How Does A Single Parent Of An Autistic Child Make A Living?

I have raised the subject of keeping a job while raising an autistic child, on my Facebook page. I have made sarcastic jokes about getting that phone call from the school nurse because my child was "very agitated" and "could you come pick him up?" I have shared the "resumé" that was written by my good friend at Autism In Our House. http://autisminourhouse.com/2015/06/29/my-fake-resume/ (<Hey, look!!! I learned how to insert the link...I think...) It included some of the little "emergencies" a potential employer might expect upon hiring a parent of an autistic child. I have played the possible scenarios in my head, over and over, and I really just want to know, HOW IS IT POSSIBLE?

There have to be parents out there who make it work. Otherwise, families with autistic children would be starving. But I really want to know what the answer is.

I imagine if a person is a skilled professional in a specific field, the possibilities would be greater. If a mom or dad were a longtime employee, going back before becoming a parent, there would be better odds of keeping that job, even with all the disruptions that will inevitably come. But I think there are a lot more parents out there who are in a position similar to my own.

When I got married, my husband told me, AND I QUOTE, "I will shovel shit, seven days a week if I have to, I want you home with our kids". I swear to you, those were his exact words. Luckily, for a good amount of time during the early years of our marriage, no shit shoveling was necessary. His business was doing well, and we were living comfortably. I was pregnant with our daughter when our son was diagnosed with autism, and being a stay at home mom enabled me to do all the running around that followed. Evaluations, therapies, school programs, doctor appointments, more evaluations, more therapies...I only gained 11 pounds during that pregnancy. There was a lot of running.

Those early years were busy. I spent several hours a day in the car. The school programs we chose were on the opposite side of our city, and because our boy was non verbal, and I was home, we chose NOT to send him to school on a school bus. Had I been working (at a paying job), we would not have been able to get him as much help as we did.

Fast forward to our move to the suburbs. The economy had crashed, business was no longer booming. We struggled quite a bit and the marriage suffered. Badly. I was accused of being lazy. I was told I was using autism as an excuse to stay home and do nothing.

It was an ugly period of our marriage. Really ugly.

So I took a part time job in a school lunchroom. And then my husband left.

So now, my soon to be ex is suggesting it is time for me to head back to the full time work force because his choice to exit the "til death do us part" has negated the whole "shoveling shit" promise.

I certainly don't enjoy the whole "living on the balls of my ass" existence. I wish the possibility of finding worthwhile employment was...a possibility. But here are some of the dilemmas I find myself facing:

1) I am a 52 year old woman with a GED and no college.
2) I haven't been a member of the full time work force for the last 20 years.
3) I have no currently marketable skills.
4) I have no family close by to help with my kids.
5) In addition to a non verbal autistic teenager with the mental capacity of a two year old, I also have a daughter in the throes of puberty. She is dealing with the emotional fallout of my broken marriage and exerting her intense need for independence. It's a really bad time for her to be left unsupervised.
6) Special needs child care is expensive.
7) Summer camp for my girl and ESY (Extended School Year) for my boy only go to the beginning of August. There are approximately four weeks at the end of the summer when my kids would be home.
8) Winter break.
9) Spring break.

Ok, with all that being said, I really need to know, where do I go from here?

Even if I'm able to find a job that pays a decent wage, the cost of commuting, maintenance of business attire and child care would pretty much eat up any salary I might earn with my minimal skills. It's like I would be leaving my children to be cared for by strangers, and there would be no money left. Not to mention, that non verbal boy...who do I trust? My daughter is responsible. I can run to the store and leave her with her brother. I can go to an after work meeting (for my lunchroom job) for an hour, once a month, and she is ok to keep him safe. But she's 12. My boy is usually even tempered and a pleasure to spend time with. But he is a 15 year old boy. He is becoming a man. He has OCD and is sometimes unable to control his obsessive compulsion. And my girl is tiny. So leaving her alone with him every day? Out of the question.

These suggestions by my ex, I'm relatively sure he is misinformed regarding the resources that are available. There are financial options that would help. SSI will probably be a possibility, once the divorce is final, and I have the necessary financial documents to present with an application. There is also help available in my state through Perform Care, (formerly known as the Department of Developmental Disabilities). But again, I need the documents regarding finances in order to submit any application. There are no babysitters. There are no discounts on special needs child care. There is also no after school program. I am pretty sure I know WHO is misinforming this ex of mine, who is all too happy to assume I just don't want to work. I imagine if I had a family member who owned a business that provided me with full time employment, and I was able to bring my kids to work with me, well, that would sure make the process a little simpler. It also might make me a bit smug, and feel like I might be in a position to presume everyone should be able to do everything I do.

But that's not the case for all of us, is it?

