Quality Time, please?!

Quality time is so important to me.

I love spending quality time with my friends and family. When the time together isn’t forced and everyone really wants to be there, I feel loved.

I feel hurt when I schedule time with someone and they blow me. That tells me that my time is not important to them. It tells me that I am not important to them. Whatever they blew me off for is more important, whether its work or other people. This is with the exception of emergencies.

I really feel what you put out into the world, you get back in some form. Saturday, I had plans with someone I love and they blew me off. That night I was asked by two people if I would sponsor them. I spent the evening with a new sponsee talking about resentments and personal growth. We talked about owning our part in our story so we can learn and grow from it. Then we went for ice cream and laughed at her 7yr old son’s silly jokes.

The next day I was invited to lunch with a grammar school friend, which I accepted gratefully. Another friend invited me to a Jazz fest which I couldn’t attend because of work and sponsee commitments.

The universe if keeping me busy with people who want to spend time with me. Surrounding me with love the way I need to receive it, in quality time.

Thank you universal friends! Thank you HP for giving me the gift of friendship, sobriety and love!

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What’s your love language?

Last night, I wrote a long resentful angry blog about my partner. I did not share it with anyone. Even last night in the midst of my anger I knew it was unfair and I was just venting. I am so grateful for my restraint of pen and tongue these days. Makes life so much more fun and full of gratitude.

This morning I read this blog:

https://12stepwork.com/2017/08/27/success-in-relationships/

Right after crying about feeling left out and unloved…

“… it’s not anybody else’s job to “make” me feel better or different… whenever I’ve left the job of “Make me happy!” up to someone or something else, it ends up causing me a lot of needless suffering… happiness is an inside job.” – Mike Stewart, Life Lover

What a great reminder. My marriage can be lonely sometimes. There is this site that talks about our “love Languages”.  How we show people that we love them. It’s hard when you are with someone that doesn’t speak your love language. You have to constantly remind yourself that you are enough and this is the way they show it.

http://www.5lovelanguages.com/

I took the test.

My results: Words of Affirmation

Actions don’t always speak louder than words. If this is your love language, unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” are important – hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten. Kind, encouraging, and positive words are truly life-giving.

The tight runner up being “Quality Time”.

I am pretty sure that my partners love language would for me would be:

His Results: Acts of Service

Can vacuuming the floors really be an expression of love? Absolutely! Anything you do to ease the burden of responsibilities weighing on an “Acts of Service” person will speak volumes. The words he or she most want to hear: “Let me do that for you.” Laziness, broken commitments, and making more work for them tell speakers of this language their feelings don’t matter. Finding ways to serve speaks volumes to the recipient of these acts.

He likes to fix things for me, build new things and cook. Just tonight I mentioned that I need a new shelf put up at the shop and his eyes lit up while saying “I’ll be by tomorrow to take a look” And he will be by, I guarantee it.

After 24 years together, I am not always happy. As I am sure he isn’t as well. The hardest part about marriage is growing emotionally together. When one person isn’t growing emotionally and the other is, it makes for a tough time. The person growing has to find ways to compliment themselves and feel good in the space they are in. I do this by going to meetings, meeting other woman that can help me grow and talking to other woman that may feel the same way. It lets me know I am not alone and that the negative feelings shall pass. Thank God those negative feelings pass, with the help of some friends.

Take the test, tell me what your love language is.

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Trust your gut…

8/15/2017

I do not usually put the date at the top of my post but this is the day it happened.

It was about 7pm, still day light on a hot summer day. I was working at the shop when two young men walked in.  One was wearing a white dego T-shirt with black Adidas pants that laid right below his buttocks so his dark blue boxers showed completely. The other guy was wearing jeans that hung low but not as low. He had a colorful jean jacket on with a large afro that had an indent on the left side.

The white dego tee guy walked up to the counter saying something. I looked directly at his eyes and said “I do not understand what you are saying?” I always give eye contact to people I feel might be trying to intimidate me. Even if I am scared it makes the other person think twice about my strength. He replied, “I was singing a song”.  I said, “Oh, good”. And I continued working.

The other guy lingered around him looking around, not talking at all. He had a toothpick in his mouth. Dego T guy asked if I give samples of the froyo. I said, “Sure”. And handed him one sample cup. Usually I give people 2 cups but I didn’t feel like these folks were here to buy anything.

