Did I Happen to Mention

...that I have an addictive personality? Oh, I didn't? Well, I do. So now, after completing my first challenge from Blog This I am tapping fingers, jigging my right leg and trying to control the twitch above my left eye as I count off the days to the next. I am addicted. It is really not a bad thing. I had lost a lot of my natural Tigger bounce where writing was concerned, become disillusioned with my lack of ability and in serious danger of giving it all up.

Big Boy (DH) was worried, really worried. He knows story words flow through my brain in a constant stream begging to be written and as he has to live with me and my verbal diarrhoea... Well, lets just say he had visions of being drowned under words if my other outlet ceased. So, for my enthusiasm to be revived by joining this site has made more than just me happy, in fact the whole Madmother household is breathing a very loud sigh of relief and there have even been a few loud "OH YEAH!" and high fives.

Boy 2 is especially happy, he is the mini-me, even down to his dream of writing. He wrote a series of stories in Preschool. Yes, you are not mis-reading: PRESCHOOL. Okay, to be completely clear on this, he did not actually do the writing (cudos to Mrs Rose). He dictated, very precisely (and was quite the temperamental little author if even a syllable was altered) every word, drew all illustrations, and followed true to the end, his theme or central storyline. The Johnny series. Twelve in all. Since then he has written plays (two of which he and Boy 1 have performed in the school talent quest), poems, and now even a song. Not too shabby a CV for a ten year old.

Thus, if his Madmother had deserted the written word, his heart would have broken. Okay, I exaggerate, but it would have been severely bruised because he believes his old Mum can do anything and truly is of the conviction that it is only a matter of time before publishers knock on our door for both of us.

Oh dear. I seem to have rambled off the point once again. Just chalk it down to getting to know me and the fact I am battling an affliction at the moment. The common cold. Yes, on hot sweaty days I am even more hot and sweaty due to these temperatures my body is using to fight this bug. Oops, there I go again. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, getting back on topic.

Blog. This. Challenges. During my happy manic phase I am positive I could roll off a blog a day. Of course, during my low or stressed period it would drop to a blog a month if I was lucky. And in one week of the cycle I would be perfectly capable of polishing off a whole murder thriller including a body. If you get my drift.

Sorry, bit gruesome though I would think a few women out there can relate.

Now, how do I know I have an addictive personality? The most recent example I can give (other than my quick entry into the challenge) is on Facebook. Boy 1 and Boy 2 have been desperately lobbying to sign up as a lot of their mates are on it. After much heated discourse, and many set in stone guidelines we agreed. Mainly they wanted to play The Games. You know the ones: Cafe World, Yoville, Farmtown, I could go on and on. So I, in my wisdom, after managing to avoid these applications despite much intense lobbying from so-called friends, decided to monitor by playing too. I am now on level 21 in Cafe World. After a bit over a week. Oops. I did mention my addictive personality, didn't I? Yeah, well. Hang on a minute, I'll be right back, just have to serve some French Onion Soup.

No - not that sort, THIS sort:

See what I mean?

ADDICTED!

Must dash. Boy 2 has been waiting for a little to be picked up from a mate's house. See, even my adored children fade into the back of my mind when my obsessive side takes over. But before I go, a little more self-indulgence...

Had I lost you all? Bored you to tears with my rambling? Probably. But one thing I know for certain,

Madmother is BACK!

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.

~Richard Wright, American Hunger, 1977~

Tastebud Quickies or How to Fake a Feast

Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.

~Voltaire~

It is terribly amusing to find my first challenge from Blog This: http://www.blogthis.com.au/ is a topic on quick-fix meals as I am the Queen of Takeaways and Mistress of easy entertaining. My darling husband loves to constantly tell the story of how in our first week of co-habitating we ate pizza four nights out of seven. It is his favourite dinner party anecdote.

What can I say in my defence? It was really GOOD pizza! And I could mention the fact that it covers all five food groups, just not in the proportions the biased medical fraternity recommends. Pfft, what do they know? But I won't.



Well, back to the topic at hand. My highest achievements in convenience cooking to date have to be the fake-outs I have created to:

• make my life easier


• allow me more time in the dining room and less in the kitchen missing out, and


• keep my guests oblivious to my little cheats, continually praising my culinary skills.
  

