Meaninless Meandering from a Madmother

So Apt.

2012-01-29T08:26:00.000+10:00

A lovely friend of mine e-mailed this to me today. Very, very appropriate considering the last week and last post. I am still at the point where praying for them might be stretching it a bit, but letting such people stew in their own shit is closer. And I certainly won't be digging them out of their own garbage when the rot sets in.

No, I haven't missed the point, 90% of the time I would feel like below, it is just that last 10% I need to work on...

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport.We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us.

My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was really friendly.

So I asked, 'Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!' This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call,

'The Law of the Garbage Truck.'

He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally.

Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets.

The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day.

Life's too short to wake up in the morning with regrets.

So ... Love the people who treat you right.
Pray for the ones who don't.
Life is ten percent what you make it and ninety percent how you take it!

Have a garbage-free day!

The Last Post

2012-01-28T09:20:00.000+10:00

On this topic anyway.

I keep thinking it is over. Done.

I keep thinking she has finally moved on.

And then, the ugly head is raised again.

Yesterday I had to have a talk with someone. Yesterday I had to once more explain I had not said something she had blamed me for. Yesterday I had to attempt to right a wrong and warn an innocent party to shield themselves from the poison.

Once upon a time I would have shuffled past, head bowed, unable to look the other in the eye. At the worst of the bullshit, when it was still only me, I would have kept my mouth shut, locked in my own bizarre world where my word was my code and I vowed not to stoop to her level.

But this time, instead of being angry and feeling persecuted, I am merely disgusted.Now I see silence is not being honourable, it is not letting others to make an informed decision. So I am silent no more. When (as I was three days ago), I am told of her attacks and lies I now seek out the person the poison has been poured out to, and tell my side. I have given up any hope of her admitting her words and actions, and in a twisted way, count my blessings her mouth blabbed so much, and that she spoke those horrific words to so many. For now it is not my word against hers, it is mine and J's and M's and Big Boy's (which surprisingly, I only discovered yesterday that she had said this particular nasty jibe in person to...) and many others.

It is sad that this continues, it is really nasty that others are still being fed this absolute garbage. And it has reached the point where action has to be taken. Some suggest mediation, but my issue with this is she would refuse to attend. My husband wants us to take the legal path, as people are willing to make statements, support us, tell the truth of what has been said to them. It is slander, plain and simple. And we can prove the fiduciary cost.

I honestly have not decided where to from here. Is it merely making a very sick woman's life intolerable? Will it make her stop, for she is not sensible or logical or even, in my opinion, very smart. To continue this behaviour for 2 & 1/2 years... that is not the act of an intelligent woman. Especially when her actions have now cost her so very many friends. All due to her own actions. And will continue to do so, for it is a very obvious pattern.

BFF's
New person introduced.
New person moved to BFF status.
Turn on old BFF.
Attack.

This lady I had to speak to was the first one I witnessed this cycle with, I was the new BFF. This genteel, softly spoken woman was wooed back AFTER everything fell apart for the nasty one. When so many had walked away as the scales fell from their eyes. When the liar looked around and saw so few. She is far more forgiving than I, or maybe just unaware of how toxic the words bandied about were. Words aimed at her family, not just herself.

After I walked away from our discussion, I knew there was so much more I could have told her, and probably much I was not clear on. I worried that I didn't explain myself enough, that I hadn't clarified things I should have.

And then I realised, I had told her my truth, I had given her my version of the words I was accused of, and could do no more. And if she chose to risk herself and her family by maintaining the relationship, then that was not my business. Her battle, is not my battle. And I had done all I could by being honest and speaking to her as soon as I was aware of the lies.

Now is the time to let it be, for I have said my piece. Until the next shard of poison pierces another...

Hyperventilation - The New Coping Mechanism

2012-01-22T08:16:00.001+10:00

Yes, I have been off the radar AGAIN.

Yes, I know this poor blog languishes untouched.

But I have rather a lot on my plate right now.

We have until January 31st to be completely out of our shop. That means packing stock, files, fitout and anything else not nailed down and moving it into our storage shed on our property. Which is an hour from our shop.

I am listing madly on eBay only to have some idiot buy one of the expensive display cabinets (one of five) but not win any others thus "he doesn't want it" and becomes abusive when it becomes an issue for me.

And tomorrow... tomorrow... is Boy 1's first day of High School.

Hard for any child. Especially hard for a child on the spectrum.

We feel it is the right choice. A small private school (capped at 225) which caters to the individual, encourages success socially and academically, sets the bar higher but not out of reach.

BUT... it is a totally new environment.

"I am nervous" he tells us.

"I am excited" he tells others.

The truth is somewhere in between.

I am hoping that he is okay, that he is just nervous, not on the verge of meltdowns or terrified. It is so hard to gauge the degree to which this nervousness will affect him. It is so easy for him to lose his grip on his emotions with such a major change.

We have done all we can to facilitate this move, have prepared as much as possible - both him and the school.

His two best friends are not here, they both are going to the public school. This is part of what worries me. How will they see him? Will they get past the differences and see the wonderful person he is? Or will he be alone, no-one to talk too?

He pulls into himself when he is scared, will anyone try to bring him back out?

And to top it off, the one child who has continually mocked and bullied my son is going to be at this school, but I can only hope the school is onto it (which they tell me they are, for of 4 boys attending 3 mothers have been in to request this child NOT be in the same class... says it all really). To be honest, I hope this new start turns this boy around. If it does not then I have been assured he will be gone, removed from this school community. But what damage he could do in the meantime...

But now I must concentrate on my child, not what ifs.

And try to pretend I am not terrified and on the verge of meltdown.

"What ARE You Doing" Autism Awareness Film

2012-01-18T18:44:00.000+10:00

This is an e-mail I received today:

Autism Awareness Australia is proud to announce a special premiere screening of our short documentary film, “What are you doing?”, at Parliament House in Canberra on Tuesday 28th February 2012.
The evening will be hosted by television personality and narrator of the film Tom Gleisner, and is sponsored by the Parliamentary Secretary for Disabilities and Carers, Senator the Hon. Jan McLucas.

We have invited all of Australia’s sitting MP’s and Senators to the screening in the Parliament House Theatrette - this is where we need your help!

All of Australia’s Federal Politicians will be in Canberra that evening and we want to encourage as many of them to attend as possible. We are asking the autism community, families and supporters across the nation to contact their own local member and urge them to come along to this important and educational film.
So it is time to ‘get your members out!’ for an opportunity to educate them more about autism and how if affects families across Australia.
Here's how you can help!
Contact your local member and Senator. You can find their contact details below

Find your local member

Find your Senator

Send them an email, call, fax or write a letter requesting they attend our special premiere. Share your personal experiences with them and urge them to take the time to learn more about ASD and the impact it has on our nation.
Let us know the action you've taken and the response you receive!
Help Autism Awareness Australia and ‘get your members out!’ to our special film premiere at Parliament House, Canberra. Check out our Facebook page for the latest updates and RSVP's!
Thanks for your support!
The Team at Autism Awareness Australia

Please, take, share, contact YOUR politicians.

Here is my plea to the representatives of our electorate... (And yes, I have linked to you, I just hope you take the time to read a little).

I have a son. A glorious, tall, handsome, strapping son. A son about to turn fourteen. My oldest son (the first of two). If you met him you would be impressed by his warmth, knowledge, friendliness and his quirky intelligence. If you met him it would not take long to realise he is a little different. My son has Autism Spectrum Disorder, in his case, Asperger Syndrome (AS).
If you are interested, THIS will tell you more, though it is a little long. It was written in the dark depths, when things were so hard, and the future uncertain.

Boy 1 2003

The young man of today is very different to the child of yesterday, he reads Deepak Chopra, dreams of being a motivational speaker, mentors younger children on the spectrum. He has written a children's book for those with Asperger Syndrome because (in his words in a letter to a publisher):

I want the reader to feel how I feel about Asperger Syndrome, that it is just a new kind of normal and people with it are just as important as everyone else. Difference is a good thing in my perspective.

Boy 1 December 2011

He likes himself, is confident in his own skin. But without help and intervention his story could... would have been so very different.

Please, if you possibly can, attend the screening of "What are You Doing" at Parliament House on Tuesday 28th of Feb. It may give you an idea of the world that is ours. And with knowledge and support, then the possibilities are endless.

Sincerely

Uberkate - How You Warm My Heart.

2012-01-08T04:46:00.000+10:00

I wear a gorgeous pendant around my neck, the silver pendant swinging to and fro across my chest.

People comment all the time, reach forth, grab, feel, gasp at the weight and the beauty of it.

They read the inscription - one word - Madmother. And every time they ask me about it I tell them, this is my link to one of my cyber friends. This beautiful piece was a gift from the universe made possible by my wonderful friend Kristin, otherwise known as Wanderlust.

And each time I place this around my neck, I think of her and send her a telepathic message across the miles... "How are ya doin' today, my friend?"

I don't know if she hears it, but I hope in her heart she feels another someone added to the list of people who send good thoughts.

Thanks again K, I love it and wear it often... and always think of you when I do.

This is my weekend grateful - the last at Maxabella, another who warms this icy, stone heart of

Huge Can of Worms...

2012-01-07T07:53:00.000+10:00

Would you?

If you were diagnosed with cancer?

Would you opt for traditional treatment?

Chemo?

Radiation?

Because I don't know that I would.

I have seen too much pain.

Watched the total loss of quality of life.

And then...

Watched them die anyway.

I think I would choose to have the time left be of some quality, not to endure incredible pain and suffering so much earlier. Not to be in a morphine fog for the remainder of my life. Not to be removed from my family by a haze of vicious poisons that remove your very essence leaving a hollow shell.

For this is what I have seen, this is what those I loved lived and then died. This is what I feel. Me. My personal choice.

You?

Time for a Turn Around!

2012-01-06T07:57:00.000+10:00

Gah, I have let the emotions of the last month overrun this blog. No more!

Time for some "awwwwwwwwwh" posts.

My oldest son graduated Grade 7 last year. Yes, here in the sunny state of Oz we hold a little graduation from Primary (middle) school. It was a glorious venue, and a wonderful night.

But more than anything, my eyes shone and my heart burst with pride at my tall, relaxed, happy, articulate son.

Who would have thought that anxious little boy would grow into such a fantastic young man? Okay, okay... we did, but not many others had the vision to see past the influences of the spectrum into his mind and heart.

They even did a dance. And he had a little solo bit on the end. Nervous, hell yes... oh, him? Well, yes, dance is not his forte'. But he pulled it off well.

And now we head to High School, with all the challenges and changes that will bring. Let's hope it is as big a success as these formative years have been!

But seriously... take that you naysayers!

Life Wasn't Meant to be Easy!

2012-01-05T15:12:00.000+10:00

So much going on, so many emotions floating around this world.

Grief, conflict, bitterness, bittersweet memories, stress. Mania!

Fingers in too many pies still - madly organising multiple businesses.

I don't like being a grown up.

I don't like having to think of so much.

My head hurts, and not from anything good.

*Sigh*. I thought 2012 was meant to be better?

Controversy...

2012-01-04T11:52:00.001+10:00

If you read my two previous posts about this person, this one may make a little more sense.

This one, when he first came into our lives... When he first began to cause havok.

And then the second - I call it the karma post.

The kidnappers have demanded a million peso ransom. Equal to about $22,600 Australian. They say in the proof of life photos he looks frail, scared, unwell. Latest article is here.

I wonder if he now understands how the people he abused felt. I wonder if this will change him. I wonder if years of therapy never helped him, are my expectations unrealistic, is there no hope for this person? I wonder if he is getting off on all this fame, no matter what the circumstances.

And, in the wee hours of the morning (and I am not proud of this), I wonder if they would accept money to keep him?

It is only a fleeting thought, but when someone has still attempted to control you even after being removed from your life for over 6 years, the feelings you have towards them veer back towards anger, bitterness, and frustration.

This is not over.

Not by a long shot.

Edited to add:

Overnight a video has been released of him pleading for help. There is no way $US2million dollars is even feasible, and whilst I am sad for his family I think my husband summed it up when he rang to tell me to look at this:

"It is terrible to say this, but do you think this could be a scam?"

He knows that I had debated contributing funds, but he also knows I had decided against it. And the even sadder thing was my response:

"Yes, I think it is possible. And isn't it tragic that we are even talking like this, that we have to think like this."

Because over everything else we do KNOW this person so very well, and if it is not completely genuine, if somehow he has managed to negotiate a fiduciary relationship with these people, then it would not come as a shock after all the decades of scams he attempted with those supposedly he loved.

Hello Reality!

2012-01-03T09:04:00.000+10:00

Trying to slowly nudge my way back into the blogosphere.

According to my stats over 100 individuals are still visiting over a 24 hour period. Do me a favour... please leave a comment, even if it is only a "Oh, hai."

I need the shove to get back on board this blogging wagon.

Happy New Year - Welcome 2012... Are you the last?

2012-01-02T08:39:00.000+10:00

Yeah, Happy New Year, yadda, yadda... No really, I do mean it, and yes, I know I am a day late. But let's face it, my blogging has become terribly intermittent nowadays. I just don't feel the constant craving to write as I once did.

The funeral was beautiful, poignant, painful and terribly sad. Watching a four year old and an eight (she turned nine the day after the funeral) year old bury their Mum is just not right. Watching Lisa's mum bury her daughter is just not right.

Lisa 1991

Hearing the wonderful eulogies and seeing the hundreds (yes hundreds) of people that loved her was uplifting... and just not right.

I hear her voice in my head. It is as if I keep rethinking recent conversations then I will not forget what she sounded like.

I certainly was NOT in the mood for the celebrations of New Year's Eve... but as it was at our home I really had no choice in the matter. Fifteen adults and nineteen kids... plus us.

I arrived home late Friday, awoke at 3am Saturday, was exhausted by 6pm... when everybody was due to arrive!

Thought I'd be in bed well before midnight, leaving the revellers in the capable hands of Big Boy.

1/1/12 - 4.30am sunrise over the mountain.

