The road to acceptance

So, some may say I failed my perception roll.  Yeah, that's right D and D references coming up at you right now.

The holidays are basically over, house is covered in wrapping paper and children watching the latest Dr. Seuss movie, attempting to sleep.  7 year old was sick all day and unable to keep down food, and the relentless march of time sped on.  Yesterday my husband had 2 seizures in the wee hours of the morning.  Merry Friggin Christmas.

Previous to that, I received noticed that my job MAY be undergoing a slight case of immediate and permanent downsizing, and that my boss may be able to find jobs for us, but then again maybe not, and may be not in areas we would prefer to hold employment.

But I'm not here to bitch.  I've done my fair amount of bitching and now it's time to come to terms with all that I've absorbed in the past month.
First, I lost my best friend.  My anchor, the woman who kept me pseudo-sane without running to family every time my life went slightly askew in regards to the direction it heads in.  Yes, I realize I could eventually get her back and apologize for what I said... but I don't know if I am willing to do that anymore.  I mean, she got REALLY mad at me for saying I would do something that I would expect her to do if our roles were ever reversed.  I've allowed her anger in my presence for no reason more times than I can count, and needful reasons only a handful of times, and it occurred to me finally that we just aren't comparable.  Or that her being here, as much as I love her, (and I do still love her like a sister) was not compatible with my sanity.

Then there was my lionizing of a new friend, trying to make him into someone he isn't.  I halfway expected him to rescue me from this unhappiness that has been stewing for the better part of 5 years now.  I haven't fixed it, and he's not going to be able to fix it either.  The friendship didn't head in the direction I wanted it to, so instead of just dealing with that, I tried just rolling with the emotions of the moment, which was in turn bad for both of us.
I took that a bit harder than I perhaps should have.

At some point in the past 24 hours, the logic mind has taken over... that cold calculating bitch.  She says "These are the things that need doing, and you are doing them NOW.  You will not rest until all is done.  You will delegate  your life is a well oiled machine; automated, just add Robots."  Which is just the proverbial ass kicking that I need right now.  My house is in shambles, my kids all need me more than ever for various reasons, and I have great need to be Wonder Woman.  Friendship and emotion are my kryptonite.  (yes comic geeks, I do understand that Superman was the one affected by kryptonite, but let's just roll with this familiar analogy.)

So, I am moving into a singular mode now.  Paul and I had a partnership, but now he can't manage to be an equal partner due to his health,  In truth, he hasn't been an equal partner for a good long while, but he was doing so much better. I have a "stop the bleeding" mode I enter at these times.  It took far too long to take over, but has.  I'm just going to see if I can keep myself writing this time at minimum.  I need to let this creative part of me out or I find I become a blob of mass who can accomplish nothing.

It's like this: my shrink taught me something a while back, which has literally changed the way I live.
hAg
Ok... so this is what it is.  As you can see, the A is large, it's because it's the most important.  The h is for Humility.  To be humble with all that has come to you.  Being an egotistical bitch won't help anyone, especially not me.  The g is for Gratitude, be grateful for what it is that you do have.  The A... That's for acceptance.

We know a few logical things.  1. I can do very little to change my surroundings or circumstances right now. Knowing that, we know what doesn't work, complaining about it.  Ergo, we must accept it until we are in a position to change it.  2.  Letting my ego come in and bitch and moan that we should be doing better isn't going to cause me to do better.  What will help me do better in life is to acknowledge my sadness, but not let it overcome me.  This means know what the problems are, know what's upsetting me and know why.
3. Instability as far as my emotions is not excusable in any way to any one in my life currently.  With my anchor, she would not judge me.   She would take over when I was tired and weary. She could hear the signs and didn't mind doing grunt work. I don't have that now.  I have my family, that's it.  And there are times where they won't be able to help me.  At those times, I will have to help myself somehow.  This means attempting to sleep as close to a solid 8 hours a night as I can currently manage.  This will cause me to be less frantic and disjointed.  But knowing when it is acceptable for me to stay up later.

Acceptance is basically accepting my life isn't what I expected and that my life is not perfect.  It doesn't have to be, my best is generally good enough, and when it isn't I should be able to see that coming.

This rule in practice:  Knowing Paul is sick, knowing Paul has had a tendency in the previous nights to show more and more myoclonic activity when doing a particular activity online, then leaving the apartment to smoke when he is doing said activity without asking him to medicate himself.  This was foolish.  My failure also caused the second seizure.  But at the same time, he's an autonomous individual, in theory.  In practice... I wonder sometimes.