Now, this is nothing so crass as purchasing takeaway and passing it off as my own creation, no. More like taking creative licence and utilising the advantages of slightly pre-prepared courses. I suppose I must now lift the veil a little on my counterfeiting ability for the sake of this challenge. I can only hope you will keep it to yourselves, not spread the word too much. Would hate for some of my previous guests to find I am not the blonde Nigella they thought I was. It would be so very distressing for them to find the Goddess of Domestic Bliss has soggy, clay feet hidden by her imitation Manolo Blahniks. Here goes...

I give to you my favourite entree, and I must admit, a tasty quick fix meal for one when life is rushing by:

Madmother's Famous Tomato & Celery Soup.

Ingredients:

1 can Big Red Tomato Soup

1/2 stick of celery

1/4 onion

1 can of water

Dollop of cream

Fresh parsley

Serve with:

French Breadstick

Butter

Directions:

Finely chop celery and onion, add to water in saucepan. Bring to boil, simmer for 5 minutes. Add soup, stir, bring to boil again, turn off heat.

Serve adding small dollop of cream, swirl with knife for visual effect, sprinkle small amount of finely chopped parsley for garnish. I usually lightly toasted a thinly sliced breadstick, and added a small dish of butter curls for additional impact. Oh, offered cracked pepper too, of course. Really fancy stuff, huh? Fooled 'em every time. And the taste? Bellissimo. (Sorry, slight flash back to pizza world).

Bon Appetit!

My First Blog This Challenge!

Okay, I am going to add this here so I know what I am doing. Well, I can at least pretend to know what I am doing, I mean, hey - we all fake it a little sometimes. Don't we? Oh, maybe just me then...

Anyway, back to the task at hand. This is the first challenge I am undertaking after joining Blog This. Now, as I have no idea how to add this name as a link I will add the site:
http://www.blogthis.com.au/

I will be back to compose my blog in relation to these questions, but not tonight. Tonight I sleep.

Wish me luck. Challenge is as follows:

With the silly season upon us and busy schedules becoming even busier - we come to rely on those quick-fix meals. What is yours?

Is it takeaway? Where do you get it from and why do you choose the particular dish? Is it a weakness?
Is it a frozen meal or packet mix?
Do you make it? Share the recipe!
How did you discover it?
Show us pictures?

Have us salivating whilst sharing something useful!!

So...

Do ya like it? Huh, huh? Do ya like my new blog template?

DO YA?

M.I.A.

Yes, I know I have been missing in action of late. Yes, I have been very slack in relation to this blog, but sometimes life just takes over. This week has been one of those times.

I have been off having FUN!

I guess now you will want details, hmmm? Alright, but I'll have to start at the beginning, so get comfy, glass of wine or cup of coffee in hand, settle back and I'll spill...

Now, at least one here (hi S!) will know this story. Many years ago (June 2006 to be exact) there was a special needs section on a parenting website (I did mention I was going back to THE beginning, didn't I?). In that section there was a forum especially for parents of children diagnosed, or on the path to such, with autism spectrum disorder, or ASD. It was not my first experience of such forums.

In this forum, however, I found a really supportive group. Most had similar ideas and hopes for their kids to what we had. And in particular I became internet friends with one or two. So when the opportunity arose to meet one of these ladies and her son in real life I decided to risk stepping offline and into reality. It was late 2007 when we all met at Dreamworld for a day (myself, sons no.1 and 2, herself and her son). Now, we never can truly know if the person you know on the www is a true and fair representation of who they really are. I must admit, as it was my first such experience, I was scared and nervous. I guess she would have been also. But it was a really good, fun day, and we all seemed to get along very well. And I can honestly say she was as she had seemed to be on the web.

Fast forward to last Sunday. After two more years this friend, and her son, were returning to our sunny state for another holiday and had finally accepted our offer to stay. Of course, meeting someone for 1 day and talking to them online is not the same as having them stay in your home in close proximity for 4 nights. Hell, after some of my stoushes online, I am sure she was worried about being around me for that long too!

Still here with me? Well done for getting this far!

I guess you want to know how it all went? Or had you worked it out from my initial comments? It was fantastic! I can honestly say I feel as if I have known this friend for years (which, in a technological way I guess I had...). We laughed, talked, took the piss out of each other (okay, she mainly took the piss out of me, but hey, I certainly supplied ample opportunity), and generally enjoyed each others company. At no point was there any awkward pauses, even when our kids had their minor bouts.

It is rare in this life, that you find someone you click so decisively with. I am so blessed to have had this chance to get to know her, she is an amazing woman with incredible strength and a wicked sense of humour. And we had such FUN! Hurry back mate, this part of the world is awfully quiet and dull wihout you!