I was the last man standing at 5am. Sober? Yes, but not for lack of trying (thank you Pip for that glorious concoction). And certainly by 3am the solo sober stayer. Everyone else was beyond merry, and we had a group decide at 4am to make use of our couches for the night. Wise decision. And lovely to wake up to the smiling (and groaning) faces of friends on the first day of the year.

Where are the photos? Well, it was such a fantastic night NO-ONE thought to take the time from the partying to take any! A rare occasion, believe me, for this group are the happiest snappers of all. It just goes to show how wonderful a night it was.

So, Happy 2012 one and all. Do you think the Mayan's are right - or even that it has been interpreted the right way? Is this the last NYE we will see?

Well, if it is the last it was a good one! How 'bout yours?

Muse Wars - The Memories.

2011-12-27T09:00:00.000+10:00

Lori @ RRSAHM has taken me back in time to a happier world. A group of us joined together in creative writing challenges. Muse Wars. The before, as she aptly calls it. Before I lost Wise Woman, before her own personal tragedy with the loss of Tony, before the pain of the recent.

The early, 2010, first run days were far more successful than my later attempts to revive the group. And nowadays, the Write on Wednesday group has superseded our small, intimate bunch of compatriots.

But, here, on a day where distractions call me away from the pain of the now, I give you Muse Wars:

2010:
Challenge 1: Walking Away
Challenge 2: Look Not In My Eyes For Fear
Challenge 3: Seasons of Love
Challenge 4: The Things We Do For Love
Challenge 5: Storm in a B Cup
Challenge 6: The Sunset
Challenge 7: Beam Me Up Scotty
2011:
Challenge 1: Eyes of a Gypsy, Soul of a Wife

Miscellaneous: Many Coloured Love (not completed)

So, if you are up for some light, short story reading and relaxation - go for it.

I miss Muse Wars, *sigh*. I miss a lot of things, especially the people who are gone.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

2011-12-26T13:33:00.000+10:00

My mobile rang this morning. Not that early, but still earlyish for Boxing Day. Undecided whether to answer it I glanced at the name and pushed the answer button with a "Helloooo gorgeous!"

I expected it to be my friend of twenty-three years, instead it was her husband. "I'm sorry mate, I have some bad news. She's gone."

She's gone.

My friend, my mate, my loyal, wonderful, kind, generous, loving friend. Gone.

Now I need to sit and write once more for her. Not the speech for her wedding, not the one for her first divorce. The one for her funeral. The last of 1001 nights tales is going to be one of truth and love. I am going to bring her into our hearts, not that she ever left. And I will try not to cry. For her. I will laugh and rejoice in her life, and keep my sadness far away.

Lisa 1996

Because there will be two little girls sitting in that church, watching, trusting, hurting. Needing to see and feel their Mum through my words.

I love you Lise, I will miss you every day of my life.

Hornet's Nest - Or How Nuffnang Stuffed Up Big Time

2011-12-20T06:49:00.001+10:00

I am a tiny little fish in a very big pond of Aussie bloggers. This year, my voice has been even smaller as I struggle to post in this busy world.

But over at Digital Parents a large hornet's nest is opening up and spilling forth multiple Mummy bloggers buzzing with ire, as some of our most proficient and well known big fish bloggers are leaping vocally out of the Australian territorial pool.
"Why?" I hear you ask.

Well you see in the blogosphere there is a large commercial presence that goes under the name Nuffnang. You see their banner on many a blog, and also the multiple ads that go hand in hand with said banner. I am not a commercial blogger, but that is a whole other post.

Now Nuffnang run annual awards. Many of the more well known bloggers are nominated in lots of various categories. The most influential blogger being one of the biggies.

And, in my opinion, they stuffed it. They chose a blog I decline to link, for I will not be responsible for boosting traffic to such a site. I find this person blatantly offensive, racist and sick in her rants. I will not term them posts for, from what I have seen, they do not deserve to be categorised as such. I would not even compare her writing to the scribblings of a child, they lack any style and the content is... well, vomit-worthy.

If this is what they consider the best of the Asia Pacific region then I must admit I am proud to not be affiliated with Nuffnang.

Oh, and the best bit? They chose to blatantly ignore their own TERMS AND CONDITIONS by choosing this blog as the winner! Commercial whoring at its finest!

Thank you DP for revealing this travesty.

Boy, am I grateful to be a little fish at this point!

The Past is Thrown Back into Our Lives...

2011-12-10T08:04:00.000+10:00

This is a truly hard one to write, and one I have debated about all week.

You remember my post in the Speak Out campaign? The one where I told my sister's story? Read. Think long and hard. There are thirty-eight years of history between the start of this story and the end. THIRTY-EIGHT. I was not quite ten years of age when he came into our lives, I am now forty-eight. It is only six years since my mother severed the relationship for the final time, since we all amputated the toxic from our lives.

So much time, it was not all bad, we are not such masochists that we would have kept the relationship for so long if it had been all bad. But you can only pity and forgive for so long, as it was it had become TOO long.

Warren Richard Rodwell. WOCCA. A nickname all of his own creation. The Australian man kidnapped in the Philippines. The man whose current wife, as reported by the media, walked out after an argument three days before. His THIRD wife. The second he had met via the internet.

I am so glad my mother is not alive to witness this. I am so relieved that she saw the truth of him, and refused contact after the fiasco of his last visit. And I am happy she is not here amongst the rest of us; sitting, speculating, knowing the long history of violence and arrogance, suspecting that finally he abused the WRONG person. Fear tinged with sadness, but not regret.

I hope he is alive, I hope he is returned to his blood family.

Not to mine, never to mine. There is so much I could tell, so much knowledge I have of this person. But there is no point, for it would only cause further pain to his children and siblings. My close friends know it, many have lived it alongside my family. And to them I turn, and we talk of all we remember, heard (from his own mouth), experienced and felt.

Since this bombshell I have even found more attempts from him to manipulate MY family via internet searches. Information put online under his control and his name... Information that has NOTHING to do with him, that is about MY family. And he wondered why NO-ONE in our family wanted anything to do with him anymore?

My Weekend Ungrateful...

2011-12-04T08:08:00.000+10:00

Do you remember the days when you were young and you were the last one sitting, waiting to be picked? Be it sport, or debating, fun or competition, how many of you can still recall that horrific hard, solid lump of sadness in the pit of your stomach as the last to pick goes "I guess you are on our team then..."

Frday my heart broke a little. Friday I had to let go of a another slice of my preconceptions. Friday I watched my son in that very position at a school excursion.

I am struggling to think of the greatness of this week as those horrible memories flood back over and over again. I need to remember they are MY scars, not his, and hope that times like this are not forming their own deep within my wonderful son.

For whilst his buddies ran around the theme park, having fun, laughing, for the most of it my son remained with me. Forgotten by his peers.

If his best mate C had been there, this would never have happened. But he does not go to this school.

My child's achievements are incredible. His last report card of Grade 7 was flooded with A's in achievement and behaviour, the comments were wonderful, positive, even a little awe flowed through the words.

His book is looking more and more like it WILL be published - he is 13... who manages to get a book published at 13???

He is happy, settled in his own skin, content to be him... because to be him is pretty awesome!

I need to realise that this pain and anger and frustration is my own, born of my emotions and feelings. Hell, I do realise it BUT it is so damn hard not to let it flow onto his situation.

I need to remember my ending... the fact that those kids in primary school who always picked me last were the very ones who clamoured for me to be their first choice in high school as both my athletic and academic abilities soared.

I need to listen to my son, who when asked if he felt left out or lonely replied "Why would I Mum? I love being with you, we laugh so much and have such fun."

My scars, not his. I love you Boy 1, and really am trying to let your generousity of spirit flow into my essence... but whilst it is still slowly permeating I will hide my tears.

This is my weekend really wish I was grateful.

Sorry.

Fluff, Yeah I did say it: Fluff poem!

2011-11-29T08:43:00.000+10:00

Blog Days of Bounty

In my first blogging comp

The winner me to be

A camera from Woog & JVC

For the second blogging comp

Specsavers sent to me

A freebie time for glasses

A camera from Woog & JVC

In the second blogging comp

Acknowledged she must be:

Madame Bipolar

With freebie time for glasses

Add to camera from Woog & JVC

For the third blogging comp

Misc – laneous Mum laughed in glee

Sydney Writer’s centre voucher,

Madame Bipolar

With freebie time for glasses

Add to camera from Woog & JVC

For the fourth blogging comp

U_B_ER_KATE!

Sydney Writer’s centre voucher,

Madame Bipolar

With freebie time for glasses

Add to camera from Woog & JVC

With the fourth blogging comp

Wanderlust gave to me:

U_B_ER_KATE!

Sydney Writer’s centre voucher,

Madame Bipolar

With freebie time for glasses

Add to camera from Woog & JVC

In the fifth blogging comp

We will have to wait and see!

As none entered as yet by me!

And to the wonderful ones who ran these comps for me to ~~blitz~~ win:

Go, check out their blogs, though I have no doubt you already do!

Merry Blogging one and all!

Weekend Grateful: Are we, yes?

2011-11-27T09:38:00.000+10:00

To be honest I was tempted to link up my FYBF post from Friday, as in reality it sums up one of my big reasons to be grateful one, two, three.

But then in fear of the wrath of Maxabella, and knowing there is more to it, I decided to post a separate Weekend Grateful.

I have much to be grateful for in my life, and the more I look around at what others face, the more I realise just how much. Think I'll take a leaf out of Ms Maxi's book and make a list for you all to sit and go "Awwwwww" at, m'kay?

Melbourne Cup 2011

1. I have a wonderful husband, Big Boy. Many around us are going through hard times in their relationships for many reasons, many a night we sit on our lounge and ponder. I guess one of the main things we talk about is how very lucky we are to have each other and to agree on so much. Don't get me wrong, we are not perfect and we argue, and there are times I want to bury him in the lime pit under the avocado tree... oh, did I say that out loud? Whoops. Okay, we are human but when it comes to the big stuff we are two peas in a pod. You can vomit now.

Madmother house 2011

2. We live in a beautiful part of the world, in a lovely home, hidden away from the world at large. And we are lucky enough to own our property in these times of financial hardship. Alright, the bank shares in owning it but you get what I mean.

Boys Sept 2011

3. Kids. Our kids. What can I say? They are intelligent, handsome, quirky, unique, frustrating, boundary-pushing, wonderful boys. We have the most amazing conversations, and when I say they make my brain hurt I am not kidding! Surely I didn't do this to my parents? I didn't query the world and question the big things? Did I? Oh. That's right. I did. Payback is a bitch.

Me and one of my besties 2011

4. Our friends. So very, very many incredible, loyal, fun, special people in our life. In fact, so many that we never seem to have enough time to be with them! And the circle is growing and growing as we get to know their friends and the friends of friends!

Party time

Home - right here, right now!

5. Life opportunities. One door closes, another opens. Life is change and change is good. Most of the time. Says a woman who hates change. Meh.

I could keep going but I'm not going to. Instead I am going to go cook bacon and eggs for my three fantastic boys, after which we are tackling the Dr Who Board game before going outside to garden and have some fun.

Toodles!

What are you Grateful for? Go, join in the fun... it is good to sit and look at the good in your life sometimes.

Knock Knock, Penny, Knock Knock... FYBF

2011-11-25T05:45:00.001+10:00

Boy 1: 2005 - First day of school.

We are coming to the end of the final term of the final year of his Primary school years. The child that was is now the young man that is. For those of you who have followed our story you will know what an incredible difference these years have wrought.

I am bursting with pride at the person before me. This year I had asked him and encouraged him to enter one of the more popular public speaking programs in our district. I said "His was a story that should be told... maybe he could speak of what his school years had done for him? Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing for his teachers to hear?"

He refused. "Why?" I asked, thinking of myself basking in his reflected light.

I must admit I was influenced by another who had done something similar a few years back, though I knew her story had been written not by herself.

"Because they see me everyday and know what it has meant to me."

BAZINGA!

This is the child who has written an illustrated children's book, this is the boy who is happy to market and talk and educate in any public arena to help those younger on the spectrum and to assist those around them to understand and support those kids.

He knew perfectly well my request was not born of my usual educate, advocate, demonstrate philosophy, but rather of a "Ner, ner" motivation. Not to our teachers, but to others who had not believed, who had belittled and made ~~our~~ my life difficult.

He loves me, he loves so very deeply, and yes, he teaches me to be a better person. He is right, they see him every day and realise what an impact they have had on this once lost, little boy who has blossomed into this gorgeous, strong young man.

I see less and less of Sheldon, and more and more of my Deepak boy emerging.

Boy 1: 23/11/11.

Thank you my son, for taking me with you on this incredible journey that is your life.

WOW - The Saddest Thing

2011-11-22T07:27:00.000+10:00

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 25 - I heard a song on the radio during the week and I thought the lyrics would make an interesting prompt for WoW. So, write the words "The saddest thing I ever heard" on your page, set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head based on the given prompt.

"That is the saddest thing I ever heard!"

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously. It is the saddest, most pathetic thing I have EVER heard!"

"I BEG YOUR PARDON?"

"So you should! And you call yourself a health professional? You should be on your knees begging my pardon and forgiveness and hoping I damn well don't take this further! Who in the hell do you think you are other than a sad little worm of misery? Telling me it is a shame it isn't twenty years ago and we could dump him in a home and forget about him? He is a little boy. A child. Not some pet who is not up to standard, not that I would ever do that to an animal either. How dare you! How fucking DARE YOU? He is going to grow up and do incredible things, maybe not the things someone as shallow as you dream of, but his own unique, amazing, incredible things! How do you sleep at night? How do you bear to look at the thing you are in the mirror? Or have they all cracked in response to the vileness of your soul?
You know what? Screw this, I am taking this further. You should never be allowed to treat a child ever again and I intend to make sure you don't!"

Door slams and the walls shake. She scoops the smiling child from the bench outside into her strong, protective, loving arms.

"Come on sweetie, we are going home!"

Disclaimer: This is not what happened when I was told this by one of the first health professionals we saw with Boy 1. Yes, those were her words. This is the response I wish I had made, instead of the horrible, terrified, shocked silence I responded with. I had not yet learnt to be the warrior of his heart back then in the early days.

