Heigh-Ho

It's off to work I go. Got a writing job for our local parenting magazine. It the part-part-part-part-time job I've been looking for. Now if I can cure autism, revitalize a tired marriage, cook dinner and split the atom, it'll have been a pretty good day.

What is This World Coming To?

I actually super glued my fingers together tonight. How, you ask? Why, decorating, of course. I couldn’t have had more fun if a switchblade and rubbing alcohol were involved. Good times.

What I Learned Yesterday...

I was standing atop the kitchen barstool adjusting lights on a cabinet. I was really in the zone, completely oblivious to anything outside my own little world. I didn't see my son running towards me until it was (almost) too late. Our bar stools swivel. Swivel is actually a good word for what I did next.

Hayden grabbed the chair and spun it around at an alarming rate of speed. By mid-turn, I realized what was happening. The electrical tape I was rigging up the lights with flew out of my hand as I went for a little ride, shall we say. At first, I was out of control. I felt certain I was on my way to hospitalizing my child if I landed on him. I'm fairly sure that I looked like a weeble. I teetered around (not at ALL enjoying the ride), but soon my fat ass grounded me on the center of the chair.

I scolded my child and silently cursed myself for decorating in the presence of a hyperactive four-year-old. I realized that I'm not superwoman (I know, it's a surprise to all). If I were, it would scar comic book lovers around the world. I cannot do it all. I decided next time, anything done above ground level is best handled by a manly-man with a utility ladder.

The Grass is Greener on MY Side

There are some people in chronic suburbia that belong in a place with fewer rules. They need open spaces and the ability to install a chain-link fence without violating the neighborhood regulations. They’re not about to conform to the cookie-cutter mold found in subdivisions around the world. I am one of those people.

The most noticeable difference between our house and our neighbors is the yard. I think we’re the only ones in our little cul-de-sac that don’t use some form of chemical intervention. Autism has taught me to live as naturally as I can. Weed killers aren’t included in my lifestyle. I know my neighbors cringe every time they look at our yard. We just don’t fit in. We look, and are, out of place.

My refusal to use chemicals has made our yard somewhat…difficult to deal with. The weeds are battling with the few sprigs of grass for what seems like world dominance. Up until this week, our yard looked sickly compared to our neighbor’s toxic sod.

It’s been an unusually wet summer. My yard is thankful. I looked out the window today. Through the beating rain, I noticed no apparent difference between the grasses in our subdivision. I’ve had the last laugh (at least until the rain goes away). This time, the grass is not always greener on the other side.

Where Am I?

Several people (ok, some people...well, more like a few) have asked me where I'm from. Sometimes, usually in the midst of an autism fit from hell, I'm not exactly sure where I am. Eventually, my sanity returns. I wake up from my autism stupor and realize that, unfortunately, I'm in Kentucky.

There's nothing wrong with Kentucky, per se. It's just that we're a bit behind the times with...everything, really. I just found out last year that scrunchies are out of style, yet I'm not the type of person who cares. I don't care what others think, which makes me a black sheep here in the area. Autism treatment is practically nonexistent, as well as animal rights issues, and basically anything else that I've ever been interested in. I once went to a restaurant and told them I was a vegetarian. "Is there anything here that I can eat?"

"Of course. We have fish and chicken sandwiches."

No words adequately expressed my rage, so I just shut up and ate a fish sandwich. Minus the fish.

This brings me to my next point. Has anybody here heard of a freakin' Boca burger? When I was a vegetarian (I've strayed a little), nobody had. So, I was pleasantly surprised at the Burger King drive-thru when I saw a Veggie Whopper on the menu. I rolled down my window and barked my order. "I'll take a Veggie Whopper...and make that plain, please."

Silence. "So, you want a...bun?"

I looked at the speaker, searching for words. "Um, what? No, I just want the veggie patty with a bun."

He went on to explain that a Veggie Whopper was just a pile of vegetables thrown atop a bun. My question still exists: Has anybody heard of a freakin' Boca burger? Um, no, not in Kentucky.

Anyway, I'm stuck here, really. My husband's job is here. So are my remaining family and a few choice people that I want in my life. And boy, did I want it. I wanted to start a family here, build a home, and install my white picket fence. I knitted my own little OCD web, right here in Kentucky. And, I fell back in it. I am stuck...in...Kentucky. That's where I am.

Fly Like An Eagle

I threw my back out yesterday. Getting out of bed. Some people have amazing injury stories. They were skydiving and landed wrong on their ankle. They were riding a mechanical bull and got thrown off. Well, I got out of bed. That's when everything went awry.

Being a natural girl, I hobbled to the medicine drawer and pulled out some quercetin. Bent over at the waist, I looked like someone searching for a dropped item. Only I was in this position for most of the morning. I laid on the heating pad long enough for it to leave marks, much like a cattle prod, on my back.

Just about the time the quercetin took effect, things took a turn for the worse. I'm sorry in advance for being graphic. As I attempted to stand up from peeing, I grabbed on to my knees for support and pulled myself up. I must have been a little too forceful. My kneecap nearly turned around backwards. So, there I was hunched over like a senior citizen, now dragging my injured leg behind me.

