I'm No Celebrity, But Get Me Out Of Here Nonetheless.

I am a social person. Very.  When I became a stay at home parent, it was SO HARD at first.  What? I get to stay home all day hooked up to a milk machine with a tiny screaming baby?  This is my life?  It was a time of much transition for me.  I've gotten better about not having to see people every day, but I would still consider myself more social than most.

Since my husband left for the desert a month ago, my social life has taken a very sharp nosedive.  We are maintaining 2 homes and saving for the "big move" and all that jazz, so the awesome sitter that I have cannot be called at every dinner invite and Girls Night Out.  It has been hard.  My husband did a wonderful job of seeing the look of despair on my face certain nights, and was more than happy to say "why don't you go to Starbucks or call your friend to go get wine, darling?" And I was out the door before he finished the sentence.  My children see this look and just scream louder for MORE CHOCO MILK PLEEEEZ MOM!

I am also really bad at asking for help from people. Family, friends, it doesn't matter. I have lived most of my life being the person who can juggle 12 balls in the air and not drop them.  There are days lately that I feel like I am totally flailing and dropping multiple balls, and I am too proud to call and ask someone to watch the kids before I rip their darling faces off. Though we are in different spots in our child rearing years, it is apparent that I am not alone.  I need to get out of here!

The problem is, it can be a vicious cycle.  I need to get out, but I am so stressed and tired and frazzled and just plain depressed that I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to call friends, or eat out, or go to the park. I want to sit here and cry about how freaking hard it is right now.

It isn't healthy. Tomorrow, I vow to get out, even if it's just to a friends to let my kids run and scream and destroy someone else's house (sorry Jessie).  Maybe. Probably. I hope so.

A Day In The Life...

Our house is currently on the market.  Here's a typical day in my life these days.

-Wake up way too early, to feed, clothe and get kids to school. (Hubs always did the feed part, and I am no morning person)
-Schlep kid to school, scramble to run as many errands as I can before it's time for pick up. If I am lucky, I can get a work out in at the gym (HA HA HA).
-Come home, feed kids (again) and pick up house.
-Watch children destroy house before my eyes.
-Cry
-Pick up house again.
-Watch kids destroy house before my eyes.
-Start dinner
-Get phone call from realtor saying she wants to show the house at 6, and is that ok?
-Throw raw dinner in fridge, scramble to pick up house again.
-Load dogs, two kids, loveys into car.
-Drive to McDonalds to get kids happy meal while we drive around for an hour.
-Bring kids home for snack (feeding time again, you know)
-Watch kids destroy house before my eyes.
-Put kids to bed, say to hell with the mess, and pour 32oz. glass of wine.
-Stay up too late reading trashy books.

Repeat. :)

Valentine Hell

For most parents, holiday parties at school are a wonderful, fun thing that brings excitement and joy to children.

For me, it is hell.  Sam was worked up before we even left the house today. He kept saying we were going to a Valentine's party, which we were, but it was at his school. His school party. He didn't understand, so he was mad about it, thrashing and screaming, refusing to get dressed, etc.  He cried as I drug him into school with his treats and valentines, and hit me one last time before his para whooshed him away to get busy on something.

I'm told that he had a very good day at school, and was happy and singing and lovely.  I know this much about my son: if kids around him are excited and rambunctious, he has learned to internalize his anxiety and stress.

Well, take a guess as to when that anxiety and stress comes out.....at home.  Ever since he arrived home today, Sam has been a hot mess. He is disagreeable, angry, whiny, and awful. Today, I got the kids a heart shaped pizza from Papa Murphy's.  Things were going OK until he spilled his milk.  Keep in mind that we spill our milk about every day at my house, so it really isn't a big deal...oops, clean it up, back to usual.  Well today Sam was distraught. He threw his pizza, threw his still-half-full cup of milk at me, and charged his sister.  All because of milk.

I do not like to reward bad behavior, and so his milk and pizza were taken away.  Sam has to be disciplined differently than Sloane.  I will not tolerate him harming his sister, and though I am a bit grateful that he usually seeks me out to hit instead of a peer, I am also growing tired of being charged at.

I guess what I am saying is, something so happy and fun as a small holiday party at school can mean chaos for the rest of our day. I really love all things celebratory, but one thing in his schedule is interrupted, and the rest of the day goes to hell in a hand basket.  I know he's still learning to deal with things, and hopefully one day we can enjoy these little parties and activities in our life.  It's another check off the list of "things I was really looking forward to doing with my son, but didn't work out."

For now, Sloane and I put on our riot gear and wait out the storm.  It's not fair to her, it isn't fair to any of us. But this is the life of a family dealing with autism.

And now, I am off to find myself a xanax. Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

Wherein I Bitch...

My friend Megan is, indeed, the luckiest bitch in the world.  You see, she wanted a new house, and found one, and then a neighborhood old man just knocked on her door and wanted to buy her house.  No realtor, no open house, none of that. I hate her.

Our house is listed currently, which means I have to keep it at least 80% "show room" ready all the time.  Ha. Ha.  What an exercise in futility.  I have two children and 3 pets.  Regardless, I do try as hard as I can to keep it tidy enough that if I get a call for a showing, I can throw clutter in a laundry basket, load up the troops, and get the hell out in plenty of time. Febreeze? It's a wonderful thing.

But you know what? I am getting tired of this shit.  I hate that I have to make it look like nobody lives here. Dude, we LIVE here.  It's hard to explain to the kids why I don't want to play with their 5000 piece bead set, or truck out the Moon Sand (that shit is the devil, btw).  Tomorrow we have a realtor open house, where area realtors come over and eat at our house, look around, and then hopefully tell all of their clients that my house is the best one in the entire world and you need to go buy it RIGHT THIS INSTANT.

Someone buy this house before I lose my mind. I'm starting to dream of cleaning all of the things, and I cringe every time my kids say "uh-oh."  And, we are dangerously low on Febreeze.

My Family Is Nuttier Than A Fruitcake.

I've heard many tales of families who have a white elephant-esque item that gets wrapped and passed around the family during Christmas.  One of my friends passed around her cut off pony tail for years.

My family recently got into some hilarious sneaky swapping that strikes when you least expect it.

It's the fruitcake that keeps on giving. :)

My parents got a fruitcake from a friend for the holiday season.  It is a fruitcake that conforms perfectly to the stereotype: full of gummy fruits, solid, dry, and gross.  When they unwrapped it, us kids were all there, and were laughing hysterically about how nasty and gross fruitcake is.  My dad tried it, said yuck, and then *said* that he was going to take it out to the trash in the garage.  The sneaky little man took it out to my car, and stuffed it into one of our bags we had loaded for the drive home. Imagine my surprise and subsequent laughter at unloading bags and finding an aluminum foil brick in one of them. :) This was war.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago, my parents were in town visiting.  I went out to get the paper on the day they left, cruised past my freezer that held the fruitcake, and stuffed it in the back seat of their car.  They called me rolling as soon as they got home too.

This past weekend, we were back home visiting the folks.  My sister Meg became the lucky recipient of the brick fruitcake. She has declared that it will be coming to someone when they least expect it...and so the swap continues.

I think it's hilarious, and such a fun way to play a practical joke on our family members. Keep an eye on your belongings at all times and lock your car...the Hot Mess family is planting fruitcake bombs.