Boo has been a crack up lately and here are a few snippets….. remembering that this kid had ‘no functional language’ 4 years ago.

In the car, I am singing along with a Pink CD. The song is ‘Nobody Knows’

Boo, turning down the music: ‘Mum stop being so morbid, sing something with a little BOUNCE in it, will ya?’

****

While having a haircut after school:

‘MAKEUP!!!!’ ……. like in the movies…

he wanted the brush to brush away the hair from his face.

****

This morning when I threw his school clothes at him:

‘What do you expect me to do with THIS?’

****

Caught by his teacher lining up 4 girls against a wall so he can stare at their legs:

‘I wasn’t doing annnyyyy thing! I was looking at their, their SOCKS!’

Thankfully the girls had no idea what he was up to. My Boo has an obsession with legs, mammal legs. People, dogs, horses…..

****

Moo was looking for her pillow. She searched the house. Finally she found it.

In the bathtub.

Boo had placed her pillow, a bag of toys, 4 towels, a chair, a computer game, a sandwich and a pair of pants in there.

What was he up to????? I don’t know, and neither does he.

****

Barely audible squeal from the hallway.

Terrified voice stage whispering ‘Daaaaadddyyyy!!!! Help me! Help ME!!! There is a scorpion!!! A SCORPION!!! Daaaaaadddyyyyyyy!’

And here is the terrifying creature.

scorpion.jpg

Moo took the photo. The line is the grout of the tiles. The ‘scorpion’ was an earwig. I fell about laughing while he cowered in the corner screaming ‘Stop it Mummy!  It’s not fuuuunnnneeeee!”
Boo now knows the word for earwig…..

*****

Watching the TV. John Howard is on. Boo looks at the televison.

‘Loser’

Hmm, me wonders if the child is psychic!

‘Boo are we going to win the lotto?’

‘Don’t be silly Mummy!’

Darn.

*****

That freakin’ Macca’s ad is driving us all insane.

The chick on the radio was singing it too for-Christ-sakes….. AND not getting paid for it.

It is ingrained in our psyche.

So tonight we are having Maccas. Cause I can’t get that stupid jingle outta my head.

Boo decided what I was having, a cheeseburger with BACON.

Then he turned to me and said

‘You want single, double, quadruple or quintuple bacon on your burger?’

Can I have a side order of trip-to-the-hospital-to-clean-out-my-arteries with that?

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Every-freakin-where I look there are shoes.

Open the paper, shoes.

Turn on the TV, my favourite shoe boutique is calling me, the summer range is in!

Open my wardrobe….. yeah.

Boo’s shoes are in the lounge room, DH (negative form) in the hall.

What were the girls fighting about this sunny morning.

Shoes. Too turns to me. ‘Can I wear those black flats of yours?’

‘No!’ I practically banshee scream.

‘Why not? It is not as if you are going to wear them!’ Too turns to Moo, they fall about laughing.

‘Don’t make me hobble after you! Cause if I get you I will rip out your eyelashes!’

Too and Moo wiping the tears out of their eyes. Yeah, they are real funny…

‘Bring it, Hopalong!’ Moo squeals, doing a slow motion run. Too has to sit down she is laughing to so hard.

Biatches. I suppose I brought it on myself. I taught them to be smart mouths. I need to learn to take it as I dish it out.

So today I am home from work, Boo is home from school cause I can’t drive. Or wear shhooooeeesss!!!  He is driving me up the wall yelling at me to do this and that.

I am hobbling around like a crotchety old woman. With the demeanor to match.

Heaven help the telemarketers that call today…

Hello Mrs XXXX how are you today?

Oooooooh, well seeing you asked…..

Bwaaaa haaa haaaa.

china-toys.jpg

My girlfriend A, sent me this today. I was bitching about all the toy recalls because of lead. She thought Boo might like to have a go at this one. Oh I laughed until I stopped. Biatch. In the nicest possible way of course….

I have a chewer. The kid chews everything. Toys, books, fences, clothes, a used emery board. A apparently unbreakable disability specific ‘chew toy’.

A coffee table.

coffee-table.JPG

I wonder if it was made in China??

 Before I hit publish, I need to preface this with I am tired.  Bone achingly, hold-a-pillow-over-my-face-and-scream, shitty at the world, tired. I don’t want sympathy, but if I make you smile, let me know, cause that will make me happy.  Truly it will.  I live to make you smile.

Any offense taken at this post is your sole responsibility.  I really don’t care.  Cause, I don’t know if you know, I am freaking tired.

The internet seems to be having issues with sleep. Every blog I visit seems to have some whinger banging on about ‘oh woe is me, I can’t sleep’ or ‘little precious didn’t sleep last night and now I am totally exhausted’. OK, I admit some of the whining is legitamite, sick kids and insomnia and all that, but for the most part these people are pissing me off.

I haven’t had a decent nights sleep in, lets see,

3265 days

or

78360 hours

or since the birth of Boo.

When Boo was born he stopped breathing. So for the first 18 months he had a breathing monitor strapped to his belly. Affectionately called his ‘ticker’. Little bastard slept all through the night. I spent the time listening for the alarm to go off.

Then the little shit decided that day sleeps were not needed. At 8 months old. The kid did not sleep during daylight hours (save being sick) from before he could crawl.

I used to be a sleeper. 9 or 10 hours a night was common. DH used to say that in winter I went into hibernation. It wasn’t unusual for me to crawl into bed with a hot chocolate (sometimes laced with Baileys or somesuch) when the girls went to bed at 7pm. Kids in bed at 7pm. Sigh. I am lucky if I am in bed before the next day…..