Chicken Soup for the Body

I awoke this morning with the smell of my Mother's chicken soup wafting over me. No, sadly my elderly mother had not snuck into my house in the middle of the night to prepare me a surprise feast, it was my subconcious reaction to the general feeling of unwellness (not a word, but the best way of explaining at the moment) which appears to be an early companion as sleep dissipates.

My childhood was filled with illness, I was a delicate little thing immunity wise, and my Mother's solution was soup to sooth my volatile stomach, when nothing else would stay down. As I grew it was the food I craved, and hence requested whenever my body or my spirit weakened.

Many a break up was discussed over soup with my wonderful Mother wiping my tears before they could drip from my chin into her glorious concoction. At other times she sat by my bed and patiently spooned the soup into my trembling mouth, pausing only to ring out the flannel lying across my fevered brow. When younger I believed my Mum added a touch of magic into the ingredients, along with a lot of love and some motherly concern. To be honest, I guess a part deep inside still believes, this would explain my need for it when anything goes wrong.

Now, some reading here would be dreaming up wonderful blends of herbs, vegetables, rice or pasta along with the chicken but you need to remember I was a terribly finical child who existed on Vegemite Saos and Milo in cold milk. Thus, my mother's chicken soup consisted of the following:

Chicken giblets sliced to broil for 2hours to create a stock base

1 onion finely diced

1.5 litres water

A dash of salt

Boil giblets for a couple of hours, adding onion 1 hour in. Remove giblets, strain, add dash of salt. Serve a bowl to ailing daughter.

It doesn't sound like anything much but it was delicious!

And it soothed away all my troubles, be they physical or emotional. Mother's Magical Medicinal Mix.

Mmmm, I can almost taste it now.

I won't even venture to mention my Grandmother's solution of chocolate Paddle Pops...

Loss

I miss you.

I sat across from you this morning and watched as your eyes turned to ice every time you had to respond to or address me. You spoke to me only when I talked to you. Not once did you enquire how my life was or what I as up to. I had hoped it was a phase. That I was imagining the freeze, that others were wrong. I had thought we were good friends, close friends. I was wrong. And I am sad. I do not know what I have done, what unforgivable sin I have committed. I guess I assumed that friendship meant honesty, and a chance to rectify mistakes if you were made aware of making them. Sadly, I now have to admit that maybe I misread things. Could it be that trust, loyalty, caring was not what we were about? Or is it your fear of people getting too close? Do you have a need to drive away and hurt that stems from your deep insecurity and the pain of a child betrayed?

I know I am not the first who has been discarded. I thought your reasons were sound, but now have to wonder if she was as bewildered as I am? A close friend over several years cast aside, adrift with no knowledge of why? And I ponder, who is next?

I also have to wonder if you think I do not see, or maybe you take some sadistic joy in causing me pain. For whatever you call me, I only called you friend.

Camp Revelations

Son no. 2

We have just returned from a 3 day/2 night camp stay with the Grade 4s and 5s. A wonderful year for me to go (DH went last year) as it is the first time both my sons have been on the same camp and this will not occur again until 2011. It has been a great learning experience for all. I am proud of both my children, they stepped up to the challenges and coped with it all admirably. Bar a few meltdowns/temper tantrums, I won't dob on who did what but I am sure you can work it out if you have read my blog previously.

I relished watching the behaviour of adults and children alike, free from the shackles of parental expectations and schoolground restrictions. The kids you least expected to cope appeared to blossom and mature, taking on roles never seen before. Others, well, lets just say I hope the parents read the letters they were forced to write to explain their behaviour, and have a little chat, though even their transgressions were minor (unforunately it was the denial and not accepting responsibility for their choices which was far more disappointing).

Son no. 1

Okay, I lied, I am going to dob on who did what...

My oldest has a bug phobia and a tick allergy, so attending a bush/farmstay camp in the middle of nowhere was always going to pose issues but he pushed his limitations and expanded his world far beyond my wildest dreams or expecations. I am so proud of him I could burst. Though we had a lot of screaming terror over March flies, wasps and ticks, he managed to rein it in pretty quickly and participated in nearly every activity.

Son no. 2 coped well, as expected, but by midday on the final day he lost it over having to wait his turn for food. He was not alone in that session, we had three incidents in fifteen minutes as most had reached the limit of their patience. Tired, hot, and with very little sleep, little tempers frayed then broke. We also had many in tears on that last day.

But it was so much fun! Even for this oldie!