Speak Out: For The One Who Cannot.

2011-11-18T08:29:00.000+10:00

This is not my story, though I guess in a way it is. I feel guilty telling it, which says a lot about what today is all about...

I had a sister. An infuriating, teasing, short-tempered, volatile, vibrant, funny, caring, strong-minded, red-headed sister. Four and a half years older, she found me irritating for most of our lives. And endearing for some of our lives.

I was not quite fifteen when my sister died. I still recall the day, minute, second I was told. And you know what was so very, very sad at that moment of the phone call? Even though it was an asthma attack that took her life, in the time between me being told she had died and the time I was told how she died you know what my reaction was?

Dear God, he finally has killed her.

My sister could drive a saint to drink. She was demanding, stubborn, outspoken, and could rage like a volcano. Sorta like me, I guess. My mother, Wise Woman, always said I didn't have a temper until the merciless teasing of years and years finally broke my sweetness and I began to bite back. I don't know how accurate that was, maybe my snark was just a little slow in emerging, but by hell, when it did it was equal to anything the flame-haired one could toss my way.

I could tell many tales of my childhood, but beneath it all we were a family. We loved, supported, laughed, fought, cried, and loved some more.

When my sister was not quite 15 she met W. He was a child of the streets, brought up in foster homes, smart, witty, good-looking. He was not the first of her serious boyfriends, my sister had developed a taste for love quite young, and he was not to be the last.

He was the first to beat her. I do not know what part of her thought it was okay. The bruises, broken ribs, black eyes all followed quickly by the lies and excuses. My strong, vibrant, opinionated sister beaten into submission. I listened to my mother's tears and my father's anger. I was sent to my room whilst they argued, demanded, pleaded with my sister to tell them the truth, to let him go, to lay charges. She was FIFTEEN years old!

At Fifteen and Nine Months she moved out of home and in with him. Now she could hide until the wounds healed, she need not let us in.

Do you know the frustration, fear, anger one feels when someone you love is prepared to live like this? I can only imagine how my parents felt, I was only eleven and yet I felt all that. Totally helpless. Authorities could not do anything without her agreement. When the neighbours called them during the worst of the fights, they could take her to hospital to stop the blood streaming but they could not force her to stay away, lay charges, protect HERSELF.

I do not know how she found the strength to finally end this relationship. By then they had moved to Sydney, away from family, away from prying eyes.

Finally, FINALLY, she was free! She was not yet eighteen.

Then came S. Tall, dark, handsome S. S who looked like a cross between the lead singer of Dr Hook and Jesus. We didn't know S well, we only saw him at the times she came home (infrequent) and the rare holiday we spent in Sydney. He was charming, articulate, gentle and affectionate towards my spirited sibling.

We were relieved, finally someone who treated her with respect and love. Someone who would protect her not damage her.

Her boss rang late one day. She was adored at the large family company where she worked as a secretary (they weren't called personal assistants back then), was treated like part of the family. He was worried. He did not like to interfere but felt he had no choice. Bruises, sick leave, broken bones. The nightmare had become reality once more.

She was living with S, who was no longer prince charming but the evil villian. Except this time there were no hysterical phone calls, no tears and raging against him only to reconcile, this time there was silence.

She quit her job when she found out what her wonderful, caring boss had done. He rang us once more to apologise, to express his regrets, for if "he had not spoken out of turn they would still have been able to keep an eye on her and help if necessary." We found out later S had turned up at reception uttering all sorts of threats against this family. He was probably pissed because her well-paid situation had ceased. I dread to think what price my sister paid that day.

Once more we were on this horror ride, with her tied to the front of the rollercoaster like some willing sacrifice.

Two more years followed, two years of keeping up the facade, sweetness and light, all surface conversations. My mother and father were very aware of the control S had over my sister. Tentative questioning led to communication being severed for months. And so they stopped asking.

Once more I do not know what finally gave her the strength to move out, or even if S kicked her out, but move she did. For the final six months of her life she rented a unit of her own. She and S were still together but not living together.

Dear God, he finally has killed her.

My sister was 5 foot nothing tall and a size 6. There was no such thing as a size 6 in Australia back then, so she shopped in the children's department or made her own clothes. She was a talented seamstress, she loved to sew. S was 6 foot. After her death many spoke out about the recurrent hospital admissions, the attempts to talk to her, the offers of help she refused.

All we could do was tell them, "We know, we know..." and pat their hands and wipe their tears. Asthma took my sister. Her life was cut short, her death was a loss unequalled.

Many years later I glared across my bedroom at my then boyfriend. My cheek throbbed where he just back handed me so hard I had flown across the room, clearing the high antique single bed. The first time. "You were hysterical, I had to calm you down - this is all your own fault!" My sobs stopped, somewhere inside me my sister's voice whispered... Do not do this, do not let it happen to you, do not follow my path.
I kicked him out, calmly, rationally, no further justification for the violence to escalate... I locked the door and never let him back.

My sister taught me that. For whilst she never helped herself, she helped me. And I guess somewhere deep inside I like to believe that one day she would have had the strength to say: "No more!"

Go to Wanderlust, today is "Speak OUT" day: November 18th. Break the silence, break the cycle, break the acceptance of DV in today's society.

Lifeline Phone: 13 11 14

Fragile

2011-11-16T09:05:00.000+10:00

Reading a topic on a parenting website: What do I do about a teacher bullying my child?

A potential minefield of drama waiting to be entered. We all know as parents we can be overprotective of our little darlings, we all are familiar with that lioness roaring from within when one of our cubs is unhappy.

But seriously, if your child was being bullied (and I do not use that term lightly) by a teacher what would you do? If you had watched the reaction of other teachers at other complaints, and that pack mentality scared you, what steps would you take?

If the principal told you "Be prepared, if you follow through this will be bigger than Ben Hur..." would you still take action? Especially if they were someone whose opinion you trusted?

If you thought your child was resilient, they seemed to be coping, there was only to the end of the year to get through, they nor their sibling was prepared to consider changing schools, would you let it ride?

Would you?

And if that year of being held up to ridicule, being belittled, having the teacher lead the other children in actions somewhat resembling Lord of the Flies, if that then changed your kid into a fearful, anxious, angry child, what could you do, how would you feel?

These are people we entrust with our children's well being...

Scared, fragile, damaged. Humpty Dumpty was never put together again. EVER.

11.11.11 Lest We Forget.

2011-11-11T10:17:00.000+10:00

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

~Laurence Binyon~

Here in Australia the 11th day of the 11th month is Remembrance Day. We hold a minutes silence for those who have fallen in defence of our beautiful land on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. This year falling in 2011 especially poignant.

Even we, the generations who have not lived through wars close to our shores, feel the awe and need to honour the brave servicmen who did so much for us.

Every man or woman who has served our country, every battle, war, fight they have engaged in need to be acknowledged and remembered.

Lest we forget...

Thank you. Thank you all.

All the fallen or the returned battle weary, all were someone's someone: father, brother, son, cousin, uncle, friend, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, nephew... The few who sacrificed so much for the many. I wrote this for my uncle, and have posted it here before, but today he is foremost in my heart so I am posting it here once more.

Uncle Jack
My Aunt was sobbing softly
In the kitchen’s dying light
As I hid deep in corner
I just knew that things weren’t right

We kids had marched at daybreak
Up early on that day
Young children, very earnest
For the ANZAC Day parade

Uncle Jack strode strong behind us
Laconic smile at his best
With all the medals shining
Pinned high upon his chest

Every time I turned to look back
His cheeky wink was sent
And he blew me sloppy kisses
As along the streets we went

But now my Aunt was crying
When I thought she would be proud
Cause my Uncle survived Changi
He was a digger tall and loud.

Mum put her arms around her
Gently asking: “Is it worse?
Have the nightmares lessened,
Or does he still lash out and curse?”

He had survived such horrors
Watched most his good friends die
On that gruesome Burma railway
As it sucked away their lives

A gentle man had signed up
And died with all his mates
The man who had returned home
Broken, scarred and full of hate

Night terrors revealed so much
Of that he would not speak
Where he’d strangle all his captors
Whilst deeply lost in sleep

By day he’d still be funny
A loving family man
But nights were filled with violence
As he battled them again

My Aunt wiped away the tearstains
And stood up with a sigh
“Well, be best be getting cooking
It’s nearly their teatime.”

I walked out of the kitchen
To where the men sat in the sun
My Uncle Jack hugged and asked me,
“Whachya doin, little one?”

I held on really tightly
Words trapped within my mouth
Trying to say so much
But they wouldn’t come on out

Instead I said “I love you”
When I meant “You are so brave.
Thank you for coming home again,
And for this life of mine you’ve saved.”

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-09T11:51:00.000+10:00

InkPaperPen... We Are Learning To Make Fire.

2011-11-09T02:50:00.000+10:00

"We are learning to make fire, not kicking the dirt nor looking at our friend. Please concentrate children, this is very important."
"Miss! My mum says I ain't 'llowed to play with fire. She'll go barmey if she finds out."
"James, your mother signed your permission slip for camp. I think you will find she already knows we will be teaching you how to make fire."
"My mum never reads those things, Miss. She just signs 'em as she curses bloody bureaucrats and paperwork. She says I'm a danger to meself with matches and I'm banned from playing with fire."

"James, it is part of the course curriculum, I think you will find it is okay this time."

She straightens herself with a sigh and casts a stern eye around her cast of misfits.

"Now boys, please concentrate. We place the kindling and the dry leaves at the bottom of the fire trench, and then add the smaller timber on top. As the fire catches we will add the larger pieces until we have a small blaze with a constant heat."

"MISS!"

"James, just focus on following my instructions please."

"MISS!"

"James, PLEASE. Just wait a minute while I get this fire lit. Then we can discuss the question of your mother's issues with you and pyromania!"

"There, that looks to be catching nicely, boys put some of the larger logs on top... JAMES! What on earth have you done? Put that child out immediately!"

It is 3am and this is my Write on Wednesday. As good as it gets after yesterday. *Sigh*.

Please, feel free to criticise as constructively as you can.

Off to read now.

When Parents Go Feral...

2011-11-08T19:22:00.000+10:00

Look, I of all people know there are times you have to advocate for your kid or kids. But I also know there is a time you butt out and let them work things out themselves. Some people DON'T know how to or are incapable of letting it happen.

I am sitting smack bang in a situation created by an interfering parent. We send our kids to school and entrust their welfare to the teachers on a daily basis. They see our kids in a different dynamic to their mammas and pappas, and they also probably understand the class/friend energies better at times too.

My two are off to the Grade 6/7 camp. The kids were allowed to work out there own cabins, their own combinations. We were told to stay out of it (but nicely, I'm just pissed and writing abruptly), and in all honesty, I figured the teachers knew well enough which combos could spell disaster, and the kids themselves would bring it up if it arose.

All good. Then a parent goes in, carries on, changes have to be made and boom:

one spectacularly upset apple cart.

God there are some idiots in this place.

And as I said in my conversation with the teacher, I fully recognise that they are doing their best, it is just a shame someone has to make it all so hard for everyone. And like dominoes the repercussions flow down the line... With my kids smack bang in the middle of it. Which means I now have to be one of those interfering parents and delve in and advocate for them. Not happy Jan.

Weekend Grateful: Special Occasions and Bling!

2011-11-05T09:46:00.001+10:00

Yadda, yadda, it is time for Weekend Grateful!

Melbourne Cup lunch 2011 - Madmother & Big Boy

WHAT a WEEK! Tuesday Melbourne Cup. Thursday my birthday. Manic weekend coming up and my head is exploding from looking at children's illustrator sites!

Whose bloody thirteen year old writes a kid's book and needs an illustrator anyway? Hmm? Okay, so mine does. Crap.

Bloody kids.

Bloody amazing kids.

But back to the topic at hand... This week, as mentioned, was my birthday. And Melbourne Cup. Not on the same day, but as we are on the home run to the shop closing we could only have one day together and I chose to celebrate on the Tuesday as it was close enough.

Beauty & The Beasts

Thirteen of us trooped off to a local restaurant. Three course meal, fashion show, prizes of which our group won many, lots of laughter and fun and just an all round wonderful time!

Two gorgeous girls - and they are as LOUD as me!

It was the BEST Melbourne Cup day I have ever had the privilege to enjoy!

Recognise the hot one in the middle?

And then on my BIRTHDAY I was very spoilt (even though we had to work). We had a family dinner at a wonderful local restaurant - though the one we intended to go to was closed, and of course Big Boy, keeping to his record, had NOT rung to check. We were just lucky the other choice was not closed too!

This weekend we are off to another friend's 40th (actually have two on the same night), and as our babysitter fell through last minute, I am also very grateful to good friends who are having my boys for sleepovers!

Oh, and the bling bit?

You like?

So, I am very grateful for the fun and celebrations, friends and family. And I must also thank those who made this possible - the two who sought to make my life bad and yet have made it so much better than ever! Karma is a bitch, eh? Very grateful for Karma...

Weekend Grateful? Hell yeah!

Wanted: Roomie for DPCON12

2011-10-27T07:11:00.000+10:00

I don't cry pretty...

2011-10-26T13:19:00.001+10:00

I am not one of those women who look charmingly disarrayed when upset. I cry ugly, my face goes all blotchy and red, my nose runs, my eyes puff up into little lizard-like slits.

I don't cry quietly... I sob and gasp for breath, I am loud and intrusive, I am not private in my grief.

I don't cry publicly...

I have a toughened facade that no-one sees through. I keep it all held tightly together, wound brittle, hard, impenetratable.

And underneath seethes this raw, open scream wanting to break out. It has stolen my words, this silence, it has taken my voice. I begin to write, words tumbling, stumbling to flow onto this blog but as my fingers touch the keyboard...

They vanish.

And the scream continues to writhe, scrambling with sharpened claws of pain, aching to be freed.

If I let it out will my words come back, or will I vanish into the shrill?

Our name is legion for we are many...

2011-10-23T09:45:00.001+10:00

I should be working on my Weekend Grateful or Weekend Rewind link ups. No, actually I should be asleep considering it is just after 3am in the morning, but that is a whole 'nother post.