And I was a heavy sleeper. Nothing could wake me. I mean NOTHING *snigger*. Now the slightest change in breathing pattern of the child across the hall and my eyes fly open begging God, Allah, The Goddess, anyone who will listen, that Boo will stay. in. bed.

And then there are the nights when Boo turns on the stealth ninja moves and wakes without me hearing. They are the nights where I wake with a start, the intermingled aroma of shit and toothpaste vaguely registering and notice that my bedroom door is shut. Wrestle with the options. Get up now and clean up or try and ignore it for a few more precious minutes of sleep. Then I wake up fully and my heart leaps to my mouth.

Elvis could have left the building.

He could be playing in the backyard or making dirt angels in the next door neighbours driveway. Wearing nothing but a tshirt and a smile. (Ask me how I know. No don’t, just read back posts of my blog. I couldn’t be bothered. Cause I am TIRED!)

Or calling a number he saw on the television. I sprug him a while back calling to inquire about a home loan. Apparently he ordered the house beforehand.

I fly out of bed to survey the destruction. On, at best, 4 hours sleep.

So suck it up people. Have a Nanna nap. I will crochet you a rug while I am up.

My Boo is too cute.

This morning he asked if I was hungry.

He has decided to make me breakfast.

First of all the sandwich.

sandwich.JPG

Cheese, butter (yes those lumps are butter!) mayonaise and salt. I stopped him just before he poured BBQ sauce and paprika on it.

Lovely presentation with water, 3 cheese and bacon rolls, sultanas, extra salt and a toy. The sandwich is under the bowl. Real professional like. Presented on a tray covered with playdoh.

my-breakfast.JPG

A Boo Happy Meal

Mmmm mmm mmm it’s stomach pump time!

And yes, I did eat the sandwich. I deserve the Mother of the Year award.

Little Johnny made an announcement yesterday. His doppleganger Kevin bobbed his head in agreement.

Autism is baaaaad. Govt is gooooood. Lets chuck some money at early intervention.

A4 worked hard for this. Our convenor Bob was there. Johnny quoted Bob’s research, and made it sound like his own. Typical.

None of the money chucking will benefit us. It is not going to get our house back. It’s not going to be retrospective and bring back our lifestyle and sanity after spending more time and money than any parent should have to spend. And any sibling should have to sacrifice.

But believe it or not, that is not my whinge for the day.

Today’s bitterness is still directed at the Govt, but it has to do with caring for Boo.

The Australian Govt has a program where if your youngest child is at school and you get govt benefits you need to study or get a job. Fair ’nuff I say. But perhaps they need to have someone take a little look at the rules.

I am officially a carer for both my son and husband. I don’t get a payment or anything for DH but since his breakdown I am recognised as his carer as well. And I work. I have scaled back my career aspirations and now work part time while Boo is at school. I had plans and was being groomed for something ‘more’ in my dept. That all disappeared when Boo was diagnosed. I am not bitter about that, I have a more important job now. My Boo is my life, right now he is asleep (finally!) at my feet on a mattress on the loungeroom floor. Snoring lightly, his hair all tousled and beautiful face poking out from his doona cocoon. My forever 2 year old.

But I get pissed off when I get hauled into Centrelink to justify my existence and forced to go to ‘back to work’ training. I am freaking working you morons! Someone please press a fucking button and leave me alone!

Then the pollies get their mugs on TV and say ‘oh the poor carers they have it so hard, they are saving the govt millions of dollars every year and we need to support them yada yada yada’ – dont piss in my pocket buddy, I have enough to do washing shit and toothpaste off the walls without you giving me extra laundry to do. And I am sure your urine don’t smell like flowers.

Now that DH is easing back into work we are in trouble.

You see, I can get respite (a qualified carer coming into our home) to go to the hairdressers or have a massage or go to the movies, but I can’t get it if I am working. If I am working I need to find alternate support. Boo cannot go into child care because of his disability, they don’t have the ‘facilities’ or ‘support’ or fucking ‘clue’ here. There is no where to go.

So I have to ask my parents. My parents that are getting older. My father who is legally blind and has many other difficulties due to the pituitary cancer which caused his blindness, the hip that he is waiting to be replaced and the fact that he is in remission from Lymphoma, my mother who is not only his carer but has health issues of her own including lyphodema after surviving breast cancer. (Yeah, remember yesterday saying I didn’t need someone else wishing me bad luck, that is not the half of my parents dramas) One of them needs to come and care for my child that either my father can’t see or my mother is shorter than so I can go and pay my way in society.

Apparently I should ask my 15 year old to care for her brother. Apparently I should ask her to take responsibility for Boo and give up her life for him. It is bad enough that the girls know that they will have to take over the care of their brother once I have gone for the long nap, I am not asking them to take sole responsibility for him while their parents go and try and earn a wage.

So WTF am I supposed to do Johnny? While you are paying lip service to our plight, I am raising revenue for you in your govt office and caring for 4 of your citizens (my parents need a lot of help too), raising 2 potential tax payers to pay for your retirement while my brother is off fighting your war so you can save face with your mate George.

I have been keeping up with my side of the bargain.

You want me to work, I want to work because it makes me feel like I am something other than a carer.

So how about a little support instead of a pat on the head. It messes up my hair.

I just got in the door (well technically I got in the door about 1/2 an hour ago…..) and this is what greeted me.

Peals of laughter coming from the family room.

You know that contagious, deep belly kid gaffaws that make you smile the second you hear them?

Boo is in there. The PS2, as usual, is on full volume, Taz Wanted blaring, Taz bouncing on a trampoline making a weird banging noise. The out of nowhere the sound of an elephant trumpeting (? Is that even a word?)

And Boo. Bent over laughing so hard that I am sure there are tears in his eyes.

Hitting a Teletubbie repeatedly over the head with a hammer.