I was sick for a week, then Fischer was sick for a week.  Flu and SPD do not go well together.  I couldn't do any heavy work or proprioceptive activity with Fish for a week because my ass was too busy making indents in the couch.  Even when I wasn't beached up, exhausting options on the DVR, I couldn't do heavy work.  Then he got sick and wasn't able to do any heavy work himself for a week.  2 weeks minus heavy work combined with lack of routine means an additional 2 weeks of out-of-sync, domestic woe.

We've been trying to find ways to get Fischer physical exercise and the heavy work he needs to get back on track, but it's rough when it's cold.  His reaction time to activity is delayed; he may do the heavy work every day this week, but won't start regulating until next week.  Yesterday morning, we did some wheelbarrow walks before heading to the kids museum where we climbed enough stairs to flare up my rheumatoid arthritis.  (I was completely devastated that I had to consume Tylenol PMs last night.)  Then we did some swinging, sandbox, and rode on the 4-wheeler, in the rain. 

Today, I'll have to play Pengu; a hodge-podge of tent building, pillow throwing, and hide-and-seeking where I typically play the shit character.  I'm always the slow, unattractive, underdog.  I never get to be Captain Hook- I'm either Mr. Smee or a puny pirate.  Occasionally, I get to be the poop monster...at least he mixes it up.  If being the poop monster means he'll get underwear and pants on, I'm in. 

Tonight is gymnastics.  Lately, he's been campaigning against gymnastics.  Novelty has worn off, and the structure of the class infringes on his sensory seeking.  He was actually elated last week that he had diarrhea and could not attend class.  He tried to tell me this morning that he had diarrhea down the crack of the couch.  He's made it abundantly clear that he will not participate unless he gets a Wendy's hamburger before class.  Once the boss was finished outlining the rules, he agreed.  He just told me that he plans to let his teachers know that he had diarrhea last week, which is why he could not attend class.  I tried explaining to him that it is more appropriate to simply let them know that he was sick, but he believes in full disclosure.  I just hope he doesn't feel the need to demonstrate where diarrhea originates.  Last week, he spread his cheeks and asked me to look for his diary.  He dropped his pants at my parents house and showed them his rash.  I think he understands the difference between public and private appropriateness in this matter, but I'm not quite sure.  Either way, I'm pretty positive the word diarrhea is the word of the day. 

Mom blogs are huge right now.  In fact, some of my favorite mommy blogs are frequented by thousands of visitors daily with 100+ comments on each post.  Perhaps this just pisses me off because I have yet to receive my first comment.  And I'm no where near thousands of visitors a day, but I think that a surplus of 550 hits in the first month isn't too shabby.  I follow blogs of SAHMs as well as working moms.  And I've come to the conclusion that over half of the moms that claim to be SAHMs are full of shit.  They are knee deep in bs and not the knee deep shit that I'm experiencing with a noro-infested tot on my hands right now. 

I'm not a SAHM by design.  I lost my job almost exactly 1 year ago and apparently a Master's degree with 10+ years of experience isn't enough in this economy.  So, I've started looking into the 'making-money-online' notion that you hear tweple chirping about all the time.  I'm an above average writer, but more importantly (I've realized), I'm a really smart dumbass.  AND, I'm confident enough to put my dirty laundry out to dry, wrinkle, soil, and mold, which is really what people want.  I recently told a friend that a really good writer must be self-aware/confident and vulnerable at the same time.  So, I've got the tools in my rusty toolbox complete with ancient gold fish crackers, used tissues, and moldy sippy cups. 

I finally got this damn website up and running, which took FORever...8 months to be precise.  Keeping up with the trends means following a lot of mom/dad blogs, working mom blogs, and other female blogs.  Posting just 1 blog per day, promoting it on fb and twitter, and reading my favorite bloggers daily would take at least 8 hours, easy.  Here I must point out that the antecedent to my writing is Fischer.  I have offspring.  I am a mom, and by design or not, I'm a SAHM.  And Fish is a toddler with SPD.  He runs my ass ragged all day long.  So, I can't spend 8 hours writing and reading.  I also have to squeeze in applying for "real jobs" every day, which is a full-time job in-and-of itself.  Then you throw in ridiculous necessities like laundry, dishes, cleaning (or mere tidying up in my world), cooking, paying bills, getting groceries, and errands. 

