I can only do so much Lord.

It's very important to me that my children have great oral hygiene. Because I am the type of person to fixate on small problems, I make sure that in regards to their teeth, I have nothing to look for.

To date, all but two of my children have had braces. Ziggy is getting an appointment soon, I'm calling today. But this post is regarding the boy, above the boy. That teenager. Let's call him Cee-lo.

Cee-lo received braces before I did. He made them seem like nothing. No pain, no problems. He ain't right. The day after he received them, he was eating pizza, peanuts, trail mix, pretzels all the things that are on the Do Not Eat list. When I received my braces, I went on a liquid diet for a month and have recently moved to puddings. My damn teeth still hurt. (Sometimes I look at food and cry. Not worth the pain of chewing it. So I just hold it.)

Cee-lo and I go to the orthodontist yesterday. All the other crooked teeth children were going in and coming out quickly. Not the boy. Eventually he came and got me. I go to the hygenist and she looks strained. She said, "Well, he had another broken bracket. Generally we need to schedule more time for these appointments. If a child comes back with a broken bracket and we don't know, we send them back out and have them make another appointment. In the future, make sure you do that."
So, I look at her. I want to say, "Who the f*#k, are you talking too? B!tch you don't know me!" But I don't. What I do say is, "Did you tell Cee-lo to call you and make that appointment if he gets another broken bracket?" She looks at me and says, "Well, no. Generally we tell the parents." I said to her, " He didn't tell me he had a broken bracket. He is 16 yrs old. He knows what's going on in his damn mouth. You see this?' And I show her my row of razor sharp braces. "I only have time to focus on these teeth here, and those teeth over there." I point to Ziggy, who raises his hand."If you think I have the time, or the desire, to check this grown man's teeth every week, then you better make sure that every appointment he has is a bracket fixing appointment. Because unless he tells me, I ain't checking. So, make sure YOU do THAT!"
Cee-lo places his hand, gently on the shoulder with the torn rotator cuff, and pats it. That's his quiet sign to me, that I am getting loud and drawing a crowd.
I whip around to him, flames shooting from my eyes. He just looks at me, one eye brow lifted, waiting. Knocked the wind right out of me. I try not to go off on my kids, in public. God provided me a whole world of people to let have it. I save it for them. You never know where He will provide me with a victim. I simply said, "Let's go to McDonald's before you go to school. You hungry?" He nods yes, we scoop up Ziggy and we go to Fat world, aka, McDonald's.

I always say, the Lord provided these two boys for me to teach me the value of patience and humility. Now, I believe there is another reason. He knows I wouldn't do well in jail. Looking at the faces of my children, reminds me to take a deep breath, and calm down. (Although if I went to jail, I would smoke cigarettes and make wine out of grapes and fruit. Take naps. Get my education and find Jesus. Cause that seems to be the place most people seem to find Him. It doesn't sound that bad.)
But I can only do so much Lord, if He, in his Infinite wisdom, could teach people to stop saying dumb ass stuff to me, it would save us all some grief.
I mean, that bus driver is still ....I'll tell ya'll later. It would just get me worked up.

The School Bus: The Saga Continues

This dang school bus situation. Just when I get comfortable, there is change. And we all know I hate change in all forms.

Yesterday started off well enough. Got Ziggy ready for school and we are inside with the door open waiting on the bus. I hear a horn beeping but I don't see the bus. I walk outside, the bus is blocking off the side street with the door open. I walk up my long ass drive way, down the street to the bus. With my most pleasant of voices, I ask, " Good Morning. Who are you here for?" He says, " I'm here for Ziggy." I say, "Oh! What happened to the other bus driver?" " I'll be on this route for a while." Then, this is where it goes down hill. " You need to have Ziggy on this corner in the mornings. We can't go down your street, there is no where to turn around."
Now:
For those of you who know me, that did not go over well. Let us continue.