They both walked to the back by the machines. Just past the machines is a short wall with a bathroom to the right and a water fountain outside the bathroom. Directly ahead is a door with a sign that says “Employees only”.

Recently in the neighborhood news there was an article about men in groups of 2 or 3 coming into businesses, asking to use the bathroom and sneaking into the employee’s area to steal purses, money or merchandise. Because I was uncomfortable with these boys I watched them closely from the counter.

There was a woman with her two kids sitting at a table near the machines, a woman and her child at the counter and a single woman sitting by the front door. As the woman and her daughter came up to the counter to pay the man with the toothpick went into the bathroom while the dego T guy sampled some froyo. He was taking heaping piles of froyo and reusing the sample cup. I noticed later that he would just let the froyo pump out without even catching it leaving a mess of froyo in the drain trays.

As I was about to ring up the woman and her child I noticed my back door opening. I ran over there and yelled at the man to get out. “You know exactly where you are going, get out of my store right now!”. The man turned around and began walking towards the front door, slowly. The dego tee guy stood there taking more froyo. I turned to him and said, “You get out, too. You two are together. Get out!”. He stood there finishing his generous sample of froyo and told me to wait. I said again, “Get out now”. I was standing maybe 15 inches away from him blocking the machine. I stared right at his eyes while his profile was facing me. He slowly turned to look at me and stared right at my eyes.

I told myself at that moment, “Don’t look away, don’t look away!” In that moment I thought he could sucker punch me right now and lay me flat. I thought of my son John and how sad he would be to see me hurt. I thought of the girls that work for me and thanked God they were not here and I am. I thought about how it was my brother birthday tomorrow and I just want to talk to him. I prayed he didn’t have a weapon. He finally looked away, tossed the used sample cup away and walked towards the door. I walked tightly behind him as he looked back at me twice. I stared at the back of his head as he walked out. I wonder what he was thinking when he looked back at me.

When they left all the tension in my body released. I started to shake. The woman at the counter said “Wow, I don’t know if I could have done that. Good for you”. I rang her up while my hands were shaking, handed her change and said Thank you.

I walked outside to get some air. There was a family sitting outside. They come every week with the kids and order pizzas, froyo and drinks. He asked me if I was all right. I gave the dad a short story on what happened and he encouraged me to call the police. Why didn’t I think of that?  Call the police!

The first set of police arrived fairly quickly. After explaining what happened the police officer asked if I want to file a report. I was confused, still a little shaky and said “I don’t know”.

The officer said, “If you file a report you will need to go to court, are you prepared for that? Also, do you want your business to be known as a place where the police are called? Media and community meetings get a hold of this and news spreads.” All while nodding his head no with his lips pierced together trying to look concerned.

That thought scared me and I said No. They ended up leaving.

About 15 minutes later two different police officers came in. The officer asked what happened. I told him again. He said, “You know we found them in the alley, we think they ditched a gun or a knife but our hands are tied because you didn’t file a report. These boys are from the west side and come down here doing this all the time. They are juveniles.” The officer was angry.

I told the officers I would file a report if they came back. Before they left the officer softened up a little and said “Good job sticking up for yourself. I doubt they will be back. But, if they do make sure you call us!”.

Since this happened I have been thinking about why I make the decisions I make.

Why didn’t I file a report?

Why didn’t I tell the 2nd group of police officers how the 1st group talked me out of filing a report?

I felt manipulated by the first set of cops. I felt like a child being scolded by the 2nd set of cops. In both cases, I was people pleasing. I made a decision based on what I thought they felt was the best choice. Deep down I knew otherwise but did not change my mind. While this was happening I was scared and looking for guidance. I didn’t know what to do but I knew what was happening didn’t feel right. I remember having feelings like this as a child, and at that time I didn’t protect myself either.

Trust your gut. Pause…stop and think about what the right decision is. Sometimes in these situations we can’t stop or pause. But, I wish I had trusted my gut. The most frustrating part of this now are people telling me “You should have…”. Everyone else seems to know what I should have done.

I just have to believe that it’s God’s will that this happened this way. I keep replaying the scenario in my head and thinking of all the bad things that could have happened. I also keep thinking, what if I had filed a report? They would have brought those boys back to the shop for me to identify, I would have had to go to court. Would someone retaliate against me?

