2 things I know, people love other people's misery...face the truth here, it makes us feel better about ourselves (which is why I am a totally awesome friend to have!!) The other thing people like is hearing about poop...I really don't know why this is, perhaps it's because it's the one thing we ALL have in common...Most parents have the luxury of knowing that eventually they will revert back to wiping only their own asses some day, hopefully right after potty training. Once again, I will point out that this is merely a poop pipe dream for me. Cameron still has no clue how to clean up after himself (as you will shortly see) and Harry is still in diapers (well, sometimes...and sometimes he's not...read on..). All of that being said, join me on this laughable (since it's not you), yet miserable, shitty journey!! Poop Log/August 28, 2009: The youngest autie, Harry, just ripped off his diaper in my bedroom and took what can only be described as a 13 pound shit that closely resembled chocolate pudding in color and consistency (again, this is 50% of the kid's diet)...not odor though...then he proceeded to do his autistic jig through said pile of shit, tracking it in 2 perfect concentric circles on my carpet, ultimately landing his shitty ass on the couch in my room...where he no doubt stood back and appreciated his work; in that it is reminiscent of the infamous "crop circles"...only made of excrement (why can't he draw a circle with a crayon??). Before he did his poop covered entrance into the living room, he was kind enough to scratch his crap filled crack with his talon like fingernails...nice! I just fished steam cleaning my rug; my couch; my kid...It's 2 in the morning. What might you be doing? Oh, and since we finally have this not so gentle introduction to the giant pile of poop stories that comprise my life, let's "go" with it...Poop Log/August 30, 2009: The scene, it ain't pretty...one of the worst I've seen in my many years on this grisly task force. To protect the feint and weak of heart and/or constitution, I will try to withhold the many graphic details of tonight's event. Let's just suffice it to say that as the other family members were sleeping in their beds safely unaware, Cameron was awake, and unattended at a very inopportune time. I, however, on this night in question, was the unfortunate soul with the weakest bladder...making me finder of what could only be described as a shit massacre in my bathroom. Imagine the worst case scenario if you will...did I mention that the boy needed an IMMEDIATE shower (as it was running down his legs...which of course was itchy, so he had to scratch...then his chest was apparently itchy, and then of course his arm...at least he didn't choose this night to put his fingers into an unsuspecting person's mouth...eww, silver lining??) So the frightful scene that I stumbled upon in my bathroom this fateful night extended all the way down the hall...around the corner right into the back room, where I made a second gruesome discovery...there was more than one perpetrator. This revelation came by way of my stepping in a puddle of dog piss. As I looked up to exclaim, "shit!", I saw more of it...2 more piles of it to be exact...compliments of Blitzen (love her!) I only wish I could call in crime scene clean-up to handle this ghastly ordeal, but alas, that too is me, soo...I need to go wash my hands again...I'd throw up too, but I think the poor toilet has already been victim enough tonight (not to mention, I've seen where that toilet has been!) Well my friends, I will be "logging" off now...there will undoubtedly be further entries into my poop blah blah blog, quite possibly within the next 5 minutes when I get up and take a walk through the house...Enjoy!