"Excuse me?" I say. "He needs to be outside, on this bench, waiting for me." He says. The aide on the bus, drops her head and shakes it slowly. I step back, and I say, "You know what? You can go ahead and leave. I'll take him to school." The driver, realizing his mistake, attempts to fix the situation. " No ma'am. What I'm saying is.." I say, "You see those three cars in the driveway? All of those belong to me. My son doesn't have to catch this damn bus." Then, my head rears back, and I get real extra. " I didn't want him to catch the damn bus in the first place. So turn this raggedy ass bus around and you can go." And I stomp angrily to my door. Ziggy says, " Hey! My bus!" I say, F*&K that bus! I'll take you to school!
Now:
For those of you who know Autism, that did not go over well. Let us continnue.

"I wanna catch the bus! I wanna catch the bus!! I WANNA CATCH THE BUSSSSSSS!" Ziggy screams.
In my head, when the scenario played out, Ziggy says in his manly voice, "F*$K that bus mom! You can take me to school!" Before the melt down can go into howler monkey screeching mode, I kick the front door open and ran up the driveway and stop the bus. Ziggy runs past me and jumps on the bus in his seat and the aide straps him in. I say to the bus driver, Mark (I got his name today) "What time will you be here tomorrow?" He says, "I'll be here at 735." I say, "You can go down this side street, there is a turn about down there." He says, " I'll blow when I'm passing the house and then I'll park on the side, you guys should be able to see me out of the window." We both pretended like that side show did not happen.

My mom asked yesterday, as she almost fell out of her chair laughing when I told her about it, "How did that crow taste? When you had to eat it?"
Now:
For those of you who know me, eating crow, saying I'm sorry, does not go over well.
I tell that story to my family, and they never get what the true point of the story is. Ziggy didn't back me up! We hate people as a team, you can't divert from the plan! I gotta teach this child of mine...

Clothing Optional

Ziggy hates to wear clothes.

Now he gets it honestly. I am not a fan of clothing as well. But at least I have mercy on my family and wait until night fall. Right before I am ready to go to sleep. (I came out of the bathroom one night after taking a shower. No towel. I thought all were asleep. My older son was coming out of his room at the same time. He saw me and made a retching sound. Fell back into his room and slammed the door shut. Kinda messed up my self esteem. I didn't know it had gotten that bad. I'm on a diet now.)

But not my Ziggy. He prefers to take off his pants as soon as we get home. No, that's incorrect. He takes his shoes and socks off in the car. Then once he gets in the door, his pants come off. By the time he is sitting in the family room, his shirt is off and he is ready to watch a little television.

You can chart his path by the articles of clothing on the floor. Because using a hamper is passe'. He doesn't care who is in the house, if we have family over or if we have company that is not family. He does keep his underwear on, but probably because a line has to be drawn somewhere.

He is brave in his nudity. One time, I was in the kitchen frying bacon, and he walked in. You would have thought that there was a man with a butcher knife in the kitchen. My daughter ran to the kitchen from her room screaming "Nooooo!" She grabbed him and drug him out of the kitchen. "Mom is frying bacon! That's hot grease! You have to put a shirt on!" Mind you, I was frying bacon in a tank top and underwear. ( Don't judge me) But she wasn't trying to save my fat ass from the popping grease.

He has ABA therapy sometimes on Saturdays. I always get him dressed. But by the time the therapist comes, he usually has taken his pants off. Does he try to put them on prior to coming downstairs? Of course not. Generally, we send him back up to get his pants, or the therapist asks him to get his pants so they can get started. He usually screams out no, but he does it while he is heading upstairs.

My mom asked me, " Are his pants too tight? Maybe he doesn't like the material? Perhaps you should let him pick out his own clothes." I answer her, " No, his pants aren't too tight, he needs a belt. He doesn't care about the material, he has sound issues, not texture issues. If I let him pick out his own clothes, it would be drawers, mom."

Now all of my other children dress like its the 1930's. Clothing from head to toe. No skin showing. Very modest. But not my baby, anytime is naked time.

So if you are offended by almost complete nudity, then you may want to call way ahead of time if you are planning to come over. Because naked time happens all the time at my house. Except when frying bacon and French fries. Perhaps I can buy a couple of aprons.....

I'm Growing

Ziggy started school this week.

I don't know who was happier, him or me. We got up very early on Monday. Dressed. Polo shirt always on the first day. That's how I do. We were heading to the car with his bag o' shit for the first day of school and I see a school bus heading down the street. Well, Ziggy isn't allowed to ride the bus, so I continued to load his bag o' shit, his brother and myself, into the little ass Camaro.

