I’m at a loss this week. I don’t know what to write. But hey, that’s why I leave the prompts so open – it’s easy to stay on topic when the topic is loose. I’ve complied with the terms of the prompt already. Four times.
I’m stuck in my novel, you see. It’s why I haven’t posted much in the last few days – concentration at this point is fierce. But that’s what I needed. Alex is with his dad for March break, so I only have the other two kids at home. For the most part they take care of themselves.
So what can I write about for SoCS this week? My eyes haven’t been given me any problems lately, thank goodness. (Touch wood.) (I really did touch wood.) And aye is such a strange word, isn’t it? I thought about adding “ai” to the prompt, which in Japanese is the root of the word “love.”
I’ve always wanted a snake. I love snakes. I remember in high school having a math teacher who used to bring his snakes to school, usually on Hallowe’en – he’d have one or two hanging around his neck as he walked the halls making half the school scream and run the other way and the other half would be drawn to him in fascination.
You may have seen recently that I have two cats living in my house at the moment. I prefer dogs, however. I would have liked to request a service dog for my Autistic son, Chris, but for some reason he’s afraid of dogs and always refused to have one when I suggested it. He’s also afraid of the cats, though he won’t admit it. He hides in his room whenever they come upstairs unless he really wants something from the kitchen. Then he seems okay with them. He’ll pet them even. People ask me if he’s ever had a bad experience with a dog – I don’t believe he has. At least not while in my care, though we did have a babysitter with a dog once…
It’s scary having a child with a huge fear of animals. There was a time when I couldn’t take Chris out unless we were going in the car. I took him for a walk once with my eldest son and Alex who was in a stroller at the time. Chris would have been about eight years old maybe. So we’re walking on the sidewalk of a moderately busy street and these kids coming the other way were walking a dog – a German Sheppard – and the kids were being dragged by the animal having decided it was going to run. Chris decided to run away from it. I couldn’t let go of the stroller because I didn’t know what the dog would do to Alex so I had my other son (nine years old) chase Chris back up the street. Chris eventually ran into the road not having the sense at the time to realize that a car would certainly hurt him worse than the dog probably would. Luckily nothing was coming. Gone were the days of taking the kids for a walk together. It was too dangerous to do alone.
I still worry about him when he’s out alone, even though he’s now 19 years old.
Snaking back to the beginning of the post that’s gone wildly off track… I still want a snake. What do they eat? Not sure how I’d handle the tweets of crickets through the night, and if it’s big enough … let’s just say I like mice too.
It’s a purchase that’s going to require some research.
It’s the second time it has happened now, but I do believe this time was scarier.
Last evening I was sitting down for dinner when Alex started yelling for me. He was in the living room with his laptop–being that he’s Deaf, he just yells when he wants something, and to me it seemed his normal “somethin’s bugging me mom” yell so I took my time and finished my mouthful of food before I got up.
I got into the living room and gestured “what do you want” and he indicated there was something wrong with the computer. Fine… I sauntered over to the couch and found him wiggling the power cord where it plugs into the laptop. The screen was dim – it was obviously running on its battery even though it appeared to be plugged in. So I followed the line down first to the power box or whatever you call it in the middle of the power cord. It was fine. So I got up to check to make sure it was plugged into the wall. It was. Complete with fireworks… COMING OUT OF THE SOCKET!!!
I grabbed the cord and yanked it out of the wall – thankfully there’s no damage to the house, nor to the laptop.
So today I went on to HP’s website – turns out there’s a worldwide recall on a power cord that’s meant for my computer but the model numbers don’t match. Instead of being able to just order a replacement, I spent the better part of the morning (okay, maybe an hour, but it was the better part of MY morning) on the phone with HP. They’re going to FedEx a new power cord to my house for free.
Least they could do I think, since had I ignored my Deaf son for a few more minutes I MIGHT NOT HAVE A HOUSE!!!!
As I said, this is the second time this has happened to me with HP laptop power cords. For God’s sake, if you have an HP laptop, check and see if your power cord has been recalled. And unplug it before you go out or to bed!