I am a chronic list maker. I like lists for everything...grocery lists; daily to-do lists; year long "project" lists; individual lists pertaining to each child. I need to compile a list...of my lists. There is something so utterly gratifying about crossing things off of my list(s)! This is because by my nature, I love organization, neatness; I strongly dislike clutter and disorder. So, needless to say, my lifestyle and surroundings are a constant "challenge" for me. I find all of these mindless daily duties more and more difficult to keep on top of, and myself caring less and less about it. I literally have to convince myself to let some of the little things go, which is difficult for an anal retentive, passive aggressive, borderline OCD gal like myself. Children come with a certain degree of mess...I realize this, and have attempted to adjust myself accordingly. I've grown to accept the Fisher Price Lil' People and Littlest Pet Shop accouterments being deeply embedded in the bottom of my foot as I try to simply walk across the floor. The fact that Shannon likes to use every washcloth in the house as "blankies" for her little dolls and animals; I have convinced myself this is adorable (until I have no washcloth to use during my weekly shower...). Playdoh, hey, it's so beneficial for the kids both creatively and for use in motor skill development, it HAS to be a good thing...even if it is stuck all over my floors, table and feet. Crayola now makes washable markers, so no difference if the walls, doors, tables, children and their clothes are colored from top to bottom...hell, Gianna even colored her lips red for her first day of kindergarten (which I did appreciate her choice to go with Really Red as opposed to Gothic Black), no worries, it washes right off. As you can see, I'm not too rigid to be flexible here. I have actually learned to find these types of messes "Livable". So now I find myself attempting to distinguish the often fine line between what is disgusting, and what is livable...prioritize Jackie!! The bathrooms alone in my house, for example, are enough to make me turn my efforts to the more productive and sanitary prospect of digging my own grave...cuz when dirt, sweat, worms and bugs seem more appealing to me, you know it's bad! So the bathrooms, with their pee covered toilets and baseboards; their toothpaste and spit globbed sinks; their hand print covered mirrors and their soap scum coated shower walls containing the children's names...fall into the disgusting category, every day at some point in time. Okay, so how about a shit smear on Cam's sheets... it's down at the bottom where his feet will be, so disgusting or livable?? I'm going with disgusting on that one...excrement almost always falls into that category. As do regurgitated Goldfish Crackers, bananas, chicken nuggets or anything else Cameron might suddenly decide has no business being in his mouth (he actually gagged once when I came at him with a fresh warm cinnamon roll...who does that?) Ewww?? Perhaps, but this works to Blitzen "the garbage can" dog's advantage...the sound of Cameron's gagging is like the sound of a dinner bell to her...which saves me the time and hassle of cleaning up that mess (silver lining, there it is!). So I guess it is all just a matter of priorities...the difficulty is finding that balance between mine and the kids, as we are clearly at opposite ends of the continuum. So I'll handle this as I always do, by making another list...a priority list!!
So as I was sitting in the living room reading my favorite literary masterpiece, Facebook posts, and I heard my then 4 year old daughter exclaim to little Georgie from the dining room that he'd better stop his current behavior or she would, "Smack him on his ass...hole!" Now she couldn't just stop with ass...nah, she had to throw in the "hole" for added emphasis, that's my girl! Which was when I realized...oh shit, that's MY girl! She sounds like mini me...a tiny foul mouthed truck driver. That coupled with her shining disposition will surely get her expelled from Kindergarten...which is why truck driving could be a viable future for her.
Okay, so I admittedly love profanity...it's so damned expressive; and hell, even spell check recognizes them as words. I think most of us will admit that in moments of anger and complete irritation, profanity seems not only appropriate, but justifiable. Of course, as parents we MUST develop some self censorship. And so I did, at that moment...by way of the "Bad Word Jar". Now most of my family and friends are aware of the bad word jar (as many have already contributed to it after spending 35 seconds in my house), but this is how it works, quite simple really. I created the "jar" out of an old plastic Cajun Party Mix container (I love that shit!). I boldly labeled it, including the restitution fees for offenses... 25 cents per bad word (shit, fuck, damn, hell); 50 cents for doubles (this would be your mother fuckers and god dammits- sorry my religious friends, but it happens...). I prominently displayed the ugly (in more ways than one) jar in the living room, so everyone would remember. Hey, I don't want to hear all the bitching when I shake a quarter out from under Cinderella's piggy bank skirt after Shannon threatens another asshole smack, m'kay.
The jar, by my initial design, was intended to fund a trip to Vegas for me...since I was clearly paying the most in. Then I noticed that the other adults weren't coughing up the curse(d) cash for their offenses. Timid as I am, I pointed out to the cheap asses that they needed to start paying in (Momma wants to hit the slots). So they started to get on board by shoving the occasional $5 or $10 spot into the jar to cover past and no doubt upcoming profane proclamations...BUT naturally the greedy bastards; those very same bastards that get to leave the house for work each day, would take it right back as soon as they needed gas, lunch or toll money. Like that's more important than my Vegas tattoo fund...shit! One nice thing however, is the children are swearing less (how fricking sad is that for a mommy to admit??), and have deemed themselves the "Bad Money Jar" police...quick to notify the adults of any violations they make, as well as tattling on each other. If you ask me, I did one fine ass job of parenting in this situation!
