He's Not Stupid Damnit....

Forgive me for not updating this in a while; life has gotten hectic around the Jones house. The baby is walking, the older two are in school, all the activities, doctor’s appointments, etc - life has become crazy. This isn't my normal ranting kinda blog (well, not much), but one that's more about my oldest son, Grayson.

Some of ya'll have had the pleasure of meeting my oldest, quirky six-year-old son. He's tall and horribly skinny. He looks exactly like his father with my coloring and he's autistic. There I wrote it: My son is autistic. Before my youngest was born last October, I made it a mission to get Gray tested for autism because so many told me he just had a speech delay, ADHD, and simply didn't fall on the spectrum when he was tested through the school. I told them they were wrong (a mother knows). So we had him tested and it came back that he did have a mild form of autism. He was five when we got the diagnosis and even though I suspected it, it was still devastating. But I had no time to wallow in self pity - my son needed me, I had a newborn who needed me and my daughter just decided to keep driving me insane. Jimmy was angry at those who previously tested him and honestly the whole world it seemed - who wants their child to be anything but what one considers "normal"?

So I immediately had Grayson put in private speech classes and private occupational therapy classes, informed his school of the diagnosis and told family and friends the news. And while it was just a label, you cannot imagine how differently my son was treated. His impulsive behavior was no longer Grayson being bad but now he “couldn’t help himself.” People talked slower to my son like he was stupid – which is far from the case with most autistic children. Or – my favorite – when he did really simple things that most kids his age should really know how to do (ie. put a ball in a hoop), people would cheer him like he solved world peace. It was humbling, irritating and sometimes comical. I will never forget the one lady at his school who told me that “Bless your heart. God doesn’t give you what you can’t handle.” I was rather bitchy that day and replied, “Not true. That’s why God invented suicide.” (Thanks Cathy!).  So no, I’m not the best at handling all of this.

And then I had so many people put me in touch with other’s who also had autistic children and I will never forget what this one wonderful woman wrote me (at the time I was so full of self pity that it didn’t sink in). She wrote, “It gets better – I promise.” And Maria was right, it does get better. I had a diagnosis, I had a plan of attack to help my boy and he is not the same child he was last year – he and I are both better.

But honestly, I know some of ya’ll have no idea that my son hates making eye contact, doesn’t generally prefer the company of his peers but would rather be around adults, hates any type of change to his very routine life and other quirky things – but does it really matter where he falls on the damn spectrum? And please don’t stop me in the grocery store and gush about how “great” my son is improving – he’s simply growing and learning like other kids do at his age, really it shouldn’t be a big deal. As I told Jimmy, autism is what Grayson has but it’s not who he is. Oh and I don’t care about your neighbor’s grandchild who lives in Oklahoma who is also autistic – if you don’t know what to say, it’s okay. Ask me what you want and I’ll try to educate you but otherwise I’m good.

My son is autistic and it’s going to be okay.

A Little Inspiration

As some of y'all know, I've been working out and dieting like is my job. What most of you do not know is that I have received many e-mails, texts and phones calls from a lot of people asking about the program I was doing and sharing their own story of struggle with me. Guys, I am not a weepy person but one person has been on my mind for days now and even now I get tears in my eyes thinking how truly hard we are on ourselves. For years, I was a big girl and made 101 excuses as to why I couldn't lose weight (kept me warm in the winter), couldn't diet (food loved my fat ass) and resigned myself to the fact that since I was someone's mother I shouldn't bother looking good. It was such a bunch of bullshit I fed to myself rather than do all the things I needed to do. I was miserable and hated what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I can tell you now that there is a period of time in my life that there are no pictures of me because I hated what I saw. And then I just got tired of feeling sorry for myself. I got tired of being the fat girl with the hot husband. You know, the girl you look at and wonder what her husband is doing with her? That was me. So I made promises to myself that - since I wasn't having anymore kids - I'd lose the weight even if it killed me. I made small, feasible goals (walk a mile), started to eat smaller portions of the same crap I always ate (counted for something) and told myself that I wouldn't give up this time. And then my friend Kristin took charge and offered to train a group of us for 12 weeks - show us the basics of weights, put us on this 1200 calorie/day diet and promised to get us results. The woman doesn't coddle at all. She's awesome and has whipped my ass into possibly the best shape of my life. I'm strong and feel good about my body. I have my confidence back - it has been gone for a long time. And I actually stuck with this, which shocked the hell out of me. To my friend who I know will read this, I want you to know I will be with you every step of the way on your journey. We were never close, but I have been where you are and support you. It will not come overnight, I started working out back in December and am on week 7 or my fitness program - you have a ways to go. But I'm here and I do believe in you. We are all so hard on ourselves at times, we don't have enough faith in ourselves and overall we just don't love who we are. I have been so fortunate to have a great group of people cheering me on and it has made all those times that I've wanted to quit so much easier. My motivation has been to not let myself or my cheering crew down....but man, I miss doughnuts! I like what I see when I look in the mirror...now to work on my forgiveness and grudge holding. Eh, maybe later.

