Autism's Bitch: Hippie by Default

Good God, It’s a Twizzler

2014-12-06T11:22:00.001-06:00

I’ve got a non-compliant toddler in the house. Not sure where she gets that from. It’s probably my fault. I’m tired. All the time. She’s very smart. I’m very lazy.

I decide bribing her with little pieces of twizzlers is the way to go for potty training success. I make the blunder of showing them to her before she’s even ON the potty, which is a huge mistake if there ever was one. This leads to a holy come apart that can only be compared to an extended version of Clark Griswold’s fit on Christmas Vacation. Well, minus the foul mouth (for the most part).

You have to realize, I haven’t ingested a single drop of coffee at this point. I’m staggering around, not sure whether to diaper the dogs or let the baby out. In the heat of the moment, as I’m frantically trying to get this child to calm down, I choke on my own saliva. A coughing attack commences. So now I’m barely awake and barking like I’ve got emphysema.

It just goes on and on. About an hour later, I’m in tears (either from the pneumonia trying to set in or the frightening realization this child is exactly like me). I throw the twizzlers her way and hide in the corner in hopes that she will un-Hulk herself once the sugar high begins.

I try explaining that an essential oil is probably in her future if she eats the designated potty twizzlers. It’s like she didn’t even care. The nerve. What did this teach me, you ask? Besides the fact that I have a freakish amount of saliva, next time, I’ll try skittles.

Tastes Like Chicken

2013-10-01T11:44:00.003-05:00

It’s always a joy traveling with me. Everybody loves it. My escapades usually involve the Buick Beast: barreling down the road, coffee stains all over the floor, randomly dehydrated French fries strewn about. Just the usual. On my last outing, I left the swagger wagon at the house and took the dog in another vehicle. About midway through the visit (that cost about half of what I sold my last car for), I remembered I had a frozen treat left in the trunk of the Beast.

I called my babysitter, who gets paid waaaaaay too little, and began what I consider to be the most unexpected conversation I never thought I’d have. The gist of my side sounded something like this, “Hey, can you get the frozen deer meat out of the van? It’s in a garbage bag. Uh huh. Yes. Oh, and there may be a squirrel in there, too.”

In what lifetime did I think I’d have a saran-wrapped frozen squirrel in the back of my mini-van which I swore I’d never drive? Ummm, never.

It just goes to show ya, you may plan for one thing, but what you get may taste juuuuust like chicken.

I'd Rather Have An Outdoor Closet

2012-09-23T17:50:00.001-05:00

John 8:7 “When they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

I realize that my “closet” is more like a yard sale rack of clothes, hanging out in my front yard for all skeletons to be seen. Some people’s are tucked discreetly away, with a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door.

The good thing about having my skeletons out is that I have nothing to hide. But, as with autism or anything else in life, remember that no one is sinless. When you feel that you're in a position to judge others, let me remind you that you are NOT.

The End.

Camp! Camp!

2012-06-18T11:52:00.001-05:00

I'm happy to report that I didn't manage to run off my previous guest blogger, Jeff Stimpson. Yet. While my children have spent a great majority of their summer circling their prey (picture me laying on the couch), there's not much more to report. I'll continue laying on the couch while Jeff does my work for a short while. Take it away, Jeff...

~Autism's (Exhausted-Taking-a-Hiatus) Bitch

My wife, Jill, and I think it’s time for our son Alex (13, PDD-NOS and solidly on the spectrum) to spend more time away from his parents because A) he seems to want, as best as we can tell, to spend more time away from his parents; and B) We want him to spend more time away from his parents. Other efforts aside, we recently again sent Alex away to a sweet week of overnight summer camp.

“Camp? Camp?” he started saying days ago. This was Alex’s fifth year at his overnight camp, single weeks we’ve come to treasure for the unbroken sleep and the silent lack of Elmo. And all signs were positive at Alex’s bus pick-up. He sat and waited with Jill while I stood in the endless line; he waited in line without bolting and said “piano” as the counselor strapped on the ID bracelet.

“Do you have a piano at camp?” I asked her.

“We do!” she said.

He said good-bye to Jill; he waited for me at the bus door. “Daddy. Camp,” he said, kissing my arm. Then he vanished inside.

“Camp? Daddy? Mommy?” he said during his first phone call with us. It was much like a real phone talk. “How are you, Alex? Are you having a good time?” Hard to know if he was or he wasn’t.