One minor issue I am trying to resolve with the jar, however, is Harry...he is a big "double offender". When Harry gets particularly whiny or upset he likes to cry out, "God dammit!" This is an issue of course because, well, he is autistic and has no clue what a bad word is...plus, it's actually quite a good thing, since he is using it appropriately and spontaneously...and lastly, he has no money...can't get blood out of a stone. On a more positive note, as I look for my closing "silver lining", is that I swore 23 times in this post alone (with 3 doubles), wracking up a whopping $5.75...My jar is filling up again :o)
Okay, so what if you can count my conquests on one hand?? I bet you could never tabulate the number of "bed jumps" or games of "musical beds" I play in my house every night...and day for that matter. I love sleep...god I miss it. Our sleep schedules are absolutely whacked right now... Delirium is already setting in. Do you ever wake up and are so out of it that you aren't quite sure where you are, or what time it is...or hell, even what day, month and year it is for that matter?? This happens to me so often, it's the norm. Other than general psychosis, there is a reasonable explanation for why this happens to me. And no, it's not because I was fortunate enough to get so sloshed the night before that I wound up on some peaceful park bench somewhere...the reason is that there are 5 children living in our house. I start out in one bed, and end up in possibly 2, maybe even 3 different beds before it's said and done....whether it's crying children or urine covered sheets, it's any body's guess where my chaos will take me in the night.
Okay, so I will admit that it IS possible to get a decent night's sleep as a parent, for example when the kids are sleeping at someone else's house...or maybe you are one of those savvy schedule adhering types that I so desperately long to be...alas, I live with autism, which in my house knows no schedule. Most of you may know that autistic children require pretty regimented routines and tend to thrive on structure. During the school year, this is not impossible to achieve; introduce Summer, and we are @#$%&*! Throw the 3 typs into the mix, and there are MANY a sleepless night in my house. I often pull the night shift, since the other 2 adults have the luxury of hard labor for low wages outside of the house during the day. Lucky ducks.
So this summer, our entire household's schedule got turned around by one child and a flu bug. Within the first week of summer school, Cameron was sent home in his vomit covered clothes (summer school = low quality daycare in Florida), and fell asleep with his mild fever...and he slept the entire day away; meaning or course he'd be awake the entire night. Keep in mind that the auts sleep only when their bodies command it, no more, no less. They also cannot be reasoned with, so telling them to "go back to bed, or else <insert consequences here>", they just don't get it; it's like the whole Charlie Brown's teacher's thing, "mwah mwah mwha mwha"...
Suffice it to say, Cameron quickly adjusted to THAT routine...and so the graveyard shift began. Understand, when Cam is awake, he ensures that everyone else is too. He has his subtle ways; like screaming "EEEEEEEEEEEEE" at the top of his lungs as he runs through the house naked. If it's a truly fun filled night, he'll have taken a crap while we were asleep and oh so blissfully unaware, right up until he gets in bed with you...*sniff*, yeah...so then the game of "Where's Cam been?" ensues. Other favorite late night pastimes include turning every single light on in the house, barging into the backyard at 2am screaming about god knows what, sticking his fingers into a sleeping person's mouth, throwing his body wrestling style from atop the dressers onto the beds (whether someone is sleeping in it or not), shoving his juice cup and goldfish cracker bowl at us for constant refills, and obsessive / compulsively bringing us different games for his Playstation 2, Xbox, Wii, gamecube, gameboy or computer. All of these things, believe it or not my friends, tend to wake everyone in the house up...