National Carers Week 18- 24 Oct, 2009

I am a carer. Actually, I am a mother and a carer. My oldest child was diagnosed with a form of autism spectrum disorder: PDD-NOS; at 4 years of age. Diagnosis was changed to Asperger Syndrome at age 7. He will be 12 in January. Over the years we have intensely accessed speech therapy, occupational therapy, physio therapy, psychologists, paediatricians, osteopaths, homeopaths, and many other groups and therapies. We have employed teacher aides and social skills teachers. Our lives have been moulded around him, and his needs.



Someone commented to me yesterday, a diagnosis or illness or disability not only affects the patient or person, it is of a huge consequence to the whole family. Such truer words have never been spoken. Next week I am off to school camp with him. No other parents are going as their child's carer, only me. Luckily it is a joint grade camp and Boy 2 is also attending. Happily, he is as excited as his brother to have mum on school camp, to him it is a bonus not a detriment.

I do not know what I am aiming for with this post. National Carer Week is over, life goes on, no-one in our lives even acknowledged it.

But to all out their who do care for family members, or friends, or partners: you are wonderful, loving, very special unique people, and from one carer to any other, I applaud you!

Small Town Life

Bemuses me. I think some have too much time on their hands and very vivid imaginations. The he said/she said, he did/she did machinations have totally confuddled me yet again. Apparently I have done something to someone. This time I honestly have no idea what, when or where, and to be honest, do not have the time or the energy to worry about it. If people are true friends they would come and say: "Hey, I have a problem with your actions, can we talk." Instead they fester and dwell, and blame. For what dastardly misdeed, I have no idea.

I had noticed the chill, but didn't realise it was an arctic freeze. So much for loyalty and honesty, just can't be bothered anymore. Even if I asked I am sure it would never be answered. *Sigh*. Not my concept of how friends behave.

No wonder Boy 1 gets confused, I don't have ASD and I'm confused. Small town politics.

It is not the best time...

as I am totally exhausted after my 3am start, but I am bemused by a conversation I have just had. Why do people take what I write and make it all about them? In honesty, it has nothing to do with the 2 people who have messaged me, or the person the phone call referred to. Talk about paranoia! Wow, must be some chip you guys are carrying, getting tired yet, cause I sure am!

Have to laugh, after being confuddled for a while, lol.

Autism Inspiration

I have found a wonderfully positive blog by a writer/mother. I have become a follower, but wished to post the link for those of us on the ASD journey. It is well worth your time having a look.
http://www.esteeklar.com/

I know I should be sleeping, but reading this blog has started my mind ticking over not slowing down. I was only thinking yesterday, on my drive home from work, about what messages I want my choices to give my sons. Yes, I am jumping back a couple of posts to the roller derby stuff. I guess part of the reason I am seriously pondering the offer is to send my kids a strong message: You can achieve anything if you set your mind to it. Let's face it, here I am around 30 kilos overweight, nearly 46 years of age, two young kids, one of whom has Asperger Syndrome, and I think I may well become a roller derby girl! Come on - who could have thought that was a possibility or even within the realms of the possible? I certainly didn't, even the 16 year old who still lives on deep inside me did not consider it. It is all about looking at the positives, not the negatives, and hope. Dare to dream, dare to believe in the good not the bad, dare to see the miracles not just the disasters.

Dare to soar.

And watch out for me and my wheels as I zoom past! See boys, if Mumma can skate, you two can move mountains!

In The Wee Hours of The Morning

• I have finally found and corrected the time setting in my blog!
• I realise my life is pretty good. Manic, but good.
• I fantasise about a career change to roller derby. Madmother is still an available name on the register. Hehehehehe...
• I am not happy that although he woke me with his coughing, Boy 1 never actually woke and is now sleeping soundly. Good for him, bad for me.
• I am wondering why people feel the need to play mind games. Be honest, if a friendship has past its use-by date just let it go. I have.
• I am thinking about how another friend is, and hoping tomorrow brings help and answers.
• I am acknowledging, yet again, that I truly chose the wrong career. I hate spreadsheets.
• I am hoping if I go back to bed and read for a bit, I can manage a little more sleep. 5am is fine, 3am will not allow brain to work clearly tomorrow.
• I am wondering how many of said spreadsheets I have stuffed at this hour.
• I am hoping to find time to work on my other blogs, but they require a lot more thought so must be clearheaded!