A few nights later we call to speak to the young woman who’s "shadowing" him. “He’s having a pretty good time,” she says. “We’ve taken walks down to the lake. He’s ridden horses, and today he said ‘Horse! Horse!’ He likes to run, but I keep after him. He’s been saying, ‘Daddy? Mommy? Bus...”

He’ll see that bus soon, and when he returns we’ll hear the Elmo and wake in the middle of the night or at dawn, and again we’ll fight the pressure to make any decision that sends him away for much, much longer.

Jeff Stimpson lives in New York with his wife Jill and two sons. He is the author of Alex: The Fathering of a Preemie and Alex the Boy: Episodes From a Family’s Life With Autism (both available on Amazon). He maintains a blog about his family at jeffslife.tripod.com/alextheboy, and is a frequent contributor to various sites and publications on special-needs parenting, such as Autism-Asperger’s Digest, Autism Spectrum News, the Lostandtired blog, The Autism Society news blog, and An Anthology of Disability Literature (available on Amazon). He is on LinkedIn under “Jeff Stimpson” and Twitter under “Jeffslife.”

Are You There, Karma?

2012-05-22T16:49:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I managed to burn my GFCF peanut butter fudge. How does one burn peanut butter and casein free margarine, you ask? It got out of control. Or maybe I got out of control. Who knows.

Next, in a second attempt to ignite my microwave oven (subconsciously, because those things are baaaad for you), butter provoked quite a large fire in my frying pan. Butter. Yes.

I'm stuffing my face at a restaurant yesterday (thanks to the fact that I should stay far, far away from a kitchen), and then discover the battery on my ghetto sled is dead. Fabulous.

Now, this has all happened within the last 24 hours. By the time I got on the phone with an unnamed satellite TV company this morning, I was feeling a little frazzled. Understandably so, because I was better able to comprehend "Who's On First" than the operator I so unfortunately had to speak with. For the love of carbs, seriously, is it reallythat hard? "Dan" from the Texas call center (clearly from a place I can only infer might *really* be Indonesia), says otherwise.

The good news? With the lemons I've received as of late, I now have lemonade. Bitter. Strong. But lemonade, nonetheless.

A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

2012-05-16T17:24:00.000-05:00

I'm a little forgetful. I'm pretty sure that's my right as a single mother of a child with autism, a terrible "two-ddler," and an infant. But today, I realized how bad it really is. I looked for five minutes for my purse...which was on my shoulder. I sniffed around for my cell phone for so long I finally had to call it from the house. Found it. It was on the DVD player, along with half a lemon and a cup of curdled goat's milk.

THAT'S when you know it's time to start taking gingko.

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue, This Card's From Hayden, So F#%$ You

2012-05-02T22:49:00.000-05:00

As a parent of a child with autism, I sometimes wonder what Hayden will grow up to become. Perhaps he'll recover and go on to find a cure for autism. Maybe he'll become a professor since he's good at bossing people around.

Tonight I learned what he's NOT going to become. I can say with great certainty that Hayden does not have a future as a Hallmark card designer. You see, his grandfather had surgery yesterday. As Hayden spoke with his father about the situation, I heard him say, "I talked to Pappow today. I told him, 'Don't worry, you're sick.'"

Concern, yes. A way with words, no. Anyway, get well soon, Pappow.

Words on The Street

2012-01-21T11:42:00.003-06:00

Since I'm a lazy bitch, I can foresee myself inviting guest bloggers over to my little domain of cyber world. It just makes my life easier. Today is the first of these days.

Introducing Jeff Stimpson, proud father to Alex, who happens to have autism. I hereby crown Jeff as Autism's Bitch of the Day. He will receive an "e-tiara and house coat," just because I'm feeling generous.

~Autism's Bitch

My son Alex is 13 and has been watching Elmo and "Sesame Street" most of his life. "Sesame Street" has several characters; the voices of all of them drill into our skulls. "I want," says my wife Jill, "to kill Zoey."

With all our hearts we wish Alex wouldn’t watch "Sesame Street" in the mornings before he shaves and uses roll-on; it chills me to think he might be watching the show in a day program (should the funding for those even still exist) into his thirties.

One educational (and I admit it is educational – just wish it didn’t have to educate my new teenager) segment of Elmo involves babies. "Know ya baby!" says the deep-voiced lady who probably coaches field hockey. "Here’s what to know!" Crying. Sleepless nights. Spitting up. Tell me about it, coach.