It’s been a busy day, starting out with an appointment with Catherine, my occupational therapist. I was happy to go – my tendonitis/rotator cuff injury has been getting steadily more painful. It’s at the point now that I can’t properly wash the hair on the right side of my head without supporting my right arm with my left. Getting dressed and undressed is something I dread, and don’t even ask about the jungle that is my right armpit. (I swear I have a nest of gerbils under there.)
So what does all this have to do with the title of my post? It’s like this: Catherine made a few suggestions concerning the flare-up I’m having in my shoulder (and now my entire arm) that included making sure I’m sitting up as straight as possible when I’m on the computer *sits up straight*, attending some aqua fitness classes in a therapy pool, and taking a temporary leave of absence from my job. Yes, my job. My beloved walk around the block every day.
It’s not that the walking is doing me any harm except that in the snow, with the possibility of slipping and seriously hurting myself, I’m walking hunched over in the attempt to be more careful about my footing. In essence, I’m making my shoulder worse. So I called my boss at the paper and left a message on her machine this afternoon. I’m still waiting for a call back.
The more I think about it though, the more upset I am at the prospect that I may get fired over this. It’s not the monetary loss, nor is it really even the fact that I do it for the exercise. The truth is, this stupid little job actually gets me out to talk to people. It makes me a part of the community in a way nothing else does – because I’m really not a part of it. My work, my family, and my friends are all here in my home. I have one friend on the outside of these walls and that’s it. Without my paper route I’m no longer part of the work force. I have no worth as a citizen. I’m merely raising my children and, without the meagre $20 per week I make off the paper, am completely dependent on the system.
While I await the verdict from my boss I’ll contemplate what I should do. Perhaps I can make a living off my writing… oh no, wait. Catherine also told me to get off the computer. It, too, is hurting my shoulder. Speech to text? Anyone tried it?
I’ll keep you all posted and let you know what’s happening. Now I have to run. I think the gerbils are thirsty.
First up, it’s time for a happy dance! My Facebook author page hit 100 followers today! If you’re not already following me, I’d appreciate it if you’d contribute to my new goal of 200? 😀 Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/lindaghill.fiction?ref=hl
In other news, I decided to go ahead and make another WordPress site. I took the advice of several of my commenters on the previous post and downloaded Chrome so I can keep the two identities open at once. Finding followers is going slow, but it’s infinitely better than at Blogger, where I’ve started writing a parody of sorts. It’s enjoyable for the moment, but with no one reading it, it’s going to get boring. I’m sure I’ll eventually post it here at WP – where it won’t be boring, natch.
So, my new persona. The name came to me as sometimes names do and you just know they’re right; no rhyme nor reason for it. My profile picture is a selfie I took of the back of my neck… which was fun with my sore shoulder. Why a picture of the back of my neck? You’ll see when you get there. I’ve created a twitter account to go along with the blog, just for the hell of it. As it says on the little twitter description of me, “Beware: utters expletives without warning” – there will be more swearing over on my new blog than there is here. To give an example, I’m thinking about doing A-Z April over there with the theme, “A-Z imaginative cusses.” Because I can.
Anyhow, I plan to have fun over there. My address is https://isabellamorgan.wordpress.com/ and my twitter is @izzymorganblog. This may be the only link to the new blog here at Life in Progress (except for the edit I plan to do on my previous post), though I might advertise it once a year as an anniversary thing. There won’t be any links over there to this one. I just want to keep the two separate, but if you comment over there, don’t be afraid to call me Linda. I’m not going to advertise, but I’m not uptight about keeping the two secret from one another. It’s really just a way to keep this blog more professional while having the freedom to write whatever I want, whenever I want.
So what other news is there? Oh! A cat,
Luka
or two.
Casper
What random post would be complete without cats? These two are boarding with the troll (aka my eldest son) in my basement. They came upstairs for a visit so I thought I’d shoot a few piccies.
I think, sometimes, about the fact that when my mother passes away I will have no relatives here in Canada other than the ones I made – my three kids. When I think about it I feel alone. I realize that should my eldest son ever have children, I will have more relatives. The other two of my boys will likely never have families.
