The Differences.

Yesterday we went to a show generously sponsored by local businesses for special kids, their families and siblings. As we sat in the huge auditorium, the onslaught began. Palms sweating, knees jigging, head swivelling, he glanced all around. "Will it get very dark?" Will it get very loud?" ""Can I have my ear plugs now, all the noise is giving me a headache." It was the usual buzz when you get a large group of children and adults in a space. A constant hum with a few louder squeals, nothing intolerable for the average joe. He is not your average joe. So, ear plugs were handed over, questions were answered, hands were held, nerves were soothed. And then the show started. A magic show, and one well above average in performance. His glorious amber eyes lit up, darting, absorbing all, his hands applauded, his voice rang out in glee, his whole body jumped with excitement. Stress turned to joy. Pure ecstasy.

For the first time I witnessed him speechless after he asked for the magician's autograph in a voice hushed and echoing with reverence.

But those moments in the build up once again pulled away the blinkers from my eyes and glaringly revealed the differences between him and so many others. It is at times like this all my dislike of autism rears up, and I hate what it does to my son. Then I feel ashamed, how can I loathe what is such an integral part of him, and brings so much good as well as bad?

The last words go to him (and me):
"I do not like new experiences, but I feel so stupid afterwards." I often do not like autism, my son, but when I look at what an incredible young man you are becoming, I feel so stupid afterwards.

Controversy

I am following a thread on my regular parenting website hangout. I will not post in it because I know certain parties would take great pleasure in deliberately misinterpreting my intentions, and twisting my words. The thread is titled: The Word "Retarded". Of course there are lots of people in their posting how derogatory and offensive it is. In any usage. I think in most cases that is true.

But for us it is a word, as is spastic, used in this household. To take the malicious intent away and minimise the emotional damage to our oldest child. Some would say: "He is bright, explain it to him and he'd understand!" or "You are perpetuating the misuse of these terms and continuing the cycle of abusive behaviour by repeating these insults." If he was your average child, I would agree. But he is not. If I was sure he would never encounter these terms in a detestable attack, I would not refer to them. But it has already happened. I do not use them frequently, and I do not use them lightly. I use them to help my child deal with what HAS and WILL be used to humiliate and belittle him. I use them to take away their power to hurt.

He is a not a child to whom the social graces and nuances will ever come easily. He is not a child who, knowing the dictionary definition, would react calmy or unemotionally. He is a child with a great sense of quirky humour who now holds the balance of power when someone calls him these names. Why? Because what we have done in the home by desensitising him allows him to laugh and walk away. Basically disarming the offender's attack and foiling the intent. And as offensive as our methods are to some, they have worked. Sorry, I am not taking the politically correct path this time. I am taking the one which helps him more.

The Monster Retires to Its Cave

I am feeling far more rational today, the rage has dissipated as quickly as it arose. Hormones, stress and unresolved resentment over the actions of people in my day to day life had blended to create a bubbling cauldron full of anger and angst. Exercise certainly helped, and I think my initial mistake was not attending the boxercise class that morning. All may well have been resolved with a few well-aimed, politically correct punches but instead it became a day of flaming fury.

On days like Saturday I know exactly where my oldest son's sense of justice and black & white opinions come from. In a perfect world those that do wrong would suffer the hellfires of painful punishment, in the real world they almost always get away with it, that is if they are not rewarded for their actions! Where are all the superheroes when you need them?

But, as it is not something I can change, I have to let it go. Any attempts to unveil the evil would merely result in fingers being pointed and more nastiness. The tragedy is the next generation witnessing and learning this behaviour will merely perpetuate the cycle. I wonder if these people think about what lessons they are teaching their children?

So, life moves forward. The manicness of work, holidays, kids, Nanna, work, house continues. But this time with an underlying sense of sanity. Calmness prevails (as much as it ever does in this family's life).

One hand waving...

I have awoken engulfed in rage. I am angry, really angry. Triggered by an inanimated object's breakdown (my computer crashed and lost a lot of important financials as it was in the midst of a long, complicated process by one of the programs), my outrage has turned to other events over the last few weeks.

I am sick to death of the two-faced liars of this world walking away without fallout from their actions, I am tired of being made out to be the bad guy, I hate that people are so gullible as to believe the falsities that dribble venomously from tainted lips. I am so sickened by the actions and nastiness of others that I am succumbing to the temptation of joining them in the abyss.

I have all their secrets. I am a ticking bomb sliding uncontrollably towards detination. And I have proof of their words, deeds and lies.

I do not want to be like this. It is against my own personal code of honour to betray even the most insidious villian, especially as it will hurt those who are being sucked in by their untruths. I am not like them, twisted, warped, so caught up in their web that the lines of fact and fiction are perpetually entangled in their own bitter brains. But it is so tempting. And I am so angry.

There are times I know I am quite capable of turning into the very thing I despise. This is one of them. I do not like this.

I need to brag.

