if you have good insurance with some sort of policy that covers dangerous trees. Seems that my insurance will not pay to have the two trees that MAY crash on my cabin removed. They will, however, pay to rebuild the cabin should the trees decide to fall upon it. CRASH...and I wonder why my premiums are going up!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Lock
So we are looking at a house we are considering buying...looking all around...not paying our usual strict attention to what the kids are doing. All of a sudden one of the tattlers comes in to tell us "KU removed the lock from the front door." Seems he found a screwdriver and removed it. Should I do myself in now or let him do it for me?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
The Clubhouse
Remember your first clubhouse? The place where you hung the NO GIRLS or NO BOYS allowed sign. Where you told secrets to your friends, shared popcorn together and dreamed dreams that only the clubhouse gang could understand?
Well, me neither. But I would like to think that this is the type of clubhouse that Dave built for the kids. The type of clubhouse that will bring back memories when the kids are older, one that will give them peace when they are down, and a place that will stimulate their imaginations and allow them to explore the world at their own pace. It will be a place for learning, a house for negotiation and just old fashioned good times. Unfortunately, right now it appears to be the bank vault for the family's valuable possessions. Here's why...tonight Dave goes out to the clubhouse with KA and KE and in it he finds:
1. His expensive watch given to him by his company which is being worn by a rather large stuffed bear
2. A necklace of mine being worn by another imposter animal
3. Some sort of small appliance and numerous dishes which come to think about it I have been scratching my head for the past week thinking that I must be going crazy because it seems like cups were disappearing right and left.
And there is only one culprit who has done all of this....KU, KU... where are you? And how do I know this is all KU's doing? Because he is the only one who has nerves of steel which allow him to climb dressers to get the loot. He is the only one to whom the word NO has direct relevance to him and he is the only one who like the rat and the crow is attracted to shiny things and has no problem swooping down to relieve the unsuspecting owner of his possessions.
Someday, as I get a little older, I will be able to attribute the missing car keys and watches to the fact that I am slowly losing my marbles but for now there is only one name I need to call when something is missing....KU....KU.... and mysteriously each and every time he knows where the missing object is. I can only hope he is still around when I am 70.
Well, me neither. But I would like to think that this is the type of clubhouse that Dave built for the kids. The type of clubhouse that will bring back memories when the kids are older, one that will give them peace when they are down, and a place that will stimulate their imaginations and allow them to explore the world at their own pace. It will be a place for learning, a house for negotiation and just old fashioned good times. Unfortunately, right now it appears to be the bank vault for the family's valuable possessions. Here's why...tonight Dave goes out to the clubhouse with KA and KE and in it he finds:
1. His expensive watch given to him by his company which is being worn by a rather large stuffed bear
2. A necklace of mine being worn by another imposter animal
3. Some sort of small appliance and numerous dishes which come to think about it I have been scratching my head for the past week thinking that I must be going crazy because it seems like cups were disappearing right and left.
And there is only one culprit who has done all of this....KU, KU... where are you? And how do I know this is all KU's doing? Because he is the only one who has nerves of steel which allow him to climb dressers to get the loot. He is the only one to whom the word NO has direct relevance to him and he is the only one who like the rat and the crow is attracted to shiny things and has no problem swooping down to relieve the unsuspecting owner of his possessions.
Someday, as I get a little older, I will be able to attribute the missing car keys and watches to the fact that I am slowly losing my marbles but for now there is only one name I need to call when something is missing....KU....KU.... and mysteriously each and every time he knows where the missing object is. I can only hope he is still around when I am 70.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Poop Story
I came across an old flash drive the other day and it contained this story from November 24, 2004. Sometimes we forget just how far we have come!
Well I am thrilled to report that KA finally pooped in the potty today. Just wish I had been more on top of things so to speak. It all started when KA was peeing on the potty when I noticed "the look."
"KA, do you have to poop?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"Great. Can you poop in the potty?"
"Yes, Mommy. Go away please."
Okay, upon reflection wanting some privacy when engaging in one's bodily functions is a normal and legitimate request. The BIG mistake was actually doing what a three year old asks.
