What Is My Reaction, What Should It Be ?

So after spending about an hour at the eye doctor and trying out several different versions of monovision prescriptions, I eventually convinced the doctor that I REALLY WANTED TO TRY MULTIFOCAL LENSES.

My NEAR vision isn't great, but my midrange (PC) and distance are flawless so...I think this is IT for me perhaps. Perhaps.

I came home and my daughter brought me her little Nintendo thing she plays games on, and asks me what the words are. I read "Help me find my pet!" and "Oh thank you for helping me find my pet, Sparkle Pillow Pants!" Ok it wasn't Pillow Pants - but if you get the reference you earn 25 cool points.

But then, after she completes another little silly goal it comes up with this, that she asks me to read. I sat there for a moment, considering these words. The sun doesn't rise and set on the insipid stupidity found within a video game, yet I have to admit - I lied to her.

I said "It says thank you so much for the great gift!"

I don't think that my daughter is going to spend the next 80 years of her life believing that friends can only be bought because of a video game. But I do think that small things add up into big things. How many small, incidental messages about how I look did I receive over the years that led me to the place I am now, pretty deep in bad body image land? 100? 200? 20000?

What a sick message to blast at small children.Is it lost in translation? I don't know where La La Loopsie comes from, but I would really like this to be a bad translation yet I fear it's not. Rather I think it's just something meaningless someone stuck in a game without a thought.

I don't think that everything needs to be a teachable moment. Hell, I don't even think that everything needs to be CORRECT all the time. But I just feel like some measure of appropriateness should be observed. We shouldn't tell ANYONE that the right gift will make someone your friend for life, much less a small child.

She can still play the stupid game, I'm not THAT tyrant. But still, it irks me. I'm kind of glad she can't read well yet.
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What Is My Reaction, What Should It Be ?

So after spending about an hour at the eye doctor and trying out several different versions of monovision prescriptions, I eventually convinced the doctor that I REALLY WANTED TO TRY MULTIFOCAL LENSES.

My NEAR vision isn't great, but my midrange (PC) and distance are flawless so...I think this is IT for me perhaps. Perhaps.

I came home and my daughter brought me her little Nintendo thing she plays games on, and asks me what the words are. I read "Help me find my pet!" and "Oh thank you for helping me find my pet, Sparkle Pillow Pants!" Ok it wasn't Pillow Pants - but if you get the reference you earn 25 cool points.

But then, after she completes another little silly goal it comes up with this, that she asks me to read. I sat there for a moment, considering these words. The sun doesn't rise and set on the insipid stupidity found within a video game, yet I have to admit - I lied to her.

I said "It says thank you so much for the great gift!"

I don't think that my daughter is going to spend the next 80 years of her life believing that friends can only be bought because of a video game. But I do think that small things add up into big things. How many small, incidental messages about how I look did I receive over the years that led me to the place I am now, pretty deep in bad body image land? 100? 200? 20000?

What a sick message to blast at small children.Is it lost in translation? I don't know where La La Loopsie comes from, but I would really like this to be a bad translation yet I fear it's not. Rather I think it's just something meaningless someone stuck in a game without a thought.

I don't think that everything needs to be a teachable moment. Hell, I don't even think that everything needs to be CORRECT all the time. But I just feel like some measure of appropriateness should be observed. We shouldn't tell ANYONE that the right gift will make someone your friend for life, much less a small child.

She can still play the stupid game, I'm not THAT tyrant. But still, it irks me. I'm kind of glad she can't read well yet.
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Fat Man In the Eye of A Needle

I have a secret about my weight loss. It's sort of a terrible secret. I don't say it aloud. I'm struggling thinking about typing it. It's actually causing me quite a bit of sadness thinking that I'm going to type these words.

I'm a joke weight.

In terms of, I weigh a number that people toss out when they want to describe someone who is really fat. I know this because of a movie, where I first noticed it. The conversation went something like this:
"Well she's gained a bit of weight."
"Oh yeah, like what is she now?"
"Well you, big, like X"
"Oh...X eh? Wow yeah that's big."

I had that terrible moment, watching that movie, where I realized I was far bigger than that number. It's been years ago, but I've never forgotten that feeling of humiliation, of weighing MORE than the "oh that's gross" weight from the movie. I then began to notice that number being tossed around here and there in social media, in the press, movies, blogs etc. A number that was just "Oh yeah that's big."

