Sparks and Butterflies

I read a lot of forums. For the most part, I’m a lurker, not a participant. Every once in a while I need to stop, though. Not because of the content, but because of the lack of punctuation. I’m not saying you need a degree in English – but common punctuation is good. It gets your point across with clarity, and gives the mind the natural places to pause. For example, here’s the former paragraph in the form I run into:

i read a lot of forums for the most part im a lurker not a participant every once in a while i need to stop though not because of the content but because of the lack of punctuation im not saying you need a degree in english but common punctuation is good it gets your point across with clarity and gives the mind the natural places to pause for example heres the former paragraph in the form i run into:

Throw in spelling errors and your eyes bleed. Here’s the bottom line… If you’re not willing to make it legible, it degrades the credibility of whatever information you’re trying to get across in the forum. You sound illiterate and ignorant. Am I just being snobbish? I don’t care about the odd type, or the odd misspelling. I know there are words I struggle with. Like “exercise.” I NEVER spell that word correctly the first time. But that odd run-on kind of thing with no punctuation? It makes me feel like I’ve got a stream of consciousness thing going on – but it’s not MY stream. Annoying.

I apologize for any weirdness or spelling errors. I’m currently on muscle relaxants and they make me fuzzy.

Before we got married, I informed Poe about my bodily idiosyncrasies. In short? I am a freak. I’ve written about it before, so I won’t go into the backstory too much.

Warning – If you are male, or hate discussions of bodily functions – stop reading. I’ll continue below the fold – but the fold doesn’t show on my feed, so stop reading now if you’re squeamish.

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I hate the fact that I have to be a momma bear. But hey, what can I say? If I don’t advocate for my kids – who will?

Joseph is on something through the state called AB3632. What that basically means is that the state recognizes that my kid needs more help than an IEP can give him, and so the state pays for his therapy (a certain amount of hours). A lot goes into the decisions as to what’s in the programs. What I mean by that is, it’s not rubber-stamped.

Every other year a social worker and Psychologist come in and have meetings with Joseph and us to determine if he still qualifies. They will also meet with his teachers, psychiatrist, and therapists, all separately. So far, they’ve never denied him the program. Then, every six months or so, his teachers, his therapists, the principal, and the lead of the special school he’s in meet with us and we hack through his IEP. Everything from his education, his testing, how he’s doing, goals – progress and new ones, down to specifically how many hours a month he needs in therapy. I used to just HATE those meetings, but that’s changed since we switched to the new school. Instead of feeling like I have to fight for crumbs, me against them, I actually feel like a member of the team. And then of course, conferences and meetings as needed. If stuff comes up for him that puts him in crises, that usually falls under the therapists. We’ve had several crises moments, and his therapists were there for us and him on the phone on a weekend.

These are things he needs. Our goal is for him to be able to be an able bodied, independent adult, who can hold a job and live on his own.

Well, now, it turns out that his therapy center might not have AB3632 funding any more after the first of the year. You can imagine the conversations I’ve been having. Serious.Momma.Bear. Especially when the therapy center decided to just stop anyway – you know, since we probably won’t have any funding later. Seeya.

Excuse me?

Yeah. No. You don’t get to slough us off without creating a plan with us, and assisting us with finding the people who DO have the funding. My son is on prescription meds someone at YOUR center prescribes. Your center provides HALF of his therapy hours that everyone agrees he needs. You don’t get to make us go away ’cause it’s more convenient while you wait to see what the state does with the program. Because you still DO have funding.

Ahem. He still has his therapy. He still has his Psych. (meds). It just took 3 separate intense conversations with the supervisor at the center during which I made her realize I don’t do what others tell me to, and I don’t go away because it’s convenient for them. I also don’t play well with others.

I understand the funding issues. We have to wait on the state for that. You just don’t throw the literal baby (MY BABY) out with the bathwater. He’s not a “case,” “Case Number,” or “statistic.” He’s Joseph. He has a mother named Michele. And she will damn well make sure you know it.

Before I share the link with you, let me explain where I’m coming from.  I have a child with mental issues.  I told the school going in that they were there, and they refused to provide services, an evaluation, or early intervention.  As a result, due to their “zero tolerance” policy, my child was almost expelled from school for expressing his anger.  At the age of 5.  Unable to attend another district school.  What I did in that case was fight tooth and nail for an IEP, which would then provide him protections under the disabilities act.  It forced them to help my son rather than kick him out.  And yet, another child tormented mine for YEARS.  But he never did anything that came under the “zero tolerance” policy.  The result of that?  My son being institutionalized when he couldn’t take any more.  Then one of the “patients” tried to kill my child by choking him to death.  That was a fun middle of the night phone call.