Instead I am sitting here pondering the sheer magnitude of autism spectrum disorder. Otherwise known as ASD. It is a spectrum for a reason. The incredibly large range of diagnosis and the massive scope of this disorder is, to most, unfathomable. The term Autism Spectrum Disorder is the broad umbrella (at this point in time, until the DSM V comes into play in 2013) which covers such labels as:

Autism Disorder - this covers what used to be termed classic autism or Kanners autism as well as a variety of behaviours and characteristics. Oh, that's another thing. The terms are constantly changing, as if this world on the spectrum was not confusing enough.
Asperger's Disorder - otherwise known as Asperger Syndrome. Apparently this is going to vanish *poof* when the DSM-V is introduced. Great. Just great. The condition my son associates with himself, the one we have worked years on becoming an accepted part of his being, the identifying factor that forms a part of his self-belief, identification and confidence is no longer to be recognised. He will just be autistic, fancy that. Or don't. More to the point, DON'T.
PDD - NOS - Pervasive Development Disorder - Not Otherwise Specified. I call this the limbo one. It is given in many cases in the early days when there is obviously something going on, but it is just not clear what. When help is needed, but the direction of the child's ASD has not become obvious. This is the one we were given in the beginning.

In the old days, when we first began this rollercoaster (around 2002/3) there were two other conditions under this broad cover:

Rett's Syndrome
Angelman Syndrome

Both lesser known genetic disorders with very serious and life-long implications. Apparently they no longer come under this ever changing cover.

This line of thought has been triggered by a heart-wrenching article written by a mum I am on several support sites with. The incredibly articulate Kirsty wrote this post which was published on the MammaMia blog.

After reading this, crying for a bit, then thinking on it, I started down memory lane. Our journey is unique to us. Whilst we have travelled a very different path to Kirsty, it has been no less painful, raw. (Refer Road Less Travelled) I think this is where a lot of people make assumptions, that Asperger Syndrome is a lighter sentence. It is not, nor is it a life sentence. It is a part of who he is, and always will be. His struggles are no less heartbreaking than those of others on the spectrum. Our hopes are no less valid. Our pain no less excrutiating at times.

People in my life (real and online) have commented, comparing us to others... you know the "Oh, but look at so and so's situation. You are so much better off than they are, you should be grateful." My answer is and always will be, "Yes, I feel for them. I can offer sympathy, compassion and to some degree, empathy. But it is not my life. It is not my child. It does not make our journey any less difficult, it is does not make the fear, pain and fight we experience any less valid." Let's face it, EVERY EXPERIENCE of every parent in this complicated world is VALID. It is just that those of parents facing the challenges on the Autism Spectrum resonate far more deeply with me, for they are the battles I have fought, be it to differing degrees.

Our name IS legion, for we are many. It never fails to surprise me, just how many. I talk. A lot. I talk to people I encounter in every part of my life. I talk as much as I blog. And the huge number of people who confide in me that they too have a child, sibling, relative, friend or student on the spectrum... it takes my breath away.

Perhaps this is why when a mother such as Kirsty writes such an honest, powerful, evocative piece, it has a big impact. Read the comments that follow, the multitude of "I hear ya sista"s.

It is not 3am anymore. It is after 9. I can hear my two boys playing together, laughing, arguing, being typical brothers.

Boys 2 & 1 - 2004

I guess this has turned into my Weekend Grateful. Kirsty is right, he is so very easy to love. It is the easy bit. And as I listen to my boys laughter, I am so very grateful for both of them, as unique and quirky and boundary pushing and mind blowing as they are. As Maxabella says... it's all about perspective.

The Rose and the End of The Year of Firsts.

2011-10-21T07:20:00.000+10:00

This time a year ago I was sitting in a hospital next to the body of my mother. This time a year ago I was trying to say my final farewell to the woman who made me all I am.

I was wrong. She is not gone, she surrounds me every day.

Today is the end of the year of firsts.

Today I walked outside to see this:

Three months ago I bought this rose, two months ago we planted it. Today it bloomed in perfection.

She is around me and mine... this is merely one of her more blatant reminders to never forget.

I love you Mum.

Weekend Grateful: Boys, LAN Parties and Friends

2011-10-15T14:57:00.000+10:00

In case you are wondering I live in a house of geeks. Otherwise known as nerds, or maybe comparable to living in a younger household of Big Bang Theoreticists.

Last night, at our house, we had nine boys with laptops for the second monthly L.A.N. Minecraft party. It was meant to be twelve but a few had last minutes disasters which prevented them attending. So, not only did I have a T.A.R.D.I.S. and the fourth doctor in scarecrow form out front of our long driveway, but also a house full of boys madly sitting building a server world. Local Area Network party. Seriously hilarious.

Geeks I tell ya! GEEKS!

But gorgeous ones, every single one of them.

So very grateful for friends, for all of us.

Funny, I thought it would be a few more years before this...

FYBF - The Scarecrow Edition!

2011-10-14T14:16:00.000+10:00

Well, finally getting off my ever expanding arse and joining in to a FYBF again! And I am here to offer evidence of why my blogging has dropped off of late: my life is NUTS!

This weekend is the annual Scarecrow Festival on our little mountain. Yes, once a year we mad mountain people enter competition with each other to see who can create the best scarecrow. I kid you not. Last year our friends amazing effort was torched - which is why we will be bringing ours in at night this year. Due to the circumstances of 2010 we did not enter.
We had entered two years ago. 2009. Didn't win anything, probably because I do not have a creative bone in my body and it was a piss-poor effort.

Albert Scareinstein

But this year we have stepped up and taken it to another level. Boy 1 and Boy 2 are old enough to seriously contribute, and Big Boy was informed early enough of our plans to be able to slot some time in. And

voila'

here you have it:

Docrow Who & T.A.R.D.I.S.

Pretty cool, eh?

We are feeling rather full of ourselves now. Will find out if we won anything on Sunday. But even if we don't we feel like winners for our effort.

Oh, and it has a flashing blue light on top of the T.A.R.D.I.S. It would have had sound effects also but my mp3 player decided to die this morning.

This is my scarecrowy FYBF... so, how's your week been?

Weekend Grateful: Dreams.

2011-10-09T08:44:00.000+10:00

We all have dreams, but sometimes those dreams seem to be so far beyond our mortal reach that we stop before we even begin to try and attain them.

http://www.genyrants.com/

And at other times they feel so tangible you feel able to reach out and grasp them with both hands.

Right now I am sitting smack, bang in the midst of the latter camp.

Dreams coming to fruition.

An unbearable lightness of being.

http://www.youwall.com/

A release from all the baggage that was grounding me, wingless. For now my wings are unfurled and ready for flight. My inner self is happy dancing - I confronted one of my misery demons and told her a few home truths. Amazing what speaking out against the vile shadow boxers will do, I think more than anything it was being unable to defend myself that ate at my soul. The final shackles have fallen away, and now I am helping others break those chains of hate to free themselves too! Such a feeling, mere words cannot do it justice.

Image: http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/sociopolitica/breakingthechain/tobefree.jpg

My boys are doing especially well, academically and socially. When all is good in their world, all is good in mine. Boy 1 has incredible things going on, he is even performing a little feature in the Grade 7 graduation dance - pretty damn schmicko for a boy on the spectrum. There is more, but I cannot spill until we are further down the track, but it could be HUGE for my young man. I will let you in on the details once all is signed, sealed and delivered.

Boy 2 has become a LAN party guru. Each month we have up to 12 boys in our games room, all signed in to one network, creating cities in a game called MINECRAFT. Yes you mine. And build, and forage and till. A world unto itself. The phone rings hot for Boy 2 nowadays. He is thriving in friendship.

We have big changes on the horizon, amazing things are happening. You already know of our change of direction with closing our retail store. December 17th is our last day of storefront trade, though the website will continue until all stock is gone. Our lives are evolving, and I know in my heart Wise Woman is watching, smiling, pushing as forward onto new horizons.

Life is dazzling.

So people, dream big. For nothing is impossible. We are only just finding it all out. This is my weekend grateful.

A Dawning of A New Day...

2011-10-04T06:06:00.000+10:00

Sunrise over the mountain 4/10/11

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Today things are a changing. Today we announce to the world we are closing the doors of our retail store. Ten years we have had this business. A decade of hard work, building relationships, fighting against the odds. It certainly is not the easy, walk in the park so many consumers assume retail is. We have never been rolling in it, nor made the gazillions in profit so many assume us greedy entrepreneurs make.

It may not have made us our fortune, but it has bought us flexibility at a time in our lives it was crucial, it has bought us a family life, and more importantly, it has given Big Boy the chance to be what he could never have done successfully if he had stayed a senior exec... a Dad. And oh, what a Dad he is!

We have seen many others hit the wall, so many have closed their doors and walked away with nothing but debt, bankruptcy and failure.

We have not. In fact, if the GFC had not hit, we would have had this business on the market two years ago. It is a good business, built on honest sweat and effort. But it is time to move on.

Since Wise Woman passed nearly 12 months ago, we have been madly juggling her businesses and ours. Doing nothing well. Something had to give. So rather than hanging on another two or three years waiting for a buyer, we made the difficult choice to close down.

We are lucky. Whilst it carries some debt it is something we can manage. It will cost us financially, but the thing we need the most in our lives is time. Doing nothing properly and running, running, running is not helping anything nor anyone - this is the best solution for OUR family.

A new day, a new era, a new life in so many ways.

Oh, and yesterday I bought my ticket and booked my accommodation - look out Digital Parents Conference 2012... I am on my way! Woot.

R U OK?

2011-09-15T06:02:00.000+10:00

My friend, R U OK? You don't seem yourself and you've lost your lovely tigger bounciness of late.

Hey darling, R U OK? I know you always worry, but something feels a little darker around you right now, can I help lighten the skies?

Hi you, R U OK? Stupid question as I can see you are in a pickle. How about you let us all help you out of this? Or let us in to help you out?

After all, that's what friends are for.

All Pooh Bear pictures copyright Disney

I am here. And I really do want to know... R U OK?

The Mother

2011-09-09T10:29:00.000+10:00

I wrote this in a note on Facebook, and then decided to share here too. Sorry for the double up for those who are on my FB list. Am also linking for both weekend grateful and FYBF. It's been THAT sort of week.

The mother walked, bent double under her load. On her back were her children, her career, her aging parents, her friends - though who, when and what changed as needed. Her face pale with perspiration, her legs shaking with effort, she put one foot in front of the other, constantly moving forward though sometimes at a snail's pace. Some days her children were dead weights, exhausted, stressed, the pressures of school, social acceptance, conforming wearing them out.
Other days they were as light as feathers, and she needed to tie a string from her heart to theirs so they did not float away with happiness and laughter. And on the terrible, black, heavy days when she thought her back would break, the load would suddenly lighten and the pain lessen and she would look to her side where she had not realised her loving partner or a dear friend had appeared, and they would say: "Hey, I'm here. Do not worry, let me carry some of it for a while whilst you learn to breathe freely again."

Thank you my friends and husband for allowing me to exhale.

Ah Yes, The Autism Hasn't Miraculously Vanished You Know...

2011-09-08T06:55:00.000+10:00

I sing his praises so much you could be forgiven in thinking he was out of the spectrum, but of course he is not. He is doing well, so very well BUT it is incredibly frustrating when the fact he has Asperger Syndrome, will ALWAYS have Asperger Syndrome (AS), seems to be forgotten. Or ignored.

Big Boy & Boy 1 - Byron Bay
Copyright Madmother

The pressure at the moment is immense. We are coming up to the last week of third term and the work is snowballing. Why they do this is beyond me. Even Boy 2, who does the same work as Boy 1 though is in the grade below, Grade 6 (in a composite 6/7), is finding it terribly stressful. Tears of frustration are becoming the norm in this house.

Last weekend we had meltdowns, trigger tempers, tears. This week has been much the same. And it could have been avoided with a little forethought.

Boy 1 had a week off, the week before last. The whole family went down with some nasty virus, but he was hit the hardest. The school knew, because it was from school I picked him up on the Monday, green as the grass. So he missed a week.

On his return the following week this is what he was hit with:

Poster for his marketing/technology poster due on the Wednesday, he found out Monday afternoon. Given extension to Friday.
Rough draft of debate due Friday - AND they put him in as THIRD speaker for the negative! WTF? Who in there right mind would do this to a child on the spectrum? Debating is hard enough, but THIRD SPEAKER? First speaker, maybe he would cope, but never in the think on your feet last rebuttal final speaker position...
Science experiment parachute construction due Wednesday.
Thursday off school at college orientation day.
Assessments and class withdrawal by education department OT and also another session of assessment by physio.
LOTE test on Friday sprung on him as he missed it the previous Friday.

Yes, I picked up a boy in tears on Friday afternoon having missed first break and part of second (thus not eating as much as he usually does - which is a part of his routine which keeps him settled).

Boy 1 Sept 2011
Copyright Madmother

I just cannot comprehend how a school could not see this was setting him up to FAIL. There is no way possible for us to have managed or prevented such, and to be honest I really felt like letting them reap what they have sown for I feel they forget he is still a young man on the spectrum. Yes, he is amazing and doing so very well this year - so what? You want to bring him back down? You want to pull all the struggles back into the light?

And they wonder why I get frustrated with the system. The bloody system doesn't work!

Note: Big Boy and I went in first thing Monday morning. Big Boy was very proud of me for no teacher was harmed in the making of this post. Yes, I kept my cool. On the outside.

Write on Wednesday - The Great One Liner...

2011-09-06T11:58:00.001+10:00

I'm back! Life took over for a while but am finally jumping back on board Write On Wednesdays.

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays from IPP sidebar.
Write On Wednesdays Exercise 13 - A Great One Liner...
This week you need to come up with one good line to describe a part of your day. It can be 'real life' or fiction. But it must tell us 'who did what'. It has to be an amazing line, like a tiny little paper plane that must travel a big distance (figuratively speaking) with only a few folds ... Every word in that line must earn its place, or be cut as excess baggage. Let's get thinking about each sentence as though every word counts, like working one group of muscles to show how much weight they can carry.