So where will be my legacy? I wonder if maybe that’s why I write… to ensure there will be something left of me, even if it’s not a blood relative. I used to think about this in regards to my father. As an only child, and a girl to boot, the only chance of my father’s name being passed down was if I kept it. But I didn’t, in regards to my children. They have their father’s surname. So at this branch of the family tree, the name Hill will end… or will it? Again, if I publish my novels perhaps it will live on, at least as a concept if not a warm body.
As the generations pass on we are all eventually forgotten in everything but name. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could be somehow remembered though? Words go a long way.
Facebook is littered with them – memes which state that if you care about something you must prove it by re-posting a picture with a bunch of often grammatically incorrect sentences or misspelled words. Things like, “If you want cancer to cured, re-post this in the next twenty seconds,” or “Share if you think animals have rights too.” Of course I want a cure for cancer to be found, and I certainly can’t stand to hear about animals being mistreated, but I never re-post these things – I don’t feel that I need to prove the way I feel to anyone.
But the one that really gets me are the “children with special needs need to be treated like anyone else” memes.
Like this one:
No. No, no, no, no, no. I won’t re-post this on Facebook. (Yes, I know it’s going to show up in my feed when I publish this blog post, but at least it’ll have an explanation with it.)
Do I want people to be aware that kids with special needs need to be treated just like everyone else? Yes. Do I want to be guilted into posting this because it shows I have “a strong heart”? No. Do I sound ungrateful right now? Maybe.
I don’t feel that I need a strong heart in order to love my two kids with special needs, and I don’t think anyone else requires a particularly strong heart to care about them. They just need to be observant and kind. Treating any human being with kindness is a simple matter of compassion and at least an attempt to understand. No one has to prove themselves as far as I’m concerned, unless actually confronted with a situation in which they can provide a smile or at least refrain from saying or doing something nasty.
I mean seriously, how far does one of these Facebook memes go? If someone is confronted with an uncomfortable situation in a public place where an Autistic adult walks up to them and begins to talk about his or her imaginary friend, does the poster of the meme remember they posted it and take it to heart? No. The last thing on someone’s mind in this situation is Facebook.
Rather than posting a meme, learn something. Take the time to think about what you’d do. Read articles written by the parents of a special needs child and take their advice. Being guilted into posting on Facebook is useless unless you know what it means.
Attachments can come in many forms. We can become attached to things; keepsakes, favourite things, things that we watch and enjoy listening to, there are too many things to mention. But I think the most unhealthy and possibly dangerous things we can become attached to are ideas.
When I sat down to write this I had to write this: http://lindaghillfiction.com/2015/02/14/fandom-form-letter-tongue-in-cheek/ first. I’m not sure if somewhere between the popularity of the tabloid and the mainstream inundation we have of celebrity news there has become an increase in the obsession people have for their favourite stars; I worry about the state of many people’s ideas of who these celebrities actually are, particularly young girls.
From the time of Puppy Love I’ve known what it is to “fall in love” with a singer. I’ve since recognized that it wasn’t actually love but infatuation. At the time I would pounce on anything Donny Osmond and soak it up. I’d stay home instead of going out with my friends in order to catch a single glimpse on TV. So what has changed?
The internet, for one. Being so much easier for people to find things–pictures, videos, interviews–of their favourite stars – is it feeding the obsession even more? The constant need for these stars to keep themselves in the limelight and give up more of their personal lives can’t be helping. And there breeds the dangerous, obsessive, possessive ideas in young girls’ (and even adults) minds that simply won’t go away. “He’s meant to be mine.” “We have a special connection.” It can seriously interfere with the healthy growth of a person. I know people who refuse real life relationships because they are waiting for their star to meet them and sweep them off their feet. And the pure inundation of media feeds it.
It’s not an isolated phenomenon. It’s widespread. It’s growing. And I wonder if there’s anything we can do about it. Somehow I doubt it.