I don't go out. I don't visit friends. I sure as hell would never consider leaving my kids home alone so I could go out for drinks during the week. I rarely spend money on any kind of recreation. I'm not dating. My whole existence is about caring for my kids. Because I don't have any current options to EARN more money, I do everything I can to limit expenditures. But as this divorce moves closer to being final, I wonder what resources my husband has consulted in his mission to relieve himself of responsibility. He is currently taking care of his kids, and I do know he always will. But he appears to have decided that his choice to walk out on his wife and his promise somehow created magic possibilities for me.

When we first began having financial difficulties, darling hubby suggested I go back to work, and I would ask him back then, "What would you like me to do with our children?" He never had an answer. He still doesn't have an answer, but apparently, he is all too happy to point a finger at me, and leave the burden of making whatever arrangements will alleviate his own responsibility firmly on my shoulders. He doesn't care who his children are left with. As long as he can save a few bucks.

I don't know how this will all play out. We have a legal process to go through. But I sure would love to hear from anyone who has found a formula that works. I'd love to know if there is some magic solution I am overlooking. I'd love to know, where do I go from here?

Whatever Will I Do With All These Blogging Riches?

It has recently been brought to my attention that there is a gross misconception about blogging among those who have never explored the soul cleansing, cathartic, emotional release of bleeding emotions into words.

There is really no money to be made here.

There are sites to which a blogger could submit a work of the very deepest emotion, or the most clever, witty account of whatever adorable antics the children have gotten into, and perhaps be compensated on some small scale. One site I'm familiar with will pay a blogger $100 for an original post, but only if it is written in the style they deem to be consistant with their standards, they reserve the right to edit or alter the writing in any way they see fit, and they will then OWN those words, leaving the blogger legally unable to publish those words anywhere else without credit going to the original publishing site. For $100. Most often, as I hear more and more frequently, a blogger is compensated in "exposure and readership". Well, thanks so much for the chance at fame, but your fame is not putting gas in my car or food in my kids.

I started blogging as a desperate attempt to dig myself out of the loneliness of a miserable marriage. I thought I was happy for far longer than I actually was. It wasn't until my ex completely shut me out of his existence that I realized how completely alone I had been for years.

I first began writing on Facebook. I started a public page to discuss all I was experiencing with my son on his autism journey, the adventures of raising all three of my children, and the pain and emotional abyss of being married to someone who hated me. I never really changed in all the 23 years we had spent together, but he decided he absolutely hated me for not turning out to be the wife he really wanted. That turned out to be my cousin, apparently. But that's a story for another day.

I eventually started writing here, on this blog, because so many people told me it was a great way to try to earn some money while still being able to be present for my kids. They were liars. But between writing here and on Facebook, I found a community of people with whom I have so much in common, many friendships were born of these words. Some of them, I will probably never meet. A very few, I have had the honor and privilege of meeting in person, and am a richer person for knowing every single one of them.

I have become intimately close with some of these friends. I don't mean sexually, intimately. I mean, deep, dark secrets intimate. I mean, hold each other up through hard times intimate. I mean, when you are hurting, I am here for you intimate.

I chose to write about my life anonymously. It is the best way to have the liberty of telling the whole truth of my story without compromising the identities and the safety of the players in that story. But there is a very small group of these internet friends with whom I have become so emotionally attached, who know me. We've spoken on the phone. We have spoken via video chat. We have exchanged Christmas cards. And a few of these friends have been kind to me. Once, after posting about my frustration upon realizing that after my son fell asleep and peed on my couch, I couldn't shampoo the mess because my ex had taken our carpet cleaner when he left us, one of these dear and extremely thoughtful friends purchased and sent me a new carpet cleaner. No matter how much I protested, she swore she and her husband had finished their Christmas shopping, and when they found themselves to be ahead of their budget, they had planned on donating the extra money to someone who needed it. I posted about my dilemma that day, and she insisted, it was meant to be. It was a blessing beyond most of what I had experienced in my life.

Another kindness that came about as a result of this rich, blogging life was after I posted about having to pee in the dark because lightbulbs were not on my "list of things I can afford this week". An amazing and thoughtful friend then sent me a package of lightbulbs. I have also been the recipient of Christmas cookies, chocolate, 4 sweatshirts, (2 of which were for my children), 6 gift cards for coffee, 2 gift cards for Target, several Christmas ornaments, some silky panties, a package of razors, a purse, a scented candle, a favorite coffee mug, a Superhero cape, and a bottle of vodka. Most of these were gifts for Christmas and birthdays. All over a period of three years. While none of these incredibly thoughtful gifts can ever be considered "making a living", the kindness and love with which they were sent have irreversably changed me as a person. I have seen the open hearts of people I have never met and connected with them in ways that would never have been possible with the closed mind and closed heart of someone like my ex.