Instead of babysitting him and forcing the pills down his throat, I trusted him when he had told me he had taken his night dose.  After his second seizure, I saw the night dose still sitting in the dose cup on his nightstand.  He hadn't taken care of it.  After a seizure, for about 6 months, Paul can't truly be trusted to not lie, because his brain is lying to him and giving him bad information about reality.

So knowing that my despair is my own doing is a strange sense of comfort.  This means although I'm currently controlling things badly, I AM currently in control of all things within my universe of discourse; this may not sound like revelation, but do consider that to a woman who was formerly battered has very little feeling of empowerment.  My relative despair is empowering, in a strange sick way.  This is not the type of empowerment I wish to feel.  But amazingly enough, I control that too.

I accept today free of judgement my trespasses.  Now I am taking positive steps to insure that I am not caught unaware again.  Schedules will be drafted, tea and energy drinks prepared and drank, lists created, I will miss things.  That's ok.  So long as I am able to figure out how to fix the mistakes I make.

I'm going to go to the clubhouse later and hit the elliptical because my knees are fucking killing me.  I'm I making some odd reference to prayer?  I'll let you decide.

...second coming of BS

So... Yesterday I thought someone I've become close to was separating himself from my life... I was wrong, just read something into the letter that wasn't there, but, still I was a wreck.
A week ago I lost my best friend because she decided to go through my phone messages without asking and get angry at me for something she did to herself.
I was informed today that in the next month and a half I may be downsized from my job.
I haven't bought gifts for my youngest child, oldest child or in laws yet.  Not to mention my Mom or Stepdad, or my Dad even...

I went outside for a smoke break because I was expecting a text from someone saying they'd gotten to their destination safely and while I was out Paul had a seizure.

He got himself wedged between his desk and the printer stand, he spilled tea all over his computer and desk,  He fucked up his back and could hardly walk back to the bedroom.

My dog has been coughing for 3 days straight now because she ate tissue or something, and now she is standing guard over Paul, which is of course keeping him awake, and he needs sleep.  But after he's had a seizure, she won't leave him, that's her way.

My oldest son has been having behavioral issues in class, and so I had to spend the better part of Thursday and Friday getting paperwork in order to get him put into special ed.  Into that, my middle son caught strep, and I had to take him to the Doctor's office, (you know, the Doctor's office I had just left for Evan's paperwork?) They swabbed his throat and that caused him to throw up all over Paul... Who complained for a day and a half about the fact he couldn't find any clean jeans.

He did get the tree up, though.  My mom came over to help us get the house cleaned up but we didn't get the tree up and didn't get much done because...
I had to respond to an interview request, I gave her the information she wanted but I never heard back so...
See the beginning of this entry, and that's where we end up.

I'd be mad, or upset or sad, but I just have to laugh... I mean, seriously life, is this the best you've got?  Go ahead bitch, bring it.

Sticking it to myself

The following is a conversation I am having with myself, I'm allowing you to overhear this because I feel it's therapeutic.

Left: You stupid bitch, you did it again?  What the hell are you thinking?  You feel people, you know how they feel and even though you got very intentional signs that things were wrong, you kept on with your melodramatic whining about everything under the sun.  How does it feel to be alone again?  To not be able to express yourself to ANYONE?  Happy now?

Right: Somehow I thought it was ok, I was told it was ok.  How was I supposed to know better?

Left: Because you ignorant half wit, you know the way these things are.  You won't have that kind of relationship again, stop trying to make everyone into Eugene.  That was, get this, at minimum TEN FUCKING YEARS AGO, yet you think people give a shit about you?  What is wrong with you, seriously?  He didn't even care.

Right: Yes he did.  We were close.  We were friends.  How dare you even call him by name?  Don't you know we're online?

Left: You aren't close now.  I don't care if we're online, if I want to mention a heartache that YOU caused, I will.  And it's your fault you cunt.  You thought you had everything worked out and you ruin it again and again... What about that nice gal we used to sit and smoke with?  What'd you do, push her away?

Right: I HAD to, she pushed first, she doesn't want me around.  Then she started going through my stuff looking for another violation of her trust, and she found one, big fucking surprise.

Left: Oh, and I suppose that's my fault?

Right: Damn right it is!  Freckin rumor loving hussy.  You are always opening your stupid mouth and trying to get ahead.  Or better yet, maybe you could have stopped for a moment and realized that you needed to erase those text messages.  It isn't my job to sit here and think about that.   Politician. You need to stop taking all of this so seriously. 