I've lost a lot of weight. I'm always fucking hungry. I work out (not as much as I should, after all I am sitting here aren't I? I should be working out). But I'm trying. I'm trying to change my life and be healthy. I want my arthritis to POOF be gone, I want my asthma to be better, I want my stomach to stop eating itself. I don't want vascular insufficiency to continue to be an issue. I want my heart to pump with it's electrical problem to it's best ability. I want my liver and kidneys to do their job and not fail.

But despite the actual improvement in ALL of those things that I had problems with, and the things that I didn't (yet), the fact remains.

I'm a joke weight.

I feel embarrassed anymore, when someone talks about my weight loss, because I remember I'm a joke weight. I might look better, but I don't look good. I look like a person that a movie would say "WOW that's big."

I won't stop working. But I wonder now, will I ever feel like I'm at my goal? Even when I hit it. Will I ever stop chasing the concept of not looking like a joke? Of not being the gross fat girl people are making fun of in movies?

It's actually a pretty good movie, though. It's funny how stuff sticks with you.

Here's a random pic of me and the girl. Because such a whiny self indulgent post deserves a smile.

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Fat Man In the Eye of A Needle

I have a secret about my weight loss. It's sort of a terrible secret. I don't say it aloud. I'm struggling thinking about typing it. It's actually causing me quite a bit of sadness thinking that I'm going to type these words.

I'm a joke weight.

In terms of, I weigh a number that people toss out when they want to describe someone who is really fat. I know this because of a movie, where I first noticed it. The conversation went something like this:
"Well she's gained a bit of weight."
"Oh yeah, like what is she now?"
"Well you, big, like X"
"Oh...X eh? Wow yeah that's big."

I had that terrible moment, watching that movie, where I realized I was far bigger than that number. It's been years ago, but I've never forgotten that feeling of humiliation, of weighing MORE than the "oh that's gross" weight from the movie. I then began to notice that number being tossed around here and there in social media, in the press, movies, blogs etc. A number that was just "Oh yeah that's big."

I've lost a lot of weight. I'm always fucking hungry. I work out (not as much as I should, after all I am sitting here aren't I? I should be working out). But I'm trying. I'm trying to change my life and be healthy. I want my arthritis to POOF be gone, I want my asthma to be better, I want my stomach to stop eating itself. I don't want vascular insufficiency to continue to be an issue. I want my heart to pump with it's electrical problem to it's best ability. I want my liver and kidneys to do their job and not fail.

But despite the actual improvement in ALL of those things that I had problems with, and the things that I didn't (yet), the fact remains.

I'm a joke weight.

I feel embarrassed anymore, when someone talks about my weight loss, because I remember I'm a joke weight. I might look better, but I don't look good. I look like a person that a movie would say "WOW that's big."

I won't stop working. But I wonder now, will I ever feel like I'm at my goal? Even when I hit it. Will I ever stop chasing the concept of not looking like a joke? Of not being the gross fat girl people are making fun of in movies?

It's actually a pretty good movie, though. It's funny how stuff sticks with you.

Here's a random pic of me and the girl. Because such a whiny self indulgent post deserves a smile.

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Love Is The 7th Wave

When someone I know had their first baby, her first comment to the world was "I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much." I thought that nailed it so hard, the way you think you KNOW until you have a child and then you realize you don't know anything - but you are suddenly so invested in another human being that you don't know who you are anymore.

It's not a bad thing. But it's a life changing thing. I'm 12 years in to the life change of being a parent and it's still a pretty surprising experience. The thing I'm usually most surprised at is me. I'm pretty selfish, I'm so selfish that when I'm not being selfish "I" notice it. I feel like that's a good measure of being VERY SELFISH. I think it's like when you smell so bad finally you can smell yourself, you know?

I guess that's where I surprise myself, when I know there is a version of me that would be pissed off and yet I'm not.

Last night we'd planned some alone time after the kids went to bed. Planning alone time is really a sure fire way to make sure it doesn't happen.About 45 minutes after she went to bed, when I was relaxing in my own bed, I heard little feet hurrying down the hall and a tiny blonde cyclone hit my bed hard, snuggling up against me. "I had dreams" she mumbled and was instantly asleep. Alone time cancelled.

