And that's why I don't feel bad.

In May 1995, I met my husband. Didn't like him at first. He was kind of a rude asshole...a show off. But he was beautiful. Slowly, but surely, we got to know each other and built up a friendship. Didn't think it would progress more than that. Shockingly, it did. Didn't think it was last too long, but it did. When we got married, neither side of the family thought it was a good idea. Not sure of the fact that I was pregnant had anything to do with that, but I think because Jimmy and I are both ferociously stubborn, it's been working. My husband is kind. He is hardworking, and a great father. He has built up my confidence, and has assisted me in creating three beautiful creatures to pass on kindness, love, and sarcasm. He has softened me over the years. I still have some rough spots that need attention, but it's only been 21 years. I've seen this man conquer cancer, and then return to a job that is more physically demanding than he should be doing, because he wanted to show the kids that he's not a wimp. He has dealt with a tremendous amount of pain and sickness, and even with a large amount of sick time, he doesn't take it. Again, he wants to be a great role model for our kids and to show that he would do anything to keep a roof over their heads, and food on the table. Our rent and bills are always up to date, even if we squeak by a bit. He supports us all with his kind words, cheers us up when we're down, and (figuratively) kicks us in our asses when necessary. He is a great dad, regardless of the fact that he is non traditional. I think our family is a mix of Married With Children, Roseanne, and Malcolm in the Middle with a dash of Bob's Burgers. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, I'm jealous of the fact that my babies have such a wonderful male role model in their lives. I didn't have that. I never will. I was terrified to marry, because I didn't want to suffer like my mother did, or have children suffer like we did. I didn't know that not all men were that bad. I'm glad I was wrong. People have judged us. People have talked very poorly about us. It used to bother me, but I hear my kids laughing at something so ridiculous that their Dad says, just to cheer us up when he's in pain, and I see just how blessed I am. My boys are wonderfully handsome young men, and my girl has her father's sharp wit to cut anyone in two.

I'd rather be blunt than sneaky

My husband Jim and I get criticized by 'family' members for being rather blunt with our children. We both have a warped sense of humor, and we have passed it down to all three kids; the neurotypical as well as the ones on the spectrum. Contrary to popular belief, those on the spectrum are capable of understanding sarcasm and humor. I think our bluntness is partially due to our love for all heavy metal music. Let's face it; heavy metal is brutal and in your face...a music not for pansies. If we like our music like this, why not live our lives that way as well? Metalheads know this well \m/.

Most family functions we are forced to attend are riddled with disapproving looks from people when our children come out with their brand of humor, that is probably not appropriate on certain occasions. But, if we are in the safety of our own home, I would prefer that they feel comfortable enough to be themselves...whether it's appropriate or not! As long as they know to be appropriate outside the home, that's fine. For the most part, they know there's a time and place for certain things.

It got me thinking about my own childhood. My father was a sneaky son of a bitch. He was always pulling crap on us and proud of himself when he was successful at fooling his kids. It was a sick thing he did.

Back in the day when you had to go to a video store to rent movies to watch at home (perish the thought now), my father took advantage of a 5 movies for 5 days for $5. He came home with a movie called "Not My Kid". Immediately, I knew what kind of movie this was. It was a TV movie about teens and the dangers of drug addiction. I expressed this to my father, who lied right to my face and said it was a comedy film. I kept arguing, but he ignored me. At the time, I did not see the stupid smirk on his face. He made us watch this movie, which was just so cheesy. It's not that it was a bad movie...I just didn't like being lied to. Later on, he admitted that he rented it to teach us about drugs. Why not just be honest in the first place?

Years later, I had to pick a Confirmation sponsor. My parents were not social people, so we did not have close friends for me to choose from. I asked to reach out to my Godparents in hopes they would say yes. I was told that they refused. Instead, my father lied again and said that some random guy he happened to have three or four conversations with at church offered to be my sponsor. He gave me this guy's phone number at work and sat with me while I called this guy up to ask him to be my sponsor. Thankfully, he said yes, but it was awkward for me. Many years later, he actually admitted that he just said it so I would call this guy. What the f&ck??????

And many years later than that, my wedding. Ah...yes. I asked over and over for names and addresses for my wedding only to be told that he would personally address the invitations and add a note or two in addition. I cringed, but I obliged. Needless to say, we had no one on my side of the church during my wedding.

So yeah...we're blunt and honest with our kids. So what? I'd rather be open and honest than sneaky and conniving and have them hate me.