And then there's Harry. Little man likes to function on a series of naps. Which also means no one is allowed to sleep during his awake time. Harry's methods are similar to his brothers, he likes the naked running and screaming "EEEEEE" thing as well...only his naked comes by way of him ripping off his diaper..usually followed by...well, at this point you know what I am going to say...shit. Then after "clean-up duty" (or in this case doodie), he of course needs to "refill", and subsequently brings us handfuls of puddings or yogurts from the fridge every 5 minutes...Remember, these boys are totally OCD, so I am seriously not exaggerating when I tell you the frequency with which these events occur...Our favorite, albeit heart stopping action, is when Harry turns the volume up to maximum decibels on every television in our house. Imagine being awakened by the blaring sounds of Mario kicking Kirby's ass in a rousing game of Super Smash Brothers Melee...every 30 seconds. I believe this is an exciting new game for him as he giggles when he sees you come sprinting at neck breaking speeds down the hall or into the room where the offending noises are coming from. Cool, cause and effect...actions and reactions. As the volume is turned down, Harry is told "no" to this...that lasts right up until your ass makes contact with a chair/bed/toilet/whatever...then he PUMPS UP THE VOLUME as well as my blood pressure. Oh dear god...he's fricking doing it right now..brb...K, now I see we are changing the game...this time upon my arrival Harry turned the volume back down, and sat grinning on the couch, isn't that the cutest thing? He's so adorable...and he's initiating a game and attending to it....at 3 in the morning. Silver Linings, Jackie, cling to 'em.
I get the, "What are your thoughts on Jenny McCarthy?" question frequently. While she is creating public awareness about autism, and I GREATLY applaud that, I believe she may also be giving the public a lot of misinformation. She has theories, but they aren't necessarily fact simply because they worked for her son (diet, specialized therapies). I think diet (Gluten Casein Free) and certain therapies can be extremely beneficial in reducing the symptoms of autism, but again, I feel there is no cure. I am thrilled that she believes her boy was cured...more so that she has a healthy, thriving son. And I would never discourage any parent from trying anything they feel would help their child (excluding anything harmful, such as chelation.) I'm afraid however, that she may actually be giving false hope to parents out there with autistic children. But like Jenny McCarthy, I am not a doctor or a medical scientist / researcher...I am a mother, just like her, with an opinion (and like assholes, everyone has at least one...). One thing listeners of Jenny have to realize, is money helps when being an autism whisperer. Jenny was married to a mega rich banker man...their marriage ended with her being "financially functioning" so to speak (realizing she could never have possibly survived simply on her own earnings from the multitude of books, movies, television and Playboy stints). Jenny can afford the utmost of whats available...she even has a round the clock, one on one therapist for little Evan...the therapies she prescribes to are excellent, and costly, and largely unavailable to the "typical" autistic parent (especially in Florida, where I live). And face it folks, the names Jenny and Jim get shit done! I never intended to really discuss religion here, but since Scientology in my opinion isn't a religion, it's a Non Profit Cult based on a Science Fiction book, it's fair game! Scientology teaches that mental illness does not exist and that problems should be resolved using spiritual healing, not drugs...m'kay, hang on friends, I need to go pop a quick xanex to curtail my anger and irritation here before I continue...
28 minutes later...
okay, feelin' the love again... The tragedy that John Travolta and Kelly Preston recently experienced in losing their son is horrific, it's every parent's nightmare realized. To further exacerbate the tragedy by failing to acknowledge their son's autism, however, is crying shame. The Scientology community does not believe in the medical condition (or any other for that matter, which is why that great alien in the sky calls for so many of their non medicated and untreated children..). Being the parent of 2 autistic boys, I can pretty much look at most auties and plainly see it, the autism. This was the case for John and Kelly's boy...one look, and I knew. Their family opted to blame Kawasaki's Disease for their 16 year old son's illness. This "acceptable" Scientological illness is a condition which causes inflammation of the vital organs and blood vessels and occurs almost exclusively in infants and toddlers. They blamed their constant carpet cleaning as the source of his illness. Although Jett Travolta suffered from convulsions, Kawasaki's does not usually result in seizures and sufferers do not usually have it for years. Many auties are susceptible to seizures; I realize how lucky I am to not have this added stress with our sons. Their boy, however, experienced such a seizure and ended up hitting his head. Initially, the rumor mill said Travolta & Preston would leave the "church" of Scientology. This never did happen. That "religions" failure to acknowledge any medical realities is truly just asinine. I was saddened at the missed opportunity to teach and inform the public, whose attention was greatly focused on their family, and to make one tiny shred of positivity come from this tragedy. I will not, however, take one moment from their loss and suffering with my humble opinions, as it is theirs solely to deal with.