So I come out to the family room, put a few books away, straighten a few pillows and there is it...that smell. What is that god awful smell, anyway? Turns out it is KU and he is in desperate need of a change. As I am changing him KA comes into the room. In the three minutes since we have parted I completely spaced the fact that when I last saw him he was on the potty doing "IT." Well, little Mr. KA comes up to me as I am intensely concentrating on wrestling KU's diaper on his contorting all-over-the-place little rump and places his sweet hands on my face. Too late...I recognize that particular putrid smell and, oh joy, my face feels somewhat damp. I look up and there is KA with poop all over his hands. Seems he tried to wipe using his hands and now it is all over my unsuspecting face!!! Being the totally cool nonchalant Mom that I am (in order not to lose it and scare her son into never going in the potty again until he is entering college) I stroll into the bathroom to remove the offending "finger paint." And as I walk, not run, I notice that it appears that KA has touched every wall between the bathroom and the family room, which, I guess, is a blessing or else even more would have ended up on me; which proves the point that you can always find good in the not so.
Anyway, since that time I have been cleaning every surface in the bathroom, the hallway, the family room and have rubbed my face raw just so that one of the twenty people visiting tomorrow doesn't find any surprises. Guess I won't repeat this story for them!
Well I am thrilled to report that KA finally pooped in the potty today. Just wish I had been more on top of things so to speak. It all started when KA was peeing on the potty when I noticed "the look."
"KA, do you have to poop?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"Great. Can you poop in the potty?"
"Yes, Mommy. Go away please."
Okay, upon reflection wanting some privacy when engaging in one's bodily functions is a normal and legitimate request. The BIG mistake was actually doing what a three year old asks.
So I come out to the family room, put a few books away, straighten a few pillows and there is it...that smell. What is that god awful smell, anyway? Turns out it is KU and he is in desperate need of a change. As I am changing him KA comes into the room. In the three minutes since we have parted I completely spaced the fact that when I last saw him he was on the potty doing "IT." Well, little Mr. KA comes up to me as I am intensely concentrating on wrestling KU's diaper on his contorting all-over-the-place little rump and places his sweet hands on my face. Too late...I recognize that particular putrid smell and, oh joy, my face feels somewhat damp. I look up and there is KA with poop all over his hands. Seems he tried to wipe using his hands and now it is all over my unsuspecting face!!! Being the totally cool nonchalant Mom that I am (in order not to lose it and scare her son into never going in the potty again until he is entering college) I stroll into the bathroom to remove the offending "finger paint." And as I walk, not run, I notice that it appears that KA has touched every wall between the bathroom and the family room, which, I guess, is a blessing or else even more would have ended up on me; which proves the point that you can always find good in the not so.
Anyway, since that time I have been cleaning every surface in the bathroom, the hallway, the family room and have rubbed my face raw just so that one of the twenty people visiting tomorrow doesn't find any surprises. Guess I won't repeat this story for them!
Monday, June 29, 2009
You Know Life Sucks When...From My Facebook
So, I just stumbled upon KU who had my toothbrush down his pants. Should I just end my life now or wait for him to do me in?
Alicia at 9:48pm June 29
HA!!!! Oh my. THAT was not the first thing I expected to read upon opening facebook this evening! Oh wow. The mental picture.
Well...I think I'd just be glad I caught him doing it...now, get a new toothbrush and lock it away somewhere safe!!
Barbara at 9:50pm June 29
I am laughing hysterically!!!!! (honest, sorry, I can't stop). Cheryl, you need to write a book about your life with Kullen and Karson.
Amy at 9:51pm June 29
Holy cow, Cheryl. I don't know what to say. Just try not to think about how many times he has done that.
Kindra at 10:10pm June 29
I'm dying to know what his explanation was...
Robin at 10:13pm June 29
Sorry, can't stop laughing here.