I’m glad it’s over but it’s still lingering in my mind. I can’t seem to let go of the idea of them coming back.

You got the BUNZ hun!

Johnny’s BFF is an 18 year old girl named Emma. She is sweet when she wants to be and the polar opposite of that at times. She can’t help it because she has a nuero disability that causes her to lose control. However, John and Emma together is always just hot dogs, McDonald’s and short naps, always happy times.

We have very few people that can watch John for us. Actually, we have two, Erin and Auntie Patsy.  Erin is Emma’s mom and Auntie Patsy is our neighbor from the old house that we lived in for 17 years. She has become part of the family, the only “family” member that has taken on the hard task of learning how to be alone with John. We love her more than words can say, and Erin, of course.

One afternoon Erin had taken John for me while I worked. When I arrived home John had learned a new song.

“Anaconda don’t! Anaconda don’t! Anaconda don’t want none unless you got BUNZ hun!”

I bet that song is stuck in your head now.

We have been shouting it out just like that since he learned it. You have to have the emphasis on BUNZ, with a Z.

In March 2017 John came down with the flu. He ended up in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of our children’s hospital for 5 weeks. Thankfully, he recovered and was sent home on 4 liters of oxygen 24/7.

While in the ICU we met a really cool nurse named Katie. I really loved her vibrant personality and genuine smile. As an ICU mom for the past 12 years, I have sat many hours getting to know John’s nurses and vice versa. This nurse told me her story, with hardships and all, while smiling with gratitude. I loved that about her.

When John started to feel better his personality started to shine through again. He’s a clown that loves to make people laugh. He instantly adored Katie and her funny personality. One day he looked right at Katie and said “You got Bunz hun!”. Katie’s eye brows raised with a grin on her face while giving a puzzled look. She replied “Well, yes I do have bunz Johnny.”. Johnny pointed to the top of her head. Katie and I looked at each other laughing because we realized he meant the bun on her head!

After that, every time someone with a bun in their hair walked by Johnny’s ICU room Katie would stop them and ask Johnny, “Hey Johnny, what’s she got?” and Johnny would shout back, “You got bunz hun!”.

He had the entire ICU laughing.

Always making people laugh…

A few weeks later I was pushing John in his push chair into the bowling alley. There was a woman walking in front of us. She was a larger woman with a larger then average bottom and a bun in her hair. Johnny shouted to her “You got bunz hun!!!”

When she turned around I was already pointing to the top of my head saying “He means the bun on your head”.

7 months later I am still explaining the bunz comment to random people….  Ladies with bunz, men too….Johnny will point it out to you. Because he loves bunz!!!

 

 

What’s Next?

It’s been an autistic kind of day…

This morning John refused to talk to me unless we used the walkie-talkies. I enjoy when he does this because it encourages him to use proper sentences and good words. He keeps the volume so low on the walk-talkies that we can’t hear each other. However, we are standing right in front of each other. I believe the sound of the voice through the walkie-talkie causes a sensory issue so he keeps the volume low.

On the way out the door an older man walking a huge old German Shepard was walking by. John started chanting “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” over and over again. The man stopped and looked at us shocked. I quickly looked at him and said, “I’m sorry, he’s autistic, he’s just nervous”. The man gently said, “I can leave”. I said, “NO, we see you all the time, its ok. He has to be Ok”. All while John was chanting “Fuck”. The man said to John, “Hey John, this is my dog Jake”. John stops chanting and looks in their direction and says, “Jake, like Jake and the Neverland Pirates. Jake, Captain Hook, Mr. Smee, Sharky, Izzy and Skully.” The man responds, “Oh Skully, yeah I like X-Files, too”.  Next run in with Old man and Jake should go a little smoother.

We went to the last day of camp’s talent show at Indy Park. John is so well behaved at Indy it literally has me stumped. I have no clue why. Maybe because he loves it there so much. We spent an hour there listening to the team, greeting everyone and sitting watching the show. It was the quietest he has been all year so I really took advantage of talking to other adults without interruption. It was amazing!

As we were leaving it took everything in me not to cry before we got to the car. John loves this place but cannot attend because of his medical needs. They do not provide nurses and I can’t stay with him. I was sad because Special Olympics starts in September and he will not be there. I was sad because he is missing out on so many things that he loves, where he feels the most comfortable with the friends that make him feel normal and loved.