I've been slowly losing my faith

Jesse is the only one out of the three to go to Sunday School to prepare for his Confirmation. He hates it. I mean HATES it!

I can't blame him. We live in a very small town. And I've always believed (especially since we moved here) small towns breed small minds. I know that's judgmental, but if you only knew...you would totally understand. There are a few bright spots, but mainly, this place is just terrible for people like us. People who have a weird, sarcastic sense of humor and don't fall all over ourselves because of a silly little thing like an autism diagnosis. Maybe that's the issue.

My husband is not a religious man, and that's okay. I still love him. But I also love God and I really do value my religious beliefs. I was hoping that I could pass that on down to my kids. I had very good intentions...many moons ago.

The former director of the religious classes made anyone who missed church feel like they should just end it all and burn in hell. She had the kids memorize prayers even I didn't know. And if they didn't memorize them, they would not advance to the next grade up. WTF? I always felt that prayer should come from the heart, not mimicked like some sort of Nazi general. (Yeah, I know, but again, you don't know what we've been through here). When Kelly was set to make his Sacrament of Reconciliation or Communion (not sure which) she had the entire class come to the altar to be presented to the congregation. I feared how Kelly would be in a chaotic type of situation, but all in all, he did better than I expected. Sadly, in a newsletter shortly after, a lot of people were 'shocked and appalled' by what they saw and how the children were disrespectful. Of COURSE, I took this personally and felt she was attacking my kid, but honestly, there were others who were very rude and obnoxious. I felt she should have confronted those parents individually rather than being passive aggressive. See what I mean about small towns and small minds?

Kelly and Harley do not attend church anymore because they were exhausted with the restrictions that were put upon them by this lady. I don't blame them. But it wasn't just this lady. It's the entire congregation.

Because I know how my kids can be, I feel the safest place for all of us (as far as distractions) is for us to be upstairs in the balcony. A few times, we would be late and there would be people in our normal seats, so we made adjustments. One time in particular, an entire family saw we were there, and without words, just got up and moved downstairs as far away from us as possible. I held back tears. I didn't know if it was because they didn't want to deal with minor incidents with my autistic boys asking question after question with voices well above a whisper, or because she just didn't like us personally. The funniest thing was there was another lady with her son that came about 25 minutes late (no I'm not judging, it's just a fact). We were still in the balcony, but in different seats. She approached us and said, "You're in our seats." I looked over at the other empty seats and as confused and kind of giggled. She says, "I'm not kidding." WOW! So, we uprooted, because I didn't want to fight in God's house. Sadly, there wasn't enough room in that open seat for all four of us, so Kelly sat on the floor. The lady says, "You can sit here," to which he responded, "I don't want to sit in your seat. I'm not kidding." LOVED IT!!!!

I know I'm all over the place today, but please bear with me. I have too many thoughts in my head to put down, which is why I'm not always blogging or even writing in my journal anymore.

I'm sure you're wondering why I just don't switch parishes. Well, according to the Catholic church, I'm not allowed. I can't take my own time, spend my own gas money and travel 10 minutes to a more open and understanding church. No. It's all about supporting our local churches. So, until Jesse makes his Confirmation, we are stuck.

There are many more stories I can tell, but like I said, I'm all over the place. My mind goes in a million directions trying to keep my wits about me. I can only try each week to be open to my congregation, but it is short lived by little things, like dirty looks and interruptions of prayers to chit chat. Yeah...that really happened.

God Bless :)

The system failed my son

Kelly was diagnosed with Asperger's at the age of 4. Although I was stunned by this, I was not entirely surprised that he was not the same as other kids. It's sad, though, how we had to find out this information.

The short version of our story will probably end up long. But the gist of it is, Kelly was a slight behavior concern in pre-K. The teacher felt he needed to be on Ritalin, but also felt that there was abuse in the home. There was a witch hunt where I was pretty much convicted and sentenced to an invasion of my home to make sure I was parenting correctly. I was told that there was a possibility that my children could be taken away if the house was dirty, there was not a fully stocked fridge/pantry, etc. These were things that we did anyway, but to have someone invade your home...especially with a newborn that keeps you up most of the night and having to be wide awake for the occasional uninvited guest was stressful. I don't know how we got through that time.

Anyway, tests, tests, and more tests conclude: Asperger's Syndrome.