And So We Meet...

Ah, Saturday morning. While most people look forward to the weekends, I often dread it. Everyone is home, stuff still needs to be done around the house and my husband either manages to disappear (he's currently at the gym) or plants his ass on the couch and watch whatever sport is currently on (it's the ACC tournament this weekend I've been informed). So me and the kiddos usually hit the park or whatever else we can manage to find while Bruce Wayne stays in the Batcave.
This month marks 10 years that Jimmy and I have been together. Ten years. Ten of the damn longest years of my life. I mean we've only been married almost six (yes, I was totally pregnant when we got married), but we've been together a total of 10.
Ten years ago this month I met the man I would marry, have three kids with and seriously contemplate murdering on a weekly basis. It has been a hell of a ride.
So I figured I'd share how I first met Jimmy. It's not a great story but it's ours.
I use to sell temporary labor and was asked to come by the company Jimmy worked for at the time. Something I didn't know - Jimmy's co-worker had seen me before and was trying to set me up with Jimmy. For once in my life, I got somewhere early and gave my pitch and went to leave. Chris told me to wait for Jimmy to come back since he's the one I'd be directly dealing with. Not a problem. So I sat and waited and waited and waited. And then the door flew open and in walked this really tall handsome man. I remember watching him having to duck his head as he walked through the doorway. I was at a loss for words for once in my life. For he looked nothing like I imagined and I have it bad for tall men. As awful as I make my husband sound, he is a good looking man. And I gawked at him the first time I ever met him. And then he opened his mouth and introduced himself and out came the most charming southern accent that you ever did hear.
That pretty much awoke me from my shock. I asked him where the hell was he from to sound so...hick. He laughed and told me North Carolina. And then he told me that I didn't look at all Vietnamese. And that's when I knew that I had been set up...but was strangely okay with it.
We chatted and made plans to go to dinner to discuss business (yeah right!) and even exchanged phone numbers. He was so charming and has such an aw shucks manner that I was just enchanted. It would be probably three weeks before we went on our first official date and two weeks after that that I knew he was "the one" - but man, I just remember how shaking his hand was such a thrill. The man was hot.
Did I mention I was dating some schmuck at the time? Eh, I didn't care either.
So that's it. Ten years, three kids, countless of fights and memories as well as some laughter. That charming southern accent tends to grate on my nerves at times now - especially since my daughter has picked it up. He's still a good looking man - at least that hasn't changed. Oh and he's still tall and has all his hair.
He's also currently back from the gym and has planted his ass on the couch for the rest of the day. Taking the kids to the park now.

