Archive for May, 2013

A Woman of Few Words

Posted May 23, 2013 By kmarrs

I spent all weekend at my mom’s doing laundry because my drier blew a fuse and while it’s a 3$ fix I had to order it in because this is a commonly needed part and local ran out.  Apparently this is the fuse that blows when trouble is brewing so it prevents more important shit from blowing, sparking, firing and burning.

So I wasn’t home to write.

Then oh hey, I’m a student now.  Turning work in and all, plus working nearly 50 hours this week to boot, so really, writing is the least of my concerns.  For a few days anyway.

So I decided to keep the 5 posts a week momentum going, I’d spread some baby joy.  I threw in the brothers for free.  I’m kind.

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As Easy As Teaching ABCs To A Baby

Posted May 22, 2013 By kmarrs

We’ve already established I’m crazy. Stable or not, I don’t have issues, I have subscriptions. Though I prefer eccentric. So it shouldn’t be too far of a stretch of the imagination in me saying I’ve decided I’m going to try to teach Sambam to read by the time she is 3 or 4.

Hear me!

First, she wouldn’t be the first in my family to read that young. Not even the second. The power is within her.

Second, the younger the brain, the more sponge like it is. The younger you introduce things the greater and easier they learn it.

Third, I’m not assuming I’ll be successful.

Forth, I knew better than to try to attempt anything that involves the fine motor skills of writing that young. At that age it’s hard to even color inside the lines.

Fifth, I really don’t assume I’m going to have success.

Sixth, no this doesn’t mean I’m home schooling her like Luke.

Either way, even if she can’t read, I’m going to at least teach her the alphabet and I have no interest in waiting until she is older. I already have the flash cards.

She gets momma’s undivided attention as we play what is a game to her. I get the satisfaction that this might actually work.

The alphabet, not the reading. Not yet.

We go through each card in order. I say the name and make the sounds. Sometimes she giggles, sometimes she repeats the name, sometimes she says “a” 5 letters in a row. Her favorite is the letter “d”.

Then we go through again saying just the name since saying the sounds can be confusing to what it is called.

Then if I still have her attention, which is hit and miss, I grab about 4 cards, hold up 2 at a time, and ask her which one us the “a” or whatever, depending on what I’m actually holding. If she happens to point to the right one, which is currently pure chance, I get all excited and get her excited. Then I’ll hold up 2 different cards. Working different combinations of the same random 4 I selected. Repetition is key after all.

I don’t know that it will work, but I know we are having fun trying. She adores my attention and I know to stop when I lose hers.

It’s fairly win/win.

On a related note, I’m going to try the “which one is the…” game with Luke to see if it gains me any ground on teaching him his letters.

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Vehicular Vernacular

Posted May 21, 2013 By kmarrs

Pat and I had the “Is Lucas autistic” conversation the other day.

It was immediately following the conversation over Lucas not just using the word “vehicular” correctly, but in a way most adults wouldn’t think to.  His imaginary friend was in a “vehicular accident” instead of a “car accident”.  Seriously, who says that?  My 5-year-old.

Same kid can do multiplication, division, and fractions, as well as basic addition and subtraction, but can’t actually count past 12 no matter how hard we work.  We’ll get there, of course, I just have to clue in on what trick will work.

Anyway, the autism conversation was rather brief.  Pat and I do agree Luke is probably on the spectrum, though he is fairly high functioning, so far, it seems.  His Psychiatrist hasn’t brought it up, and we’ll hold off for now, just ride things out.  In grade school I’ll probably request proper testing.  But as of now, whereas with many kids with autism where diagnosis is more urgent, Luke’s case isn’t the worst on his plate.  We still need to finish tweaking his ADHD treatment.

I still maintain that there is also something mood based in addition, though what is unknown.  That particular diagnosis will most likely come in his teenage years.  It is still possible it’s just a side effect of the ADHD and/or autism, and not something separate.

So yes, we’re riding things out.

My main focus at the moment, ADHD treatment aside, is to figure out the trick to get him to know his basic letters and numbers past 12.  Once he masters that the doors of his future will fly open.  I don’t hesitate to wager he’ll be reading at an accelerated rate.  That comes way to stacked in his genes.  And he’s already on advanced math so knowing the trick to numbers will allow that to progress.

Really, I think my main reason for noting the possible autism and not acting is because I’m all too aware that this kid’s future is bright.  He may end up with social skill disadvantages, but that might just mean he won’t be sitting at a bar with his best friend discussing the latest airplane, or such, he’s engineered at work, in 30 years.

But the kid is 5.  Who knows what’s really in store.

So maybe I’m not worried because I know he’s already in proper care, and he isn’t suffering (aside from the effects of gravity) so there isn’t anything more worry will accomplish.