The school makes accommodations, but only to alleviate any responsibility of the teachers. Rather than force my son to write out his answers, or notes, or essays, they give him a personal secretary, or 'Scribe' ("that means, they write it out for him" some teacher told me as if I were an idiot) to do ALL the writing for him. Some teaching, eh?

After a hellish 8th grade year, we insisted he be moved to a program that would actually FOLLOW his IEP. What a f*cking concept! Teacher's doing their JOBS!!!!!!

So he goes to BOCES and does amazing! He has friends, his teachers like him a lot. He really grew into a wonderful young man. Not that he wasn't wonderful, but...you get the idea.

Here's where the system failed.

He has taken a NYS Regents exam twice, only to fail, and why? Guess....

Because he was never given the task of writing his own essays!

So, we have a third try, or he cannot get his diploma.

Where was I in all this? I tried and tried to get him to write things out on his own. But when he comes home at 3:30 and making him write things out doesn't get done until close to 10pm, it's difficult. I tried, but I had no support from his school.

So I guess, I failed him, too.

Time to start cramming. He's so close, and wants to give up, but I won't let him. I can't let him down again.

But F*ck You to L********* M**** Central School for taking the easy way out. If he had to repeat a grade, so be it. I would have understood.

Family in blood only.

I never grew up with an extended family. This was all thanks to my father. He was such an asshole to everyone that they pretty much gave up on him. It always bothered me. We used to get mixed messages from him. There were times when he spoke so lovingly about his siblings and parents. And then, everyone was 'out to get him'. I mean EVERYONE. Especially his own kids.

I remember when my Confirmation was approaching. I asked if he knew my Godparents' address. A few weeks went by and I was told they said "no" to my request that they would be my Confirmation Sponsors. My father pushed me to ask a complete stranger that he had just met to be my Sponsor. Sadly, Joe was killed in a drunk driving accident shortly after. I always felt horrible about how I resented having to ask him because I really did not know him. When he died, I remember feeling so guilty. I felt that my bad thoughts and feelings caused this to happen...somehow. Of course I felt this way. Anything bad that happened was always my fault. Just ask dear old Dad.

In June 1990, I was pretty much forced to telephone all of his and my mother's siblings to invite them to my graduation. I didn't want to, at first. They were just as much strangers as Joe was. But I did it in hopes of maybe reconnecting. I feared if I went in with a better attitude than I did with Joe, everything would be okay. After all, my poor treatment and attitude were why Joe was in that car in the first place.

They all said 'No'. It broke me. I resented my father even more than I already did.

At the same time, I remembered that my cousins were all about the same age as me, and were also probably graduating at the same time. After a long time of pouting in my room, listening to my Megadeth cassette, I felt an overwhelming feeling of empathy. First time ever, I think.

My father had some choice words about this. He would not let it go. I lost my empathy.

You see, even if you have the best intentions in your heart, some people make it so difficult for you to speak up or act upon it for fear of ridicule, and in my case, verbal and emotional abuse. Even physical, should it be necessary.

Who am I kidding? It was always necessary

Fast forward about 5/6 years. My fiancé and I are planning our wedding. Jimmy knew about my family nonsense, and still wanted to marry me...what a shock!

My mother-in-law asked for addresses from my father for invitations. I trusted that he gave them to her. In all honesty, I didn't really do much for my wedding. We were rushing to get married before my belly popped out :) Between working three jobs, and planning our wedding, I left the invites to my future mother-in-law.

A few weeks go by and MIL tells me that my father has not given her any addresses, and that she was willing to pay the postage for all of them...which she made herself, thankfully. He asked that instead, she give her the invitations, and he himself would get them sent, because he had a few personal notes he wanted to add. She obliged.

No one responded.

I was f*cking furious over this.

In anger, I wrote a very hateful letter to my uncle. In return, he and my cousin responded, and rightfully so. I let them have the last word because if I wrote another letter, it would be even worse.

After my son was born, I really started taking a long, hard look at how thing really were. Whenever I held that little baby boy in my arms and looked into his eyes, I couldn't imagine passing on certain rituals; the ridicule, the abuse, the blame on everyone around them...even my own child. I refused. I made the decision that it ended that day!

The letter I sent my uncle hung over my head, though. I had read his response, and my cousins. I read them over and over again. The more I read, the more I reflected on the crap I was told to me by someone who claimed they loved me. I ended up tossing the letters out, because holding them meant I would just feel worse. I figured someday, I would put myself out there and apologize to my uncle for hurting him. I didn't mean to...really.

