You Wanna Know What My Problem Is? I'll *Tell* You What My Problem Is!
Alex has been pissing all over the house for the past two days, and it's making us meshugah. He will not, will not potty train. He will not do it in a boat, he will not do it on a goat. He will not do it here or there, he will not do it anywhere. And it is making us weep with frustration. Steve lost it with him today after catching him peeing on the couch. He was just lying there on the couch, listening to music, and just let it go. He didn't even stand up to aim or anything. Steve swept him up and tossed him in his room, just so they didn't have to look at each other for awhile. While Alex was imprisoned in his jail with the sky-blue-with-clouds paint and all his books, he shat.
We want to die.
I did a Google search for "autism potty training", since Alex, although he has been diagnosed with Sensory Integration Disorder and not autism, is very much behaving like an autistic child over the god damned potty issue.
"I need help," I thought as I scrolled through the pages, "I need to talk to somebody who has been through this who can talk me down."
Around page 3 or so I found an Autism support group bulletin board with a thread about difficulties with potty training. I clicked on it to read it, and maybe to post a query for help of my own. I ended up not doing it and here's why:
Yuck! Jesus fuck! Mothers! The place was filled with Mothers! I hate those people! Now, I know a lot of women who havechildren who aren't like that, so many,in fact, that I should just shut up, but what the hell has happened to these women that they act like they have a dirty diaper stuffed in their cranium where their brain used to be?
Their signatures are all "I'm Supermommysnugglebunny, Mommy of Three precious blessings, DAKOTA, 13, MACKENZIE, 11, and ENID, 36 Months! And they've got blinking signs that say I'm a stay-at-home mom!!!!!!!!!!!!! and I love being a MOM!!!!!!!!!! and their posts are full of ((((((((((((((((hugs)))))))))))))))) and DH's and DD's and DS's and there's no "there" there, just this big blank wall of MOM that seems impenetrable and zombie-like to me, and it freaks me out because I can't find any humanity in them, oddly enough.
My first thoughts when I meet these women, whether I'm on the internet or in my real life, is always the same: Jesus, I'm glad *I'm* not a Mother. Oh...wait. When Steve and I moved to Suburban Heck and Alex was a little baby and I had to make all the Tupperware and Partylite rounds, dragged along by my friend Julie because misery loves company, I was unable to make small talk with anybody. It was always, always the same, Which diapers do you buy, Huggies or Pampers? Oh, you shouldn't be buying that, you should be buying what *I* buy! Did you hear the news? There's a NEW JEWEL opening up nearby! And all the women would sigh Oh, thank Goodness and I've been waiting for years, just years! and Who's coming to Muffy's house for scrapbooking? I just found the cutest stickers with trains on them at Wal-Mart and I have this great picture of Thurston in his overalls, won't that be so cute?
And I sit there, contributing nothing, and daydreaming of the scene from Harold and Maude where his mother is signing him up for a dating service and ignoring him while he sits in a chair and loads a handgun before putting it in his mouth and pulling the trigger.
And the parties where the husbands are invited are even worse, because eventually one of the men will take pity on me and ask, "Do you stay at home with the kids?" and I say, "Uh, no. I don't." and they say, "What do you do?" and I say "I sell sex toys." and it's like I said "My broker is E.F. Hutton" all of a sudden and then I'm *extremely* popular with the husbands, which, as we all know, makes me extremely unpopular with the Mothers.
So the upshot of all of this is that I sat, frozen in front of the computer, completely unable to ask for help, terrified of what might fly from my fingers.
Hey, has anybody ever watched any of that porn from Digital Playground? Have you noticed the men wax their balls? Do you think that hurts worse than waxing your outer labia? I kind of think it might. And can anybody give me any reassurance about my disabled son and his potty issues?
Maybe it's feminism that has done it to me, that I not only can not connect with Mothers, but that I don't even want to. Maybe I'm just used to feminist mothers in general, who I've been paying attention to for several years now and have never seemed to give a shit what brand of diaper I'm buying but have you seen the Waxman report on abstinence-only education, those lying fucks?
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Has anybody ever watched any of that porn from Digital Playground? Have you noticed the men wax their balls? Do you think that hurts worse than waxing your outer labia? I kind of think it might. And can anybody give me any reassurance about my disabled son and his potty issues? If you feel inclined to answer either one of these issues for me, please e-mail me.