The bus turned around and stopped at our house asking if this was Ziggy. I said, "He doesn't ride the bus." They said, "We were told he was scheduled for our route." I said "He doesn't ride the bus." There was a brief stand off. Ziggy asked, "Mom. Can I ride the bus." I looked at his sweet face and said, " You don't ride the bus." No one spoke for a minute. Finally, Ziggy took one step, then two and he was climbing in. I told them, "I'll be at the school to get him off."

Get to the school, before the bus. Now My stomach hurts. He finally arrives, happy. I take him to his class where I am breaking in a new teacher. And new students. The class is a zoo. Kids having tantrums, crying, rolling on the floor. I'm thinking, "Nope. Gonna have to home school him." He slowly walks over to the toys and then goes and sits down. I was waiting for him to say, "This isn't for me mom." I was ready to scoop him up and take him away from there. But he didn't.

I get home from work, checking him for bite marks and what not and he kept telling me how much he likes the bus. I asked him about school, he says, "Can I ride the bus tomorrow?" I'm going back and forth, but finally decide to give it a week.

Tuesday, we get up at 725. Late as usual. Ziggy has brushed his teeth and that's all. I hear, BEEP BEEP! I look in the drive way. There's the damn bus. I fly down and say, "Here he comes!" I run back upstairs. I throw shorts and tshirt in the air, spin Ziggy around and dress him like Wonder Woman. Fly downstairs, throw all the clothes on the floor that are in the dryer, find two socks. He puts his shoes on. I throw on a long dress, pick his hair as he is walking up the drive way while applying lotion to his face. The bus driver is laughing, he says" Aw mom! Not the lotion on the face!" He jumps on the bus. The aid straps him in safely while I watch. I told them, "That's my whole world right there." The driver says, "We know. He's in good hands. We promise to keep him safe." I said, "That's best for all of our lives." I'm not talking about my violence. I'm referring to Ziggy's village. Oh, especially my dad. And Ziggy's dad. Makes me sweat to think about it.

So after 6 years of school, Ziggy is finally on the bus. This may be for a short time, or it may be all year. Not sure yet, but I am trying to loosen the umbilical cord that holds us together. Not cut it, never cut it, but a little loose, I can do.

I wanna go swimming?

Ziggy wants to go swimming.

I've paid for private lessons. He has been taught by my best friend and someone who can bring him back if he stays under water too long.

He gets super excited any time we are around deep water, he wants to dive in head first and be one with the fishes.

I would love to allow him, but, he cannot swim. He thinks he can swim. He can't swim.

Who was kicked out of the water park? After paying 50.00 dollars for all of us to get in?
Who jumped in the deep end, not once but two times, forcing the little lifeguards to dive in after him?
Who wants to just sit in the pool all day, spinning in circles, for hours on end?
Who went to the ocean, and just sat in that dirty ass water with the biggest grin on his face?

Yes, my Ziggy did! But he still can't swim.
You know the movie, Finding Nemo? Well, I'm the dad. I'm running around trying to protect him from any danger. Real or imagined. I'm trying to ensure that he doesn't go out to the great beyond, where there is no bottom to touch and hazards all around.
Ziggy is my Nemo, defiantly going where I beg him not to go. Being independent and learning how to do things for himself, when I am NOT ready to allow that to happen.

I want him to be independent, without actually having to learn life lessons to do it. I don't want him to experience fear, pain or rejection. I've already gone through that for him, and it fucking hurts. So he's not allowed.

For instance, every time, every damn time, I go to the grocery store, there is a guy there who asks me if Ziggy can play football. Every time I tell him no. Finally I said to him, I don't think you have a suit big enough? He says, Yes we do, lil man can wear a suit. I said, No, for me. Because I will be on the field with him. He just shook his head and told me, There's another little kid on the team with Autism. I said, I don't believe you. He said, His mother is as protective as you. ( I read crazy) I said, Impossible. So he wants me to meet them. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. We'll see.