I say this in reference to what last Christmas brought to us, via "Santa Claus", bringer of joy and merriment...and Blitzen. Oh, I wish I could say this was his reindeer, merely stopping by to have a cookie and drop off some presents. Nope...Blitzen the reindeer assisted in dropping off Blitzen the dog...Yipee, a puppy for Christmas...every child's dream...and my worst nightmare!! Understand, I am an animal lover...always have been, thought I always would be. Before breeding/birthing my own biological "pups", I was a petition signing, card carrying member of the ASPCA, and constant contributor to PETA and the World wildlife fund...By way of thanks, they sent me so many complimentary address labels that it would never be cost effective for me to move...After the babies, however, I had to switch my focus to the: Feed, Shelter, Clothe, and Educate My Own Children Fund. Pretty worthwhile cause all in all.
So as our beloved old family dog of 15 years was courting death, it was decided that a new dog would be "good" for the kids...as memories of bike riding with our own childhood dogs running joyfully along side began to flow..(now, personally I had no such memory, nor could I envision either of my boys in this scenario, but none the less...) the decision was made. So 3 days before Christmas, "Satan"..oops, I mean, "Santa Claus" called our house...jolly old fellow told the grown ups, as the children listened in, they had a very important "mission". Since Christmas was rapidly approaching and time was running out, he needed our help with a very special gift. Leaving the excited children behind, we flew out the door, with hopes of returning with a small, desirable puppy, naturally from a shelter (we NEVER pay for pets, there are so many wonderful free ones to be had!)
The shelter thing didn't prove to be so lucrative. After inspecting all twenty something Pit Bulls, we were getting discouraged. Believe me, I appreciate the beauty of the breed, and have known several sweet, loving and even timid /docile Pits. However, I did not personally know any of these dogs or their histories...as I envisioned the Pit Bull I used to watch hanging from a roped tire by his mouth for what appeared hours on end, I realized adopting such a powerful dog may be dangerous in my home filled with 5 small, unaware and autistic children...just wouldn't be prudent (and they would no doubt attempt to "ride 'em cowboy!).
So we inspected our 2 non-Pit Bull selections. The first dog, Sandy, spent her entire time out of the cage pulling in the opposite direction from us, choking herself all the while.. so although she was cute, no dice. Our next and final contestant was a 10 month old unnamed female, with the sweetest face...and although she was about 7 times the size we were envisioning, she snowed us with her undeniable charm (and snowy white coat). And so 20 minutes and 20 dollars later (she was actually on sale, which should have clued us in..) we were the proud owner of Blitzen, the trash can dog. Her name, we decided, worked because, hey, it was Christmas, and the kids liked the whole reindeer thing...plus it was a reference to the Blitzburg Steelers, whom we love and cherish in my house. Little did we know what it really en"tailed"...she was Blitzen alright...blitzen through the garbage cans, blitzen through the neighborhood, blitzen through the cat food AND litter box...She also blitzed a big hole in our fence, so she could blitz on down the alley at her convenience and knock over all the neighbor's garbage cans, selecting her preferred items (which unfortunately include the neighbor's brand of diapers...or whatever the hell that kid is eating anyway..) and bringing them back into our yard. So we enjoy our daily Sanitation Duties which begin in our backyard and extend up and down the entire alley. (In hindsight I am thinking the caller that fateful day was not Santa Claus at all, but in fact Sanitation Claus...).