You tell me, which was worse?  What did the most damage?  My son getting pissed off at his teacher at the age of 5 (when they still get naps in school for God’s sake) or my son being driven into a mental institution?  We have had to fight long and hard for my son to have an atmosphere where they are helping my son instead of “managing” my son.

Think about your kids, what they do, what the consequences should be, and what they currently are.  What is it going to do to their psyche in the long run?  I am very far from the touchy-feely earth momma, terrified to allow their precious child’s “creativity” be stifled.  We’re highly disciplined around here.  We maintain serious control.  Because of my kids’ issues, it provides safety and sanity for them.  However – as “mean” as we are, we are able to understand the difference between play and violence, toys and firearms, playacting versus intent, and when they are just being kids.

This isn’t about politics.  This is about my child.  This is about how it effected my son.  The long term issues have been such a struggle stemming back to that one day.  And now?  Will he be able to have his dreams?  Since it wasn’t a criminal matter – even though the police got involved without ever talking to me – because he wasn’t charged with a crime, I can’t have his “record” sealed.  Background checks will now show mental institutionalization.  He has wanted for years to become a Marine like his dad.  Will he ever be able to now?

Here’s the article: Zero Tolerance Policies: Are the Schools Becoming Police States?

As a way for my family to make ends meet, I took a part time job as a crossing guard for the last 3 months.  It is an extremely busy main drag in our town, a four lane four way signal.  Here are my notes:

For the Drivers:

• See that sign?  It says “No U Turn.”
• See those THREE signs?  They say “No Right Turn on Red.”
• If I’m in the intersection – with my obnoxious neon vest, red hat, and huge red sign?  Don’t run the red light.  I’d like to live to see my children grow up.
• Don’t stop IN the crosswalk.  If you do, I have to make the pedestrians wait another cycle of lights because you’re an idiot.
• Don’t yell out your window at me, even to be funny.  At your speed, I can’t hear what you’re saying.
• Don’t honk while right next to me.  I may pee.  No, I’m not kidding.
• My hand signals are not for you.  If they were, I’d be facing you, making eye contact.  I’m not a traffic cop, and I’m not signaling you from the sidewalk.
• I WILL give your plate number to the Sheriffs.  Also?  They like me.

For the Pedestrians – Kids and Adults Alike:

• Did your parents really teach you to act that way?
• Yes, I will yell at you if you attempt to cross the street IN a SHOPPING CART.
• Also?  Use the brain God gave you.
• Yes, I cross everyone.
• Yes, I know you’re not a kid.
• Yes, It’s company policy.
• Yes, I get paid.
• Also, it’s rude to ask my salary, seriously.
• Yes, it’s a real job.
• If you’re gonna get bitchy ’cause I broke your stride, use a trail or track – not the public street.
• Did you really just do the “jogger snot rocket” thing next to my shoe?
• Get off your skateboard or bike. Repeat.
• Judging by your walking while talking on the phone skills, I suggest that you not try chewing gum.
• “Thank you” never hurt anyone.
• Don’t ignore me when I speak to you.  It’s rude.
• When I tell you to hurry up, it’s probably because the light turned.  HURRY UP.
• Tie your shoelaces.
• I’m a mother, I can totally take you.  Do that again, and I’ll smack the back of your head.

Last night, I had a dream.  That dream finally woke me up around 3am, and I was up after until about 4am.

I’m pissed off about it.

In it, I was attending (and helping) at my ex-fiance’s wedding.  In real life, I was not invited, nor would I have attended his wedding to the chick he cheated on me with.  But there I was, being my helpful self in my dream.  The truth is, my relationship with him is a part of my serious downfall into the rabbit hole in my early twenties.  Part my fault, very largely his fault.  I won’t go into all the details, as there are some portions of it I don’t want to rehash.

I was up rehashing our relationship in my head, basically ranting at him about the 3 things that ruined our relationship, and ruined me for the better part of two years.  We were together for 5 years, and then it took me 2 years to get over and through the fall out.

This all happened about 15 years ago!  I thought I was over it.  I think I am.  But I really hate when memories come back to haunt you and bite you in the ass at the same time.  It’s over.  It’s done.  I’m in a healthy, stable, loving marriage.  I would just like to tell the past to stay the hell in the past and let me live my life.