Madmother: Queen of the Roller Derby

Yesterday, my ego swelled to mammoth proportions. No jokes about it matching the size of my arse please readers, I am well aware of my blatently bountiful butt buns, now back to my gloating. Our family has been roller skating every couple of weeks for the last few months, a love I was ecstatic to return to, and even happier to share with B1 and B2. Boy 1 does not enjoy most sports. Not only does he suffer from low muscle tone, as does his brother, he finds the intricacies of the rules, noise, and team dynamics just too distressing. To find something he enjoys, albeit with ear plugs in place, is a blessing. To find a sport we all enjoy as a family, even better. Boy 2 is mini me in personality, he puts on those blades and takes off like a rocket, weaving forwards and backwards, pushing his limits. Boy 1 slowly meanders around the rink, keeping in perfect sync to the muted beat. Calmly, happily, methodically perfecting his technique.

Usually we take extra's along. Friends now clamour to be included. The boys love showing off their nearly honed skills, and enjoy helping friends learn the art of rolling. But back to me. Skating was my first love. At twelve I was given a pair of those old rattley tie-on skates, at fourteen, joy of joys, a roller skating rink opened. By fifteen I was working there, and the coolest girl skater on the scene. My love was speed skating, followed closely by roller hockey. I was kicked out of figure skating as the old duck teaching demanded I give up the speed and hockey, as they could never be pursued in conjunction with the grace of figure. Ah, no, not going to happen!

So here I was, the only girl allowed to skate in the boy's skate (very sexist back in the 70's), the one they all called "snowy" due to my burgeoning figure (size 8, 10C if you get the idea), the one whose name was broadcast all the time over the microphone, teased, taunted, worshipped. Very in. The running joke was that my skill and speed in skating backwards was related to the unique advantage of my bust size. Ballast, they called it. And yes, no boy could out speed me in a backwards speed skate! For my sixteenth birthday my not well-off parents scrimped and saved and bought me the finest pair of figure skates they could afford. In 1979 $140 was a lot of money. My pride and joy, I cleaned, polished, pulled apart, serviced and maintained these leather topped white obsessions. In a few weeks, these skates, which are still in very good condition - money well spent mother - will be thirty years old. I disguarded the speed skates many years back, they were only an after thought, a few years later than my figures, never captured my heart in the way my true and trusted italian leather tight trucked beauties have.
And EVEN THOSE beauties sat in my cupboard for over ten years, probably closer to fifteen if I am honest. Pulled out once or twice, cleaned, even serviced by a professional once, then put back amongst the dusty relics of youth.


Until now. The last few months have been fun. Some days I feel really comfortable, and in the zone. Others, I feel every inch of my nearly 46 years. Yesterday was a good day. Voltaren on weak knee, brace on, skates ready.


We arrive to bedlam. This day the Sun State Roller Girls are doing a promotion at the rink. They train here every week, and I have been to one of their bouts. They are cool, sexy and yes, the queens of the rink. My old title. The four boys were ecstatic - wow! Roller Derby Girls! They were on a recruitment and fundraising drive, and the rink was three times as crowded as a normal Saturday. Lots of little goth wanna be's, trying to be noticed, large numbers of the fresh meat brigade, t-shirts intact, attempting to show off.

A few glance askance at my glaringly white boots with faded yellow wheels. A few more giggle at the old girl with the cluster of kids actually thinking she could put a pair of old figures on and dare to give it a go. I organised the kids, three could skate, one boy a first timer. Remained with him calmy talking him through the basics, building confidence on the carpet until I felt he was centered, balanced and ready to tackle the small rink. Walked him around, reassuring, until he was safe, stable and gradually mastering the techniques. Boy 1 came and helped, these two have been best friends since they were 3 years of age. All happy, AC/DC "Thunderstruck" comes on loud and pulsating, I need to skate. Now, all this time roller derby girls and wanna be's have come past, some smile, some smirk, some just show outright shock at an old girl, as old as their mother, on wheels. Then I hit the floor. The music lifts me and I gradually warm up, muscles loosen, I begin to fly. Jaws drop, people take notice.

The session goes on, the usual games, me juggling boy demands, keep my eyes on all 4 as they hit various corners of the rink. Due to it being a special day they decide to throw in a speed skate. Cool - I am happy to go in with the beginners, for my skills are not near what they once were. At this point my thoughts were merely: don't write off someone due to age, I can still find joy in motion.

So off I went, couple of the new recruits jump on, forwards, backwards, I fly. I feel alive, especially with 4 little men cheering me on. Coming off, the rink owner, who I chat with frequently, grabs my arm, turns, shocked and states: "I had NO idea you could skate like that! Get back out there for the experienced skate!" I pause, look to the floor, group of derby girls and blading boys, but not really that daunting. And turn and sprint back into the group. Exhilarating! Not the fastest, but certainly not the slowest, smooth, sure, pushing my speed up until I am flying. Forwards, backwards, come off when they turn to figure eights, not that insane.