To be fair, nobody except those who work at "Sesame Street" are supposed to listen to the these lines for so many years. That doesn’t help when Baby Bear cuts loose. "And looks, a wee little kitten up in a twee." Baby Bear pronounces every R like a W. Isn’t that cute, like the tender note to an old girlfriend that a sniper might leave before climbing into the tower? Baby Bear draws a character of his own, a superhero named Hero Guy (“What a hero! What a guy!”). Hero Guy fucks up getting the kitten out of the twee. Figures. "As a hero guy," he laments, "I have failed. I tried to get the kitty out of the twee but I … I … I couldn’t do it!" Cats get themselves out of trees, loser. Get into the tower.

Lately we’ve spotted Alex watching stuff other than "Sesame Street" on his iPad: Arthur, Bear in the Blue House, even "A Charlie Brown Christmas." We would welcome the sound of these words in our house. I’m afraid the words on "Sesame Street" are why we bought Alex an iPad. It’s also why we bought him headphones.

Jeff Stimpson is a native of Bangor, Maine, and lives in New York with his wife Jill and two sons. He is the author of Alex: The Fathering of a Preemie and Alex the Boy: Episodes From a Family’s Life With Autism (both available on Amazon). He maintains a blog about his family at jeffslife.tripod.com/alextheboy and is a frequent contributor to various sites and publications on special-needs parenting such as Autism-Asperger’s Digest, Autism Spectrum News, the Lostandtired blog, The Autism Society news blog, and An Anthology of Disability Literature (available on Amazon). He is on LinkedIn under “Jeff Stimpson” and Twitter under “Jeffslife.”

Corn Chex Saved My Life

2012-01-12T22:30:00.004-06:00

There is little that brings joy to the significantly pregnant. Except maybe food. This story is no different.

There once was a little gluten free girl (you know, kinda like the one with the little curl right in the middle of her forehead). One day, she could only be pleased with a never-ending supply of Lara bars (and those damn things are expensive). In a fit of rage (from who, I won't say), she and her swollen mama grabbed the first two gluten free things they could find: corn chex and peanut butter.

This automatically brought great rejuvenation to the mama and golden silence to the kid.

I highly recommend it.

The end.

Ho, Ho, Humbug

2011-12-19T11:45:00.002-06:00

You might think of me as an Elf-on-the-Shelf, cookie bakin', Bing Crosby playin', cheese ball makin' mother. And that's ok. I can see where it might be confusing. In all honesty, getting this picture taken required an act of God.

Reality at my house: The top half of the tree is decorated. Only the top half. Pumpkins are still on the porch (nothing says 'Feliz Navidad' quite like a few rotting gourds). The elf, which should now be on the shelf, is somewhere in the attic, probably getting shit on by mice at this very moment. And, my Christmas cards are duct taped to the wall (we don't fool around in this house).

So while in Bedford Falls, it might be A Wonderful Life, at the Engler household, it's more like Fear Factor.

Merry Christmas, anyway!

Merry Christmas

2011-12-06T13:24:00.003-06:00

For those of you who might not be aware, autism is the gift that keeps on givin' the whole year. Ya know, kinda like the Jelly of the Month Club, except the jelly only comes EVERY 30 DAYS OR SO.

May your Christmas be filled with stool collections and DMPS suppositories.

Oh, He's Just Yakkin' on a Bone...

2011-11-20T23:47:00.004-06:00

Let's talk about food aversions. I happen to be at a point in my life that there really are no food sensitivities. You know, with the whole pickles-and-ice-cream pregnancy cravings. My son is a different story.

Before autism, he was a surprisingly good eater. All of that changed once he got his one year shots. Along came autism, and with it came temper tantrums, food aversions, and a depletion of our savings account (thanks, Big Pharma!). Now, it's a good day if he doesn't purge miniature pieces of turkey all over our fine Dollar Store china.

A typical dinner scenario: Groundhog Day meets Christmas Vacation (the dog hacking scene). We hear him yak a few times, everybody stops to see what's going to happen (should we really be surprised?), and lo and behold, he "gets it up" and everybody carries on with their business.

I've bribed, threatened, swatted, and cried over it. He's improving, but it's a sloooooow journey. My advice for you is to have patience, start small, and wear protective head gear. Chances are, you're gonna need it, and nothing says 'sexy' quite like a hazmat suit.

Disclaimer: This story offers no hope for parents of picky autistic children. It just proves that autism sucks.