When we arrived home I let him eat “black” popcorn, didn’t feed him dinner and sat my depressed ass on the sofa. I was emotionally drained from having a good ugly cry in the car on the way home. John asked to go downstairs to play Wii. I was all for it, but didn’t follow him. I wanted to see if he could do it himself this time. He has seen me do it a million times.

I waited…I got lost in my phone…I waited a little more….got lost in my phone a little more and then popped up thinking he was way too quiet. Ill head down to see what’s up.

Scene: Our basement is small so the doors are pocket doors that slide into the wall. The bathroom door was half open with oxygen tubing trailing out. The smell of shit was in the air. I slowly peek in to find a few balls of shit on the floor, a little on the wall, all soaking in a pool of pee with his jeans and underwear laying on the floor soaked. John is sitting on the toilet humming and chanting “what’s next, Mommy?”, the question he has been asking all fucking day, while splashing his feet in the pee.

I managed to get it cleaned up while he sat on the toilet. I was amazed that he didn’t move off the toilet. I think he knew this wasn’t right and just wanted to sit there till it was gone. Kind of like what I want to do when I do something wrong….maybe it will just disappear?

All cleaned up, he jumps on the couch to play his Wii asking “what’s next?”  The bathroom is probably cleaner then when we first bought the house, BONUS!

My character defects like to creep in unintentionally. One of them is impatience and anger. Today, it didn’t’ happen. I only felt sadness. I feel like that is emotional progress…feel the feelings, walk through the fear, and keep the faith….

All day I have been listing off in my head the autistic quality’s that my son has.

The repetitive asking

The swearing

The need for a schedule

The lack of understanding of danger

He is intellectually disabled

He is beautiful, smart and so loving

Whats next blog

This is the face I love every day. It’s the face after the storm, after the hardship and after the madness. It’s the face of love and gratitude. He puts his head on my shoulder while patting my back saying “Gracias, mommy”. While we are just sitting there, after the storm. He puts on a hardy laugh while saying “I love you mommy”, just to see us laugh, after the storm. At bed, he asks one more time “What’s next?”, tonight the answer was “Tomorrow is Saturday, Chuckie Cheese because you earned it!”. He responds. “I earned it!” while his 12 year old body wiggles so hard with excitement.

#GoodNightSweetWorld

And tomorrow we will do it again…

Practice the pause

Practice-the-pause.-640x640

Sunday will be my father’s birthday. He would have been 76 years old. Sunday is also the day we moved into our newest home, one year ago. I feel like that was a sign. Dad always wanted us to move into a smaller home and take care of ourselves first. He said we were always taking care of other people kids. He called my house “Sunshine Rehab”. When he was in the hospital, I texted him a picture of his new bed all set up in the living room of my old house. The house was very large with 5 bedrooms and 3 ½ bathrooms. The living room had no other furniture in it other than Dad’s bed and anything else he needed. I used a folding wall to give him privacy. We wanted him close to our everyday activities so he could see what was happening around him. Not in a room with a window facing the alley or a neighbor’s house.

My biggest regret when it comes to my father was talking to him like he didn’t know anything. With the tone of a snotty teenager that thinks they know it all. As he aged he asked questions I deemed as stupid or uneducated because I knew the answers. I was impatience and judgmental. Why I thought I knew more than a man that lived more than twice my life span is beyond me.

This morning as I was cleaning up dog poop in the yard, no doubt with a puss on my face, I was listening to my neighbor’s 40 something year old son talk to her like she didn’t know anything. He was explaining things like she should already know. He was aggravated and snappy. A familiar sound since I talked to my father that way many times. As we age it’s hard to be patience with the elderly, until they are dying. My neighbor wanted her son to fix something mechanical. He was mad that he didn’t understand what she wanted and snapped, “I’m not a mechanic”. This woman is in her late 60’s early 70’s, came from Poland by herself with one child, started a family here in America working several jobs. She tells me stories how she did everything because her husband was not good at things or just wouldn’t do it, like mowing the lawn or fixing the car. She dropped the kids to sitters so she could work a 12 hour shift to help put food on the table. She loved her children and always made sure they had what they needed. One child lives next door to her now, which is the son that was talking to her this morning, the other son lives with her after his divorce. Her advice to me often in the last year is, “Don’t start doing things, then he will stop doing them because he knows you can. Let him mow the lawn it will keep him busy.” She would always add “trust me”, with a thick polish accent.