Slawter Dawter approaches me, the first of three conversations, lobbying, requesting, asking: would I be interested in joining the SSRG? Pushing harder, telling me I am exactly what they are looking for, brushing aside my protestations of unfit, overweight, old injuries. I compromised, will work on my fitness, and have my knee surgery, and assess again in the New Year. She asks me if I will guarantee joining up then, no, I cannot until I feel I am ready and can give it my all.

But...


I WAS ASKED TO BE A ROLLER DERBY GIRL! WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO!

Early Morning Rambling

It has been a lovely few days. I spent most of Thursday with my Mum. Well in reality I have spent most of Sunday, Monday and Thursday with my Mum, and to able to say that makes my heart overflow with gratitude, love and joy. She turned 90 last Monday. This time 1 year ago she was in hospital, had yet another fracture in her vertebrae, and the bladder tumour had just been found. And the powers that be (we now know them as the powers that be so wrong) decided she was inoperable. Not the tumour, my mother. She was sent home to die slowly, inch by inch, each day losing a little more of herself, until in February she had a massive bleed, rushed off in ambulance to closer hospital, new specialist, new hope, and now renewed life. Cancer free. I am deliriously happy to be with her, to be able to be with her and not crying, leaning over a plot in the ground. She is a pure bright joyous light in my life.

So after a Mum week, a friend came over on Friday to give me a wonderful massage and some interesting conversation. She had given me the voucher for my birthday last year, but had to also give me a swift kick up the backside to get me organised. I always feel guilty taking time for myself when there is so much that needs to be done. But it was absolutely fantastic! And interesting to hear someone else's opinions on certain situations. I have finally learnt my lesson, I did not instigate or open up any of the doors to the disappointments of the last few months, I merely listened. And felt such relief that I am not alone in my perception of some as having no ability to keep confidences, and their desperation to be liked by all and be a part of the "cool gang". Phew. It is obvious to others, and they too shake their heads at her lack of discretion. Thank God.

And now we have a manic weekend hitting. Off to get groceries this morning, ready for DH's BBQ tonight, then off to skating this afternoon, and then soccer presentation in the morning and off down the coast tomorrow afternoon! Catching up with an old schoolfriend I haven't seen in about 5 years. Better than the last gap, that was 20 years, lol. Life is busy. Life is good. I can float to the surface now the dead weights have been cut away. No more frantically gasping for air.

A Little Laughter for Melissa.

One of my friends needs a little laughter in her life. This is for her.

What did one ocean say to the other ocean?

Nothing, they just waved.

What do you call a dog with no hind legs and steel testicles?

"Sparky"

What do you call a man who has lost 99% of his brain?

A widower.

How do you make a handkerchief dance?

Put a little boogie in it.

What do you call a guy who sticks his right arm in a shark's mouth?

Lefty!

How does a high school boy propose marriage?

"You're having a what?!?"

Did you hear about the dyslexic devil worshiper?

He sold his soul to Santa!

How are a chicken and a grape alike?

They are both purple... except for the chicken.

Yes, they are bad and sad, and hopefully made you giggle. Just a little.

Bringing back the sun.

Glitter and be gay

That's the part I play.

Here I am, unhappy chance.

Forced to bend my soul

To a sordid role,

Victimized by bitter, bitter circumstance.

Richard Wilbur

I do not remember the day fun left. I certainly cannot recall at what time laughter ceased resonating through this house. When did we stop laughing at life, choosing instead to entangle ourselves in the politics and drama of other peoples' trivia? There are so many suffering real hardship, it is quite embarrassing to admit to being caught up in what amounts to a high school popularity contest. And grounding when you look around at those friends struggling yet still managing to retain wit and whimsy. For all my flaws, a lack of humour was never before one of them.

It was not so very long ago I was running around after my little boys, giggling hysterically being the Mummy Monster holding the secret smelly sock weapon. Now all I seem to do is nag, lecture and worry what actions others are plotting. But I made a decision today: I am going to take back control and relaunch our life of laughter. I am walking away from the small town trash and embracing all that is good in my life. My children, my husband, my mother and my wonderful friends. Be they old or new or, as someone I adore said, imaginary internet friends, I am very grateful to have them in my life. So, to all of you out there in interweb land, I send you wishes of joy.