Ah, my boys, my wonderful boys. Last Wednesday was the school talent quest. 40 acts auditioned. 20 were chosen. 5 were in the drama/poetry/skit section. My boys performed a skit which contained EVERY TEACHER'S SURNAME in the school. It blossomed from an idea son no. 2 had whilst playing outside. With help from me, it bloomed into a slapstick comedy as follows (teacher's names in bold).

The Boys – A Play. Presented By Kool Productions
Boy 1 walks in limping, scratching and itching, looking unhappy. Boy 2 bounces in happily.
Boy 1: “Hello Barnard.”
Boy 2: “Hi Thomas! Watson today?”
Boy 1: “Not much, just tripped over an Antill. Mum says I should
Harden up, but these bites really sting. Makes me feel a bit green in the Gill!”
Boy 2: “I have a bandaid here, let me help. There, that’s a bit Cozier, isn’t it?”
Boy 1: “Knew I Lieked you for a reason. You have a big Harte. Oh no,now I’m going to sneeze… Ah – ah – Joosep!”
Boy 2: “Bless you. Got a bit of a cold? Must be from that Duncan
you took yesterday when you slipped on the Brox tom. I Todd you they were slippery. You were always Fuller it tom.”
Boy 1: “Yeah, I should have listened. Your Artz always in the right place.
So, how’s the bird watching going? Smithed out any rare ones yet?”
Boy 2: “Saw a Flock art west the othZahday. You know, you go down MacFar Lane! Oh, Sullivan, that’s Mum screaming for me. I can Kelly hear her. Better run. See you tomorrow at school, we Shul team up at sport!”
Boy 1: “Sounds good. See ya!”
THE END.

Now, it was rehearsed a few times at home, but on the day in front of over 250 parents and schoolkids one managed to become quite nervous, and although the judges could hear him, most up the back couldn't. The other performed the best slapstick the school has seen in a long time, luckily compensating for the nervousness of the other.

Hilariously (you should have seen the jaws drop, and the looks of amazement), it was not my confident, self-assured second son who shone. It was my oldest ASD son who floored the whole audience (bar his Mum up the back who knows exactly what he is capable of). And yes, they won! Even defeating the drama students! Woohoo - go the N brothers!

Thinking of you.

One of the Anne of Green Gables movies was on last week. As I watched it I thought of you, and how much she reminded me of you. It is funny, if someone had told me a few years back that some of my closest confidants would be people I had never been face to face with, that some of my dearest friends I could pass in the street and wonder why they seemed familiar, that the written word from you could become my life jacket in times of need, I would have laughed in their faces. How I have learned.

I feel such joy when I see a comment, message or new blog with your name. It is almost like that butterfly feeling you had when anticipating bumping into that boy crush when you were young. It always makes me smile, though sometimes it is fleeting if you are in pain. Then I worry, and want to help but know not how. If those closest to you cannot make it better, who am I to presume to ease the darkness. I am helpless and useless, only capable of sending cyber back pats, trying not to sound patronising, scared in case the words do not convey what I feel in my heart. Terrified I will make it worse.

I am no Marilla, I can only wish I was so wise. But I am your friend.

Superfluous

I am superfluous. I have spent this afternoon, post child pick up, satisfying my need to peer into other lives by reading blogs. Greedily living vicariously via the achievements of many, some known to me, most strangers. I have drooled over delicious concoctions from incredible cooks, been inspired by those working towards helping themselves and our planet, sighed and cried over amazing photos and words designed to inspire.

And then I come back to me. *Sigh*. What can I do? What purpose does my little blog do other than let me whinge, whine, rant and moan in a relatively quiet and unobtrusive space? I once had *ambitions*. I had *plans* and *desires*, even *goals*. I cannot sew, I can manage basic meals, sadly similar to the meat and three veg dishes my mother served to us, I certainly cannot paint and though I sometimes fluke a couple of good photos, it is not by talent or design. *Sigh*.

I really should give this reading away, it is terribly bad for my self-esteem. Maybe superfluous was the wrong term, I think inadequate is more appropriate. *Sigh*...

Is it something in the air?

Is it the cycle of the planets, or moon? Something is going on, and it seems to have affected the people I know en masse. We are all in an emotionally turbulent or vulnerable phase of our lives, many appear to have hit the emotional wall, or fallen into despair. Some, like myself, have suffered many invisible hits to our psyche and are staggering, punch drunk, waiting for the next blow.

So, what are the Gods trying to tell us all? Life is shit? Life is too hard, and we need to give up? Or is it a "what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger" sort of test? I have no idea. But I tell you right now, I am screaming silently inside my smiling facade:

"ENOUGH!"

Friendship

It sometimes takes a good friend to point out a few home truths. She asked me about the melodrama. She asked me about the main players lives. She asked me about my feelings. Then she pointed out a few home truths. True friends do not accuse you of lying. Good friends do not let you down. Real friends do not make you feel this upset. Then she inquired: "Why are you getting caught up in the drama of it all? You have more than enough on your plate."