Mine:

Was she the only one present who was aware this elephant in the room lent an unsurpassed new meaning to the term mammoth?

Go for it, rip it to shreds and thrust some feedback at me!

Off to read the others so far.

I want to be just like Dad...

2011-09-04T08:36:00.000+10:00

Happy Fathers Day 2011!

Weekend Grateful: Love What You Have, Do Not Crave What You Have Not.

2011-09-03T09:42:00.000+10:00

It is Weekend Grateful time once more, and this weekend it is being guest hosted! Wow, incredibly brave of Maxabella to let her baby out of her hands.

Even though I should be doing a Dad grateful on this Father's Day weekend, I am not. For the sun is shining, the air is sweet and the birds are singing up here in mountain magicland. And so I have decided to let you in on my wondrous place of life... I am so grateful to live here surrounded by nature, laughter and friends.

Drive on in...

Come on down...

Don't trip on the fountain, just make your way round.

We've cleaned up the garden

Pondered the post...

Excuse the nude lady, some think she's a ghost.

We've pixies a chattin'

And glorious trees

And as I sit writing, my view is of these.

Welcome.

FYBF and Trying To Wangle My Way to a Meet...

2011-09-02T18:39:00.000+10:00

Well, am going to join in FYBF this week. Haven't jumped on for ages and as I also haven't blogged much of late may have to link an oldie rather than a newie. Am going way back as it approaches the first anniversary of my Mother's death. This time a year ago things were bleak, but this post I wrote not long after I lost her still resonates today. For her voice echoes in my head on the days I am sinking below the waves of grief. And her love still pulls me above the turbulent sea of pain and reminds me of how very lucky I am, and how truly blessed I was to have her as my mother.

Life is Too Short.

I am also trying to ~~con~~ ~~manoeuvre~~ ~~bribe~~ charm my family into going up to Brisbane tomorrow. Considering Big Boy and I were up there today it is a little more difficult than usual, though the discovery of an amazing crystal shop in West End is swaying Boy 1. Boy 2 and his father are a little trickier to convince, but I am working my way around to it.

Because there is a bloggers' meet with all the lovelies I would so like to catch up with! And for some reason (and I now know I am not alone in this) the events do not show on my facebook page anymore.

Just think - you lot may be able to meet my sweet, well-behaved boys! I promise, you won't even know they are there...

Quiet just like their mother.

Weekend Grateful: Hope.

2011-08-27T08:35:00.000+10:00

I follow a lot of blogs of Mum's with kids on the spectrum. I AM the mother of a kid on the spectrum. Autism has kicked my arse and the legs out from under me more times than I can bear to remember. Search this blog for ASD, the posts are endless.

Ten years we have been on this ride. A decade. My first born is now 13, quickly approaching 14. Puberty is running rampant, hormones are in overdrive, Year 7 school pressure is mounting fast.

Should be a horror story in the making, eh?

I am here to tell you otherwise. I am here to offer other mums something I struggled with during the bad days, the early hard days. I am here to give you hope.

If you had met my son when he was little, you probably would have reacted the way so many did. Pity. Pity for me, pity for us as a family, pity for the lack of quality of life you assumed this low functioning, severely affected little boy would have.

Yes, he was that badly affected.

Big Boy & Boy 1 2008

No matter that I adored him and believed deep within my very core that his strengths would win out, you, as an outsider, would have thought I was deluding myself. Hell, there were a lot of days I thought I was deluding myself.

But some stubborn, gritty, intense thing deep inside me would not accept the dire predictions of the professionals, of friends, of random acquaintances. Something called a mother's gut instinct. I fought against the world like a lioness in full attack, WE fought against convention, traditional ideals in the autism world, the specialists. Me, Big Boy, Wise Woman, even Boy 2. Our family core, our battalion.

He is thirteen. When you meet him you sense he is different (oh God, don't get him started on string theory...pleeease). He will never be your typical bloke. No, he is far too extraordinary. I could go on and on. But all I can tell you is the fight is worth it. And fight you must, for this is their very future we are talking about.

Boy 1 & C - August 2011
Best mates for over a decade

This boy was with seven other boys at Adventure Parc for his little brother's birthday last weekend. Climbing rope bridges, swinging from pulley contraptions, launching over huge drops on a flying fox. He and his bestie only completed two of the four runs. Why? Because his mate has an issue with flying foxes and a fear of heights. I met them both walking out of the bush, only to be surprised at the role reversal. For once it was Boy 1 supporting, encouraging, just being there for his friend. And happy to do so.

My young man. No longer a boy. Well on the way to becoming the incredible adult all around him can now see. Yes, even the naysayers have had to succumb to a mother's vision. To acknowledge this amazing teen. Most want to bottle him, or at least swap their surly ones for him. I, of course, refuse.

I am so grateful to be able to post this, to share with others a positive outcome (so far). To offer hope. Believe in your gut, fight with your heart. The impossible is possible.

Thanks Maxabella, for giving me the opportunity to give back.

42

2011-08-24T09:34:00.000+10:00

The meaning of life. Right now I am pondering the meaning of life here at this blog. What do I want from here? What is this blog to me, or more importantly to others?

When I began this blog over two years ago the community was small, tight, supportive. Now so much of it is about earning potential, stats, hits, comments, followers.

I have never been one to run with the crowd and crowded the blogosphere has become.

Is this why I am not drawn here as I once was? Is it why I do not have the yearning to write like I once did?

Maybe it is because I am writing my tales of fantasy for my dear friend, sending them off with love. Maybe that is filling the hole once satisfied by blogging?

Maybe I am sick of commenting and supporting those who offer none back? Only some, not all, but their silence pisses me off to be perfectly honest.

Maybe I feel the blogosphere is not the place I need to look to for ideas, ideals, friendship?

Maybe it is time for change.

I just don't know anymore.

You Never Know Who Is Watching... A Facebook Horror Story.

2011-08-22T22:28:00.000+10:00

What would you do if you found out someone had used another friend's business page to spy on your facebook status? What would you do if you had proof that they then took a status written when you were extremely distressed, when your child's life was on the line, when you thought only your friends could see it... if they printed that information, took it into your child's school purely to cause trouble for you and to hell with your child?

Seriously, what would you do?

This happened to us last year, but it is only now I have the concrete evidence of whom the perpetrator is.

Right now I want to eradicate them from my proximity - to be so toxic, so purile as to risk a child's life????

What sort of scum does that?

Oh, that's right... the sort of scum who use their own child to try and cause trouble, even if that child is now becoming loathed by their peers. An evil hobbit whose spiteful, jealous nature knows no bounds.

You make me sick and I thank God I no longer am alone in seeing you as you really are.

Filth.

Living 1001 Arabian Nights...

2011-08-05T17:58:00.000+10:00

"Scheherezade: These people sit for hours - just listening. It's a miracle!

Storyteller: People need stories more than bread itself. They tell us how to live, and why."

~1001 Arabian Nights~

Have you wondered where I am? I am here, but in an unfamiliar guise. I am Scheherazade, weaving my tales, casting my spell of distraction. Each day I am writing a new story, each week I am bundling them together and sending them off in the post of Australia.

Why? I cannot do much, I am too far away and her needs are met by family and friends who live in her proximity. All I can do, as she spends this endless, horrific month being bombarded by chemo, is to offer a distraction. I send my love woven in my words, I send her something to take her away, be it only in mind. I send her parts of me, birthed in short bursts of insane inspiration.

It is all I can do, it is so little, but maybe, in my own unique way, I am helping. Just a tiny bit.

Fight my friend, fight.

Fish 'n Chip Fridays

2011-07-30T07:32:00.000+10:00

Sometimes all you need is friends. Last night a casual catch up was planned with some friends. Big Boy was away in the land of dark skies, Boy 1 had invited one of his besties for a sleepover, Boy 2 is great mates with the younger son of three of my friend who were all dropping over for a while.

Me, being the great culinary expert of the area, had previously decided to go the easy route and order a mass of seafood from the local fish and chip shop.

School pick up... Boy 2 asks if another mate can come for a sleepover if his Dad says yes. Cool. The more the merrier.

Other friends land in around 5ish, the healer of the Mount (my wonderful friend) mentions another gorgeous girl had rung and wanted to catch up. We then spent an hilarious hour or so trying to track her down as she ferried kids to blue-light discos and the such (cannot wait until she hears those messages).

By the time the fish and chips and other bits and bobs were on the table, there were EIGHT boys ranging from little to oh my God how did you grow so towering tall all of a sudden high. And three laughing Mummas.

Having good friends around is the best medicine and heals so much of the angst. This has been a hard week. To have time with these two beautiful inside and out ladies was exactly the remedy needed.

Sometimes it is the unexpected get togethers that are the best!

Am I here?

2011-07-27T05:19:00.000+10:00

Feeling rather invisible and insignificant. Feeling rather helpless and useless. Feeling as though I am running and running and achieving nothing. Feeling very stabby.

Rationally I know this is not true, I know I am getting things done.

Guess I have the mean reds again.

Haven't heard any more news from my friend. This is very unlike her, especially as the last text was "call you in the next couple of days"... Which makes it all the more scary.

I do not cope well with waiting, nor with being helpless. But I need to be patient, for this is not my battle but hers and I can only be there when she wants or needs me.

Crap. Do not like these mean reds.

Yes, this is a very self-centred whiny post.

Life is Unfair.

2011-07-20T18:54:00.000+10:00

I have a Billy Joel song playing again and again on an endless loop in my head. Only the good die young.

It is a strangely upbeat song for someone sinking into the darkness.

These are the lyrics which echo in my mind after hearing Big Boy's words when I rang him with the news... "Why do the nice people in this world suffer these tragedies and trials, yet the toxic nasty ones go forth without nary a ripple of discomfort?"

We have been friends for over twenty years, I can even pinpoint the date we met. 8/8/1988 - the day I began work at a large investment insurance company. Even through divorce, distance and life's ever changing cycle of demands we have always remained friends. We talk weekly. She and her husband flew in for my 45th bash a few years back. We have shared laughter, tears, anger and sadness. We have had drunken nights, saved kittens under cars, danced at each others wedding.

Friends. The genuine thing.

Today I received a text. In February they diagnosed her with a type of pre-leukaemia with a name so big I could not begin to pronounce it. It was the day she was due to have her large bowel removed after many years of issues. They did not go ahead, obviously. And in the months that have flown by my words of frustration and anger at the lack of action or treatment whilst the medical big wigs pondered this medical dilemma which is my friend, have echoed down the phone line.

"Do you want me to fly in? I am good at kicking medical butt after Wise Woman's fiascos."

"Not yet, I'll tell you if I need you."

"You sure?"

"Yep. For Now. You can be my secret weapon."

"Or your loose cannon, heheheh."

"That too."

Finally they decided to go ahead with her op... but today I received the text.

"It has developed into acute leukaemia. Op off, chemo starting next week."

I have a huge solid knot of fear pitted in my stomach. My gut instinct is sending huge red pulses of angst through out my soul. Those fucking idiots - they had caught it so damn early and yet failed to act. Now I am scared it is too late. I am terrified we will lose her. I am helpless, frustrated and angry.

And if I am feeling this way, how in hell must my gorgeous girl feel?

For God's sake, her girls are only so very young. She is a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend. This is not right. It is so very wrong.

Only the good die young, and she is pure goodness to her very core. Please let it not be so this time, please, please, please...

The One I Didn't Know Was in Here.

2011-07-09T11:26:00.000+10:00

I had a whole other weekend grateful post a brewing, about family and going home and the cycle of life.

Then a post popped up in my reader link:

Don't Laugh at ME.

One of my favourite bloggers, Apples and Autobots has a son on the autism spectrum. When I read of Bot I am taken back to the early years of Boy 1, for the similarities are endless. You NEED to read this post. This amazing, eloquent, articulate, wonderful blogger has explained beautifully one of the major issues we as Mums of special kids on the spectrum face. Sensory meltdowns, and the PUBLIC'S reaction to them.

And I am going to add one of my own stories, well, experience not a story actually.

Boy 1 was around five or six. We too were at a shopping centre, but one with open spaces and discount stores, plenty of room and little crowds. Still, if a bad day, not a feasible excursion. The day began as a good one.

We had perused the stores for a little while, and choosing my battles, we were in the last one. Start happy, end happy, at least that was the plan.

Near the front door of the department store was a clearance table full of Harry Potter merchandise. The three of us, MM, Boy 1 and Boy 2 were all surrounding this table picking what we wanted being the Harry Potter mad family.

The automatic doors began to open as someone else entered. It was in this split second I realised Boy 1 was standing in the tiny gap between table, front window and side wall. The doors had safety mechanisms to stop them closing on someone, not to stop them opening and crushing anyone between the door and the wall as they opened.

I screamed for him to get out of there NOW in the second he had to move as visions of him being crushed before my eyes danced in my head. And when I say screamed I mean SCREAMED!

It would hav scared any child, but to a child with sensory issues it was terrifying. Move he did. He ran screaming past me, past the checkouts into the store.

Crying at the top of his lungs "Keep her away from me, she is going to kill me, she is going to kill me."

You can imagine the reaction of the staff and the shoppers, all I wanted to do was calm him and all they wanted to do was protect him from the one person who could calm him.

It ended. I kept my calm as inside I disintegrated emotionally, explained he was on the spectrum, explained to my distraught son why I had yelled when Mummy really only yells at the times she is losing the plot. We went home. Eight years on I can still feel that solid knot of fear and sadness, of dismay and anger. It wasn't that these people laughed when it was all cleared, it was the way they then looked at my child. Flawed, disabled, broken. Never in my eyes, but that is certainly what shone through theirs. And right at that point the other emotion I remember is hate. I hated how they judged him by a label and by one incident, I loathed the path ahead when so many would do the same again and again. I wanted to SCREAM at them "Do you know him, truly know what a really special boy he is? Yes, he is facing challenges, but can your kids soothe any distressed animal on this planet by merely speaking to them for a minute? Does your child tell you they love you every 5 minutes and treat you as if their world orbits around you? Do they captivate the hearts of those who are supposed to be calloused professionals, yet bask in the brilliance of his smile and the sharpness of his mind? DO THEY?"