Oh, and bring back the smiles, I sure as hell intend to. Or at least die trying.

Irrational

I am sitting here, sobbing my eyes out after watching a comedy: The Boat That Rocked. The boat sank and they were alone. I am alone.

Irrational, I know, but right now in the dark, lonely place I lurk, it is entirely logical to me. I give friendship easily, I love to envelope, nurture, hold, feel. Trust is slower. Trust is deeper. So when not once, but twice it is hurled back into my face as ME betraying them, it hurts. I NEVER, even after someone cuts me to the heart, will betray their trust. It is not the way I work. But I hate it.

I hate the paranoia it creates, I hate the lying, the games, the way I question EVERYTHING in my life. And at this point, I am so scared if what is happening to me is serious, I hate the way the people who were meant to be there for my kids will let them down the way they have let me down, and will shape them.

Oh God, my oldest has come so far, I want him to have the emotional, nuturing, mummy parachute that maybe I will not provide. I am probably being stupid. But know that people who are supposedly friends in my life do not believe that the test results show nothing and yet I throw up blood. But both my children and my husband have witnessed it. Fuck. Maybe I am the internal Jesus. I so wanted it to be an ulcer. I want answers.

Dear God, why do they not see?

I am always the strong one for them - do they not see my Achilles heel? I hate people sometimes.

The Differences.

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

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

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

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

Controversy

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

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

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

The Monster Retires to Its Cave

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

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

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

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

One hand waving...

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

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

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

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

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

I need to brag.

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

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

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

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

Thinking of you.

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

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

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

Superfluous

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

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

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

Is it something in the air?

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

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

"ENOUGH!"

Friendship

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes it just isn't meant to be.

And now I'm standing on the corner,

All the world's gone home

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

And I'm feeling cold and a-lone

I guess I'm lucky, I smile a lot

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

What about me?

It isn't fair

I've had enough, now I want my share

Can't you see, I wanna live

But you just take more

What about me?

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

Can't you see, I wanna live

But you just take more

You just take more

You just take more

Than you give

What about....me?

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

How do I do this?

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

Any help gratefully received.

This programme has been interrupted

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


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


Read on, my friends, read on...

I have an idea,

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

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

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

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha...

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

*Sigh*

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

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

What a success!

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

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

D-Day has Arrived...

... and we are organised, and ready to run. A small group of Mums has organised the trivia and auction fundraiser for our school. Four of us, with myself at the helm, have been running around begging and pleading for donations, wrapping prizes, organising advertising, the venue, the mc, seating, collecting money, drinking wine, laughing and much more. We sold out a week ago. It just shows you with the right mix of positive people you can achieve so much, and avoid the politics, bitching and bagging. It is not about accolades, it IS about helping our children! And drinking wine, laughing and having fun with a great bunch of women.

I think all bases have been covered. The prizes are incredible, the auction items worth thousands, just have to hope people come with deep pockets filled to the brim!

Tally Ho - off we go now!

Lurgy attack, but still bouncing!

Imagination gallops; judgement merely walks.

It has hit, I officially have the dreaded lurgy, or flu as most would call it. But even with feeling exceptionally ill, I still have an underlying emotion of happiness and emotional well-being. The actions of others are no longer clouding my life - I have finally learnt to let things go. Is this a permanent state of mind? I truly have no idea, I certainly hope so.

I am not sure of the reason, it may have been the constant comments by a friend about only being able to control our actions not the actions of others. It could have been the reassurances by many that I have not done wrong, or it could be that I have finally accepted that I cannot fix the jealousy or possessiveness of an unhinged mind, or bear the guilt felt by others. Maybe it is down to being ill and waking up with fevers at ungodly hours allowing me to mull over my own words and deeds and to resolve any self-doubt or recrimination. Whatever it is, I feel unshackled and free, and most of all happy.

And when I see those who scowl, or glare at me with hatred, I just smile and say hello.

Not again!

My two had nightmares last night. Which of course meant they both ended up in my bed and I slept on the lounge - if you can call it sleep. Now I have awoken from my dozing with a sore, raw throat, swollen glands, a headache and feeling nauseous. Oh, I pray this is merely the result of a restless night, little sleep and a lumpy couch! I do not have time this week for being ill. I am, with a bunch of friends, co-ordinating our trivia night fundraiser for our school and it is on THIS SATURDAY EVENING! I cannot be sick, I will not allow myself to be sick, oh please, please, do not let me be ill this week, not THIS week!

Life is good.