It does reaffirm the decision to home school.

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Ladybug Girl

Posted May 20, 2013 By kmarrs

When I was in the bookstore in Dayton, 50$ in my pocket, I bought all sorts of books for the kids.  For Sambam I wanted something distinctly girly.  Most all of her books, at that point, were hand-me-downs from her brothers filled with trucks and all things boy.  And while I take no issue with her reading up on the latest dump trucks, I did feel I owed the girl something that was bought for her, and full of girly things.

So, that was the day I discovered Ladybug Girl.  These books are adorable and a great influence for a young girl’s life, so it was an added bonus that Sambam took to the one I bought her like bread takes to butter.  A fish to water.

So when this last paycheck brought me my quarterly bonus, and I saw two she didn’t have (only one in her collection at that point) I decided on the spot to buy them both.  I brought them home so super excited and tucked them away until I could give them to her myself in the morning.

Girl lost her shit in excitement! “Bug!  Bug!  Bug bool(book)!  Bug!”

Needless to say, that evening, when I was at a different store and saw the last three she didn’t have, I called home to Pat and told him I had to buy them.  He talked me down to just one more, and I brought it home and presented it to her.  She actually thanked me.  Hugged me.  And lost her shit as she gathered all four she owned at that point, and had me read them all 50,000 times each. (Only a slight exaggeration on the number of times read.  It’s more like 50,000 total, not each.)

Pat took this all in, figured the budget, confirmed there were only two total that she didn’t own (of the board books.  She isn’t ready for the others.) and that I knew where to find them easy, and told me to get them after work in a couple of days, when I had the car.  I told him I couldn’t wait that long, the look on her face when she saw she suddenly had six the follow morning would be too precious.  She is at the age of honest thankfulness, taking nothing for granted.

So at 9PM, all the kids in bed, I made my way to the store.

And the following morning, when in 24 hours time she had gone from one to three to four to six, she became the happiest little girl I have ever seen, when I greeted her with all six books and while she may not be able to count, but she knows.  She knows she had far more than she use to.  More than she had when she went to be the previous night, even.

And my heart grew.

No matter how tight the budget gets at times, there is always money for books.  Especially when the books are received the way she received these books.  Especially when a day, an hour, doesn’t pass without her demanding that someone read her one or all.  Her only regret is that Lucas can’t yet read so she can’t ask him with any success.

I love her.  So very much.  My daughter, my fiery angel.  And I’m so glad that something so amazing is what she falls to pieces in excitement for.

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You Can’t Touch This

Posted May 17, 2013 By kmarrs

It is amazing what comes to light when you are in remission from a major mental health issue that dominated your life.

Did you know I have major sensory issues? I didn’t. Until it slowly dawned on me over the past few months. Pat, the ever observant husband whom knows me almost too well, has known much longer. But I’m betting not too many other people realize it. However, he both knows me and what to look for.  (My mom’s response was “duh” so that makes 2 confirmed.)

I don’t really know when I realized.  I think I just started noticing it in Luke and then started recognizing it in myself as well, as an after thought.  And then when I finally put thought to it I’m all, “Whoa that explains so very, very much!”  And I’m like, “Husband, did you realize that I have major sensory issues that go beyond just the hair thing?”  And he’s all, “Fucking duh, wife!”  Well no, there was no cursing.  Just patient understanding while I talked out almost 30 years of being overly sensitive to touch.

And possibly light.

Maybe even sound.

He maintains that I experience a normal degree of sensitivity to sound and light.  I maintain that he suffers migraines so he has a skewed idea of normal in those regards.  Not really sure how I’d ever know.  I know there are times I can’t even stand the glow from my alarm clock.  And even in total darkness I will sleep with a pillow over my head at times to block out the light and sound found in total darkness.  But, I’m also weird and might just enjoy the pressure of it over my eyes.  It seems to block out all senses.

I don’t even know how to begin to explain the degree this explains things.  The list of things explained by this.

Slimy, sticky, tacky, tickily.

The pink stuff those whom work with cash rub their fingers against to get some tackiness to separate the cash, that I can’t stand to touch.

The time my old teller supervisor asked if I wanted some of his nice hand balm and I was so eager to use it until I got some on my hands and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and OMG why are my hands covered in wax that won’t go away and rubbed and rubbed and I’m sorry but I have to go wash this off my hands now.  Then scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed before my hands lost all trace of the feeling of something having been on them.

Greasy lotion, which is the exact opposite of waxy hand balm.  It has to rub in all the way with no trace or I don’t care how much it cost, it is NOT being used, no way no how.