Of course I did not. I merely thanked them for their patience and walked away.

So, this is my weekend grateful I am grateful for people like Apples and Autobots who explain far more gracefully than I ever could. I am grateful for so many people who take the time to share, who let their open wounds bleed to educate and advocate, and for the wonderful kids like Bot, and Boy 1 and so many others who make this world an incredible place to be.
And I am so truly grateful for both my sons, my oldest with his incredible goodness, heart and spirit, my youngest with his compassion, support and brilliance.

This is a blog hop, though you may be now feeling like it is a lecture. Go, read some lightness and fun, laugh, smile, live. Just keep in mind the next little boy or girl you see having a bad moment may not be having a tantrum because mummy didn't buy what he/she wanted, his/her whole world may be spiralling like a kaliedescope of out of control, overwhelming images, noises and sensations inside that little boy/girl brain. So instead of judging or laughing, maybe go over and ask how you can help a mother who is doing her very best to keep it all together?

This my weekend grateful.

Farewell to a Very Special Lady.

2011-07-08T08:04:00.000+10:00

My Aunt passed away last night. Again my cousin had the job of ringing me distraught, her words "Well it's official, I am an orphan" were not necessary as the sound of her sobbing made the reason for the call very clear.

May 2010 - Uncle Darleigh's Funeral

My Aunt and Uncle had played a very strong role in my life. In the past I wrote of my Uncle's fight with cancer, and then our loss of this wonderful man. But I do not think I have written of them. i can only do so briefly now, for the pain is fresh and raw.

I was Dad's Boy. The tomboy substitute for a son. As such I accompanied Dad on lots of blokey adventures, a lot of them at my Aunt and Uncle's farm. I grew up spending many days rambling and running around like a wild child over fields and in forests at their place. Wise Woman had dragged my Grumblebum Dad off the land into town when they married, and my Aunty Nancy and Uncle Darleigh took over the huge acreage atop the brother in the middle mountain. A dairy farmer's life was not easy, and whilst my Uncle worked the incredibly long hours, my Aunt taught at the local primary school. It was my Aunt's job which paid for so much over the years; the new irrigation system, the automation of the dairy, the enclosed tractor to help my cousin with his allergies.

She was the strength behind the man. She was an intelligent, articulate, straight-talking woman. When my sister died she refused to let us have Christmas alone and every year for quite a few she organised a wonderful extended family day.
She danced at my wedding, cried at my father's funeral, rejoiced in the birth of my boys.When my oldest was diagnosed on the spectrum she was there supporting us with every ounce of her teacher and loving aunt self.
So big-hearted was this wonderful lady, not only did she raise my two adopted cousins, but she also took on my other Aunt's two boys when their mother passed away from cancer. Family. It was always all about family. Be it by blood or marriage or love, we were all so very important to her and she to us.

Now I wait for my cousin to ring me with details so I can once again organise to go home for a farewell. Aunty Nancy, I will miss you more than words can say.

Another Wise Woman has left this realm, she will be sorely missed by all who knew her.

The Family Style

2011-07-07T08:38:00.000+10:00

I write. I love to write. I have loved to write since I was a child.

Now both my children write. Both my children write well.

Now, why would this be surprising, you ask? Well, for my oldest writing has not come easily. The incredible imagination and inspiration was always there but getting those words out in a harmonious fashion has been a long haul.

His speech therapy from age four consisted of lots of rhyming and poetry. And when I say lots, I mean one or two or three or even five rhymes a day. Created by us (as in he and I, but mainly he because it was no use me doing it, no help to him), until he was capable of creating by him. His therapist compared it to repairing a train track to comprehension and articulation, one that was damaged. You can see by his poem written at age seven that the track is pretty damn good now.

The next issue was writing. Hand writing. Due to his low muscle tone, and his obsession with perfection writing was a huge issue. Oh, and add in a preschool teacher who had told him he could not do it... hey presto! Instant meltdowns.

The wonderful former Principal and his grade one teachers started the slow journey to get past that one. And he did. By around grade five.

But in the past year or so, with the help of now utilising a laptop, his creative writing has blossomed. Incredibly. He now is so very articulate and talented that I no longer sit, brainstorm, push. I do not have to make him read his writing out loud to feel the rhythm of the words, he does this on his own. I do not have to tell him to not repeat and repeat the same phrases or words (yes, you can have echolalia in the written word), he knows not to by himself. Now I read and go wow. And tell him to punctuate (in the excitement of a story spilling out this is his only sometimes forgotten rule).

My oldest has written a children's book for others on the autism spectrum. Simple, effective, positive and heartfelt. My oldest CAN write, by hell he CAN write.

My youngest. Well, when I was in primary school my parents were told by my teachers throughout, "MM is a truly gifted writer, you should be very proud and encourage this gift."
This fell by the wayside with High School and Uni (an economice degree? How the frig did I fall into that abyss?"), and the many awards rotted away in my cubby house.

I still have some of my pieces. My youngest leaves my supposed talent for dead. He hooks you in within the first second, and then the story sweeps you away into another realm. His style is polished, captivating, incredible.

For him it is in his blood. Never has he faced the demons my oldest has, it all was there, bubbling away, waiting to burst forth. His writing is amazing. We too brainstorm, but as equals. And I have learnt not to question why, as he always has a reason for taking a certain path. Mind you, it took me constantly being proved wrong in my doubt before I realised I needed to walk away and allow the brilliance to shine. The only small input I get now is again the punctuation reminder, though usually the response from Boy 2 is "Mu-um. It is only the rough draft!"

So, here we are. Three writers. And one amused Big Boy ("No way on earth did my genes have anything to do with this creative side they have!"). I wonder if the teachers truly believe the work is all theirs, because I must admit our writing style and rhythm, whilst different, is similar too. I can see how unique each is, but also note the close parallels. With Boy 1 it is understandable. The years of working together, of brainstorming, of reading, suggesting, helping when he was younger and the information did not flow fluently... of course you would expect my influence to have rubbed off. But all the teachers really need to do is look at the content, because those two boy brains come up with things I could not even dream of!

Boy 2, well whilst the effort was different I still was involved in the very young years. Our weekly sessions of bedtime storytelling where we each had seven nights to weave a verbal spell over the others would have influenced his thoughts on the way a story flows. And I... ah, whom I kidding. Boy 2 - it's genetic, but he is the improved version!

And they wonder why I call them the Augusten Burroughs and John Elder Robison of the next generation...

On a Bad Day A Little Light Mirth - Write On Wednesday

2011-07-06T15:02:00.000+10:00

Day 2:
"I can't stress how important it is that we behead this fiend."
"Christ Johno, it's just the foil of a condom wrapper. And you know on these shoots we always use clear skins, they film so much more like unadorned flesh."
Shelley shuddered on the sidelines, awaiting her turn before the camera. When John had asked her to be part of this project she thought it was finally a sign he wanted more committment, that random hooking up would be a thing of the past and finally they would come out into the public arena as a couple.

He soon burst that bubble. A porn film, of all things this project had to be a porn film. She shivered again, nerves surfacing and unable to shake the feeling that this could be the biggest mistake in all her nineteen years experience. Not that she didn't like sex, hell, it was the finest skill she possessed, and she'd thought she'd trap him into feeling with a frenzy of ultimate wet-dream sexual encounters. How could he resist her big blue eyes gazing adoringly upwards as she sucked him off? Hah, yeah, right. It was that very talent that had apparently convinced him she would be perfect for this role, a means to pay off his HECS fees, and as he had convinced her, hers.

Behead this fiend, she thought, I'd like to behead his throbbing fiend alright. I'll give him a free circumcision without the anaesthetic for getting me to agree to this. Knew these braces would be handy for something.

Wordless Wednesday - One Year On.

2011-07-06T08:31:00.000+10:00

T'keyah Dawson

26/11/03 - 06/07/10

The Romance Series - Write On Wednesday (Day 1)

2011-07-04T21:51:00.001+10:00

"I can't stress how important it is that we behead this fiend."

Take 1: The Darkness and The Light.
"Master Jonah, you cannot, I implore you. If you behead him my life shall be over!"
"Mistress Wannawanker, I have no choice. It is my duty as the slayer of the church, it is what I was born to do. Again, free me from my shackles so I can cast out this creature of darkness from our world. He no longer belongs in the light, he has become a demon of the deep creature!"
Angelica turned away from his imploring gaze, the sight of this proud man shackled helplessly to the walls of the dungeon tearing at her breaking heart. A heart that now beat with an unbeforeknown passion. A heart as captive as the man on the wall. A heart consumed with love for the beast who stood beside her, her master of forever, the captor of her being.
"Master Jonah, you do not see him as I do, beneath the skin of a beast lies the soul of a man, I swear it does on my life."
"Mistress, you are blinded, the fiend has no heart, he uses you merely to toy with and once done he shall cast you away as he has all whom have gone before you. The beast knows no loyalty, he knows only of his lust for the flesh of innocent maidens, once you are soiled you hold no temptation for him."

Take 2: Passion's Spotlight.
"CUT!"
"God, sorry Sam. I don't know why I keep stuffing this up."
Maybe because you stink of last night's excesses, and can barely remember your lines on good days, thought Tiffany. She wisely kept her own counsel on this one, yesterday's debacle when she slapped the smirk right off his arrogant face mid-scene still too fresh in everyone's mind. This was only her second film role and the first with real headline potential and box-office promise. Anyway, she pondered, everyone knew Jay Ramsay was on the way down the ladder whilst her star looked to be ascending quicker than a new moon.

"Let's try it again everyone. Ready, 1=2=3- ACTION!"

"What do you think we should try now Officer Brent? We seem to be quickly running out of options."

"I think we both know we only have one option Miss Stilgo. If we are to help anyone in this mess we need to take back some control. I can't stress how important it is that we defriend this bed."

"CUUUUT! What do you think this is Ramsay? The sequel to The Fucking Social Network?"

Ink Paper Pen - Romance? Seriously?

2011-07-04T18:58:00.000+10:00

"I can't stress how important it is that we behead this fiend."

Oh Lordy, missed last week what with sick kids, extra kids, stocktake, school holidays and end of financial year. Come back hoping to find time to delve in and what do I find? A romance prompt. Yes, I do read it it (nothing better than a good bodice ripper) but sure as shit can't write it.

*Sniff* Not happy Jan.

But will give it a shot if I get time (damnit kids, where are you with some ~~distractions excuses~~ reasons for not completing this when I need you?).

Oh, and rules are:

The Write On Wednesdays Rules: First of all, I am not a big fan of rules. Feel free to get creative with the writing exercises. But please try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays to leave a comment. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays from my sidebar.
Write On Wednesdays Exercise 4: A Masterclass in Fibrotown: Let's keep the timed theme. Write Allison's prompt at the top of your page. Set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head after your writing prompt. Stop when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish.

Some of us are starting to see recurring themes/characters (Feisty Girl, for example) in their writing pieces so feel free to continue on from your previous posts. And consider exploring the world of flash fiction competitions...a great genre for aspiring writers like us!
Things to think about:

If you would like the other members of W.O.W to give criticism on your writing pieces feel free to mention this at the end of your post. It would help if you can specifically pinpoint the areas for feedback.
This is a learning process for me too. I started W.O.W because I wanted to get better at writing. I don't have all (any?!) of the answers so please contact me with your ideas and comments!

Will be back if I can ~~fake it~~ get to it.

Amazing Grace, How Sweet The Sound

2011-07-04T08:58:00.000+10:00

Was blind, but now I see.

I walk arm in arm with my sons. At an age where it is considered uncool to hold your mother's hand, arm, hand my two do not hesitate. As we walk we talk. "Did you hold Nanna's hand when you were our age, Mum?"

"Yes" I answer, then begin to laugh.

"What?"

And so I tell them. My mother had severe sight issues from my first memory. She, her best friend and my Grandmother had sat for hours in her terrace house childhood home and watched the welders work below in the factory next door. Back then it was not common knowledge that such unprotected viewing would cause permanent and irreversible damage. My mother was the worst affected of the three.

That term... bottle top glasses? Well, those were hers. So thick that her beautiful brown eyes were distorted behind them.

As a teenager in the 1930's she loved going to the beach. It was even more appealing as she could use her sunglasses to hide her vision issues from the coolness of a teenage world. Yes, even back then people with perceived weaknesses were teased, it did not help that she was not only stunning but chronically shy.

As she grew older her sight grew worse. By the time I was a teenager my mother had been considered legally blind for quite a few years.

I grew up walking arm in arm with my mother. I never developed teenage embarrassment, for I knew when we walked together if she did not have hold of my elbow she would trip, fall, be hurt. To the casual observer it merely looked as if our arms were linked in affection (as they were). They did not hear the running commentary between us...

"Kerb, Mum."

"Ramp, Mum."

"Car coming."

Now to the reason I laughed. As I grew older we always joked I was escorting her nicely limited Mastercard across the road. Once I graduated and hit my middle 20's the joke was switched to her escorting MY Mastercard across the road as the limit was higher than hers.

This was the story I told my children yesterday.

"Wow Mum. You have more than one credit card so we both have to escort you and your purse across the street then!" This from my impish younger. The older just laughed. And both tightly linked their arms a little harder through mine.

I lived my whole life with a loving mother who was sight compromised. Now my very best friend is facing the same. Her children are six and nine (nearly), and she is now classed as legally blind. Retinitis Pigmentosa. A genetic eye condition that causes the light-sensitive retina, located at the back of the eye, to degenerate slowly and progressively.

She is beautiful, positive and a wonderful joy to be around. She cannot see kerbs or stairs or the joy in her children's faces if they are not right next to her.

Like my Mum, she has days when it gets to her, when her dreams of the future are clouded and dim. But, again, like Wise Woman, these are rare.She does not want pity, she wants life. We tend to joke about it, though there are times when laughter does not help.

When she told me of her diagnosis I could tell she was over the pity party others had been throwing for her.

"Okay, so not good?"

"Nope. Didn't want to tell you before, didn't want our friendship balance to be compromised with you feeling sorry for me."

"You just didn't want to tell me all those times we went out and got blind you really were!"