The weather has been glorious up here. Balmy days, though the nights still chill. It is hard to be glum when the sun is shining so beautifully. The photo is from one of my early morning risings after a lovely person reminded me how blessed we are to witness such glory (thanks Ange). I feel lifted, free and happy. Close friends and new friends, I am very lucky to be around so many uplifting, unneurotic, fun people. People that remind me I am loved.

Ah, life is blissful.

Sleep deprivation and the torture inflicted by children.

I understand why sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. I go to sleep exhausted, wake up exhausted. Thought patterns are jumbled, my mind is shrouded in an eternal fog, I cannot make decisions. I am regressing back to the days of babies when lack of sleep was an accepted part of life, but I am a decade older and unable to cope the way I once did. It is not a situation which can be easily remedied. The issue is once I am awakened I cannot resume sleeping. And the reason I am being awoken is not anyone's fault. Son number one has started along the nightmare track again.

Sleep issues go hand in hand with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Earlier this year his anxiety had increased to a level where he was anticipating nightmares and was terrified to fall asleep. After a 4am night, or is that morning, we finally succumbed to medication. A natural over the counter remedy, but medication just the same. It worked, brilliantly. For quite a while. But I am wondering if the effectiveness is wearing off, as for the last few weeks these nightmares have taken hold again. We have ceased any games which although they appear harmless, may have instigated this series of night terrors. Television programmes, movies and reading material are all closely monitored. There does not appear to be a trigger, he is not stressed as far as we know (and it's anyones guess what is going on in the hidden depths of his complex brain). But as he comes and sleeps in my bed after one of these hit... well, you can see where my sleeping problems are arising.

Thank goodness we are off to his psych appointment this week, might just be my sanity he saves yet again.

Life, amusement and the general rolling on of just being...

Life rolls on. All has settled down in our world other than swine flu in the school, manicness in the co-ordinating of the school trivia night (whose smart idea was it to volunteer for that role?), and the general fast pace of life.

Someone said to me when all the drama hit (and the betrayal of someone you had considered a friend for 5 years does hit hard no matter how old you are), "You cannot control the actions of others." She did not mention anything about not being amused by those actions, however.

I am observing a situation which greatly tickles my funny bone. The former friend turned stalker is now cosying up to people she formerly loathed in the hope of winning some insane, all in her head, popularity competition. These are women she has ranted about, especially one who she has called a skank, a whore, and a slut based on witnessing a harmless flirting session many years back at her son's soccer training. She has also hates both their children, and calls them names I will not repeat.

I should be ashamed that I am finding this so hilarious. I should, at my age, be more mature about it. It is all so high school. But it has been made all the more interesting by her progressing to badmouthing others she still supposedly calls friends. I am not the only one she is targeting, now others are watching, shaking their heads as they realise what a little dog she really is. You have to laugh, it is so obvious, and her actions are truly funny. Wonder what these acquaintances would think if the MULTITUDE of people she has slandered these women to (and it is a lot of people) were to let out her true opinions?

I don't intend to, and I hope no-one else does. It would spoil the fun, and a good giggle is so healthy! I know I should feel pity for someone with such a screwed up mind, but surely laughter is better than anger. And I feel so free without this emotional cesspool in my life! Woohoo, bring on the show! Sorry, bit carried away for a minute there...

A night out!

I am off on a girls' night for a good friend's birthday. Normally I'd be jumping for joy, but there are a couple of complications this time.

Complication one: I have not been well the last couple of days. Not really sick, just not well. Aching bones, lethargic, headachy, nauseous. As the flu is rampant up here at the moment I suspected it may progress into temps and feeling worse, but it has not. So I will polish meself up and smile and chatter, and try to keep up but I suspect I may not last too long.

Complication two: I was the designated driver, and going to get everyone home, but as I know I will want to leave earlier than the die hards it will upset some.

Complication three: the *stalker*. She is a fringe-dweller in this group, and apparently knows of this night out. I had told others that it was not an issue for me as long as she was civil, polite, etc, and I would even drive her home. It was the birthday girl's decision NOT to invite her, as she would not be comfortable with the tension. I can understand why, she doesn't really consider this person a friend, and was worried that this person would not be adult enough to get over herself and talk to me. But I know I will be blamed for this. I will be the one excluding her, because in her strange little mind, I am the one at fault here. Even though I wanted to talk and clear the air, and I was not the one obsessed, I am responsible for all her problems! And I think as I am not 100% it is getting to me more than it has for the last couple of weeks.

Would dearly love to rug up and sit at home in front of a roaring fire.