Martha Stewart Says, "Try Harder"

2011-10-21T20:13:00.002-05:00

If I was a horse, someone would've already put me out of my misery. My health is horrible and just getting worse, my kid is sick, etc., etc. I have a lot of tolerance for people's complaints and enjoy back and forth pity-party commentary except when it involves repeated excuses for your child.

I have a lot of cop-outs for myself, but I have nay a word to say about why I *can't* do for my son, because all that is is just cringeworthy.

It happens occasionally when I talk to an autism mom. I go over my mental powerpoints of suggestion, only to be met with melancholy excuses about how the diet is 'too hard' or how their child 'won't take medicine' or how they're 'afraid to give their kid a B12 shot'. Because honestly, in 15 years, when their child is a 200 pound, 6 foot tall man who's still throwing tantrums in Target, they might just wish they'd done more when he was young.

Now I know that some kids don't get better with biomed. I know of people who have tried it ALL and nothing has helped. But, at the end of the day, those parents can rest easy in the fact that they did all they could to help their child.

No excuses. No more regrets. Do what you can to treat your child's autism.

The End.

I See Something Shiny

2011-09-30T12:29:00.005-05:00

There's nothing quite like finding a black widow spider nestled next to your garbanzo beans. This occurrence sent me into a crazed OCD cleaning fit. I drifted off into the pantry, armed with a vacuum cleaner and cheap ass paper towel. I spent much too long moving packages like I was waiting for a ninja to jump out. Luckily, no ninjas--or black widows--made their appearance.

Continuing my quest for black widow spiders (I was itching at this point, kinda like you do after you hear someone has lice), I moved on to the kitchen corners. Somewhere along the way--I'm not sure where--I forgot my pinto beans on the stove. My pot boileth over. (Off topic: we really like beans in this house, which might explain our lack of visitors).

I said all that to say all this. I am easily distracted. Today's initial plan: work from home. Today's actual accomplishment: the smell of burnt beans permeating throughout my kitchen.

Daily Affirmations, Confessions, and Dreams

2011-09-19T13:26:00.002-05:00

Pregnancy underwear scares me. And this isn't some random thought that floats around in my head. I haven't finally flipped off the deep end. That thought flashes like a warning sign across my brain, because I know soon, I'll need to be fitting my extra large ass into a pair of them. I am pregnant again.

Let's get real here. It looks like I'm funneling Pabst's at an alarming rate. Past pregnancies, I've had a clear baby bump. Now, I just have a gut.

My goal for the future is to patent a maternity underwear that isn't big enough to live in, but does have a waistband large enough to make a WWE wrestler's belt look small.

By God, those f'ers won't roll down, will they?

Something I Learned Today

2011-09-08T23:27:00.002-05:00

Trader Joe's Inside Out Carrot Cake Cookies aren't as good if you nearly choke to death on them.

Death by pussy willow AND gluten-laced cookie. Bummer.

Death by Pussy Willow

2011-08-30T08:36:00.003-05:00

I've come to accept that I will probably die in some kind of embarrassing or highly unlikely situation. Pot smoking college students will watch its re-enactment on 1000 Ways to Die. All will conclude that only an idiot could have accomplished such a feat.

This realization was brought to my attention when I had an unfortunate incident with my underwire bra. It almost killed me. I'll leave the specifics to your own imagination.

Well, yesterday, I was on the back porch with Ayla. She was shaking a decorative ceramic holder which happened to have pussy willows in it. I knew her next step would be to pull them out and make a gigantic mess. I intervened, removing the pussy willows quickly. Amazingly--and I don't know how--a pussy willow smacked me across the face so hard it brought me to tears.

And if a pussy willow is capable of doing that, I'm sure it could leash a whole lot of whoop ass on an unlikely victim.

Welcome To Our World

2011-08-23T22:46:00.009-05:00

Here's your shit sandwich. How would you like it cooked?

It's hard to put into words the shit storm that autism moms have to endure. If finding a way to afford the "cool" clothes for your kid is a normal thing that you have to worry about, you're not at the same rodeo as me. Somehow, worrying about what your son will lick next at school is a foreign concern that should be brushed aside (according to some parents of normal children), because "those people" are used to it.

Well, I can't say that autism will ever become customary. I will never hear of a child smearing poop on the walls and think to myself, 'Well, old hat for his mom. Nothing to worry about, carry on.' Each autism episode leaves me more drained than the last.

I read an article today that gives a good account to what we live through. Autism folks, you've likely lived a day like this. "Regular" parents, check it out. Then, thank God for your normal world.