As usual, the wisdom of a close friend who knows, loves and accepts you for who you are, flaws and all, brings clarity.

So thank you, my friend. It is so good to have you back.

I wasn't going to post this as it is so personal.

My Uncle is very ill. We had been told of his diagnosis, but thought when the surgery went really well it may buy some more time. I rang today from Mum's as we have always been close. It is not good. Always before, when we talked he and I would be on the phone for at least half an hour before he handed the phone to my Aunt. My Mum always jokes about it because if she rings, she's lucky to get two sentences before he hands over. Today it was I who only received the two sentences.

I have always been his favourite. He is my father's younger brother, and the one most like my darling deceased Dad. He was raised in a harsh, hard-working unaffectionate, farming family, where emotions were never shown. Like my Dad he didn't like physical displays, so it became a running joke when I, as a toddler, attached myself like a limpet to his leg if he refused to pick me up for a cuddle.

Since Dad died, he often comments on how he loves talking to me because I was just like the old bugger. A straight talker. Even today when I asked how he was he replied "Waiting." "In the waiting room hey - waiting for the old bugger to come get you?" He laughed his deep, croaky bark.

We haven't been home for over a year, and thank God, we had organised to go in a fortnight. I told him he better bloody wait for me, or else I'd be putting in a bad word with the old bugger. And yes, he knows I'm mad enough to still have lengthy converations with my Dad. And to believe he hears me.

Hang on Uncle Darleigh, Dad's Boy is coming home.

Sometimes it just isn't meant to be.

And now I'm standing on the corner,

All the world's gone home

Nobody's changed, no-body's been saved

And I'm feeling cold and a-lone

I guess I'm lucky, I smile a lot

But sometimes I wish for more__ than I've got...

What about me?

It isn't fair

I've had enough, now I want my share

Can't you see, I wanna live

But you just take more

What about me?

It isn't fair, I've had enough, now I want my share

Can't you see, I wanna live

But you just take more

You just take more

You just take more

Than you give

What about....me?

It is sad when you realise someone you thought was a close friend does not hold you in the same regard. Even more heartbreaking when their disregard hurts your children. And then it hits you - they do not consider you important in the scheme of things, it is all about them. Now, don't get me wrong. I know we all put our children and our family first, but most are considerate of people outside of that kinship circle. Friends are the icing on the cake; the sweet, fun bit that makes you feel happy. Truest friends are marzipan, they stick like glue, and seem to last forever. Even when the cake is a little off. I think I have to acknowledge that this flavour is leaving a sour taste, time to stop indulging so much.

How do I do this?

Have commenced project. Now how do I get it out there anonymously? Doesn't show up when I google search. I don't want it publicly announced as mine. So, what can I do to start it being noticed?

Any help gratefully received.

This programme has been interrupted

to bring you an important message. At the bottom of my blog you will notice it no longer shows: "Posted by Madmother". This is due to me wishing to start a new blog totally anonymously. Consider it an experiment at this point, and you may be returned to the regular scheduling at any point.


I will leave my identity on any comments, so don't worry about me being too incognito. It is only for the one blog but being not very blog literate I have no idea how to split the second one off.


Read on, my friends, read on...

I have an idea,

or maybe it is more of a germ of an idea. I am going to start writing, letting my imagination rip in another blog. It will be totally ficticious and in no way related to my real life, merely a figment of the vivid workings of my brain.

I have not made up my mind as to what form this will take. A series of short unrelated stories, or a diary-like journal from one central ficticious character. Will have to wait for the germ to blossom into more.

Watch this page, or maybe not. To post incognito there can be no obvious links!

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...

“The real truthfulness of all works of imagination, sculpture, painting, and written fiction, is so purely in the imagination, that the artist never seeks to represent positive truth, but the idealized image of a truth”
Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

*Sigh*

That is the problem with being happy, it is so big a thud when you are brought back down. I thought it had all settled, that I was free of her and her twisted manipulations. She had attempted to weasel her way back into my life, but I politely sidestepped. So of course this simple act has started the venom flowing through her veins, engaging that sick psychosis once more. But this time I am taking the official path. Her original actions are already on file with the police. This may well be the one thing which tips the scale and forces me to ask them to intervene, which I had requested them not to previously.

Why on earth do the people in her life allow this sickness to continue?

What a success!

I am jigging on my feet, tapping my shoes, dancin' around the room. Over $3,000, maybe (if negotiations pan out) nearly $4,000! What a night - feedback is all positive, it ran like clockwork, fun was had by all - bar two very manic organisers. Next year we aim to break the $5,000 barrier! This was the first I had been involved in, first as co-ordinator, only the second one run by the school. Last year it raised just over the $1,000 mark.

Who said little schools can't raise big bucks, who said fundraising had lost the FUN. All you need is a small, good bunch, no politics, plenty of laughter and wine, and no prima donnas! This is how it should be - and look at what we have achieved! Woo Hoo - watch out for the 2010 Trivia and Fundraising Auction Night! Bigger, better, higher returns!