Left: I can't help it, everyone else is taking it all so seriously.  What am I to do?  And why would I expend effort that I don't need to?

Right: Well you needed to obviously.  Perhaps you should start THINKING FOR YOUR GODDAMNED SELF?

Left: Well, lets go over this most recent one, seems we've had 2 in 2 weeks... Why are you so neurotic?

Right: Because... I am.  I've accepted that and moved on.  I give opportunity for people to come and go as they please.  I will eat up all of everyone's resources, it's true.  I'm a big drama loving whore I guess.  Must be the center of someone's attention.

Left: Well I'm not ok with it!  Start acting like a normal brain would you?  Fuck you.  You've cost me enough.  I'm succeeding.

Right: You can't you moron, we're connected.

Left: I don't care if we're connected, I'm leaving you!

Right: but... you can't... I'd be alone then... completely alone.

Left: Yes, you would be that'd be the whole fucking point, I'd be alone, maybe finally I could think clearly.

Right: But, we did that before... and I was drown out... and wasn't allowed to speak.  I sat here in my tie dyed haze and had to stay silent.  I could not tell anyone about the beauty I saw.  I had to stay quiet, it's like we told that guy... Cave, bottling plant, we told him that was BAD, remember?

Left:  Well, maybe so, but you've ruined everything?  You have to stay quiet now.  There is no more beauty, you are not allowed to speak!

Right: ...

The October Project

I always thought there was something wrong with me as a kid.
When I was young, I fancied myself an adventuress.
I watched She-Ra, I thought I was invincible and bulletproof.  In my imagination, I was this warrior princess, I was Link.
But it was important to me that Link be female.
And I'd play Zelda 2, and watch Link walk away, and it always looked to me like he had a pony tail in the back...
And thus the legend of Linka was born.

I played this extravagant game of imagination and role play.  I played it until I was 12... much too old for such a thing.  It involved all my child hood heroes, Ninja Turtles, Link, Zelda, Mario...  And Lizzy and Kristine and I would run around their backyards slaying imaginary evils.  If our parents came out, we decided to keep the game secret, we didn't want our families to know how old we were, still living in our imaginations.
It was a sad day when my girlfriends didn't want to play these games anymore.  They'd moved on to hair and makeup... but here I was stuck in this imaginary land, with a cast of characters.
This was the work of my childhood, and the thing that made me the writer I am now.

Always the echo of Mr. Rogers in my head.  How he said if you are having a hard time dealing with something, you can imagine it all better...  The freedom and someone just saying "YES YOU CAN." was liberating, in all my attempts to appear normal to my family and friends.
I sat at the family computer, loaded up Q&A, (this was before Microsoft Office) and wrote pages of text.  I have since lost the files, but the stories all live within me, and I can pull them down at a moments notice.

My childhood was not turbulent in the traditional sense, I had a few close friends, I was made fun of a lot, but it was never what I would call terrible.  I had a lot on my plate.  Still, there were things I did not understand, that I couldn't wrap my brain around.  I felt through them as I wrote, allowing myself to feel emotions I'd never felt before.  This was the summer before 7th grade.

This is important because, before that point, I hated to write.  The schools would send home this packet on the last day of school, encouraging us to use our writing skills during the summer on vacations and at times when we had nothing else to do.  I would immediately shed the book into the trashcan, dusting my hands off as I walked away to demonstrate my disdain for being told to write.
Then there was Mrs. Fischer, who was my 6th grade teacher.

At the beginning of the year, she handed us a green folder and said "this is your journal, once a week I will ask you to write in it, I will read what you say, and I may respond in some way.  If I respond, address my question in your next journal entry."

Now is the point I should mention that I have a disorder called Dyspraxia, which means basically not only do I have a hard time managing socially, but my handwriting is awful.  Back then, even more so.  There is way more to the disorder, but for now, we'll just leave it at this: I still have an old journal of mine from this time, and I'm telling you, the first 10 entries cannot be read, even by ME.
So, you can imagine the first couple of entries went just swimmingly.
I would write something, Ms. Fischer would have a question or two, next week, I would find I would have to respond to her question.
THIS PISSED ME OFF SO BADLY.

