Do I Look Fat to You?

Or, more to the point: Am I okay?

You know, I would ask around, but I looked around, and there's no one around.

I'm alone.

Days, weeks pass in which I see only the boys with my same last name and those who provide therapy for LRHFs with my same last name. There are no "quick bites." No "girls' nights." No "mani-pedis," no "retail therapies," and no...well, no one to ask if I'm okay.
(Please know that I am exceptionally grateful for anonymity right now because I really do understand that this is a whole new kind of whiny and selfish. I know that. I do.)

My friends are gone. Fallen away. No, more likely, I am gone and fallen away and left back in some time when I did stuff. Stuff that was me and not in spite of me (well, probably sometimes in spite of me, but not directly contradindicative of me). I was social. Did social stuff. Had social events. And now I'm in this absolutely alone place shaking my head and wondering what I did to let it get so damned cold. Am quite afraid to ask if this happens to anyone else because am not quite sure I want an answer.

(Most days, in fact, I think I know the answer.)

Can I just tell you that everyone else is happy? I know this because I have Facebook and I can see them busily being so happy. So busy. So chatty. So goddamned social. Oh, you know, old friends do pop in and get all friend-y for about a day and a half but they are not the ones who want truth when they toss out a breezy So how are you? And I need to tell the truth just now. I need to say that I am drowning in truth and that truth is totally kicking my ass. Autism, dementia, depression--all just really kicking my sad and tattered ass.

And can one person piss off large group of people without making contact or telling nasty lies about them? I don't know. I would not think so. And besides, am very careful about telling nasty lies. Learned that lesson the hard way.

So, do other people tell the truth about sad and sick and mad? And then are there other people who listen to that first group? Really, I'm asking. Because if such people do exist, it would appear that at some point I lost them and I don't know why. Have I gone so pale and leaden and bent that I am gone?

I feel gone, I do.

I would ask my friends about this, but maybe you can see how that might be sort of silly.

Bad Ass Mama Breaking the Law

Today I got a speeding ticket. I was taking LRHF and his therapist to the playground and I was playing autobahn at five miles over the speed limit.

Then I got a citation because I could not prove that I'd had Lasik surgery, and thus appeared to be non-compliant with the restrictions listed on my license. Was tersely reminded that "driving in this state is a privilege, not a right."

WTF?

Seriously, WTF?

I hope with all my heart that everyone feels safe in the knowledge that our police force is doing its job with integrity and compassion.

Now if you all will excuse me, I must be getting back to the meth operation in my backyard gazebo. It's all about timing with that stuff, you know.

Sheesh.

Summer Lovin'

My husband goes back to work today. And when he does, I will cry. Not that my tears indicate anything spectacular, save the rather spectacular nature of stress, but still.

Am a Big Girl.

He's been home for a two-week unpaid leave, just like every other newspaper employee in Our Fair City, and while it is scary and it does appear that his profession is on nothing more than a brief life's breath, it was really so lovely to have him here all the time that I will cry when he leaves, even knowing full well that he'll show up beside me sometime around midnight.

He is some kind of father, you know? Really. (not that that points out my own shortcomings, no sirree, but at least one of us is worth our parenting salt and that's good, I think.) He hauled those boys all over Tarnation and he did this of his own free will, whereas I would probably put them in the backyard, gesture toward the garden hose, and retreat behind a firmly locked door until mealtime. So it's good that he was here.

LRHF's therapy got rolling and that's like six (read: ten) posts right there, but it entails a series of monumental shifts in family time, family dynamic and family bathroom use. His therapists are here for 4 hour sessions just about every day, and they are lovely and energetic and fun (for god's sake!) and who can blame Fuzzy and Big Boy for wanted in on the action, right?
But alas!$32k Therapy is for the autistic, of which we have only one. So it's tricky. Rather like installing a water park in the back yard and refusing to turn on the water. Poor guys. And I'm so paranoid about LRHF getting what he needs that my patience is shot. And how do I explain? I mean, really? How do I explain all of this being about LRHF? I can't make that fair--I can't even make it make sense. So Daddy shepherds Fuzzy and Big Boy to zoos and science centers and aquariums and parks and baseball games. On his time off. In this weather. With those boys.

Oh my soul, I am grateful for him. (I know that you're thinking that I should show this post to him, maybe send it to him..."how sweet!" you're thinking. But sorry, he doesn't know that I write anything more than shopping lists.)

As with so much of the past year or so, this summer has shaken me to the core of all my everythings. There is kindergarten, paraprofessionals, finances, dementia, meds, (did I mention finances?) loneliness, autism, tomato fungus, and so much of the unknown that I can't fathom this snowglobe ever coming clear, no matter how long I wait.

But what I know is that when my husband leaves for work today I will cry--not out of anxiety (okay, maybe a little anxiety), but simply because he is my Beautiful Husband, my Very Great Love, and I will miss him.

Mostly for Me

I'm here. Sort of. Sometimes. And I need to write.

So not because I think anyone is wondering, but rather, to remind my own ragged self--

I will tell you about tomatoes and swimming pools and ABA therapy and furloughs and old crap traded for new crap that is really just all the same crap...

I will. I promise.