I have to wonder too how the stars themselves cope with it. Fandom is nice, but the obsessive letters they must get have to be disconcerting. The paparazzi have proven dangerous and intrusive. It’s a wonder to me that anyone would want to be famous. But then I suppose they have their own attachments.
As the mother of an Autistic child, I can’t help but put my two cents worth in on the recent uprising of controversy surrounding the outbreak of measles and the risk of administering the measles, mumps and rubella vaccination. I do believe I have a rather uncommon perspective on the matter. Unique? Maybe not. Nevertheless, here it is.
When my first son (who is completely “normal”) was one year old we went in for his MMR shot and the doctor suggested that I be immunized at the same time. Much to my regret, I did; I found out a few weeks later that I had been two weeks pregnant with my second son when I had the shot. When my second, Chris, was born everything seemed fine. He was developing according to his milestones and even beyond them. He spoke a few words and played normally. Then, at one year of age he had his MMR. He didn’t speak another word until he was four and a half. He was diagnosed at the age of four with Autism.
It wasn’t until after his diagnosis that I heard about the correlation between the MMR vaccine and Autism; for me it all fell into place. What else could it be? I had one perfectly healthy child and another who wasn’t and there are cognizance issues in the history of neither mine nor their father’s families. Then a study was done. It was “proven” that there is no medical evidence that the MMR shot has caused Autism in anyone. I remain skeptical to this day.
BUT.
When Chris was five years old I had another child with a host of different problems. Alex was born with Noonan Syndrome. In the 1960’s Dr. Jacqueline Noonan discovered a set of characteristics when, put together, proved to be a congenital disorder. My baby’s most life-threatening symptoms were those of his heart: an atrial septal defect, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, and the pulmonary stenosis that was bound to end his life within a year if we didn’t have it corrected with open heart surgery. We were told he had a 50/50 chance of surviving the operation. We went through with it when he was a mere two months old, and yes, it nearly killed him. When the surgeon came into the room and told us that he had just resuscitated our son with open-heart massage and that if his heart stopped again they’d just let him go peacefully we were both frightened and devastated.
Here is what gives me my uncommon perspective on the MMR controversy. I had Alex immunized when he was a year old. Measles, mumps and rubella are all life-threatening illnesses. Having the choice between a healthy Autistic child (which I have) and a dead child (which I almost had) there was no contemplation on my part, even given the suspicion I have that the MMR shots both I had whilst pregnant, and Chris had at the age of one, caused his Autism.
Alex was rendered Deaf during the course of his surgery due to a prolonged period without oxygen. He is not Autistic. I wouldn’t hesitate to have him vaccinated again if it was called for.
Long ago I read a story–it’s probably a famous one, but I’ll relate it here in brief–about how the sun and the wind entered into a competition to make a man take off his coat. The wind, of course, tried to blow it off, but the harder the wind blew, the tighter the man held his coat around him. The wind eventually gave up and then the sun came out. The man, becoming hot, took off his coat. The moral of the story is that sometimes coaxing is better than trying to force someone to do something.
The story came to mind today, as it often does on a bitterly windy day, when I try to bury myself in my scarf. For some reason the thought led to parenting.
My motto has long been, “Pick your battles.” If it’s not that important, meaning no one is going to get seriously injured or be more than ten minutes late for something, I tend to either let the issue go or do my best to be persuasive rather than forceful. The practice has improved my powers of persuasion to the point that I’m getting pretty good at it. Failing that, I’ve learned to be patient. To take a deep breath and remind myself that it’s not the end of the world if Alex completely empties a drawer of perfectly folded clothes to do it again himself, or insists on cleaning his own feeding tube when I know damned well he’s going to ask for the help he at first refuses because it can’t reach where it has to hang.
But I’m only human. There are times when I feel I must stuff him in the car against his will, or restrain him to keep him from falling out his second storey bedroom window. Part of these necessities come down to the fact that I’m not completely fluent in sign language – part of it comes from his own behavioural issues and the fact that he’s mentally well below his age level but physically entering puberty. This puts him in the range of adolescence mixed with the terrible twos.
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