I'm thinking, "Ok lady, you gave us all of this time to write about what we want to, and now I've monopolized twenty of the thirty minutes you gave us to answer your stupid fucking question."
Yet every week, in her immaculate red handwriting, there she was challenging me.
"You went to a Marching Band competition, why were you there?"
"Why were you so upset with your mother?"
Finally, I was so tired of answering her questions, I wrote this journal entry.
I took the full amount of time to do it, too.
I wrote, and I made sure I answered every possible question the woman could ask me.
I thought "HAHAHA I'll show you lady!"
And I received a plain "you look nice today" on my journal entry. YES!  Score one for the students, woo hoo!
and I did that every week... then, it sunk in about halfway through the year.  "I like this.  I feel challenged for the first time in my life." and even though after writing my hands would ache for an hour or two afterward, (dyspraxia basically causes you to choke up on a pencil or pen really hard, to the point of white knuckles, it's not on purpose, as a dyspraxic, you really can't feel the pencil.  This in turn causes your hand to ache after a marathon writing session).  I understood the purpose of the entries.  I was playing into her hand but you know what?  I was ok with it.
I tried SO HARD.  I applied myself.  It was the first time I really had to try at school.

And so, that's how I discovered that I'm meant to be a writer.

Just another Friday

I could have so done without yesterday.  Seriously. 

So, the first step in this happy horse grenade, (yes, grenade.) is that my daughter was being picked up from my ex-husband at 8pm from my Mom.  Which, if you think about it, is kind of a win/win.  Mom gets out of the house, (as she is of an advanced age and therefore doesn't get out too often, but still likes to.) and Lily gets some much needed spoiling from Grandma.  But as with everything there is a catch.

Flashback to 2008.  My daughter accuses my husband of touching her in a sexual manner.  Queue Child Protective Services.  Queue 2 years of hell where my husband was not allowed into my home.  Then queue the part, two years later,  where they said “oops!” and as quickly as they appeared, disappeared.

It was finally investigated by the police a few months ago.  Back in 2008, I found a soaked Carhart suit in my daughters laundry bag then and kinda shrugged and washed it.  Then it occurred to me I didn't know the origin of said suit, then it occurred to me that it didn’t fit my husband, best friend, ex-husband or anyone else who had been in my house.  Then I asked anyway, same response.  “Not mine, but good luck with that doncha know!”

I did tell the original CPS caseworker this part, and she just poo poo’d it away.  She wanted to nail my husband for all he was worth, (and I mean that in the proverbial hammer VS nail, not the sexual connotation.  She was OLD, and I’m pretty sure after all she’s seen and heard, she’s an asexual being, and anyone who wasn't was subjected to her constant cry of “liar!”)

So, although it was quite a relief for things to be considered “solved”, (the police decided someone had broken into my home at a point when my daughter’s window didn't lock.)  It did create an undue amount of tension in my wee child raising village.  (or is it razing in this case?  I’m not too sure.)  One of the casualties was the ability to leave my husband home with my daughter alone.  Which means, when Lily is around I have to have all of the kids at either my inlaws house or my mom’s, or just leave Lily alone somewhere.  Since we are fairly certain that someone did break into our home, we obviously aren't too keen to allow that to happen again.  Adding to this, my brother in law who is the primary Nanny of my children, (he’s very agoraphobic and it actually gets him outside and doing things,) doesn't feel comfortable watching Lily without another female adult there.  My mother in law works overnights… are you picking up what I am throwing down?

Lemme spell it out.

1.       Lily is picked up in Lansing, I live in Ann Arbor.  It’s a 1 and ½ hour drive.  Add a bathroom break or a meal break, you've got yourself a cool 2 hour drive.  She is picked up at 8, getting her to Ann Arbor at about 10.

2.       My mother in law splits her sleep, a nap right after work, then bed between 8 and 9.

3.       Bro in law won’t watch Lily when there is no female around.

4.       My family is a sausage fest aside from my sister and my sister in law.  My sister lives in Northern Ireland in Holywood (not Hollywood), and my sister in law lives in Carol Spring, IL.  And of course, the Mom’s…

So basically, to fit all of these criteria, either Lily had to stay at my Mom’s, or Lily had to go home by herself.  Well, you know THAT ain't happening.

But, when all of this was decided, it was 10 pm, which meant the kids were already at my Mother in laws, and they normally would have been dropped off at home with their father around 8pm.  This meant hauling 3 sleepy children from my Mother in Laws, leaving Lily at her Grandma’s house.

Ok, so now we've set the scene.  I am coming home at 1am with two of my 3 little boys, and my husband, who’s looking ashen and grey.