Always Be Nice To Whoever Your Child Brings Home For You Never Know Who They Might Marry

I hate my mother-in-law. Truly I think she is the damn devil for many reasons. Yesterday was my birthday, and so I got a birthday card from her in the mail and didn't even bother opening it because..well, I hate her. So when I finally opened the card, I just glanced at it briefly and noticed there was a personal message inside. After being with my husband for 10 of the longest years of my life and giving birth to 3 kids, the woman wrote me a note basically saying she didn't know why I didn't like her (bullshit!) and that she was sorry "for whatever she had done to me."
I threw the card in the trash can...but not before I called up my friend Michelle and read her the whole message in the requested country accent.
Now I will admit that I can hold a grudge like no other if I feel like I've been wronged or if I just flat out hate your ass. Ask Jimmy, I've gone weeks without speaking to him after a fight and we live in the same house. The whole crap of forgive and forget? I don't. I may lie to you and tell you that I do but I really don't.
So perhaps you're wondering why I hate mama's fat ass. I will only go over the highlighted stuff since I could sit here writing all day long. How about I start off the first time I met her? First of all, Jimmy in his infinite wisdom decided I needed to drive to North Carolina on the day before Thanksgiving to meet his entire family for the first time. Just one thing - he failed to mention to them that I'm half-black...for he didn't know what they would say. Now rather than have a "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" moment with a bunch of country white people, I told him that there was no way in hell I was going to drive up there unless he told them before I arrived and so he did. I would have loved to have been there for it. It would have been amazing. So I arrived and still got that, "Holy crap, there's a colored person in my house!" look. And then got grilled about my whole life and religious background. It was great and I obviously answered every question wrong. But things weren't horrible and I went to sleep that night thinking that the next day could not possibly get any worse. I was so damn wrong.
I woke up to a truck picking up a gigantic block of freshly picked cotton (told you they were country!). Things were fairly normal for the most part until mama went to her room got a newspaper clipping and handed it to Jimmy saying, "I cried when I saw this." Curious, I glanced over at it and saw it was a wedding announcement...for Jimmy's ex-girlfriend.
Strike one.
I was actually too shocked to say a word, so I just didn't.
Then the day continued and mama mentioned that she got called for jury duty and didn't want to do it because it was probably some drug dealer and "lord knew that he was just a no good n-word." Except she actually said the whole word and my mouth and Jimmy's fell open in shock. Jimmy was horrified and rightfully so. Meanwhile, I felt like I was trapped in an episode of the Twilight Zone and died laughing. And before she could even say it, I said, "Please don't say that white people can be n-words too, cause they just can't." She looked at me and said, "I'm not racist." I couldn't help it I had to say, "Because you have friends that are black, right?"
Strike two.
And it was then that I decided to leave early for I did not want to find out what foul shit would come out of her mouth next. But I didn't leave soon enough for we ate dinner and as I was eating my collards, mama looked at me and said, "Do you want some vi-nigger for your collards." I choked on my food and looked at her and said, "I believe it's pronounced vinegar" and went back to eating. Freudian slip? I think so!
Strike three.
All of this happened the very first time I met Jimmy's family I shit you not and over the years it has just gotten better and better. There's fact that she use to sit me at the kids table during the holidays, or if we went anywhere to eat and she would push me out of the way so she could sit next to Precious (aka Golden Child) or even better how she told everyone and their mother how it was just wrong that I was living in sin with Jimmy and how awful I was for it...cause you know I was f*cking myself and molesting Jimmy. I will say I did get fed up with her telling everyone about it and finally said, "Listen I don't particularly think it's right that you had a child at 15 but I've let it go." She really never said much to me after that - nor have I said much of anything to her.
And then I had three kids with Jimmy and decided my kids would be around that foulness as little as possible....and because I still hate her. And it has caused many fights between Jimmy and it's because his umbilical cord is still attached, but he picks and chooses his battles now and I simply take my iPad with me and ignore them all.
So moral of the story, people: always be nice to every trick, thug or whoever your child brings home for no matter how hard you pray, your child may just marry that person. And that person may just hold a grudge and you will never, ever, ever see your grand kids.

Valentine's Smalentines

Today is Valentine's Day and I think it has to be one of the crappiest days ever. And before you all think I'm bitter, my husband  did actually want to do something sweet, I just refuse to let him waste the money on such a farce of a holiday. Correction: it's not a holiday if the banks are still open, the mail runs and the kids are still in school.
I find it hard to get excited about a day where one celebrates their love for another when they should do this every day. I don't need jewelry, a fancy dinner or flowers to make me happy. Simple things like a note (which will never happen with my husband), watching the kids, cleaning up or sex will do just fine. I think when you're young and fancy free, maybe it's cute. You know, like when you're exchanging Valentine's Day cards in your kindergarten class. Otherwise, not so much.