A Day in the Life of An Autism Mom

My Lunch Experience

2011-08-03T11:06:00.005-05:00

I planned on giving Ayla garbanzo beans for lunch. They're one of my favorites. But, after I nearly choked to death on a stray bean, I realized they might not be suitable for a toddler. Nonetheless, I regained my composure (some 30 minutes later) and decided to share my favorite chickpea recipe.

GFCF Baked Chickpeas

1 can chickpeas, drained
salt, pepper
extra virgin olive oil

Throw them together in a shallow pan and mix them up. Bake them at a low temperature (I'm not sure, around 375, I guess) for around 30 minutes. But be careful. If they get too hot, they'll explode. And that can be worse than choking on a chickpea.

FORE!

2011-06-20T00:02:00.004-05:00

I barrelled through road construction on the off ramp of my exit the other night. I seemed to be going at an excessive rate of speed, but if any cops are reading this, I'm fairly certain it wasn't over the speed limit.

It all happened so fast; a drop in pavement, a couple stray traffic cones, that 'unfinished' blacktop sound. All I know is that it was very similar to John Candy's situation in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, except I wasn't going the wrong way. I squeezed through those make-shift guardrails with juuuuuust enough room to not justify calling an ambulance. It was practically over before it even begun.

Nothing was damaged. Nothing but my nerves. I said all that to say all this: speed limits are important (IF you're speeding, that is).

I Heart Potato Chips

2011-06-13T17:00:00.003-05:00

I'm aware that my last two blog posts have referenced food of some kind. No, I'm not turning into Martha Stewart, despite our many resemblances.

That being said, I just want you to know that I have found heaven. Albeit, a rather crunchy and bitter form of paradise, but bliss nonetheless.

Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Sea Salt and Vinegar potato chips. Gluten free. Slightly more addicting than meth.

That's it. Nothing more. Just a bit of intelligence for your life, kinda like John Tesh, only slightly less offensive.

Sister Crystal's Recipe of the Day

2011-06-04T10:01:00.001-05:00

Many of you know that I'm not a good cook. I just wear a pinny for shits and giggles. Through the years, I have come to realize that doing the gluten and casein free diet (GFCF) is challenging in the area of cheesy-like sauces. I tried some the other day (fake macaroni and cheese) and took on an expression similar to Bill the Cat.

Now. I know Bill the Cat probably isn't a good image to display next to the title of "Sister Crystal's Recipe of the Day," but I want you to "get" the significance of disgustingness that most fake casein-free vegan cheeses have to offer. It's not something to toy around with. They are BAAAAAD.

I have stumbled upon a recipe for a cheesy-like sauce that is completely casein free and comes from Hallelujah Acres. They use it for fettuccini alfredo, but it could easily be used to top vegetables or whatever.

Fettuccini Alfredo (casein free) sauce:
1 tablespoon water
1 cup veganaise
1/2 cup nutritional yeast (make sure it's grown on sugar beets and is GFCF)
*I put a little olive oil in there, too. EVOO, bitches!!

The recipe gives particular directions for cooking it, but I just threw that shit together in a pan and brought it to a boil. Bon appetit!

Just an Observation...

2011-05-30T16:52:00.005-05:00

Illinois birds are crazy. And I don't mean the canaries. The blackbirds are like lot lizards of I-57, waiting until they see my car approaching, fully prepared to jump out in front of it. On purpose, of course. They're like little kamikaze pilots.

Fortunately, no birds--canary or otherwise--were harmed on my trip to Chicago. That's a win-win for all involved parties.

Neither Rain, Nor Snow, Nor Dark of Night...

2011-05-23T20:55:00.004-05:00

Shall keep me from the Autism One conference this weekend. If I had to ride my friend's parents Vespa (with matching helmet, of course), I would be there.

I hear this is the Superbowl of autism. Moms and Dads alike travel for miles to learn the latest on autism treatment, get their drink on, and sleep through the night.

I'm keeping my pinny, frozen dinners, and elastic waistband shorts at home. This housewhore is breaking out.

Got Swelling?

2011-05-05T00:32:00.002-05:00

I swear, I've turned into a camel. I cannot get enough to drink. I'm going to wind up guzzling 15 gallons of water today to store in my hands and feet tomorrow. I'll be the Woman-Who-Can't-Fit-In-Her-Shoes and must wear blue vibrating house shoes to Wal-Mart.

At least I'll be identifiable.