|She doesn't dig the snow, either|
|Like living in a glass forest|
Paper Towel Death
Since our kids are moved out, Scott and I usually eat together in front of our massive TV (the bliss of empty nest), unless he's superglued to fantasy stats or some such on his PC screen. It's not uncommon for me to walk past the couch the next morning picking up the odd paper towel or glass out of the cup holder. The other morning I chanced across a paper towel tightly twisted into what looked like a piece of rope laying on my favorite couch pillow- Was this a message? Had I irritated him too much? Was he subconsciously (or even consciously, egads) thinking about doing to me what he did to that paper towel? Everything Freudian imaginable popped into my mind, and it all pointed to DEATH.
I was right. After Scott got home from work and we were once again eating together on the couch, I paused the show we were watching and said "Hey, by the way, there was this paper towel all twisted up on my pillow. Are you thinking about killing me? Because if you are, I think letting me know what's bothering you and me changing my behavior might be more beneficial, because otherwise you wind up eating fast food every night. And cereal. That thing looked like you were making a rope, and you laid it on my pillow, dude." Turns out he was. He'd been watching one of his uber violent assassin shows the night before and had seen something that triggered him to remember Jackie Chan uses anything around him, and wondered if a paper towel could be made into a strangling weapon, and even sort of demonstrated how he had tried it on himself to see if the paper towel would tear apart. It didn't. Then he forgot to throw that towel away when he got up and took his dishes to the kitchen.
Whew!!! That explanation is entirely plausible. Between some of the shows I've watched with him (including everything from black and white samurai movies to vampire bloodbaths) and his fascination with zombie defense strategies (which I first learned about when he was going through an autoimmune blood vessel flare and a big load of steroids that made him super yappy), Scott is pretty dark in there. Maybe we need a cute brain cleanser now.
Scott usually leaves me a couple cups of coffee in the pot when he goes to work, and I just microwave them when I get up, unless I'm up with him and drink it fresh. On weekends it's all fresh, which rocks, but Scott is one of those older gen guys whose little mind I can toy with. I call from the kitchen to him in the bedroom, glued to a monitor- "Hey, I'm going to make fresh coffee. You want this last cup before I pour it out?" I hear a muffled 'yeah' and know he's not moving because #glued. So I call back with a little louder voice, "Then bring your cup, I'm pouring this out in ten seconds. Ten... nine..." I hear a mad scramble out of his chair and a wild hunt for his coffee cup. "...five...four..." He's actually running into the kitchen with his cup. "...two...." His cup is under the pot that I'm holding over the sink just as I say "...one!" and start pouring. He knows I'm not bluffing. I haven't yet figured out why he still falls for that when fresh coffee in a few more minutes would have magically appeared anyway and he'd never have missed the old cold stuff, but it revs things up and makes the day more exciting. I like it.
|Someone wanted a milkshake|
This is more like a think tank game of wits that pops up every little bit. It usually starts with something Scott sees on a TV news flash or hears at work that crosses his mind, in this instance, a group of people camping or living up in some snow laden mountains and other people worrying about whether they were ok in all this horrible cold, and Scott blurted out it must be nice to have no responsibilities and just go live in the mountains, and I can never tell if he's actually jealous or what, but I once again see an opportunity for sport and jump into the deep end with "Well, you have the responsibility to stay alive, which is probably a whole lotta hard work when you're living like that", and then we launch into a discussion about all the work it takes staying alive when a person has no responsibilities to society. We usually don't get anywhere with it, partly because Bunny calls and babbles, but when we're not interrupted, we run on like that sentence up there.
Sometimes we reach an impasse while we're both stuck in the house together, and the only solution, as throughout human history, is to simply just kill each other. It would be preferable to do that with our battery operated computerized Battleship or a multiplayer video game, but the first is too slow and way too much sitting for all the adrenaline Scott continually processes with his ADHD, and the second gives me optic nerve migraines and him motion sickness nausea and we both wind up crawling off the couch sorry that we ever tried duking it out with our thumbs. So sometimes I take a shortcut and just slug him really hard, and then we don't talk for 3 days. I know I'm really lucky that he doesn't slug me back, and that it hurts his feelings when I do that (long history of sad reasons throughout his life that I understand I trigger), but sometimes I get 'stuck' and 'act out' and then regret it the rest of the day. In short. aspie gets frustrated processing communication and emotion at the same time and briefly gets violent, which I sometimes fail to control. I dread a future of being labeled the combatant patient in a nursing home one day when my mind deteriorates and I go Bendii Syndrome all over the staff.
