Scrutiny

Scrutiny really pisses me off. 

I know most people don't do it intentionally. In most cases, it's meant to be "constructive". And sometimes, it's an open mouth, insert foot moment, that you can tell they immediately regret. Usually too, it's people who just don't "get it". Like the (amazingly strong) 90 year old lady at the nursing home who wanted W to apologize and wouldn't let go of a death grip on his arm until I explained, "He's mentally handicapped" (this was earlier last year- the only time I've ever said that- and I regret it to this day).

But I mean, really, who does "get it"? Do I? What is it like to live in Waylon's brain? Deep down, is he as carefree as an eight year old should be? Or does he battle with autism everyday? 

Maybe I should be harder on him. But maybe his life is hard enough?

So the thing is, usually, I really don't care about your scrutiny. I just let it fall on deaf ears. I shrug my shoulders and think, "Darling, you wouldn't last a day."

So why do I let it it piss me off so much sometimes?

Perhaps it is because, like a person molding a clay vase, I have spent my entire adult life molding my children. And just like you wouldn't tell an artist, "Boy, your vase looks like shit", I really don't want to hear your opinions on how to discipline my kid when he is acting out. (Exception: if you have a degree in child psychology or behavioral pediatrics, I'll take all the help I can get. Just as you'd welcome Monet's suggestions for your shitty art).

Perhaps too, it's because as much as I want Waylon to be treated equally and I don't want to admit that there could be anything "wrong" with him, the plain truth is- he has a disability. He has to go through his day flapping his arms and beating himself in the head and not being able to speak. And I just think that you'd be a lot less critical of his behaviors if you were required to spend your entire day flapping your arms and beating yourself in the head and not being able to speak. 

And maybe, just maybe, the reason that I hate scrutiny so much, is because I am also working really hard to teach my other three children to be respectful human beings. And when you show disrespect to any of God's children, let alone a child with special needs, I just want to bend you over my knee and spank your disrespectful butt.

Rant over. 

…...............................................

Dear Travis, 

Please bring home wine and chocolate today. Oh, and beans for the hambone. And milk.

Love, 

Your crazy wife

…...............................................

^ dead serious. 

The Lost Blog Posts of Fall/Winter 2014

Thank you. So much.

Are you wondering what you did? You did a lot.

This year I set an astonishing record for going an insanely long time between blog posts. Lately, I've had lots of people asking about the blogging hiatus- "Why don't you blog anymore?"

Well actually, I typed a lot on the blog, I just didn't publish it. In my moments of anger, fear, and joy, I turned to you to spill it all. But usually, before I had time to re-read and edit and publish, someone needed me, and my attention was pulled elsewhere. So, like my half-painted bathroom and most of the permission slips from school and my Christmas cards, it was left undone. 

But I had so many things to say and I needed someone to listen. You were always there for me. Even if you didn't know it. 

So, thanks to copy-and-paste, and taking three days off of work for absolutely no reason other than to salvage my sanity, I give you: the lost blog posts of Fall/Winter 2014.

 

October 9, 2014

I have so many things I need to tell you. I don't know where to start. The blog posts that spent the summer floating around in my head never made it to the keyboard. And like white shoes and the naked children in my front yard, summertime stories just aren't as acceptable after Labor Day.

 

November 15, 2014

There are so many things I've wanted to share with you this summer and fall. Life, well, I don't have to explain it to you. You know. Life.

Job change, schedule changes, a helluva summer break (I have three gaping holes in my walls as evidence), new medications, the only developmental pediatrician we've ever known moving to Denver, blood draws becoming "routine", an ambulance ride, a hospital stay, and lots of shots for pneumonia (Waylon in an ambulance= Hulk on the Avengers air ship).

Whoa. Life. It's a lot sometimes.

But guess what? He took swimming lessons and horse riding lessons. He wore a Halloween costume for the second year in a row. He says "That is really gross" when we change the baby's diaper (a comment!!!). He knows his new sister's name (although he can't say it yet) and he loves to give her kisses. He rides the bus with ease, he writes his last name, and he recognizes some words. And he has pooped in the toilet with astonishing accuracy lately.

Life. It's a lot sometimes. But it is good. 

November 18, 2014

This is what happened to me today:

I took three kids, one in high-waters (C grew a LOT this summer), one in dirty jeans (W wouldn't change his pants today), and one in zebra stripe leggings and high heeled boots (she's my diva), one grumpy husband, and one adorable baby (thank God for her), to the dentist. Seven cavities (yes I said SEVEN) later, I can't believe we were crazy enough to take them out for lunch (Hey, kids eat free on Tuesdays, you know). Then our dear lovely 80 year old waitress whispered "what does he have?" as we were walking out of the restaurant after we found out that kids eat free for SUPPER on Tuesdays. Ugh.

December 12, 2014

Guess what just happened? The school called, Waylon's barfing. Guess what that means? 

Free day!!!

I like to think that I take my nursing gig pretty seriously (I mean, I am changing peoples lives and such). And my husband (who is the bomb.com) recognizes this and rocks the mommy duty pretty well in these situations. However, today is a big day in the insurance biz. It is known as "open house day". He wore a sweater and he made a crock pot of soup. It would not be very nice or fair of me to ask him to leave the office on such a very important insurance biz day. 

So here I am, in the car, telling Siri about free day. 

This morning I told Facebook, "December: the month of the IEP, Waylon's 8th birthday, Christmas, and property taxes. I may or may not have just eaten five devil's food chocolate cookies for breakfast. Don't judge me." 

After my cry-baby bawl session in his IEP meeting yesterday, I was mentally, physically, and emotionally spent. I really wasn't in the mood to get up and put on my pants and a smile and face the world today. But I did. I ate my five devils food chocolate cookies for breakfast (because there were only five left in the box). Then, mother nature did me a solid (she saw me struggling) and gave W a stomach bug. 

Free day.
I love it.

 

December 22, 2014

For real, people. What gives? What is it about Christmas that is just so... exhausting? This time of the year, that is supposed to be so joyous and fun, and all I can think about is that we're shopping in a toy store and everything I think he really would like says "3 and up". I DON'T WANT TO BUY YOUR STUPID BABY TOYS FOR MY SEVEN YEAR OLD.  In five days he's going to be eight. And he won't stop licking his fingers. Ugh.

I need someone to say, "Lindy. Shut up. It's going to be okay." Would you do that for me? Say it. "Lindy. Shut up. Your kid is the bomb.com and he can play with baby toys if he wants. It's okay.” 

Fine. Fine. Fine. I'll shut up. Merry Christmas.


December 27, 2014
Dear Waylon,

"He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying."   -Friedrich Nietzsche

You taught me to fly.
Happy 8th birthday!
Love, Mom