October 1950: American model Joan Vohs poses for a new year greetings card. (Photo by Keystone/Getty Images)

What do I want out of the new year?  I don’t make resolutions per se.  I find them to be restrictive.  But I do have general goals.  It’s an end and a beginning, and it only makes sense to think about what you want out of your future.

I want to be more organized.  No.  I want to feel more organized.  I don’t often drop the ball, and people – from friends and family to clients – know I’ll handle the details.  But that doesn’t mean my mind is calm, or that I feel in control.  Most of the time I feel like I’m hanging on by my teeth and fingernails.  So, I’m back to doing FlyLady.  Slowly.  With baby steps.  I’m being more proactive with my business.  I’m creating plans with the emphasis on what works to implement them.

I want to feel more healthy, alert, and energetic.  Which means quitting smoking, exercising, and eating well.  As a recovering addict, the smoking is difficult.  I’ve created a step-down plan I’m working.  I’m slowly started the Couch-to-5K program.  I’ve already run into problems with that – allergies, kid care, and Poe’s sleep schedule.  I’m not quitting, I’m fixing.  Slowly.  We have to live our life as well.  I’m considering joining Weight Watchers – but I haven’t decided yet if I can afford it.  I may just use Spark People and watch what I eat.  I do well with structure, though, so we’ll see.

I need to grow spiritually.  I’m working on that.  I’m not comfortable (yet?) sharing the specifics of that, but the point is growth.  I’m working on it.

Notice I didn’t mention money?  Well, now I am.  I fully intend that 2011 will be better financially.  I’m sick and tired and mad at focusing on survival.  I want more than that for me AND my family.  I want there to be emergency savings, retirement savings, college savings, and no debt.  I no longer want to be on pins and needles as to whether there will be food money week to week.  But – I’ve decided that focusing on it doesn’t work.  Hasn’t for 2 years.  Instead – I’m focusing on me.  Not in a selfish MEMEME way – but in the attempt to create out of myself a better, healthier, happier person.  I’m hopeful that the other things, like financial prosperity, will be a natural offshoot of that.

So, here’s to a wonderful, happy, healthy, prosperous, spiritual, exciting New Year, 2011 to all of you.

*note – I totally know an apostrophe goes in “it’s” – apparently my template has decided it’s a no-no in a blog title.

Remember my post on the new TSA Regulations? Sexual assault and privacy and all that?  Well, the ramifications of the policy are starting to come out.

The TSA ejected a passenger who refused a “groin check.” My favorite line?

“You touch my junk and I’m going to have you arrested,” Tyner can be heard telling the TSA agent as his cell phone camera captured the ordeal.

And someone from our very own blogging world has been effected.  I mean really.  Who doesn’t want their labia and breasts touched?  A line you should think about?

“It is acceptable and encouraged that a TSA government official can do something to an American citizen that US military personnel cannot do to a member of the Taliban.”

I again repeat myself – I don’t care.  I, as a rape survivor, don’t think I can fly now.  What if they choose me for an “enhanced” pat down?  What if they want me to go through that full body scan for all the world to see?  What if I have to fly due to a funeral and completely lose my shit?

When my brother committed suicide, my mom tasked me with bringing all her pictures of him in frames for the memorial.  Due to the frames, I couldn’t bring it on the plane with me.  They lost them.  They lost my mother’s only photos of my brother.  We were able to get them back in two days – literally we picked them up from the airport on the way to the funeral.  What happened in the airport when I found out they lost them?  Completely lost my shit – the big ugly snot cry, “You-u-u don’t understan-nd-nd…  I have to tell this to my mo-o-o-ther.”  Now, imagine the same scenario, which I already know is a possibility – since it happened – along with having been reminded physically of my rape.

Just take me to the psych ward, ’cause I’ll probably need to be medicated.

It’s common basic stranger danger mentality.  Don’t touch me, and I won’t touch you.  I can’t seem to articulate well enough how bad and wrong these new regulations are.