When she stopped laughing...

"Oh hell, I knew I should have told you before the others..."

"Hey, don't worry, at least I have someone to give Mum's talking books to when she's gone."

"Oh, you are bad, seriously bad. Thank you."

See, both these women in my life were alike. Determined, positive, strong. For all my years with my mother I am now able to support, console, listen, arse-kick, and just understand what my friend is going through. And when things get hard I remind her of the 90 year old still managing to do her tax on exel. On a REALLY big computer screen, yes. On the biggest font you can imagine, yes. On the highest view limit available, yes. But still determined and capable. Right up to the end. If you make your mind up you can do anything... it just may be that you have to approach it a different way from before.

Oh, and as my friend's credit card limit is higher than mine, I just might have to escort her carefully across busy roads for years to come.

Hello? Is It Me You're Looking For?

2011-07-01T15:13:00.000+10:00

I'm sure you've all seen this on Facebook, blogs, websites recently. But it was so appropriate for how I feel today. I am still in my pyjamas at 3pm. Not because I am sick or depressed but because I have been madly answering phone calls (business), looking up files (business) and as it is school holidays, I DON'T FUCKING HAVE TO BE DRESSED TO DO ALL THIS!

This week has been bedlam, I have had extra kids over (great for my two) for four days of this week, stocktake on our retail store was yesterday (yes, my two were dragged to that), and there are all sorts of negotiations going on with our other businesses.

So, yes, today I smell bad, I am not yet dressed, and I have not yet fed my children. Don't worry, at eleven and thirteen, when Mummy says - or in this case mouths with one hand over phone mouthpiece - "get it yourself", they actually do.

I am going to have a wine tonight. And probably a whine, but the worry with that is that Big Boy has had a worse week than me and he will probably top mine as I top up his glass...

See after the sanity returns.

Yaysayers Vs Naysayers

2011-06-29T11:24:00.000+10:00

Wow, embarking on this publishing lark is certainly an eye-opener.

There are those who want to help; hell, they are helping! Each little bit of advice, support, guidance is so appreciated, be it a link, an experience or just a good on ya Boy 1.

I love that others are honest about the trails and tribulations, the rejection, the struggles, the "WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T DO THIS!" tales. It ALL helps me help him. I never said it was going to be easy, I said this was an experience I wanted him to have. Another learning curve of life.

BUT, you know what?

It does not help when someone goes "Bah, good luck, my friend so and so has been trying to get published for ten years..."

or
"You are kidding yourself, why are you bothering?"

or
"What sort of a book could a kid write, I could write better than that!"

Firstly, read it before you make stupid comment, dipshit. And from the things I have read of yours and your lack of a grasp of the English language, ah no, you couldn't!

Secondly, I am bothering because I have taught my children if you want to do something give it your all. If it doesn't succeed, then the success is in the experience.

And thirdly, I do not know your friend or what she has written, I know my son and I believe in what he is trying to do. Oh, and as you are a close friend, don't you think a "Wow, what a great thing to try. Isn't it amazing how far he has come" would be more appropriate? Considering you have known him since birth and you teach kids on the spectrum? Seriously, how miserable a person are you? Really. really sad comment.

I have come to the conclusion it is like dieting. Never mention the word to some people because all they will do is ridicule the idea and belittle your ideas whilst pushing you to have the large slice of chocolate cake.

Okay. Rant over. Feel better now.

The Night We Met

2011-06-28T07:24:00.000+10:00

And no, I am not stealing Nadine's story - but go check it out. Our local publishing house and author claim to fame...

This is the story of how Big Boy and I well, became Big Boy and I. Thanks Bern - but mine is probably a little long and convoluted to put in a comment.

1993, a fine year for romance... or maybe not. The first quarter of this year I was backpacking around America, Mexico and Canada. The previous year I had completed six months in Europe doing the same. I arrived back in Oz in March, just in time to walk into a local pub to surprise one of my besties for her birthday. Little did I know this date was going to be important for the rest of my life. Not that I met HIM that night, but it will become clear later.

March was also the month I attended the first of two weddings. Coming down from the high of nearly a year overseas I did what any self-respecting party person would do when trying to settle back in to reality, I picked up the best man. Not that he was the best man, he was more of a young, fit and hot you'll do for now cause I'm bored sort of man. Did I mention young? I was 29, he was 22.

I was living back in my country home town, intent on spending time with family. He was a part time distraction to keep the insanity away. After the bright lights of many fine cities and intense experiences, returning to my childhood haven was a little like watching flies stuck on drying paint. A zzz-zz every now and then and not much in between.

Roll around June, and the next wedding. This one was in Newcastle, a couple of hours drive away. The bride had already drilled me on the "hot" best man, and being the ornery beast I am, I had told her in no uncertain terms: "Not interested!"
"Madmother, you are nearly 30, don't you think it is time to give up the toy boys and meet a nice guy and settle down?"
"Ah no, I am quite happy with my not-nice hot guys and not settling anything, but thank you for thinking of me."

I was still happily bumping uglies with aforementioned toy boy and was seriously NOT INTERESTED (you can see where this is heading, right?).

Off I toddle to the Novocastrian Nuptuals, staying with a friend who lived in the area (no, not THAT sort of friend. A happily married mate and his wife and sister).

The wedding was fun BUT the wine was terrible! Remember, I am a broke newly returned backpacker without a brass razoo to buy drinks, especially ones priced by this large flash hotel. So I go the "other" option at the bar. Sweet Sherry.

You can imagine how messy that became rather quickly.

The BOY had been introduced to me at the church. It was rather flattering the way his eyes had lit upon meeting me, but there was no way I was having a bar of it. And, I must admit, I had my eye on the MC. Every time the poor devil tried to talk to me at the reception I walked away, quickly.

But the Sherry intervened. As did the newly ex-wife of the MC who was also at the wedding!

By the time the bride announced an auction for the two groomsman I was feeling little pain. And barely noticed when I bid $2 (I was broke, remember? And the first bid was 50 cents so I was being generous) and she called an instant stop to the bidding and announced me the winner.

It was nearing the end of the ceremonies, and my two slaves, plus the MC and the ex all decided to party on at a nearby nightclub. Or two.

From that point Big Boy bought all my drinks, thus switching to my drink of choice; Southern Comfort. The MC and his ex got into a heated discussion at the bar.

Somehow BB and myself ended up pashing on the dance floor. I was feeling no pain. And he was hot. Even if he was a set up.

He walked me back to my car, which I was in no state to drive - and had no intention of driving - for more pashing. Car pashing.

I think he got my number pretty quick when I desperately needed to pee and walked up to the bushes on the side of the road, and squatted in the gutter - on one of the main streets of Newcastle. Hey - it was in the bushes and I was desperate!

We drove - or rather he drove back to the townhouse he was staying at with 4 other guys. I crashed on the lounge for a couple of hours (way too drunk for any hanky panky) and then snuck out before dawn.

Without leaving my number.

Yes, there is more to this story, but it can wait for another time. After all, 18 years, a wedding ring and two kids later we are still together.

Oh, and that date of my besties birthday? Well, guess who else was born on that date?

The Beautiful Words of Wisdom from a Deepak Boy.

2011-06-26T18:20:00.000+10:00

Driving down the mountain to pick up Boy's best mate C for a few days, I asked my oldest what he would say about Asperger Syndrome if he was trying to explain it to a room full of people. Now, you need to remember he is only 13 and still finding his path on this journey. But I was curious, after reading another blog and discussion on the topic, as to exactly what he would say.

Boy 1 today - Copyright Madmother

"It is embracing your own kind of normal" he begins, "Whilst there are things it makes me struggle with, it also gives me a different outlook on the world and uniqueness creates greatness." At this point I am struggling not to tear up.
I ask him what would he do to explain it to people who don't know anything about Asperger Syndrome, to pretend he is a motivational speaker (which he dreams of), in a big hall with lots of people who have no idea about ASD.

He is quiet for a little. I ask him if it is too hard... "No, just unexpected and I need to think about my answer."

He is silent for a moment longer.

"Asperger Syndrome means you are different, not bad or good, it just means you are different. You stand out from the rest. You should enjoy it because it means you are a unique individual. It also means those hyper-senses can be used to your advantage.
Keep an open mind and you may learn new things. I would tell them about the things I found hard when I was younger, like noises and changes, and writing. I would also explain that these things are less hard now I am older. They also need to think how they are different and how it would make them feel if people teased them or tried to make them feel bad. Maybe if they talked to or asked us kids on the spectrum they would find out we like the same things and can be friends. Everybody needs friends. I am really lucky with my friends.

Do you think that would be good Mum?"

Yes, my son I think that would be very good. If only we could teach everyone to embrace the unique, wouldn't the world be a wonderful place? I adore my own little Deepak, he makes this world a positive place.

On this same note, a friend on Facebook just this minute sent me this link, ties in nicely methinks (though about ADD, it also resonates for ASD).

VIVA LA DIFFERENCE!

Parenthood Review - Maybe I should do this weekly?

2011-06-22T09:57:00.000+10:00

Hello again. It is time for me to once again address this week's episode of the Ron Howard acclaimed series: Parenthood. Well, the bit in it that addresses Asperger Syndrome and its accompanying issues any way.

Yes, again. Stop rolling your eyes, I am entitled to my opinion thank you.

Credit: NBC

Last night's episode here in Australia contained an epic emotional meltdown in the emergency department of a hospital. To summarise briefly, Max (the child with AS) and all of his extended family (parents, sibling, grandparnets, aunts, uncles, cousins and various partners along for the ride) were assembled waiting for news of his cousin, Amber, who had been in a serious car accident and was undergoing surgery.

Withing three minutes of the beginning of this episode Max and Adam have a confrontation as Max appears to show absolutely no empathy for any needs other than his own.
"I wanna eat"
"Right, let's see what they have here."
"No Dad, you said that we could go to get pancakes
"Hey"
"and now I've been here for an hour and a half
"Hey"
" and I wanna go."
"look at this, this looks good,"
"No I don't want a danish
"Max, take it easy. This is one of those times where we have to be patient, okay. We're here for Amber and Drew..."
"No. You said that Amber was not going to die..."

You can see where this is going, right? It escalates into Max shouting, "I'm hungry! No Dad, I don't care about Amber right now. I'm hungry and I wanna eat now!"

Of course his Grandfather then yells at him, which takes it even higher... Max tells him to shut up, lashes out at his mother physically... and so on and so on.

Of course we all compare this child to our own, especially those diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome.

But, everyone needs to keep in mind IT IS A SPECTRUM! I watched this episode and listened to Adam talking to his son about empathy, what it is, how to act, and I can tell you I am with Tony Attwood on this one...

At a conference I attended many moons back, Attwood stated: "It is a misconception that these children do not feel empathy. They feel empathy, but have difficulty expressing it.

We have an emergency hospital room story of our own. My mother. Another fracture in her spine. Along with bleeding from her bladder. A large hospital in the capital city of our state. We arrived at 6pm, and were still waiting for her to be admitted at 10pm. My oldest was around the age Max portrays, maybe a little older. I asked Big Boy to take them home, and I'd book in somewhere for the night. It was an hour's drive to return to our mountain.

Both my children refused, point blank. Both stated unequivocally that they were staying to make sure their Nanna was looked after and settled and then we would all go home together.

BOTH. You could not have picked the child on the spectrum that night. Amidst, noise and chaos, blood and screaming, flickering fluro lights and stressed families they were calm, determined, supportive. Of me, of my mother, of each other.

And so that scene and THAT meltdown was one I found totally foreign. And yet I know others related, and I know it is yet again a case of informing, educating and for the drama, worst case scenario.

Boy 1 & 2 May 2011: Credit Madmother

So what did I get out of the show last night? Gratitude. Thank you God for giving me this amazing child, for both my incredible sons. Thank you for his heart, and strength and compassion and EMPATHY. And thank you for this incredible journey and experience. It sure as shit ain't boring!

Done for this week, and as it was the season finale who knows when the next will be.

Oh, and that night at the hospital? We arrived back to our beds at 2.30am.

I Remember - InkPaperPen Write on Wednesday.

2011-06-21T16:04:00.002+10:00

The Write On Wednesdays Rules: First of all, I am not a big fan of rules. Feel free to get creative with the writing exercises - there is no right or wrong. But please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays if you fancy doing so.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 3 - I remember: Write "I remember" a the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Use "I remember" as your prompt and write down the first words that come into your head for 5 minutes. Stop when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. I will try to do it every morning this week. I'll let you know how I go...I am hoping that the thought of having to tell you all about my progress will be the motivation I need to keep at it!

Monday:
I remember. I remember stopping, breathing, letting life fly past without me. I remember shutting the doors, turning on the answering machine, running the bath, lighting the candles, pouring the wine, then pouring myself neck deep into bubbles.

I remember closing the blinds, locking the doors, lighting the gas heater, curling up with a book. I remember indulgence of the self. I remember when it was all about me. I remember freedom of choice: The chardonnay or the sav blanc?

I remember time. Without constant deadlines other than those left behind at work. I remember a different life, a life of before. I remember me.

And then I remember you and I would not change a moment of the now.

Tuesday:
I remember her laughter, her smile, her touch. I remember the dappled sunshine flickering through the hisbiscus leaves. I remember the flashes of flowering red amongst the green and the soft kisses of the summer breeze. I remember the roughness of the dry sand on my skin and the softness of her touch. I remember the joy of endless, timeless playing. I remember her long tannned legs draping over the side of the sandpit. I remember the slkiness of her white dress, and the shaking of her chest as we laughed. I remember the patience with which she stayed and played and concentrated on her child. Me. I remember love.
I remember my mother.

ETA: Please critique all you can. I know my writing at times does not flow, is choppy, and my grammer can leave a lot to desire. I want, no YEARN to learn and cannot unless you pull it apart and share your own knowledge/opinion.

Cheers.

Oh, Get Over It!

2011-06-19T10:49:00.000+10:00

Hello Madmother,

At this time we are not accepting submissions. I admire your son (and you)

for taking on this project. It is commendable to say the least. I wish you

all the best!