She tossed and turned all night, waking up repeatedly waving her arms, scared of something. I assured her I was there every time, whispered to relax and and pulled her close. At one point she mumbled "I can't swim in this bed." I told her no, we're done swimming, go to sleep now. I saw 2, and 3:39, and 4:22, and various minutes of the 6 am hour. I was thinking how nice it'd be to get up alone when my alarm went off and she bounded up with me.

"You don't have to get up," I whispered.
"I LOVE to get up early with you! Will you make me special coffee?" she squeezed me.

That meant rather than a cup of black coffee we were going to have coffee chocked full of cream and sugar. This cup is sitting beside me at the moment. I prefer black coffee because of the calories but hey, I'm sharing. And she loves "special coffee".

So I'm tired, a bit achy from sleeping in weird positions, deprived of my calorie-less coffee and needing a shower. Beside me is an exuberant, caffeinated ball of five year old energy who tells me I'm beautiful in my pajamas. She's watching ABC Mouse. It hasn't made her a genius but she does like it a lot so that's ok.

As for me, I wouldn't trade one perfect night's sleep for any of the minutes I spent with her last night.

Because I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much. But it is.

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Love Is The 7th Wave

When someone I know had their first baby, her first comment to the world was "I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much." I thought that nailed it so hard, the way you think you KNOW until you have a child and then you realize you don't know anything - but you are suddenly so invested in another human being that you don't know who you are anymore.

It's not a bad thing. But it's a life changing thing. I'm 12 years in to the life change of being a parent and it's still a pretty surprising experience. The thing I'm usually most surprised at is me. I'm pretty selfish, I'm so selfish that when I'm not being selfish "I" notice it. I feel like that's a good measure of being VERY SELFISH. I think it's like when you smell so bad finally you can smell yourself, you know?

I guess that's where I surprise myself, when I know there is a version of me that would be pissed off and yet I'm not.

Last night we'd planned some alone time after the kids went to bed. Planning alone time is really a sure fire way to make sure it doesn't happen.About 45 minutes after she went to bed, when I was relaxing in my own bed, I heard little feet hurrying down the hall and a tiny blonde cyclone hit my bed hard, snuggling up against me. "I had dreams" she mumbled and was instantly asleep. Alone time cancelled.

She tossed and turned all night, waking up repeatedly waving her arms, scared of something. I assured her I was there every time, whispered to relax and and pulled her close. At one point she mumbled "I can't swim in this bed." I told her no, we're done swimming, go to sleep now. I saw 2, and 3:39, and 4:22, and various minutes of the 6 am hour. I was thinking how nice it'd be to get up alone when my alarm went off and she bounded up with me.

"You don't have to get up," I whispered.
"I LOVE to get up early with you! Will you make me special coffee?" she squeezed me.

That meant rather than a cup of black coffee we were going to have coffee chocked full of cream and sugar. This cup is sitting beside me at the moment. I prefer black coffee because of the calories but hey, I'm sharing. And she loves "special coffee".

So I'm tired, a bit achy from sleeping in weird positions, deprived of my calorie-less coffee and needing a shower. Beside me is an exuberant, caffeinated ball of five year old energy who tells me I'm beautiful in my pajamas. She's watching ABC Mouse. It hasn't made her a genius but she does like it a lot so that's ok.

As for me, I wouldn't trade one perfect night's sleep for any of the minutes I spent with her last night.

Because I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much. But it is.

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Then I Went Off To Fight Some Battle That I'd Invented Inside My Head

I have a very idyllic idea of what life is supposed to be like. This is because I don't live in anything like a normal reality. I think the more crazy Autism makes our lives, the more my brain retreats into the notion that "things should be PERFECT". I ignore huge sections of crazy and insist other things be like a story book.

Take fighting for instance.

My oldest and my youngest child fight and fuss with one another ALL THE TIME. I'm constantly yelling at my son because he's the oldest and therefore IT IS ALL HIS FAULT. It isn't though. The girl, she baits him, she aggravates him until he responds. They are seven years apart and I'm pretty sure that all those parenting books say if your kids are 3 or more years apart this will decrease your fighting. How the hell much will they fight if they are closer together.