So, once again, Ziggy wants to go swimming. I'm going to take him to Texas for the weekend so he can get in my BFF's pool. Because, her I trust to keep him safe. I can't swim either. Who can save the both of us. If my baby jumps in, I'm going after him. And I'm strong when I'm scared. That would be three dead people in the pool....possibly four.

Wonk Wonk

Ziggy just wonked me.

I was talking to him, regular conversation. We're having fun, all of a sudden, he reached up to my boobs, with both hands, and went WONK WONK! with pinchy fingers.

I don't know where he got it from, I know I didn't respond correctly, because I burst out laughing. Which you should never do to a child with Autism when he does something in appropriate. Because, for Ziggy, that meant, I was having a good time.

I said, "No Ziggy, that's not appropriate." (I am trying to grow my vocabulary for him. Moving away from words like, "stop!" "don't" "no" and my favorite "Lord Jesus!")

So for half the evening, I was wonked unexpectedly. I kept trying to redirect him. Finally, after being Wonked for the 20th time. I wonked him back. Which he didn't like. Because I too am a little quirky, I wonked him several more times unexpectedly.

The very last time, he grabbed my hands and screamed, "Dammit! I said stop mama!"

So I did. Did I address the dammit part? No. He used the word in the right context and he said all the letters. It enhanced his sentence, just like SpongeBob said it would.

Every time I go somewhere on time, there should be a celebration

This blog is for me. I need an outlet to share what is going on in my life. I need to be able to verbalize, celebrate, even complain about what it means and how it feels to be a mother to a child with Autism.

I need a forum that does not judge me about how I choose to parent my son. In my head, I am patient, guiding and always have the energy to play with my active 8 year old. And I'm young! Really young, and beautiful. In reality, I am old, tired, stressed out and sleepy. I mean, I need a nap now.

In the past, I wrote about it on Facebook. My friends would comment and encourage me. They told me what an awesome job I was doing, even if they didn't mean it. That's what your village is for. It also helps that I have friends with children on the spectrum, they get it better than others. But I have stories to tell and things to say and I have decided that this is the place to do it.

So without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to my love, Ziggy.

Ziggy is my 8 year old. He is the youngest in the family and comes from a long line of people who love hard, live  hard and play hard. He is a large part of my world. The reason why it is difficult to sleep at night and the reason I get up at the ass crack of dawn. He is the reason why I exercise, eat right and (for the most part) quit smoking. Although cigarettes are great and they have always been good to me. He is also the reason, I am always late where ever I go. I try to trick myself, I have an appointment at 9 AM, in my schedule I will put 845 AM. Hoping to God that I get there at least 5 minutes after.

My intentions are always good the night before. I get everything ready. I iron our clothes, give us baths, set out the implements of torture, aka, the brush. I do every thing but sleep in my clothes with a toothbrush in my mouth. Still, I am late. Why you ask? Because no matter what time we have to be there, right before I walk out the door, Ziggy says, "Mom, I gotta poop." Its bad enough in the summer, when all he has to do is go, sit, poop. In the winter, he has to take off his coat, hat, gloves. He also likes to poop naked. With his iPad, while watching Netflix. This also means, I have to take off my coat, hat gloves etc. Because, I am old, and prone to get hot for no good damn reason. Plus, since I don't trust his wiping skills, I have to go in and make sure all is well. With flushable wipes. Then, he has to wash his hands, pump out 10 pumps of soap, wet his sleeves up to the elbow, (he keeps his shirt on) and then dries his hands, slowly. Now I have to change his shirt. I find a shirt, iron it, ( I don't want to be judged by his wrinkled shirt) and gently prompt him (loudly sometimes) to redress. Now we are really late, I have to drive 10  miles above any posted speed limit to get to our appointment and pray they don't cancel it.

Now lets add another layer. We have four dogs. Why? I don't know, but we do. They also need to poop, but since they dig under the fence, they can't stay outside. So, do I ignore them and hope to God they poop on something hard and not my carpet? Do I let them out and pray I get back before they get past the fence? That decision is made at the last minute.

One day, I will make it on time. To school, to work, to church, to the doctors office, to my funeral, somewhere. But if you make an appointment with me, and I'm not there on time, Ziggy had to poop. Be patient, because I am already stressed out.