I have alluded to this in the past on the blog, but I’ve never come out and said it before.  Since it pertains to my reaction to the story I’ll share with you, I need to state it clearly.  I am a rape survivor.  I was raped twice, and (just) physically beat up once.  I survived.  While I’ve dealt with most of the crushing issues that come from surviving, I do still deal with certain ongoing ramifications.  Some examples… My husband is the only person on this earth who can come up to me from behind and touch me, and me not react negatively.  He’s the ONLY person I can show physical affection for and receive physical affection from easily.  In reality what does that mean?  I have to work exceptionally hard at showing physical affection to my children.  I have to fight very hard to never wince or cringe when they come up from behind me in the course of our daily life.  I have to fight very hard to not withdraw from them when they physically reach out to me.  I have to mentally prepare myself before friends see me, as they will expect (rightfully so) hugs.  Before we visit my best friend, I have to give myself a talking to that her husband will not hurt me, he loves me, he likes me, and he will touch and hug me.  His love for me is due to his accepting me in his life as part of his wife’s life.  He has no interest in me physically, and he loves his wife.  These are things I have to tell myself so I don’t elbow him through his nasal cartilage, while simultaneously trying to gouge his eyes out with my fingers.  Because he put his hand on my shoulder while handing me a  drink.  My children deserve my affection.  My friends deserve my affection.  Physical affection is healthy.  I know this and so I work very hard at it every single day.  And I think it’s working, because my children and friends come to me for affection, nurturing, and love.  I’m successful at fighting and scratching against myself to give them that.  I’m OK with doctors, I think due to the rubber gloves.  But many doctors will use their bare hands for breast exams (I think due to sensitivity issues) and I cry every time.  But I’m trying.  It’s a process.  A long one.  My assaults happened before I knew my husband, and I’ve been married for 12 years.

Warning to my conservative Christian friends, the link I’m about to give is to a Pagan news service.  Just want to warn you.  I found this story.  Go read it.

Now that you’ve read it, think about what it means.

Think about sending your children through the scanners.  Think about the enhanced pat down if you refuse.  If this becomes the norm, I’m truly unsure I’ll be able to fly.  After talking to my husband, who is incredibly protective of me, he said, “I think I would have to drop anyone who thought putting his hands on your tits is OK, other than your doctor.”  He understands what this would mean to me.  You could also say, “well, go through the scanner!”  One, there are radiation issues.  Kind of like a doctor.  Once every blue moon is fine, but beyond that, you need the lead drape.  What about the frequent travel fliers?  At one time I was flying twice a week for three months.  And I know many who travel even more.  Two, it’s an invasion of your privacy.  In front of everyone in the security line.  I thought the body scan would be like an Xray.  Very impersonal.  I saw the exemplar.  I could see his penis very clearly (and his love handles).

The whole thing scares me for oh, so many reasons.

At dinner tonight, we’re having another discussion with the kids about our privates, and who’s allowed to touch them, and for what reasons.

We are having a bit of an issue around here that is pretty much dominating  my thoughts at the moment.

First, this job of Poe’s said he would receive (sorely needed) health insurance after his probationary period of 90 days.  That would have meant November 1st.  Right?  Yeah, not so much.  They decided to wait on him until the open enrollment period, putting his effective date on January 1, 2011.

OK.  That puts a serious crimp in things, as the kids are due for their physicals and blood work needs to be done on Joseph.  But two more months won’t kill us.

We got the paperwork.  It tells us the amount to cover family PER WEEK (he’s being paid weekly.)  I think “They just mean that’s the monthly premium, removed each week.”  You know, the monthly premium divided by four.  WRONG.

Essentially, that IS the weekly amount.  Let me explain what that means.  By the time he’s done paying for health insurance, we would have approximately $400 per month to pay rent, utilities, groceries, gas, other insurance coverage, not to mention medical copays, random school things that come up, oh and clothes for winter for the kids since Logan’s pants apparently spontaneously combust.  Since gas alone costs about $240 a month or more – you do the math.  The whole thing alone won’t even cover rent.

I’m not making that much money in my business.  Growing I am – but not THAT much.

We’ve gone to everyone we can think of, but yes, that’s the monthly amount as insane as it is.  I still cannot believe it at all.

What this essentially means is I probably have to go back to work outside the home.  Either, I need to get a job with benefits, or just a job.  Then we’d have to find private insurance (which costs about 1/4 what they’re asking for) and then save up as much money as humanely possible, because Logan won’t be covered under private insurance since he has a preexisting (actually it’s CONGENITAL) condition and won’t be covered.  His heart surgery alone (the timing of which we just don’t know) will probably run a total of $500K – $1M dollars, when you take all insurance out of the equation.  That’s a rough estimate with inflation.  We just won’t know until that time.

I just feel so defeated right now.  We can’t pay for childcare, so we’ll be going back to the Poe sleeps when the kids are at school, while I’m at work, and pray they don’t need to be picked up early.  It certainly feels like we’ll never get a break.  I just don’t understand.  We’re decent people.  We work hard.  We’re good parents.  Why do the kicks keep coming?