So as you can see, it was initially "ruff"...the kids failed to see the "puppy" in this pony sized pet; and yes, 3 out of 5 have tried to ride her. Blitzen can easily bowl them over when she insistently and incessantly licks their faces (to get whatever food particles are stuck there). She also likes appendage chewing, non discriminate...kids taste as good as adults...awww, the puppy is teething. Great. She firmly believed all the Christmas presents were hers; as she gnawed the arm off of Holiday Barbie, popped the Sponge Bob Bouncy Ball, and chewed, subsequently swallowing 101 Littlest Pet Shop accoutrement's. Of course you know how I realized she swallowed them...not completely potty trained, she was kind enough to shit them back out. I made an executive decision on that one...flush...
So by day 5, needless to say, I was cynical. As I was hovered over the kitchen sink, pondering this pet, I heard the delightful sounds of children's laughter...looking up through the kitchen window into the backyard, I saw this new dog running as our 3 small typ's gleefully chased after her. Humph...imagine that Jackie, you naysayer...the actual purpose for which we intended with this dog was occurring before my very eyes. This beautiful bonding of children and their pet...Awww..whatthefuckisthat? Look closer...what is that in the dog's mouth? Let me preface this with the fact that Santa also brought an easel with chalk and paints; which we had set up outside for the kiddies creative mess making delight. Okay, back to the dog, the kids and the glee...and the WTF?? Upon my closer inspection, I realized Blitzen had selected a full bottle of paint from the easel, and was merrily munching down on it as this game of chase ensued. The paint squirting out with each and every leap and chomp, blowing back in her big white puppy face, also blowing back onto various body parts of the giggling, pursuing mob. As I ran towards the backyard, I asked myself this one simple question...why oh why did it have to be the RED paint?? At least green paint could pass as a grass stain, right? So I quickly disbanded the frivolity, and chose to leave the aftermath that now resembled a massacre, or at best a multiple murder scene. The dog now looking like Cujo, the children; her victim's...As I have mentioned before, I try to find or make "silver linings" wherever I can. So in keeping with that life mantra, I paraded the children and new dog proudly through the neighborhood, so our neighbors knew not to fuck with us or our new dog, cuz Cujo will fricking kill ya...and we'll bury you in our newly designed backyard Pet Cemetery...in a pile of garbage!
It's extremely easy to lose sight of yourself when you are the caregiver to any special needs individual. You begin to define yourself by that, forgetting all the things that made you the person you were before...I used to be Jackie, and hey...to the best of my blurred recollection, I used to like stuff!! I used to like going out with friends, reading smutty novels, traveling, crafting, sleeping, laughing...I have vague memories of such hobbies. I am currently the primary caregiver to all 5 of our children during the day (My 3; Kim's 2). I think it is also fair to say that each autie counts as 3 typs on the work equivalence scale. So by that math I watch 9 kids all day, every day - which feels much more accurate when measuring my exhaustion. I feel it important to mention my lifelong doubts about my ability to be "maternal"...as I always questioned if I was even cut out for motherhood...but I figured if animals, insects and idiots can do it, I can too! And shit, I don't even have to master something as difficult as parallel parking, cuz you don't even need a license to breed! I never considered the possibility that my children would be anything less than normal (if not brilliant, right?). Parenting is a life long commitment, I knew that going into the "breeding zone". However, my commitment will be obviously different than most parents... I will never experience the glory of the suffering of empty nest syndrome (you know, that magical moment when you get your life back...). Two of my children will likely require life long care, which is a pretty overwhelming thought, one most parents fortunately don't have to consider. I get annoyed when parents take their own beautiful normalcy for granted...m'kay? And, no, I am not always the shiny fucking ray of sunshine that I present to you here...like every parent, I have my days...and nights. Sometimes in my darker moments I will run through the many things my sons will probably never experience...Like having friends; driving a car; making love to someone they love; or experiencing the wonderment of their own child...Instead, I consume my thoughts with things like, who will really care for them when I am gone? Did others hurt or mistreat you while you were away from me? (because you can't TELL me if they did)...If I work diligently with you, day and night, might you someday have a breakthrough?? Does it hurt, autism? And what is that under your fingernails?? As you will most likely hear any parent of an autistic child say, "I wish, even for just 5 minutes, I could be him", in his head, his body... to experience with new understanding this puzzle we try to solve each and every moment of each and every day.
