Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Scarlet Letters: Get Your Gloves On, And Step In The Ring: This has been a very trying week for the family. Probably one of the most challenging weeks we've had this year. On Wednesday, P came ho...
Posted by Pink Mommy at Saturday, September 28, 2013
Friday, September 13, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Scarlet Letters: ODD and ADD- It's Bullshit and I'll Tell You Why: Oh, the lovely Oppositional Defiant Disorder. To me, it's is the most ludicrous diagnosis that ever hit the DSM books. Symptoms can begi...
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Scarlet Letters: I Don't Understand It, and It Pisses Me Off: No amount of research can ever help you completely understand mental disturbances. It will try with all it's might, but unless you have ...
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Some say red hair is a lifestyle. In this house, it's more of a personality and attitude. As a young child, I had a copper top and a face full of freckles. Relentlessly tortured for such looks, I quickly became tough and defensive, much like my girls. There is a certain stigma that follows a ginger. The redder the hair, the worse the temper. Is that really the case? While Paisley is a dirty strawberry blonde, she has the tendency of turning into the Hulk when she's angry. She's hypersensitive, ridiculously neurotic, and capable of shooting daggers with her eyes. Anabelle sports carrot orange curls, and she is generally the happiest in our bunch. She is laid back, easy going, and bubbly. Piss her off, and she's your worst cannibalistic nightmare come true. I spit fire with my tongue, and often say things that embarrass my surrounding friends. There is, however a certain lifestyle that comes with special redheads. We rise in the morning, grouchily dragging our asses around because our brains are screaming for power, and we have yet to acquire it. I am about as useful as a zombie for the first 20 minutes out of bed, and I have kids(and dogs) whining and moping about. It takes Paisley 30 minutes to decide what she wants to eat while she sucks down two cups of strawberry milk. She might say she wants "Scrambled eggies with ketchup", but the moment you reach for the fridge, she screams, "No! Yuck! I don't like it. Something else." She will say oatmeal, but change it to toast with syrup. When she opens the freezer to discover the family size blueberry Eggo's box, she now insists on a waffle sandwich with raspberry jam. Anabelle just stands in the kitchen looking up at me with her giant green eyes, waiting for my expert mind reading skills to launch. If I open the fridge, hoping she will take this opportunity to point at something, she immediately grabs the Heinz 57 bottle, and takes off at lightning speed, rounding the corner wobbling like a weeble. This weeble wobbles, and falls down. The shrieks of excitement feel like a railroad spike in your eardrum. I hate to ruin the fun. Everything breakfast related given to this child is wasted. She will take a bite, share a bite with a dog, and make artwork with the remaining portion. Television is rather easy. I'm just stuck watching the same crap over and over. My kids have a knack for picking the stupidest shows, and becoming obsessed with them. I suffer on the sofa, bitching about said program. I could be happy that my kids are somewhat preoccupied with this, and take it in strides. I do, but I still have the right to complain about it! When the episode has ended, both children engage in a near knock-down drag out for the remote app on my phone, so they can start the next one. If Anabelle gets it, she furiously presses buttons, knowing not a thing about this fancy contraption. She is merely enjoying her loot. Any second now the Hulk will come crashing through snatching and screaming, because the baby screwed up Netflix. I will get hit with the phone, after the Hulk decides to hurl it at my face, because frustration has caused her to lose all skills. "MOOOOMMMMMMMYYYY! Fix that TV! Anabelle can't don't want to do that TV! She break it! AHHH! Anabelle! How could you? You better had know better!" If I can get Anabelle down for nap, I will spend the next 2 hours quietly scolding Paisley to be quiet. When 3 minutes of silence has passed, and I get up, she runs up to me yelling, "Mommy! Shhhh! Quiet! Baby sister Anabelle trying to go to sleep! She lay down for nap. You better be quiet, Mom!" Now Anabelle is awake. Paisley runs to the sofa, and pretends to be a statue. If Anabelle's whining persists, she will run into her room, swinging the door open and yelling, "Don't you yell at me! You be quiet! You sposed to take nap. I tell Mommy be quiet!", slamming the door back behind her. Marvelous. Let the crankzillas reign. When I go to retrieve little darling from her bed, she is standing there, holding the railing. Her face says it all. "What took you so long, Woman? And why can't you do something with loud mouth over there?" She's irritable now. I reach over to pick her up, and she throws herself in the corner, turning into a 30 lb wet noodle. I get her in my arms, and she suddenly flails her extremities as if she is being tickled. Quick reflexes are imperative in times like these, or one might drop a child. I put her down, and she yells to be picked up. Damnit. I knew I should have been doing Pilates like the doctor ordered! Maybe I would be a bit stronger when situations as such arise. Oh, that's right. I don't even have time to finish my coffee before it gets cold, so when I can accomplish that goal, maybe I will consider added fitness to the daily routine. If the phone rings with an important call, the