Thanks.
Alex has been pissing all over the house for the past two days, and it's making us meshugah. He will not, will not potty train. He will not do it in a boat, he will not do it on a goat. He will not do it here or there, he will not do it anywhere. And it is making us weep with frustration. Steve lost it with him today after catching him peeing on the couch. He was just lying there on the couch, listening to music, and just let it go. He didn't even stand up to aim or anything. Steve swept him up and tossed him in his room, just so they didn't have to look at each other for awhile. While Alex was imprisoned in his jail with the sky-blue-with-clouds paint and all his books, he shat.
We want to die.
I did a Google search for "autism potty training", since Alex, although he has been diagnosed with Sensory Integration Disorder and not autism, is very much behaving like an autistic child over the god damned potty issue.
"I need help," I thought as I scrolled through the pages, "I need to talk to somebody who has been through this who can talk me down."
Around page 3 or so I found an Autism support group bulletin board with a thread about difficulties with potty training. I clicked on it to read it, and maybe to post a query for help of my own. I ended up not doing it and here's why:
Yuck! Jesus fuck! Mothers! The place was filled with Mothers! I hate those people! Now, I know a lot of women who havechildren who aren't like that, so many,in fact, that I should just shut up, but what the hell has happened to these women that they act like they have a dirty diaper stuffed in their cranium where their brain used to be?
Their signatures are all "I'm Supermommysnugglebunny, Mommy of Three precious blessings, DAKOTA, 13, MACKENZIE, 11, and ENID, 36 Months! And they've got blinking signs that say I'm a stay-at-home mom!!!!!!!!!!!!! and I love being a MOM!!!!!!!!!! and their posts are full of ((((((((((((((((hugs)))))))))))))))) and DH's and DD's and DS's and there's no "there" there, just this big blank wall of MOM that seems impenetrable and zombie-like to me, and it freaks me out because I can't find any humanity in them, oddly enough.
My first thoughts when I meet these women, whether I'm on the internet or in my real life, is always the same: Jesus, I'm glad *I'm* not a Mother. Oh...wait. When Steve and I moved to Suburban Heck and Alex was a little baby and I had to make all the Tupperware and Partylite rounds, dragged along by my friend Julie because misery loves company, I was unable to make small talk with anybody. It was always, always the same, Which diapers do you buy, Huggies or Pampers? Oh, you shouldn't be buying that, you should be buying what *I* buy! Did you hear the news? There's a NEW JEWEL opening up nearby! And all the women would sigh Oh, thank Goodness and I've been waiting for years, just years! and Who's coming to Muffy's house for scrapbooking? I just found the cutest stickers with trains on them at Wal-Mart and I have this great picture of Thurston in his overalls, won't that be so cute?
And I sit there, contributing nothing, and daydreaming of the scene from Harold and Maude where his mother is signing him up for a dating service and ignoring him while he sits in a chair and loads a handgun before putting it in his mouth and pulling the trigger.
And the parties where the husbands are invited are even worse, because eventually one of the men will take pity on me and ask, "Do you stay at home with the kids?" and I say, "Uh, no. I don't." and they say, "What do you do?" and I say "I sell sex toys." and it's like I said "My broker is E.F. Hutton" all of a sudden and then I'm *extremely* popular with the husbands, which, as we all know, makes me extremely unpopular with the Mothers.
So the upshot of all of this is that I sat, frozen in front of the computer, completely unable to ask for help, terrified of what might fly from my fingers.
Hey, has anybody ever watched any of that porn from Digital Playground? Have you noticed the men wax their balls? Do you think that hurts worse than waxing your outer labia? I kind of think it might. And can anybody give me any reassurance about my disabled son and his potty issues?
Maybe it's feminism that has done it to me, that I not only can not connect with Mothers, but that I don't even want to. Maybe I'm just used to feminist mothers in general, who I've been paying attention to for several years now and have never seemed to give a shit what brand of diaper I'm buying but have you seen the Waxman report on abstinence-only education, those lying fucks?
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Has anybody ever watched any of that porn from Digital Playground? Have you noticed the men wax their balls? Do you think that hurts worse than waxing your outer labia? I kind of think it might. And can anybody give me any reassurance about my disabled son and his potty issues? If you feel inclined to answer either one of these issues for me, please e-mail me.
Thanks.
posted by flea at 12/06/2004 08:57:00 PM
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