Erin at 10:25pm June 29
I'm with Robin. I'm also about to tell hubby and I'm pretty sure he's going to lose it :-)
Erin at 10:28pm June 29
In NJ, we are wondering how often he's done that BEFORE you brushed your teeth???? LOL LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kindra at 10:30pm June 29
I hope you use Listerine after you brush!
and on it went. I guess I will be counting toothbrushes instead of sheep tonight!!! UGH!!!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The H Word
KE: KU said the H word (said in that sing-song tattle tail way)
KA: What is the H word? Hideous?
Later that week KE runs to tattle again
KE: Mom, KU just said the H word!!!
Me: What is the H Word?
KE: I can't tell you
Me: Oh, go ahead
KE: The H word is SHUT UP
KA: What is the H word? Hideous?
Later that week KE runs to tattle again
KE: Mom, KU just said the H word!!!
Me: What is the H Word?
KE: I can't tell you
Me: Oh, go ahead
KE: The H word is SHUT UP
An Autograph By God
In the car with Ka today.
KA: I can hardly wait to get God's autograph.
ME: Where will you get that, honey?
KA: In Heaven
ME: So what do you think he/she would write?
KA: GOD, creator of all earth.
KA: I can hardly wait to get God's autograph.
ME: Where will you get that, honey?
KA: In Heaven
ME: So what do you think he/she would write?
KA: GOD, creator of all earth.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Being Hit By A Ton Of Bricks
Today it felt like I was hit by a ton of bricks, happy, wistful bricks, but bricks just the same. I felt crushed by the weight of all the "what could have beens" and the crushing sadness of suddenly missing someone who has been dead for almost 25 years. And not being prepared for the feelings that rushed over me and made me cry; the person who never lets the tears fall. This is what happens when the unexpected arrives so silently and without notice; a mixture of profound happiness and sadness and the wonder that both can exist one within the other.
Today I found an old box with cards in it. Cards congratulating me on Ross' birth 25 years ago. Cards from dear freinds who I miss terribly and friends who have melted away like a snowflake on a warm winter's night. Friends who were mine and friends of my mothers who gave her a grand Baby Shower for me. And tucked within all this happiness and loving memories I found a card that threw me in a tizzy but one I will treasure forever. The card said For You Daughter, On Your First Mother's Day and in it was my mothers instantly recognizable writing...the writing of a teacher whose cursive was book perfect with just the right tilt and curl to her s. She wrote:
"Hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day. Now you know what it's all about and how much love a mother feels for her child. That feeling never leaves. I love you now and I always have and always will. Love, Mom"
Sometimes gifts both happy and sad arrive at unexpected but totally meaingful times. Some say it is pure coincidence some attribute it to divine intervention. But all I know is that it arrived at the perfect time...when Ross was leaving for his own home and when Kylee took the last box to her new home to start her life as an adult. The beauty of words is the meaning they convey and whether they are two years old or twenty-five years later love speaks a language that never grows old and has the power to touch a heart years later. All of which begs the question...what have you written to your loved ones today?
Today I found an old box with cards in it. Cards congratulating me on Ross' birth 25 years ago. Cards from dear freinds who I miss terribly and friends who have melted away like a snowflake on a warm winter's night. Friends who were mine and friends of my mothers who gave her a grand Baby Shower for me. And tucked within all this happiness and loving memories I found a card that threw me in a tizzy but one I will treasure forever. The card said For You Daughter, On Your First Mother's Day and in it was my mothers instantly recognizable writing...the writing of a teacher whose cursive was book perfect with just the right tilt and curl to her s. She wrote:
"Hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day. Now you know what it's all about and how much love a mother feels for her child. That feeling never leaves. I love you now and I always have and always will. Love, Mom"
Sometimes gifts both happy and sad arrive at unexpected but totally meaingful times. Some say it is pure coincidence some attribute it to divine intervention. But all I know is that it arrived at the perfect time...when Ross was leaving for his own home and when Kylee took the last box to her new home to start her life as an adult. The beauty of words is the meaning they convey and whether they are two years old or twenty-five years later love speaks a language that never grows old and has the power to touch a heart years later. All of which begs the question...what have you written to your loved ones today?
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