I always believed there would be enough time. It was a new experience for me to actually own up to the times I was wrong. In addition, I was absolutely shy and unsure of myself. Besides, I was so horribly mean.

When my uncle passed, I really wanted to go to his funeral and see the family to apologize. I knew that face to face, I could do it. And with Jimmy by my side, I had someone to lean on. Someone who believed in me. Someone who could absolutely vouch for me.

The obituary never named my father as a brother. Everyone else was listed but him. I found that hilarious! I found out later it was unintentional, but still...bravo! I went to sign the online guest book, and saw a rather peculiar message that was directed at MY UNNAMED FATHER being sent condolences from some random people in New Jersey......WHAT??????

I immediately contacted the proper people running the page and said that the person from NJ was a family member trying to cause the family more grief, and if they wanted to speak to me, to call me, and left my number. They immediately emailed me back and thanked me for keeping an eye out for the family, took the posting down and I never heard anything else about it. After that, one of my brothers left a message on my machine explaining that our father wanted all of us to attend the funeral as a family. That was when I decided not to go, because I knew that if my father pulled some online stunt to hurt the family, he had other plans to make the family feel uncomfortable and only hurt them more. Against my husband's suggestion, I did not attend the funeral.

At that time, MySpace was popular and I decided to reach out the only way I was comfortable. I searched for my cousin that I hurt to apologize and give my condolences. She surprisingly accepted my friend request and we started emailing back and forth. It was nice. We made a 'date' to my family (husband and kids) to meet with her and her family. I was quite excited.

The very first thing that came out of all of their mouths was "We don't have any money to give." WTF? That's not what this was about. This was about family, not desperate times or a need to get dug out of a hole we put ourselves in. However, I understood, since that was the only way my father contacted any of his family was when he dug himself so deep and exhausted all of his financial resources, that rather than going out and getting a job, he became a beggar. Or he made Mom beg.

I thought things were going well, until dear old dad decided to harass one of my cousins at her place of business on Father's Day. She knew that he did it on purpose, and quite frankly, I know that as well. He will always deny this, but even when he 'accidentally' hurts someone's feelings, he does it in such a way, that you just know he's fully aware.

I was then pretty much dismissed by my extended family that I just started to get to know. I was hurt, but I understood. It still hurts.

Then, suddenly, out of the blue, I go to the store to get a few things to bring home, and I hear someone yelling for me. I usually don't respond, thinking they were calling another Jennifer. But they weren't. It was me. And it was one of my cousins. Someone who dismissed me because of something that my father did to her sister. Someone who simply cannot be a friend to me because of my father. Nothing I personally did, and something that I did not condone, but something HE did...not me. But I was connected to him, so I became shit.

She runs up and hugs me like we're family. I had a million thoughts racing in my head. One thought was to just say, "F*CK YOU" and walk away. But that's not the person I have grown into. I may have been raised that way, but that's not me.

We had some polite conversation briefly, and I smiled and nodded when appropriate, but the entire time, I was just so resentful. I hated her and the rest of them for abandoning me. And not once did she ask how I handled my mother's passing.

We said our goodbyes, and I cried. I cried like a baby. But maybe it's for the best. If they see my father in me when they look into my eyes, that is their problem, not mine. I am not him. I am me. I discipline my kids with love. I support my kids on anything they need. I don't dismiss the special education needs because it would make the family 'look bad'. I make sure they get the services necessary to get them where they need in life. I embrace their humor. I enjoy my kids.

And the extended family can go f*ck themselves.

6.15.2013

I'm not going to lie to you. I am a slacker. You can tell by the lack of upkeep on this blog. Sometimes, I get so caught up in my own nonsense I forget I have a place to vent a bit and maybe be of comfort to someone else in the world. Not that I've seen a lot of traffic here. My own fault, I know.

My latest vent is this: About two years ago, at the insistence of the school system, I applied for SSI benefits for my youngest boy who has PDD-NOS. I really saw not point, as we were not financially suffering at that time. We squeaked by and such. I honestly only applied to prove that we did not qualify.

Turns out, at the time, I was wrong.

My son was granted a certain amount of benefits to supplement our costs of his special care. It helped quite a bit, considering we were purchasing special foods just so he would eat. I mean, you have to understand that we ended up making two dinners per night because this child will not eat the same as anyone else.

So, we get these benefits for over a year. I am now told that they have overpaid me and they want over $2000 back immediately. I have no problem paying off my debts, and if it was not meant to be, so be it. I will be happy to pay the money back to SSI.