|I can take him ANY TIME|
|One of the big kids|
Bunny's mama was assessed in the third grade by the area's top pediatric neurologist, who diagnosed her with full blown ADHD, saying he'd never seen a child score a ten on both tests before. Bunny is a cute little clone with all the signs of busy energizer bunny (I used to tell her mama that all her bunnies were bouncing out of the box), and already at only 19 months she is such a handful for 3 people that we have become a weekly shopping team. The 'problem' is that this kid already knows who she is and what she wants, and since we are still pre-language with her, reasoning doesn't work (negotiating worked beautifully with her mama once I learned the tricks, which I'm really good at because I'm aspie), and I'm juggling 3 genetically hardwired go-go-go people with poor communication skills. In Walmart.
|Constantly moving equals joy|
It has helped me greatly through the years to remember that these ADHD loved ones of mine are direct descendants of the Daniel Boone clan, and that possibly it took people like this to survive being pioneers starting towns and networking local governments and whatnot, as opposed to sitting around croaking off. I also can't help but wonder, every time I hear of a family dying in a house fire during the winter, if they might have gotten out safely if they'd had a Bunny in their midst with enough insomnia to keep someone awake around the clock. Heavy sleepers croak off in fires and raids, light sleepers scream and get out windows. Maybe ADHD running through 10% of the world population is an ideal genetic variant assuring society survives in particular ways. Whenever I get worn out, I remind myself these are the people that get things done. We're very jealous of zurrito sitting in a cart, although his mama assures us keeping him in one has been a fight the whole way.
At any rate, by the time we hit the register lines we're pretty frazzled, like we've done toddler olympics or something, and our brains are all falling out. I asked Scott last weekend if I should put money on the gas card, and he said sure, $20. Neither one of us caught a miscommunication between a checker running away to puke (pregnant? sure hope it wasn't germs, ish) and Bunny reprogramming phones again while we were unloading two full carts, and I failed to grasp that I was supposed to put money on the gas card AND get cash back. We figured this out hours later when we needed the cash... Ah, yes, the Bat signal has a few bulbs going out again, gotcha. As long as we're not skidding on ice and have food in the fridge again, it's all good.
|Losing internet for only one day was awesome|
Scott and I take sides. He spends a little cash putting out winter treats for the deer and birds (NOT 'wildlife') and I secretly don't let him know the wrong mouths are scarfing it all week while he's at work. I'm a softie, not a racist, and I say it's all good, let the hungry come and feast. Besides, if I think it's a little unfair, all I have to do is open the deck door and the greedy hogs whoosh away, relief washes over the forest as shouts go up "Hooray!", and the tiny little cuties (who are actually super aggressive themselves and just as mean, if you watch long enough) swoop in for leftovers. I figure the deer are big enough to walk on anybody they choose if they want a little corn, so I don't worry about it, but then, it's not my money we're spending, is it?
Over the years Scott has tried a lot of things, and over the years we have learned just how super smart the freezing famished can be overcoming obstacles. We've tried splitting up feeding stations and learned that 'common knowledge' on how to feed wildlife doesn't stick at all. Doves will eat wherever they want to eat, crows and squirrels will work together like corporate team members to solve a problem, pretty birds will kill whoever gets in their way if they feel desperate enough. The biggest wrench in any plan Scott makes is the deer. They don't cooperate. They'll eat bark while corn or hay sits 3 feet away if they suspect something's wrong. Their heads rotate up periscope for what seems like hours while crows at their feet scoop up all the good stuff. When they finally let their guard down enough to sniff around, they don't get upset if it's gone. Where other animals compete for available food, deer shrug it off and go about their business. Scott has gone through some very frustrating weekends trying to figure all this out.
TODAY, I got 8 deer on video meandering through. They do this all the time, but deer are smart enough to change their routes and times and never repeat their path. They all looked healthy and even played around with each other. That's the beauty of deer- they can live on next to nothing, like horses. Horses are made to survive on scrub, deer are made to survive forest winters. Knowing this doesn't change anything. I'm sure my video will only step up Scott's game. In the meantime, as Tosh would say for the rest of the critters, "And for that, we thank you."