The hair thing, is of course the one obvious thing.  The second my hair is long enough to tickle my ears, my neck, my face, it has to go.  If it doesn’t go, and it brushes anything, I nearly claw my flesh off trying to remove the tickle and I end up having my entire body covered in spiders and bugs creeping all over me with their legs.  Or that’s how it feels when my skin crawls.  As I type, my hair is long enough to touch itself and the skin on my head is crawling.

 

 

Warning the following isn’t PG.  It discusses sex.

 

The fact I can’t stand body fluids of any type.  From sharing a drink with a kid, to a tongue in my moth, to the various juices that come from sex, of a male and female nature, to verify.  That’s why sexually, being with a woman has limited appeal when it comes to me pleasing.  I can’t understand or fathom why anyone would want to eat that.  It’s. So. Slimy.  Hell, sometimes I have issues with Pat going down on me because why would anyone want to. It’s. So. Slimy.

Every now and then I can realize that it’s a love/lust/pleasure thing and I can work past that hang-up but not nearly often enough.

Or the fact while I’m perfectly capable of the big O, I can feel that it is building and I can even actually feel the release but the OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD?  Sorry, can’t feel it.  Doesn’t matter what caused it.  Sensory overload so my body shuts physical senses down to protect me.  From my orgasm.  Just what I need.  Thanks.

 

 

Sex talk over.

 

Fibromyalgia?  It’s common knowledge that fibro is a mental condition.  It’s also generally thought that it is sensory overload.  Why the hell can’t my body protect me from that one!  (If you didn’t read the sex bit, this makes no sense.  Sorry!)  I suppose it tries but it can only shut itself down for so long before it has to give up and I have to feel.

The fact I can’t hug.  I’m sure BPD far from helps with the personal space bubble.  But if you are going to touch me, it needs to be on my terms so I can prepare myself and a you need to use a firm touch. Too light and the spiders are back crawling all over.  Tickle me and the spiders are hairy.  Graze me and they are small but there are millions of them in a concentrated site.

How my skin crawls just talking about this.  Thinking about this.  It becomes overly sensitive to the light touch of my clothing, setting things off.

I’d like to think that this is all a valid reason to refuse to wear pants.

But let’s be honest, I don’t need an excuse to detest pants.  Pants are bullshit.  Any blogger can tell you that.

Yes, I joke.  Because if I can’t laugh at myself, what can I laugh at?  And what is to keep me from despair?  I mean, do I really need to add to my list of mental issues?

Speaking of, I wonder if I should get this added to my file with my meds doc before my file gets closed.  Just so it’s on record somewhere.

Because that file isn’t thick enough as it is.

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And That’s A Wrap!

Posted May 16, 2013 By kmarrs

I had my final, for a while, session with my Psychiatrist last week.  I’ve managed to keep up the stable long enough, and trying to get in is causing more stress than what it’s worth.  It’s something we’ve both known was coming for a while.  We’ve worked towards it.  Progressed to it.

I can’t imagine that I’ll never again see a Psychiatrist.  That is a wonderful goal, of course, and one I’ll strive for, but not as such that I’ll ignore obvious warning signs just to avoid that office.  I’d rather call her up at the first sign of danger and head it off, then try to make it without and get in over my head, and then drown.  Not worth it.

If the time should come, I have my instructions on what to do.  Since my case closes in 3 months (we’re keeping it open as long as possible just in case, and because we can) getting back in urgently can be tricky.  Should I call the front office, I’ll be waiting listed as a new patient.  Not awesome for urgent.  But, my doctor has instructed me to call her directly and she’ll get me in on the first available.  Could still take a month but that will be because her schedule is packed, not because I’m wait listed.

Because as stable as I am now, safe to be away, when BPD crashes, they crash hard and burn all that is near.  You don’t wait list that.  Not if you expect survivors.

So I feel safe.  Even as I step away from my safety net, I know they still care and will be there if I need them.  I’m just safe to walk away in the meantime.

And all is well.

Because even on my dark days, I’m showing signs of growth.  My fibro meds caused me to slip, I recognized it, I stopped them, and told my doc I needed something different.  Instead of letting it progress to a problem, I took action and all was fine.  When life gets complicated and I get the sads, I have the presence of mind to tell myself that my sads are based on this situation, here is how it’s already being fixed, and here is what I can do to make it better, and in the meantime.

Remission and recovery aren’t about never ever having a bad day.  That isn’t normal either.  That is mania.  It’s about taking the bad days in stride, recognizing their cause, and their solution.  Whether that solution is going to bed early and trying again tomorrow, or something like ending a marriage, changing a career, or moving.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life.

I make no apologies for that cheese.

May you find peace on your bad days, enjoyment on your good days, and have the presence of mind to know that life is made up of both.

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