My brother and I are ten years apart. I can remember once, being home from college, and my brother and I are locked in wrestling across our living room floor - probably trying to lick one another's faces which was de rigeur at the time, and as we rolled and shrieked my mother came in with a dishtowel in her hand and muttered "You'd think having you two ten years apart I wouldn't have to put up with this nonsense."

We didn't ever FIGHT per se (that shit would not have been allowed) but we did fuss at each other. He tore up some of my stuff when he was little, the way little kids do. I terrorized him with a stuffed animal that I then set in front of my door to keep him away.

I fully remember doing that to him, yet loving him fiercely.  I loved him even after he helped me feed the fishies and dumped a whole bottle of fish food in the tank - killing everything. I loved him even though he took my COLLECTORS CLASSIC STAR TREK DOLLS and cut them up and put them inside the REPAIRED AND REFILLED fish tank in funny positions. They were in mint condition. And then, they were not.

I loved him when he put rubber snakes in my bed at night. That's how I knew he loved ME.

So I try to keep this in mind, as my oldest and youngest fight for territory, for attention, for who is funnier, who is louder, or whose farts are smelliest. She loves him FIERCELY, and he loves her.

They seem to find it funny, however, when their bickering and fighting tips me over the edge. My son has informed me that I "Go all Palpatine" on them.

I am just sad I can't shoot lightning out of my hands. I feel like that would get their attention more than my yelling.
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Then I Went Off To Fight Some Battle That I'd Invented Inside My Head

I have a very idyllic idea of what life is supposed to be like. This is because I don't live in anything like a normal reality. I think the more crazy Autism makes our lives, the more my brain retreats into the notion that "things should be PERFECT". I ignore huge sections of crazy and insist other things be like a story book.

Take fighting for instance.

My oldest and my youngest child fight and fuss with one another ALL THE TIME. I'm constantly yelling at my son because he's the oldest and therefore IT IS ALL HIS FAULT. It isn't though. The girl, she baits him, she aggravates him until he responds. They are seven years apart and I'm pretty sure that all those parenting books say if your kids are 3 or more years apart this will decrease your fighting. How the hell much will they fight if they are closer together.

My brother and I are ten years apart. I can remember once, being home from college, and my brother and I are locked in wrestling across our living room floor - probably trying to lick one another's faces which was de rigeur at the time, and as we rolled and shrieked my mother came in with a dishtowel in her hand and muttered "You'd think having you two ten years apart I wouldn't have to put up with this nonsense."

We didn't ever FIGHT per se (that shit would not have been allowed) but we did fuss at each other. He tore up some of my stuff when he was little, the way little kids do. I terrorized him with a stuffed animal that I then set in front of my door to keep him away.

I fully remember doing that to him, yet loving him fiercely.  I loved him even after he helped me feed the fishies and dumped a whole bottle of fish food in the tank - killing everything. I loved him even though he took my COLLECTORS CLASSIC STAR TREK DOLLS and cut them up and put them inside the REPAIRED AND REFILLED fish tank in funny positions. They were in mint condition. And then, they were not.

I loved him when he put rubber snakes in my bed at night. That's how I knew he loved ME.

So I try to keep this in mind, as my oldest and youngest fight for territory, for attention, for who is funnier, who is louder, or whose farts are smelliest. She loves him FIERCELY, and he loves her.

They seem to find it funny, however, when their bickering and fighting tips me over the edge. My son has informed me that I "Go all Palpatine" on them.

I am just sad I can't shoot lightning out of my hands. I feel like that would get their attention more than my yelling.
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Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot

When I was a kid, my dad was a teacher. Ok he was a teacher when I wasn't a kid too. What that means, when your dad is a teacher is that your family is BROKE. Teachers don't make crap for salary and they used to make LESS.  My dad was forever doing "a second job" to help us get by, usually something not discussed in polite company but not always. He ended up writing bail bonds as his long term second job, just to help us be able to eat.

He used to go on about how he could have a job where he made a LOT more money, but he'd have to travel. He'd NEVER be home. NEVER. He'd be on the road. Sure, we'd have a nice house that actually had insulation for the winter (ours didn't), and we'd have THINGS but he wouldn't ever BE there. And of course he'd never do that to us.