I say “are you ok?” he says “I’m fine.”

I say “how are you feeling?”  He says “with my fingers” (which is how we know he is fine… He has amongst the worst senses of humor I have ever known.)

My brother texts, remember my brother?  This is the super awesome guy that I’m very close with even though he’s several years older than me.  He’s in Ann Arbor, which never happens, he’s done with a gig, which again never happens, he asks what I’m up to.  I give my hubby the puppy dog “please please puulllease can I go see my big brudder?  The boys are asleep and they won’t be any sort of trouble for you at all.  I promise I won’t be out late, puulleeaase???”

He says “Ok.”

I say “YAY!!!” in a very Kermit the frog sort of way, complete with the arm wiggle.

I dropped the kids and Paul off at home and went out with my brother for some serious giggle time at Denny’s.  (would have been Ram’s horn, but they don’t have any of those near my house.)

About an hour and a half later, I come back and Paul informs me that he’s thrown up 4 times in an hour.  He also has the Chronic Hiccups he’s had for the past week… now, I’m a little slow sometimes, but sometimes, just sometimes in a rare blink of the eye of the blue moon, I’m fucking brilliant.

So, brilliance struck.

Something said to me, “Kidney failure, he’s got signs of kidney failure, and all three of his meds can contribute to kidney failure.”

So, I googled the symptoms, and sure enough, first selection on “the google” says “Kidney failure.”  And my wee brain, (forgetting my eldest son had the stomach flu a week ago,) says OMGWTFBBQWEGONAO!

I call my brother who is now most the way back to Dearborn, where he lives.  I need someone to keep an eye on the two little boys so that I can rush their Dad to the ER.

And my brother turns around and comes back, it takes him a long time too; the roads were better going eastbound than they were westbound.  (yeah, I don’t get it either, but it’s true on that patch of road.)

So 3am, and here I am at U of M’s ER.

And they check us in, and I make clear that they NEED TO CHECK FOR KIDNEY FAILURE,  Cus kidney death=bad.  (I figured I needed to explain this to the interns who have had several years more medical training than I because… Yeah.  I've got nothing.)

And they test him, attach him to every machine imaginable that goes BING and BOOP and BUZZ BUZZ, and then they escort him to his room.  And he pukes a few more times, because you know, it just wasn't eventful enough to puke 8 times before going to the ER.

Oh, and those epilepsy meds, he had taken them sometime between puke 3 and 4, so they were of course, flushed down the toilet in a quite literal fashion.

So… Here we are, in the ER, me expecting Paul to go Clonic Tonic and fuck shit up.  He doesn't.  I’m amazed, but not so amazed that I feel comfortable.

I should also take the time to mention here I have an awful fear of needles and blood draws.  The lore goes that my Dad used to chase me around the house with a needle when I was 3, threatening to give me a “shot” if I didn’t eat my meat.  I am an avid meat eater to this day, but the minute you start talking injections or IVs, I turn as white as a sheet, throw up, pass out, and shake uncontrollably.  I don’t know if this is a story, or truth, but I will say it scares the willies out of me.

To put it another, MUCH EASIER way to understand, when given the choice between delivering my children in a hospital or at my house, without the help of medication or modern medical conveniences,  AFTER HAVING HAD THE HOSPITAL BIRTH AND UNDERSTANDING IT WASN'T THAT BAD, I not only chose to have 1 of my kids at home, but all 3 of my little boys; all because I DIDN'T WANT THE STUPID IV.

So you can just imagine how fucking thrilled I am to spend time in a hospital. 

And my husband keeps saying things like “I deserve this for not having taken care of you as well as I should have when you were sick.”

And I’m like… “Really?  Then why do I get to go through the absolute joy and pleasure of not only seeing you in pain and discomfort, but smelling your vomit and dirty sock feet, while seeing you in a hospital gown, in a place with a lot of noisy VERY SCARY looking equipment?  If all you did was disregard my needs, like you ALWAYS do, WHAT IN FUCK DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?”  I mean, this is, quite literally, my version of hell.  Some people think fire and brimstone, I think the hospital and people I love suffering.  That’s how you can tell I am a Mom.

Ok, so they get ready to do the IV.  I go out for a cigarette, I stay away 15 minutes.  No big.  Come back, Paul’s attempting to sleep.

I’m like, “cool” and I sit there for a while.