Now, because I am technologically challenged, this blog is simple. I don't insert links, I am not sure how to point you to an older post, (except to say, "Hey! Just keep scrolling down!"), and I simply type out words on a keyboard. I finally figured out how to insert a photo, but it's a process and I don't have the patience to add one for this post. I know how to make a meme, (thanks to all the really simple apps), and I can post a link on Facebook. Beyond that, my computer skills are archaic. And for the dolts who think they know me better, that means REALLY OLD. But this little corner of the interwebs is about as far as I realistically aspire to go. I don't have unreasonable expectations of getting rich or famous. I just like to write about life in general, and hope that it helps me connect to another human. I hope that somebody else out there finds some hope in my stories of survival. That's all. But there is no money to be made here. It is not my living. It is my only social life.

As for all the riches this blogging life has brought, of all the things I already drank, shaved with, wore, ate, burned, carried or hung on a tree, the greatest riches are the friendships that have given me strength and hope through some tough times, and given me love and laughter I would never have known without having shared my words. I enjoy interacting with people, even if only behind a screen. I enjoy helping people, as evidenced by the numerous private messages I have received, telling me how something I may have said gave someone the strength to keep pushing forward/leave an abusive relationship/begin an emotional healing by writing about their own story. Helping them helps me to feel like I have a purpose.

It is sometimes said, the two most powerful words ever spoken are "Me too". So to everyone who has ever stopped by this blog or my Facebook page and liked, commented or shared something that made you feel connected, that's my "Me too". These connections are the riches of the blogging life. It's not buying me a family cruise, but they validate my existence in a way one man never could. So thank you, for being my riches. Thank you.

Taking Responsibility - How I Sabatoged My Own Marriage.

Let me start off by clarifying, as soon as I forced myself to see the reality of my husband's relationship with my cousin/best friend/Godmother to my daughter, (known for all intents and purposes as "the cuntsin"), we were done. We managed to stay on life support for another two years, but it was basically a vegetative state and we should have pulled the plug sooner.

Looking back, it's probably fair to say we never belonged together in the first place. You really couldn't find two people more opposite to embark on a life together, and yet, there we were. Perhaps it was that opposition that was so attractive to us both. I think if he were ever to speak to a mental health professional, it might be suggested that he has a severe Hero Complex. (Among other things...) When we met, he wanted to save me. I was a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants single mom of a not even two year old, living on unemployment in my parents' house. I had no real plan. I was probably just hoping for a prince, and there he was.

Please don't misunderstand...I wasn't just sitting around waiting for some schmuck to come and bail me out of my life. Had a life with this man NOT been the path I chose, I surely would have found another way to go on living. But as it turned out, as I went about the business of living in that time, I dated other men, and THIS was the man with whom I fell completely head over heels in love.

We dated for two years before moving in together. We spent five years living together before getting married. So nobody can say we didn't know each other well enough to be sure about starting our happily ever after. When we got married I was 35 and he was 32, so you can't really say we were too young to know better.

So what the hell went so horribly wrong?

If I were a narrowminded asshole, I could say he cheated on me and leave it at that. But I'm not a narrowminded asshole. I've been on my own for 15 months, and in that time, I've had plenty of time to think about my own responsibility in the demise of our union. Here are a few of the mistakes and errors in judgment on my part:

1) I believed everything he said.
When he told me he would love me forever, I believed him. When he told me he would chase me around the bedroom for at least the next 50 years, I believed him. When he said he was determined to live like a king, I believed him. When he said he would shovel shit 7 days a week if that's what it took for me to be home for our kids, I believed him. And even though in the beginning, you would never have found a more loyal, trustworthy husband than mine, things change and people change. When he said he would never betray my love, I believed him for much longer than I should have. I will never trust someone so completely again.

2) I spent too much money and tried to hide it from him. 
I know lots of families go through this issue. I went through it on a grand scale. While my ex will swear on a stack of bibles (in which he has no belief), that I spent all his money taking my family out for breakfast every day while he broke his ass working, that is a figment of his accusatory imagination. The truth is, we were having babies. I had two pregnancies in opposite seasons and needed maternity clothes. I was buying everything on the planet for our kids. There were times when his "self employment" left us short on cash, and a bad business investment (that I protested) left us with hardly any income for a six month period. He swears this is untrue. But if he goes back and checks his tax records, he will see I am right. So during those times, I was buying clothes for the kids, diapers, sometimes food, birthday gifts for everyone we knew, Christmas gifts, and clothes for my own post-pregnancy, shrinking derriere. We were going on vacation. We had bought a new car. We bought another new car. And I was buying whatever I wanted for our kids and justified it by telling myself he promised we would be living like kings. (I believed him...) So as I paid the bills and we ran short to cover them all, I would shuffle them around and pay the most important ones first, until it just got too far ahead of me. I tried to fix it without his knowledge, going behind his back for help, and when he found out, it almost broke us. That was 12 years ago, and it took a hefty home equity loan to bail us out, but we managed to move past it. Mostly. Except for his eventual need to be in control of every penny, to the point where he demeaned me on a daily basis by leaving me a twenty dollar bill on my nightstand every morning. Like I was some corner prostitute.