brood immediately goes into turbo mode. I can't hear myself think, let alone the other person on the line who I'm quite positive is rolling their eyes. From their end, it probably sounds like a circus in the background. If I want to retreat to the potty, I have no less than 3 bodies shadowing my performance. Doggies will step all over my feet, digging their talon-like claws in my skin. Anabelle will giggle maniac-style while she smacks my bare thighs repeatedly. As soon as I close the door, and usher them all out, Anabelle screams with anger because she missed her opportunity to play with the untouchables. Bedtime is a great little adventure. After putting Anabelle down, I fight with Paisley for the better part of 2 hours to be quiet. She finally goes to bed, but routinely resurfaces in the hallway no less than ten times, with various requests. I'm in no mood to deal with such crap. I pretend to be asleep on the sofa, and after a while, she gives up. I wake up in the fetal position with my face lying in a puddle of drool. It's now 3 AM. I force myself into bed, and close my eyes. There are only 3 more hours of potential sleep...give or take. I hope no one has a nightmare, or god forbid wets the bed. I will wake grumpy, yet again. I know what the day has in store for me. So excuse and ignore me when I become short-tempered with you in the grocery check-out line. Never mind the bird I flip you, while I honk my horn because you pulled out right in front of me. Don't get upset if I answer the phone in a rather rude tone. You are likely unaware of the events I have endured. Spend a few hours at my house, and you will leave grumpy too. Autistic gingers. It's a lifestyle.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Holy Hell! I cannot believe that the last time I posted was in Feb. I have moved, started working full time, and been put through some pretty harsh conditions via my girls. Anabelle is now 18 months old, and full blown Autistic. Completely non-verbal, with a cannibalistic personality. While Paisley may be the next Einstein, I think Anabelle could be the next Hannibal Lector. God, help me. I feel shitty saying this, and even shittier for feeling it, but these past few months have been so rough, I haven't been particularly fond of Paisley. Her behavior problems have exacerbated,and what once could have been considered a mole hill, is now Mount Everest. She's upset about the routine changes, the move, me working, etc. Anything that she can complain about she does, and the art of speech has been replaced with non-stop high pitched whining. I'm too tired to yell, too tired to scream, too tired to fight. Everything is a fight. I put her to bed at night, sit on the sofa, and cry because I'm emotionally drained. My brain feels like it could explode, my whole body feels like a bowl of Jello, and my heart hurts. I hurt because even though I was too tired to yell, I did. I was too tired to scream, but I did. I should have exercised more patience, but I didn't. I lost my temper. I was able to ignore the tantrums and headbanging for a while, but I let it get under my skin, sour my mood, and ruin my evening. Having two small normal kids is difficult. Having two small children who are on the Autism Spectrum is the toughest battle God could throw my way. I get angry with God a lot more than I should. I have spent many nights lying in bed with tears streaming down my cheeks, asking him why. Why me? Why my kids? Why did it have to be BOTH of my kids? They say God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. If that's the case with me, I'm feeling pretty fucking inadequate. Anabelle is a kind, and loving child, with a bright smile and happy disposition. At the drop of a dime, she can turn into a raging monster, just like her sister. Her newest obsession is to have lengthy conversations with the wall using her Caveman language. Yes, you read that right. THE WALL. Right here in the living room. Such events have been known to last for hours, and can be quite entertaining. I said earlier she is non-verbal, and for the most part she is. There are no actual words unless you count "Da" for "Daddy". No babbling, either. Just a series of grunts, shrieks, and odd, repetitive sounds. Eye contact can be very difficult to maintain, and don't even think about trying to engage in some sort of back and forth play. If she wants something, I get the pleasure of playing a good ol' round of Trial and Error to figure it out. She doesn't point like other kids her age. It's so hard for me to be around other children without comparing them to my own. While Paisley is off the charts brilliant in some areas, her social skills are deplorable. While Anabelle is far more gentle and affectionate than her sister, she has severe developmental delays. Maintaining my sanity has been quite the adventure, while patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire. By the end of the night, I have been punched, bit, smacked, kicked, had my hair pulled, and screamed at. All at the hands of my children. No one can keep it together all the time. No one can take all this on a daily basis and not go postal at some point. If you know someone who can, then for God's sake introduce me. I could use some pointers. If everything I wrote about was gumdrops and lollipops, then this blog would be pretty boring. Someone has to be the bearer of bad news. I'm the someone that doesn't mind accepting that position. I'll be the first to tell you that Autism sucks. It's hell. Right here in my home. Autism has changed my family in a lot of ways. Some good, others rotten. I find solace in this-God made my girls special in a way that the world will need some day.