I am a little peeved, though. In the last few weeks, I have gone grocery shopping numerous times, scrimping, saving, couponing and really holding back on unnecessary items so I can make a $35/month payment back to SSI. In addition, I have medical bills piled up for myself and my husband because the insurance has increased our deductible to some outlandish amount that we just cannot afford. This is not what I'm peeved about.

Three weeks ago, my husband and I were standing behind a woman with a brand new Iphone, a HUGE diamond ring, expensive clothes, about $30 or more in dog food, and what does she pay with? An EBT card. Government money. Just today, my husband saw a guy counting $50 dollar bills, and pull out an EBT card.

What are we doing wrong that we cannot get any assistance for our son? I don't make a lot. My pay is $9.79/hour for a 35 hour week, and my husband only makes about $5 more per hour. We have three kids and live in subsidized housing where we pay the maximum rent due to our income. I see a lot of neighbors with brand new cars and food stamps, and we can't even get benefits for our son.

Honesty isn't always the best policy. This is what these circumstances have taught me.

I will continue to scrimp, save and coupon for my family. I will continue to not buy any necessary clothes, and if I do get sick, I will make sure to tough it out, because I cannot afford a $50 copay and the expense of medication.

Accommodations

I read a bit ago about how parents of children on the autism spectrum usually take jobs that allow them to be flexible to accommodate their children's needs. I fully agree.

I'm not saying I'm better than anyone, because I know I am not. I'm aware of where I stand and what my place is. However, I have minimal college, and believe I'm quite skilled as far as office procedures and things of that nature.

Over the years - since 2004, when I finally returned to work after my two youngest were born - I went job searching. Not 'career searching'. I needed flexibility to work around not only my husband's schedule, but my children's needs. I began working nights at Walmart. Not my dream job. Who in their right mind says when I grow up, I wanna work at Walmart and get crapped on? No one.

But I did it. And I was good at my job. I showed up, did my work to the best of my ability, and sometimes above and beyond, punched out and went home. 7 hours a night, 5 days a week. I had a routine that all the kids could handle.

After awhile, management actually took a liking to me and offered me 40 hours a week. Instead of working 4-11, I'd be working 2-11. Couldn't happen. They said they'd work around my schedule. Still, wasn't happening. Didn't need that kind of stress. I'm not polite when confronted by angry customers. As a cashier, I can bite my tongue and call a supervisor to handle the rest. As that supervisor, there is no way I can keep my temper from erupting.

I tried going back to 'normal' 9-5 hours working for the county's labor department. It was a new position and they didn't know what to do with me. I was BORED! Most people would love to sit and get paid to do nothing. Not me. I liked being busy. The time flies and you feel accomplished. That lasted all of 2 months, especially after considering summer daycare costs.

Worked as a cashier again, but if I was scheduled for 8 hours a week, I was lucky. That 8 hour paycheck would have union fees/dues subtracted and barely paid my gas for the trip. I also found that if called to come on to work on a scheduled day off and I refused, my hours were shorted the following week, sort of as a 'punishment'.

Finally, I got a job at my kids' school! Sadly, it was in the cafeteria, but the hours were perfect! I could get them off to school and be out of work when they were dismissed. Snow days and such...no problem! Mama's here. My only issue was the staff I worked with. Oh, I couldn't stand it! Small towns breed small minds. The lack of acceptance of others who are different sickened me. I kept to myself, did my work, and went home. I was never invited to go bowling or out to a bar. Not that I'd go, but at least give me the chance to say 'no, but thank you anyway.'

I was at my wit's end and decided to attempt to make a change. I applied for the open Teacher's Assistant position, but was turned down because the other applicant had more experience. However, because they promoted a Teacher's Aide, it was perfect for me! And yes! I got it!

That enthusiasm was short-lived when I realized that I would always be looked at as the 'lunch lady' and not someone who was attempting to make an actual career choice - I wanted to teach. I needed help, guidance and encouragement. I got none of those from my superiors. Five short months after I began, I was given notice that due to budget cuts, my position was terminated as of the following June. This news was during my mother's stay in the hospital - she had a heart attack and hit her head as she fell. I heard the news about my job, but didn't give a damn. Luckily, I'm employed at a school that assists students with varying disabilities. This has helped me so much with my boys. It's a bit trying some days, but I'm back to planning what I originally planned...maybe get my degree and move forward. Sometimes, it works out after all.