So to all of you who are spending today with the one you love - good for you. Hope he spends a mint on you. I meanwhile will spend my last day as a 35 year old, watching mindless tv, chasing my kids around, eating yet another salad and not blowing a crap ton of money on a day that is just a damn joke.

Bitch, Bitch, Bitch, Bitch, Bitch

So I've come to this awe inspiring conclusion that my husband likes to complain for no apparent reason a lot. He and the hang up button on my phone are actually the best of friends because I just get tired of hearing it at times. What does he complain about? Everything and anything. From my blog, my iPad, my iPhone, to the baby crying (they just aren't suppose to do that I suppose), traffic and other randomly stupid shit.
Okay, so this post started because last night he said he was going to take my iPad away like I'm a friggin' five year old or something. He always complains about how much time I spend on whatever electronic device I may have in my hands but I never say a word (aloud) about him watching every sport known to man, the massive amount of golf he plays or whatever else he might be doing...because I'm usually occupied with my kids or my iPad. I mean I could understand if he wanted me to put it down so that I could talk to him but that is so not the case. He just wants me to watch the kids so that he can do whatever the hell he wants.
So we get into this fight last night because as you all can tell I'm just not one to hold my tongue and I told him it's really not like I wouldn't just go out and buy another one. That's when he threatens to close our bank account (sure he would - I didn't point out that he can't since I'm the primary member on an account I've had since I was a kid), tells me not to try to test him (I do it daily - he should know this by now) and then he started to say something else and that's when I looked at him and said, "Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. Damn, can you not do anything else?"
Maybe it's this diet that I'm on that made me just not fear for my life or maybe it's as my friend Cathy told me a long time ago - once you go past a certain point, there's just not turning back. Her other great advice? Rather than just show fear, go nuts - it's scares the hell out of them.
I chose not to do either last night, I was tired and really just wanted to go to bed. I've learned to just walk away a lot lately (another friend taught me this trick). I think it bothers Jimmy more because he expects me to carry on like I'm crazy. Silence is indeed golden.
Do I expect an apology from my little Princess Diva? Hell no, that's just not his style. Like every male out there, he'll think that because it's a new day I've forgotten about it all. So not the case but I guess if he didn't kill me for my "Bitch, bitch, bitch," comment - I can let it go....eventually.

Sausage

So I'm happy. I mean really happy. In the past week I finally met a goal and it feels good to accomplish something I set out to do. Not only am I happy but I'm walking around smiling like a fool - even have the occasional pep in my step. You see, after my son was born in October, I made a promise to myself to lose some weight and exercise. And then I made a long term goal of what size I wanted to be by the time I was 36. So I started working out and eating slighty better after Christmas (no way I was going to attempt it during the holidays for me and food have a wonderful relationship).
And the last week, I went to the Gap and decided to try on a pair of size 8 jeans just for sheer amusement...and they fit!!! Even better I didn't look like sausage or have a muffin top! I was dancing like I was on Soul Train in the dressing room and was just blown away. When I started this journey, I was a size 14 and my goal was to one day be in a single digit. Now before we continue, let me just say that I do not know exactly how much weight I've loss or how much I currently weigh - I don't believe in scales and refused to be ruled by a number. As long as my clothes fit and look good, I'm fine with it.
Now what? I've set another goal to go down another size and once I meet this goal I'm not sure what I'll do. I have no desire to be stick thin - honestly, I'm happy where I am now.
To everyone who has contacted me with their own journey into being fit, I wish you the best of luck. I'm also humbled by the fact that there are those of you who I have inspired to join me on this journey. I'm going to be honest with you, it's taken a lot of work and hasn't been easy at all. Currently I'm on a 1200 calorie/day diet, do cardio three days a week and strength training three days a week - and I drink a TON of water. I live at the gym lately. It was until I changed my diet radically that I noticed my clothes were getting looser but keep in mind I've been working out since the end of December.
So once you do start to lose some weight, please do not squeeze yourself into a pair of jeans and look like sausage because I will make fun of you.