Editor

You guessed it, our first rejection letter. Or e-mail in this case. Well, not really a rejection as such as we merely asked this American publisher if they were open for submissions, but still.

I have realised I am really running blind in trying to assist my son. Thirteen years old, writing a children's book for kids on the spectrum. He wants to help others, and is frustrated at the lack of positive books for the younger age group. He wants others to see the strengths in having Asperger Syndrome, like he does. He feels, whilst it is so very hard during the early years, that to believe in the light at the end of the tunnel, and to work with the good not just the difficult, makes it so much better in the long run. I guess he has only his own feelings of self-worth, confidence and happiness in who he is, AS included, to judge by. And he wants others to see this is not a disability, it is a matter of differing abilities. He wants to help. It is his dream to mentor and advocate for these kids coming along the same path a few years behind him.

But what we are looking for now I guess, is a mentor within the industry.

For questions such as:
*How many pages are neccessary in an illustrated book? We are around the 22-24 mark, but don't want to lose the whole concept by padding it out.
*Who owns the rights - is it jointly between illustrationist and writer, though the concept, character and even the description of the drawings are the writers?
*What contracts are necessary between all parties?
*I know a lot of publishers prefer to pick the illustrationist, but if we go with the one we know personally (who herself has never had a publishing deal) are we losing the battle before we even enter the war?

Boy 1 thinks she is perfect for several reasons. Firstly, because she has submitted a preliminary sketch of the main character which he really liked (bar a few changes), secondly she is very, very talented, thirdly (and I think this plays a big part for him) it is giving her an opportunity to take that leap into publishing and he believes in her talent (have I mentioned I call him Deepak? My own little guru of positiveness), fourthly, and this one is so Aspie, she lives in our community and he won't have to travel for meetings. Yes, I am chuckling at that one.

I am now trying to wade my way through The Style Manual and The Design Manual, two tombs which are supposedly the Bibles of publishing. But I am finding there is not a lot on this type of children's book.

So, if any of you know of anyone willing to give us 30 minutes, maybe even less, to point us in the right direction... Well, you'd have the gratitude of A Madmother and her oldest son, and whilst mine is not worth much, his ranks pretty high in the karma stakes!

Weekend Rewind

2011-06-18T11:44:00.000+10:00

Nearly every week I join in a blog hop known as weekend rewind. It is held over at a little shack known as the Pink Fibro. But I must admit I am a bit slack, merely linking up an old blog post and not posting about the linky!

I'm also having a little trouble remembering which ones I have already linked, lol. So I'm posting today to not only promote the Weekend Rewind Blog Hop, but also to give myself a reference point for past posts linked... So here goes. This week the theme is quite simple: link one of your favourite past posts.

This is it:

The Glass Heart

I can look back now and truly appreciate how fragile he was back then, and how heat-forged strong he is now. I am sure there are frailties waiting to show, that we will dip down into darkness, but right here, right now he is dragonfly bright. And looking back makes us grateful for where we are now.

And more for me than anyone else, the past linked posts have been:

Rest & Relaxation: Julie & Julia & Me

Lessons: Life's Hard Lessons

December links: Drive & An ASD Night Before Christmas

October Link: Blogging the Memories

September Link: The Black Panther

July Link: Yee-haw Grandma

June Link: Toot Toot

May Link: Imaginary Friends

April Link: Ode To The Pure of Heart

Dialogue Detective: Exercise 2 Write On Wednesdays

2011-06-16T11:42:00.000+10:00

"Yeah, mate I need a sheet of melamine, what dimensions you keep?"
"Hang on, hey Pete, did you want those extra sheets you ordered? The boss put 'em aside out the back?"
"Keep 'em for me for now, if I don't use them for this one, I'll need 'em for the next!"
"No probs. Sorry mate, what was it you're after?"
"I need melamine, a sheet of blah, blah, blah..." (At this point I turn away from our builder to listen in to another more intriguing conversation happening to my left).
"I am after one of those heated toilet seats. The cold weather is making my toilet unusable."
"Ah, maam, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"The heated seats, I saw them on that show. You know, the one on the ABC?"
"I'm sorry. A toilet seat?"
"Yes, a heated one. Surely as the local hardware you must carry them."
"Um, I'll just go ask the boss. Maybe we could order one in..."
"But I need it now. The seat is too cold for me to sit on."
"Sorry, we don't have them in stock, and I haven't really heard of them before."
"Don't bother. No wonder everybody goes down to Bunnings young man, if this is the type of service you offer! How do you expect to sell these things if you don't stock them!"

At this point my builder comes up with the needed sheet and we head off. Not before much eye rolling and smothered giggles by the boys behind the counter at the old lady stomping off (and she may have been little and frail, but boy did she stomp).

Gotta love the local Mitre 10 on a Thursday morning!

Memories Of A Lost Friend.

2011-06-16T10:07:00.000+10:00

I am meant to be doing my exercise for inkpaperpen's Write on Wednesdays, but as the house is silent for once I have no hope of being a dialogue detective at this moment. Instead, the doors of my mind have opened into a room of faded memories and I am writing of the night my last such a writing exercise took place. Of someone who has a place in my heart permanently reserved; one day we will meet again.

A Winter's Night

It is the image of him I am left with. The two sandy blond heads together, leaning forward, engrossed in the game on the phone. It is the image I wish I had thought to photograph, though I know by that point he abhorred having any images taken. It is the last night I saw Simon.

It is cold on the mountain, it is always so very cold in mid-winter. The fires burn on day and night, heating frozen rooms, warming the homes of all who reside in this rainforest paradise. Our mouths propel jet bursts of steam as we stomp up steep external stairs to the house of friends, which hovers on the edge of the hilltop drop. Tonight it will be a gourmet indulgence, rich, white sauce drenched crab lasagna with lots of tasty sides and extras, tonight it will be a meal fit for a king, for our king has returned at long last.

My children whine, hating leaving the cosy comfort of our residence. The oldest dreads social interaction with this bunch of boisterous boys, his brother included, and the one tomboy girl attending. For him, at age 9, this type of gathering is a living hell. As it is for one other, the one for whom this feast is in honour.

Laughter, hugs and garbled greetings meet us at the door. But eyes are drawn to the taut figure sitting in the large recliner. The chair swamps him, and if I hadn't had the chance to see him briefly on his journey home from hospital, I doubt I could have hidden my anguish. So frail, so thin, so tired. So sick of it all, and sick of being sick. He is 39, but looks decades older.

We sit, eat, talk. The noise level ramps up and conversation and games become rambunctuous. Five children laugh, giggle, joke. One child covers his ears and cowers from the noise. The man has returned to the large leather recliner, sitting quietly drinking it all in. He sees the boy, my oldest. From across the room he senses the distress wafting off the child in waves, smiles. Pulls from the pocket of his now too large jacket a shiny new gadget - his phone. Waggles it, smiles, and beckons. The others come too, jumping in, wanting to grab, investigate, intervene. Simon shushes and sends away, it is not a toy, he tells them.

The boy walks quietly over and gazes into Simon's eyes. They smile, understanding the importance of such technology, each relishing the abilities of this one little cold metallic item. The boy does not see the illness, he does not see the frailty, the shadows of pain. When he looks at the man he sees only a kindred spirit, another technological addict. And someone who understands. He moves to the chair, slides in beside Simon, shuffles his bottom to make room. Unselfconsciously he leans into the thin body, snuggles deep. They bow over the phone, engrossed, absorbed, happy.

Simon glances up, catches my eye, smiles, joy emanating unsuppressed. For right at this minute, this child has made him feel whole, just for a while. The two tousled heads lower again over the phone. The boy moves closer, looks up into Simon's eyes and beams. Simon beams right back.

It is the image I remember him by. My son, my different, quirky outsider completely content and calm, nestled as close as one human can be to another. The man, feeling special, wanted, strong. I just wish I had taken that photo.

Look Out Angelina Jolie - NOT!

2011-06-15T07:53:00.001+10:00

Today I am performing my pustulated Angelina impersonation.

Not this:

But this:

Yep, you guessed it. The dreaded Herpes Simplex I virus. Cold sores. Two of the mothers. I have a big one on the left side of my upper lip, and the monster to end all cold sores in the middle of my lower lip. The bottom one has also led to the gland under my chin becoming like a rock hard infected pea. Last time this happened I ended up on some pretty heavy duty antibiotics to clear up the secondary infection.

These things not only hurt like hell (Big Boy had had to forcefully pursuade me not to get a razor blade and lop off the affected parts), they make you look like shit too. Small children run screaming, family members wince and cringe when you approach, even dogs bark at you like you are some srt of vile monstrousity.

I know I have been running like a madwoman, sadly, that is life at the moment, but I suspect the party weekend we just had may have topped it all off and my immune system, led by a very distressed liver has gone: "ENOUGH!"

But did it really have to go to these extremes?

Not happy Jan.

And yes, I feel like crap, just in case you were wondering...

#cough*cough# %hack*hack%

Write On Wednesdays Stirs Up Memories

2011-06-13T15:10:00.000+10:00

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 2 - *Detective Dialogue: For this exercise you need to be a little bit sneaky. And brave. You need to be around at least 2 other people (or a small child who will happily chat to himself and/or imaginary friends). Write down a conversation/ dialogue exchange as you hear it. Feel free to write down things that accompany the dialogue (E.G. gestures, interruptions, accents) but don't worry about this too much. It is more important to capture the way words are used in natural speech. Try not to let anyone know what you are doing. It might alter the natural flow of their words (it could also be a tad embarrassing for you!). If you can get out to a park, cafe or shop like Naughty Mumma, then this is a wonderful chance to get some new writing ideas and get some practise in dialogue writing. If you can't get out (and I know this is a reality for some of us) you can copy down the dialogue between your partner and your child. Or the conversation between two of your children or even one side of your partner's phone conversation. If you are really stuck, turn on the TV and copy down the dialogue between a couple of TV characters.

This is our task, and no, this is not my entry. I completed the same exercise nearly four years back, when attending my creative writing course. Like any good student, I decided to trawl back and read my piece. I had forgotten the pain of the week of this task.

You may not realise I have another blog (several in fact, but I am only referring to one of them). It is my writing blog, where all my bits and pieces over the years have been added.

And so I decided to add my dialogue piece from those years ago there.

Madmother: Little Woven Words

Go have a read if you wish. I have been adding more and more of my writing there.

Another Piece of The End.

2011-06-12T08:20:00.000+10:00

I am sitting staring at the Google search box. The curser is flashing angrily, annoyed at my ineptitude. Just do it, just do it... it seems to signal impatiently. I am frozen.

It will be another brick in the wall of goodbye. It will be another sign of the end. It is another finality. I am sitting about to google local stonemasons for my mother's grave. My mother's bed in death. My mother's monument.

I have to think of wording, but how do I put in to a few short words the woman who helped me live? The woman who helped me breath? The woman who was my mother, my best friend, my teacher, my inspiration. My Wise Woman.

It is another goodbye, another confirmation that this is not a bad dream, she is truly gone.

I can never forget the cries of my second son as he came into the hospital to farewell the woman who had been there for him his whole life, "Why? why is she dying? What is killing her? Nanna can't die, Nanna ALWAYS bounces back."

I know son, I know. I cannot accept she is not coming back either, for whilst you had her for your eleven short years, I had her for nearly forty seven of mine.

Once more, the screen has blurred. And because you never believed in tissues, my mother, I now have retrieved one of your soft, delicate hankies. It smells of you. And my tears flow harder.

Goodbye is just too hard.

Meaninless Meandering from a Madmother

So Apt.

The Last Post

Hyperventilation - The New Coping Mechanism

"What ARE You Doing" Autism Awareness Film

Uberkate - How You Warm My Heart.

Huge Can of Worms...

Time for a Turn Around!

Life Wasn't Meant to be Easy!

Controversy...

Hello Reality!

Happy New Year - Welcome 2012... Are you the last?

Muse Wars - The Memories.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

Hornet's Nest - Or How Nuffnang Stuffed Up Big Time

The Past is Thrown Back into Our Lives...

My Weekend Ungrateful...

Fluff, Yeah I did say it: *Fluff* poem!

Weekend Grateful: Are we, yes?

Knock Knock, Penny, Knock Knock... FYBF

WOW - The Saddest Thing

Speak Out: For The One Who Cannot.

Fragile

11.11.11 Lest We Forget.

Wordless Wednesday

InkPaperPen... We Are Learning To Make Fire.

When Parents Go Feral...

Weekend Grateful: Special Occasions and Bling!

Wanted: Roomie for DPCON12

I don't cry pretty...

Our name is legion for we are many...

The Rose and the End of The Year of Firsts.

Weekend Grateful: Boys, LAN Parties and Friends

FYBF - The Scarecrow Edition!

Weekend Grateful: Dreams.

A Dawning of A New Day...

R U OK?

The Mother

Ah Yes, The Autism Hasn't Miraculously Vanished You Know...

Write on Wednesday - The Great One Liner...

I want to be just like Dad...

Weekend Grateful: Love What You Have, Do Not Crave What You Have Not.

FYBF and Trying To Wangle My Way to a Meet...

Weekend Grateful: Hope.

42

You Never Know Who Is Watching... A Facebook Horror Story.

Living 1001 Arabian Nights...

Fish 'n Chip Fridays

Am I here?

Life is Unfair.

The One I Didn't Know Was in Here.

Farewell to a Very Special Lady.

The Family Style

On a Bad Day A Little Light Mirth - Write On Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday - One Year On.

The Romance Series - Write On Wednesday (Day 1)

Ink Paper Pen - Romance? Seriously?

Amazing Grace, How Sweet The Sound

Hello? Is It Me You're Looking For?

Yaysayers Vs Naysayers

The Night We Met

The Beautiful Words of Wisdom from a Deepak Boy.

Parenthood Review - Maybe I should do this weekly?

I Remember - InkPaperPen Write on Wednesday.

Oh, Get Over It!

Weekend Rewind

Dialogue Detective: Exercise 2 Write On Wednesdays

Memories Of A Lost Friend.

Look Out Angelina Jolie - NOT!

Write On Wednesdays Stirs Up Memories

Another Piece of The End.

Fluff, Yeah I did say it: Fluff poem!