I used to clean-up quite well and dress in chic clothing with stellar shoes.  I suppose I could have just ended that statement with clean-up and dress and it would have been adequate.  My living space was immaculate.  I've mopped my current floor 3 times over the past 12 months, and right now, I'm looking down at some sort of sticky, gooey, gunk that slightly resembles something that should only be seen while swirling down the toilet.  I pay bills late, and I never clean my car.  I play tractors, trucks, Captain Hook, tag, hide-and-seek, bike ride, and do activities each and every day, but i know that it isn't enough.  This stuff takes TIME.  I have several friends who are also SAHMs.  They have similar complaints about lack of time, mental stability, and a trashy living space- qualities of a true SAHM- and most of them are not also trying to write and find a job.  So, the conclusion that I've arrived at is this: a shit-ton (which is a lot) of the moms who claim to be SAHMs and write...total bollocks. 

I read blogs from SAHMs who complain about similar things, yet they have time to post 3 or 4 posts per day, plus freelance, and contribute to other blogs.  I say bullshit.  I've only got 1 living, breathing little person to raise and it's difficult for me to write 1 blog per day.  I read blogs of parents with 4+ offspring, many of which include major special-needs children.  What the hell?  Have they discovered some coffee with supernatural powers?  Do they smuggle ativan and xanax on the side?  Can they actually function with a bottle of wine running through their system everyday?  Do they only require 4 hours of shut-eye for full-functioning capacity?  Or, do they have an offspring remote equipped with stop, pause, and play features?  Pretty sure the answer is not any of the fore mentioned.  They are just full of shit. SAHMs who blog, freelance, guest contribute and write books must either parent make-believe offspring or they covet the secret N-word (nanny).  This conclusion makes me feel liberated.  I can talk myself into and out-of almost anything, which is really quite the attribute when you fail on a daily basis.  Self-validation is so underrated.   

Growing up, holidays were my favorite.  My mom went all out.  As a result, I have massive Easter nostalgia:  the bunny, the candy, the basket, wearing alarmingly dreadful dresses, making my church appearance for the year, and the awesome egg hung with my extended family.  My cousins and I have children now, but we still celebrate all holidays with the same extended family.  So when we're all present, there are 23 of us.  And they are loud, talk a lot (myself included), and opinionated.  In addition, we play loud games like catch phrase; even games like euchre get loud.   

Now that I have Fischer, crowded and loud make for a rough day and a rough week of deregulation to follow.  It's now Wednesday and we're still trying to get back to "normal".  (FYI- I don't actually know what normal means.)  He's chewing on blankets, sweatshirt ties, and toys.  He's telling me 'no' when I ask him to do anything.  And when he wants to mix it up, he says, "I'm not talking to you."  He gets frustrated really easily and he gets rough with the tablet and his toys.

Getting clothes on the kid is manual labor.  He's been wearing jammies for days because there is no way I'm even attempting to get him dressed.  Well, pajama bottoms and a stained Justin Verlander shirt; changing the shirt is the most difficult part of dressing.  He refuses to wear socks with his boots, and then they get sweaty and stuck on his feet and he gets pissed and screams.  For whatever reason, even if I tell him not to wear cowboy boots without socks, it's still my fault when they won't come off.  Funny how that works.  Reverse psychology doesn't work and neither do threats and bribery, so I'm basically screwed.  Yesterday, he refused to put shoes, socks, or a coat on when leaving my parent's house; I thought for sure he'd turn around and head back in the house when his arms and bare feet met 35 degrees, but no such luck. 

Because his behavior is more "appropriate" and socially acceptable when i am not around, it might appear that I baby him or exaggerate his deregulated behavior.  I think it's difficult for even those that we're close with to understand why he is "easy" when I'm not around.  He's still effected by the crowds, noise, lighting, touch sensations and over-stimulation when I'm not around, he just utilizes his coping mechanisms.  What a lot of people may not realize is that he works twice as hard as "normal" kids in over-stimulating situations, like holidays.  Even when he's out-of-sync, if I am not nearby, he doesn't usually exhibit behavioral difficulties.  But, as his OT says, I am his safety net.  He doesn't have to be on-his-game when he's with me.  He doesn't have to use the tiring coping mechanisms that he has developed for social situations.  I'm glad I can be that for him, but damn, it is so tiring and frustrating. 

Fischer is with his dad right now, which is why I have a necessary respite to compose this post.  He will run him ragged and give him loads of heavy work to help regulate him, despite the entire 20 oz sprite that I know Kevin's buddy will give him.  I only have 1 jar of olives left, and since I haven't had time to shower in days, I won't be able to make a public appearance to replenish.  Ya know, 1 jar of olives only make 3-4 dirty martinis?

This Easter marks the second holiday that Fischer has made it public knowledge that he doesn't like one of my aunts.