Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Eff You For Not Suffering With Me

There's lots of talk of resentment in our community.  It makes sense.  We see our children struggle with something that has no known cause or cure.  We resent our NT friends for getting to take naps.  We resent ignorant people who suggest that autism can be fixed with a "good spanking."  We resent each other for suggesting that we're doing it wrong--wrong diet, wrong shots, wrong therapy.  And we resent insurance companies for refusing to cover any of the above.

We're a sensitive bunch.  So it gets even tougher when the resentment hits closer to home.  As in, it hits in our home.

My husband and I handle this pretty well.  We have a running joke.  We tell each other to fuck off.  It's nice.  If he's at home with the boys, and things aren't going so well, I might get a text that reads, "He dumped an entire box of cereal on the couch, but it's under control.  Enjoy your cocktails.  Fuck you!  Love you!"

Such fun!

Because of the nature of my husband's job, I'm more likely to send the "fuck you" texts.  He travels and has to stay overnight at least once a week.  He says it's boring, but I'm jealous.  I've never stayed in a hotel room by myself.  It seems like an extraordinary luxury.  You mean I don't have to go looking for quiet?  Quiet is already here?! 

My husband was in Boston last week for work, and I was getting the house ready for the ABA therapist.  As I was putting the cushions back on the couch (again!) I became aware of a poop smell.  I looked up to see a naked, shit-smeared boy.  He was going to need a shower pronto.  But before I could stop him, he jumped on the couch.  Now the couch was going to need cleaning, too.  I got him into the tub, and as I was soaping and scrubbing and cursing under my breath, I could hear the ding-ding of my cell phone.  A text.  I ignored it, dressed the boy, handed him over to the therapist, and went about getting the skid mark off the couch.  Ding-ding!  What now?
A picture is worth a thousand f-bombs.

I washed the turd remnants from my hands and picked up the phone.  It was a message from my husband!  His company set him up in a much nicer hotel this time!  He sent a picture!

My response:  "The boy just shit somewhere and smeared it all over himself.  Had to wash him and the couch.  Fuck you and your fancy hotel room.  xoxo"

And I was kidding.  Mostly.

But it's hard not to get resentful.  I know he'd rather be home.  I do.  I also know that I'd rather he be home, too, so I could be in a hotel room.

He's away again today.  We had a doctor's appointment with the sleep specialist and I couldn't find the paperwork.  I was in an effin' rage because my husband cleaned the kitchen and moved the papers.  Let me repeat:  My husband cleaned the kitchen, which he does every night.  He also made dinner and dealt with a serious Code Brown.  This man is the best.  He's a great husband and a great father, but I was pissed at him anyway, because he had to work.

It doesn't make any sense.

On the way to the doctor, the kids were shoving each other and whining and moaning.  The boy announced that he had to go potty and promptly began shrieking.  What the--?   I pulled over and discovered that he had loosened his shoulder belt and wrapped it around his foot.  When the seatbelt tightened, it pulled his leg up over his head like he was in traction.  He was stuck and screaming and the three of us were yanking and yelling and causing a major scene, until we eventually pulled him free, at which point he peed on the side of the road, bitching all the while.

Was I angry at the boy for messing with his seat belt?  No!  I was angry at my husband for not being there to suffer along with me.

It doesn't make any sense.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, I was so exhausted, I almost cried.  I was sorely hoping this sleep specialist could give us some answers.  I'd been up since four with the boy.  One problem, though.  The hospital screwed up.  They made our appointment with the wrong effin' doctor!  We have to go back on Thursday at 6 pm--an appointment my husband can make.

Which is what he wanted all along.

 

15 comments:

  1. also love how honest you are in your blogs. i blog about my son's autism and admitted to punching holes in walls, and various lashouts at the beginning... as you can imagine, i got a few "im sorrys" a few "you need to get on meds" and a few genuine "what can i do to helps"... you are not alone. i understand the couch cushions, the cereal, and well, before i came to work tonight (which is at a hospital...with grown up poop, snot and mucus might i add, not a luxurious hotel full of peace and quiet) i had to wash clothes that had shit on them ;) sometimes you just need to be reminded... you are not alone :D

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  2. i absobly never will understand why asd an nt kids do poop smearing i only no nt kids who have done this it so gross my best friend litte girl did it an got in so much trpouble she hasnt done it agin but for my other friend it went on for awhile .i have autism an severe sencorey iusse an ever since i can rember some smells just make me gag including bodyly fountiong so proubly why i never did that i hate the feel of certin things still

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  3. Yes, my husband is a commercial pilot. Seems to have a great, quiet hotel room several nights a week. "Fuck You" comes in great on many occasions....LOL :) Not to mention all the bars/restaurants he gets to sit in to have a beer and dinner. Then he comes home and never wants to go out anywhere. sigh

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  4. I'm in real estate, out in the field and on the road fairly often and on the other side of the f-bombs. I can tell you that I can never truly enjoy the breather knowing that my wife is still in the pressure cooker with our son.

    THANK YOU for sharing so candidly, humorously, and honestly.

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  5. I love the truth of this! My husband works a lot and sometimes I find myself saying snarky comments to him about being gone 10+ hours a day while I am stuck at home. Am I really angry or jealous of him, not at all. But sometimes it just would be nice to switch roles!

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  6. Thank you... just, thank you. Nothing like company in our misery! It's so nice to have people to not wear your happy face around.

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  7. I SO get this! :) Well done you for capturing the feeling!

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  8. Been there!!! Including the shit all over the place and the seat belt tractions.
    Good luck with the sleep study. Our showed he had sleep apnea... but the machine (when I could get him to wear it, haha) didn't help much.

    My hubby travels frequently for work also. It sucks!

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  9. I needed this so bad today. God bless you and all your bad words. I laughed and cried just reading this one post. The singular incident ALL of my kids remember involve the smearing of sh!t all over dd and the bathroom and mommy using that word repeatedly. Autism sucks.

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    1. "God bless you and all your bad words" may be the best thing anyone has ever said to me. xoxo

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  10. You like my crazy ramblings? Thank you!! And the others on this list are pretty awesome too.

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  11. Effin' love this!! My 13 year old son has this, as does my 5 year old grandson. Passed this onto my daughter, who's going through a rough time transitioning her son into kindergarten. (PS: I swear quite proficiently--it helps tremendously! ;-) )

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  12. --meant to say "...has autism" ;-)

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