Funny thing, though - he wasn't ever home. He got up around 6 am and went to work. After work he went to bars etc to hand out business cards and get more work. We were home without him, with my mom clipping coupons and eventually starting her OWN business so SHE could make ends meet.

Families are made of people but they require money to function. That's just the cold hard truth. I guess that's why, despite missing them all so much, I don't mind leaving my family for work for 3 days or so every few weeks. Because I'm not gone constantly and long term this is good for us.

This may be my new favorite seat in the house, by the way - SO SO SO CLOSE to the good life. SO close.

I love the professional challenges I've been given, they make me feel valued - and I feel like I'm positively contributing. I'm building something good.

For my family though, I regret that I'm not sharing everything with them when I travel. That's the part I do regret. I want to show them everything I'm seeing and feeling. Except maybe the airplane that was leaking all over me.

You know you're on a commuter flight when the flight attendants just hand out napkins without a word and everyone goes to work stuffing the gaps so the rain stops inside the plane. It's just condensation but it's annoying.

This stop was Toronto, the amazing city by the lake. I still can't get over how massive it is. Every time I go I just think about how some day I'm going to get my family up here to show them this place. I guess I want them to be as amazed as I am.

Arrive Weds, return Fri - everyone no worse for the wear except for my poor husbands frayed nerves from my kids driving him nuts for three days. I think it will be better when school starts and they aren't HERE all day.

I wish my dad had taken that job, the one where he was never home. He was never home anyway, and maybe our whole lives would've been different. Not just because of the money, but because of the life choices he ended up making - because of where he is now due to them. I'm glad I said yes and made this choice for me and for my family.

It's going to work out great for all of us. We just have to hit our groove with this mom travelling thing.

We'll get there.
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Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot

When I was a kid, my dad was a teacher. Ok he was a teacher when I wasn't a kid too. What that means, when your dad is a teacher is that your family is BROKE. Teachers don't make crap for salary and they used to make LESS.  My dad was forever doing "a second job" to help us get by, usually something not discussed in polite company but not always. He ended up writing bail bonds as his long term second job, just to help us be able to eat.

He used to go on about how he could have a job where he made a LOT more money, but he'd have to travel. He'd NEVER be home. NEVER. He'd be on the road. Sure, we'd have a nice house that actually had insulation for the winter (ours didn't), and we'd have THINGS but he wouldn't ever BE there. And of course he'd never do that to us.

Funny thing, though - he wasn't ever home. He got up around 6 am and went to work. After work he went to bars etc to hand out business cards and get more work. We were home without him, with my mom clipping coupons and eventually starting her OWN business so SHE could make ends meet.

Families are made of people but they require money to function. That's just the cold hard truth. I guess that's why, despite missing them all so much, I don't mind leaving my family for work for 3 days or so every few weeks. Because I'm not gone constantly and long term this is good for us.

This may be my new favorite seat in the house, by the way - SO SO SO CLOSE to the good life. SO close.

I love the professional challenges I've been given, they make me feel valued - and I feel like I'm positively contributing. I'm building something good.

For my family though, I regret that I'm not sharing everything with them when I travel. That's the part I do regret. I want to show them everything I'm seeing and feeling. Except maybe the airplane that was leaking all over me.

You know you're on a commuter flight when the flight attendants just hand out napkins without a word and everyone goes to work stuffing the gaps so the rain stops inside the plane. It's just condensation but it's annoying.

This stop was Toronto, the amazing city by the lake. I still can't get over how massive it is. Every time I go I just think about how some day I'm going to get my family up here to show them this place. I guess I want them to be as amazed as I am.

Arrive Weds, return Fri - everyone no worse for the wear except for my poor husbands frayed nerves from my kids driving him nuts for three days. I think it will be better when school starts and they aren't HERE all day.

I wish my dad had taken that job, the one where he was never home. He was never home anyway, and maybe our whole lives would've been different. Not just because of the money, but because of the life choices he ended up making - because of where he is now due to them. I'm glad I said yes and made this choice for me and for my family.

It's going to work out great for all of us. We just have to hit our groove with this mom travelling thing.

We'll get there.
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