I wanted to reach over the fence and tell him to stop talking to her like that. I wanted to tell him he was going to regret it someday. One day he will hear someone else talking to their parents like that and a flashback will come in reminding him of how disrespectful he was to his mother. He will regret it and feel a sadness. He will pray his kids never treat him that way and that they respect the life he lived, for them. I know you love her. Because I have seen how you take such great care of your own kids.

While Dad was alive I wish I practiced the PAUSE more often.

Pause…Let him be right.

Pause…let him tell you what to do.

Pause…let him feel in control of his home and life.

We are teaching our children how to treat us when we are elderly.

Pause…and think about how much you love them.

Happy Birthday Dad! I hope you know how much you were appreciated and loved. Even if I was always right (wink wink). I love you every day!

Dad’s first selfie ❤ He was 72, always learning new things!

Dads first selfie

Strategic thinking…

Today is neuter day for Boss, the dog. Poor little guy was so confused this morning. “Why aren’t you feeding me?” He tried to eat the flowers Kevin brought me over the weekend. I had placed them in a vase on our living room corner table. A table that was actually a bedside table for the huge bed and room we had at our last house. We downsized a year ago and life has never been so free of useless crap!!

Anyway, a neuter means a trip to the vet. It’s just Johnny, Mom and Boss. I have been planning my strategy to get out of the house as smoothly as possible since last night. I changed the plan a few times. At the end I did it a completely different way. Which means all that planning, scripting and thinking was a waste of time. Well, that’s how I roll when it comes to thinking.

I put Boss outside so I could prop the front door open without him making a runner. I was just praying John didn’t let him in while I was doing it. He is a slippery one that Boss. With the door propped I can get the push chair, lunch bag and back pack out the door in one pass and into the car. Return, let boss in and get the boys out the door. I have Boss’s leash in one hand and John’s oxygen tank in the other. I use one hand to guide John into the direction of the door while Boss pulls me to the door. It’s a funny scene.

Once at the car I get John in and walk over to get Boss in. He needs to be picked up into the car since I have a high SUV and he’s still too young to jump up. He doesn’t like getting into the car. Probably because the only time he gets in the car is to go to the vet. This trip will definitely be the final straw for him.

On the way into the vet office the strategy is the same but reversed. Johnny and I agreed he was working for 10 water balloons if he behaves in the office. When we arrive to the front door I opened it too soon and caught Boss’s paw. He made a loud dog crying sound at which time John chanted the F word at least 20 times. John does this anytime a dog barks or cries. I waited till John was done chanting before we walked inside. Once inside John was screaming at the dog to get down in a “level 4” voice. Level 2 is normal talking voice, which I encouraged him to use but this seemed useless. I began taking water balloons away, “9 balloons, 8 balloons, 7 balloons…”  With each balloon he decreased his sound level. But, it went right back up as soon as Boss became excited or jumpy. The receptionist at first was a little shocked by the noise but realized john is Autistic. I was so impressed with their acceptance and understanding. The one receptionist immediately put us into a room, hoping it would help John relax a little. In the room he became more anxious and aggravated with Boss’s level of excitement.

Finally, the vet came in to give me the estimate and papers to sign. We were out of there.

At this point, John lost all water balloons so we headed home to wait for bowling at 11am.

On the way out the door of the Vet John said, “Scared”

I asked him “Why were you scared?”

“Dr. Lestrud”

Dr. Lestrud is John’s Pulmonary Doctor. I believe John thought he was going to the doctor for himself.

When we got into the car I sat there for a few minutes trying not to cry. I wanted to cry because the people in the office were so nice. I wanted to cry because John thought he was going to the doctor. I wanted to cry because John didn’t feel safe and I didn’t prepare him for the Vet visit. I wanted to cry because this was just so overwhelming.

I cried because this was what I seen….

John at Vet

You wouldn’t event know how hard the last 15 minutes were by looking at him. He is in the car, safe and content. He knows he is going home where he is safe and happy.

How does a parent prepare their child for the hard world when they can’t get them out into it?