I suffered on and off for the entire day. Before bed, I decided to take a DolorEx (natural anti-inflammatory with quercetin). This is a wonderful medicine and acts like a natural Tylenol PM. Unfortunately, I'm mildly allergic to quercetin. The pain subsided, but was replaced with a "bad high". I was on facebook at the time. As the numbing, panic-ridden feeling hit me, I decided that my friend (whose picture I was looking at) must have had a boob job. AND her pictures were stupid. I concluded that I was a horrible mother and wife. My household decor (my latest obsession) really got on my nerves. I suddenly felt overwhelming exhaustion. I was afraid to go to bed because of my sleep apnea. It was a horrible feeling. I laid in bed with my dog and cried into his fur.

Now I know how autistic kids feel if they get something they're allergic to. Apparently, I'm much too sensitive to quercetin to take DolorEx without a medical chaperone. I've had a bad high before (don't judge me), and I was just waiting to hallucinate to eagles on the back of quarters (ahem...not that this has happened). I didn't see any eagles, but I was flying like one...

Got Beneficial Bacteria?

Apparently I don't. My face has turned into a before shot from ProActiv's acne solution. I'm literally walking around in a haze (sporting a new zit on a daily basis). Don't even ask me about my diet. I'm on carb overload and in candida hell.

Candida overgrowth is a typical problem with autistic kids, too. Hayden's even yeasty and he takes probiotics. He's stimming like mad. His gut resembles a malnourished child in a starving village somewhere and he's narrowed his diet to french fries and apples.

So, we're both feeding the yeast, so to speak. Mainstream media got the best of me this week. I'm not a fan of "unorganic" dairy, but I bought some Activia. You know, the probiotic Jamie Lee Curtis raves about. It's given her the ability to take an unaided shit or something like that.

Brock found a pack in the fridge. A few days later, he said, "So, how's the shittin' yogurt working for ya?"

"I'm not taking it for shitting. I'm taking it for candida. I need a probiotic, thank you very much."

So, how is the shittin' yogurt working, you ask? My face isn't as broken out, but I'm still eating like I'm going to the electric chair (carb style, of course). Maybe a few more containers and I'll be able to star in my own Activia commercial...

Candida information:
http://www.healing-arts.org/children/antifungal.htm
http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2008/12/02/how-yeast-can-create-havoc-in-your-life-and-how-to-address-it.aspx

I'm Tired of Autism

First off, when is my ride over? I've paid my money, my time, and my sanity. I've lost friends and family. I've been stamped as insane by many sheeple. I've gone into debt, teetered on the edge of the 85% divorce rate, and aged too rapidly for any natural health advocate. Is it over yet? Um, I'd like to stop this ride now.

I did a survey last night on facebook. It opened my eyes to how dismal my life is. I haven't laughed since Thursday. For the past week, I've been on the verge of tears. Well, today, as Hayden nearly bit my finger off, I gave in to a good cry.

I'm tired of administering over 50 supplements a day. I'm tired of endlessly brushing Hayden's teeth and scrubbing his mouth afterwards so his teeth don't discolor (this is how the bite occurred). I'm tired of worrying about money. I'm tired of living life in a haze and watching my son line things up. I'm tired of the autism community being separated into two groups. I'm tired of Hayden's temper tantrums. I'm tired of fighting with my husband and carrying on one-sided conversations with Hayden. I'm tired of going out in public and seeing normal families interact while I chase my son all over creation to ensure he doesn't run into oncoming traffic. I'm tired of collecting urine and stool samples, only to see that my son isn't well yet. I'm tired of dealing with the public. I'm tired of stupid people who won't learn from my mistakes until it happens to them. I'm tired of pissing people off. I'm tired of living in housewife suburbia hell. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of autism.

And my finger is still throbbing.

Gypsies, Michael Jackson, and the CDC

A few days ago, my husband Brock, Hayden, and I were out for a little drive. Brock almost ran over a hippie by the corner cafe. I don't remember how it started, but he commented on my desires to be a hippie. I gazed out the window and said, "It's not that I want to be a hippie, it's just that I am."

He said, "Well, you're not free like a hippie. Isn't that what you want?"

"Not all hippies are free. What you're referring to is a gypsy. There's a difference. And, if I had to aspire to be either a hippie or a gypsy, I'd want to be a gypsy."

Brock looked in the back seat at our son. "Hayden, your mother wants to be a gypsy. You should be SO proud."

About that time, we passed our local brothel (well, rumor has it). While I don't agree with hooking, it occurred to me that there is way too much judging going on around here. Who am I to judge someone's lifestyle, even if they are a hooker?

And what's up with the media and Michael Jackson? They didn't have a good word to say about this man until he died (by the way, anyone who judges me is NOT welcome at my funeral). I don't know what went on behind closed doors. Frankly, I don't want to know. I don't agree with the accusations of course, but again, who am I to judge? A facebook friend quoted a great Bible verse from John 8:7, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." She also said, "But really, what kind of a parent lets their child visit an adult to play?"

Inadvertently, I seem to have judged others for judging in this blog. While I'm at it, I'll share another judgment for the day. I woke up this morning much too early. I turned on my favorite radio station to listen to my favorite DJ. Andy was reporting the news. He said something about Kentucky being the 5th highest state for obesity. And who was this study by? Oh yes, the CDC. Tell me, CDC, why do you have time to waste figuring out who's the fattest in America, yet no time to change your vaccine schedule and divulge the causes of autism?

OK, I'm better. I feel certain I'll be through judging after my first cup of coffee...