Another doc comes in and says something super important like “Give him 50cc’s of Anaprovaline STAT”  *drug name may or may not be stolen from Star Trek ;) yeah, I’m a geek, you totally know it is.

Which means, of course, they start fucking with his IV AGAIN. So I leave the room for another cigarette, I stay away a half an hour this time, making use of the computers to “OMGWTFBBQ” to all of my family and friends on facebook, who of course say the same 2 lame things, “OMG how awful, you are in my thoughts/prayers/good juju.” Or “*hugs*” which… everyone knows you can’t hug with atomic arms… or… facebook arms, because on facebook we are just a bunch of walking pokey fingers that go about and poke one another at inappropriate times.  Not that those things aren't appreciated or appropriate, they don't offer as much comfort as a real honest to goodness hug from someone dear to you.

I come back again, the doctor is seeing him, its 515.  The doctor starts asking my half asleep and still hiccupping-every-two-second-husband all kinds of medical questions, which, being as when he is in the hospital he is usually unconscious, I am asked to answer.

And I start to answer her and she shushes me and tells me she needs to hear it from the patient.

If you ever wanna piss someone off REALLY fast, especially a caregiver, that’s the way to do it.  So, my hair set on fire right there and I smoldered in the ash of my anger for about 15 minutes.  Then I leave really fast, run outside, have another cigarette, using my still smoldering head as a lighter.

Anyway, so I go back to his room, it’s 6am.  They are like “so we are giving him two bags of fluids in his IV, then we will send him home a much fuller and happier looking human being.”  And I’m like… KIDNEY FAILURE… and they’re all like “It’s not a toommmerr” Arnie style.  And I say “what’s your proof.” Because something in my head says you should just be THAT MUCH MORE ANNOYING.  And they said “Labs.”  Which, every scientist knows, even BAD scientists, that labs cannot be disproven easily, at least, if they are the correct tests.  And they were… so…

And I look at the bag. It has a #2 on it, he had already had one bag, I’m watching the bag, drip, drip drip…  one hour,  I listen to some tunes, I meditate, I meditate while listening to some tunes, I email my shift lead to give him a progress report, (because I have the illusion that all of the people I love and respect want to hear my life’s story, and the guy legitimately needs to know what’s going on in case I can’t make it to work.)  I see this damned thing, still dripping, only half gone.  It’s 7am, I have a red bull in my purse, I walk back out, smoke another cigarette, and sit on the wet fence.  I come in and chat with my Dad on one of the hospital run computers, telling him what’s going on.  My Dad, being a nurse, and a damned good one too,  gives me some suggestions.  Also asks if I’m taking care of myself and eating right.  Ask how the new job is going.  I decided to mention that 3 of my co-workers are on protein shakes to try to buff up.  He says they are Kidney stones waiting to happen to which I said “how did you know that’s what they call em?”

So I finally rip myself away from the computer at about 730, I get back, Paul is still asleep, curtain still drawn.  I’m listening through the curtain while some guy gives a nurse his dissertation on global warming and how exactly it effects Southeastern Lower Michigan’s climate.  After 20 minutes of that, I was super interested and listening, then he ran off to help a patient.

And finally at 830, the bag was empty, it took 3 times longer than the first bag.  And 9am, 9 fucking AM… I leave.

And my daughter texts, “are you coming for me?” and the Mama heartstrings go “awww sobsobsob my baby”

And I sigh, and I text back “yes my little girl, of course.”

So, I tell Paul he’s going home to sleep, the boys are going to his Mom’s, (who is, by the way already at my apartment to pick them up.)

Paul insists he MUST COME WITH ME TO MY MOTHERS.

He sleeps all the way there, he wakes up, goes to her house, lays on her floor and falls back asleep.

I drive him to his Mom’s, he sleeps there in the guest room, my daughter has an unusually spry and non teenagey moment and says “Mommy, the other boys are at Meijer with Uncle , can we go please???” to which, I reluctantly say “yes.” Even though I haven’t yet slept.

So, 1pm comes along, and I finally lay down for the night… setting the alarm for 2.  All of the sudden ALL of the kids decide that it’s time to make the most noise EVER.

All told, I sleep for a half an hour, only to be woken up by Captain Autistic himself, my oldest Son, having a fit that he can’t play video games.  Howling as though someone has mortally wounded him.  I turn off my alarm and arise, without one word, head to the computer to email my shift lead telling him that he needn't worry about coming in tonight, and I walk out the door.

Some days… Some days just that act alone is the greatest accomplishment.