3) I said "no" to sex when I was exhausted. 
I surely don't mean to suggest that every wife should have to give it up no matter how tired she might be, but sex is really an essential way to stay intimately close to a spouse. And when the constant demands of newborns and toddlers and life in general leave us feeling too drained to even go through the motions it can also leave us with a disconnect that can sometimes never be repaired. I WAS exhausted. Our boy was collicky for the first four months. He never did sleep well, and therefore, neither did we. When he was a year old, a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage left me devastated and depressed for several months. Then came our girl. At the same time, an autism diagnosis for our boy was dropped in our laps. Lots of reading, calling, running, driving, doctors, therapists, and OH, YEAH...AN INFANT...I couldn't keep track of when my last shower was, so never mind romance! But that hurt us. He even threw it in my face before he left, even though the last three years he was here it was HIS turn to say no. Sex is important in a marriage. If it's not happening there is either something very wrong, or it needs to be penciled into the appointment book. Unless you BOTH don't want it. Then you do what works.

4) I kept trying to be who he wanted, even though it meant not being myself.
He needed the housewife who would be just like his mother. An episode of Everybody Loves Raymond comes to mind...in a marriage counselling session, Debra and Ray come to realize he wishes his wife was more like his mommy...yeah, that show was a pretty accurate depiction of my life. Except that my mother-in-law was a much younger, hot tamale version of the doting mommy to her son. I loved her then, and love her still. But I never did want to BE her. I tried. I tried to keep the house immaculate. I tried to cook for him the way his mommy did. I would call her and ask her how to make this, or that. But all the things that mattered so much to him were never all that important to me. I want the house to be clean, but I don't need to be the mom who waits for everyone to finally take off whatever they were wearing that day so I can wash, dry and put away everything we own before I can put my head on the pillow. I would try, and give up. And try, and give up. Ultimately, in his eyes, I failed miserably. He recently told me "YOU wanted to be a housewife and I LET YOU. And YOU just couldn't do it!!" No. I couldn't. I didn't want to be married to the house. And I wanted to sleep sometimes. And I wanted to be my own loud, corny, friendly, center of attention self, and not the floor scrubbing, brownie baking, curtain pleating, underwear pressing, stand quietly behind her man, 50s sitcom wife he created in his head. I am the same woman now as I was when he met me. Only I am much happier with who that is. And completely unwilling to change to please any fucker who expects me to.

5) I ignored how much our opposite personalities had pulled us apart.
He loves the summer. I don't. He loves being athletic. I don't. He loves being outside. For me, there are lots of variables that need to be in place before I enjoy it. He is an old fashioned, provincial, closed minded, creature of habit. I am a forward thinking, open minded, evolved, lover of moving forward. In the beginning, I could laugh it off and overlook a lot of our differences. When we got into the nitty gritty of raising kids, those differences became an obstacle. If ever there is another man in my life, and he ever has a belief or character trait that makes me cringe, I will leave skidmarks.

6) I put my happiness in his hands.
When we were deep in the grind of everyday life, it was always my love for my husband that kept me happy. He'll tell you otherwise, but he has also convinced himself of anything that makes him look like a victim. I was deeply and madly in love to the point that 10 years into the marriage, (and 17 years into the relationship), I could still feel my stomach doing flips when I heard his truck pull in driveway. Even after all the fighting and disrespect, and being treated like I was never good enough, I still believed in 'til death do we part. To love, honor and cherish, as long as we both shall live. For me, it was never about, "I'll love you until you disappoint me". And when I ultimately couldn't live up to the perfect vision of housewife in his head, he gave up any attempt at caring about whether or not I was happy. And when his connection to someone else became undeniable, he went out of his way to ensure I was UNhappy. And I allowed that to happen. The person I am now will NEVER allow that to happen again. If any man is ever lucky enough to be allowed into my life again, my happiness will be important to him. But he will not be in control of it.

7)  Despite what my intuition was screaming at me, I purposely convinced myself that there was no way these two closest people in my life would ever betray me.
Our gut is a powerful thing. The head can be observant. The heart can be deceiving. But the gut never lies. If we overthink things, we can convince ourselves that any tragedy we were ever afraid of is looming or currently happening. But when we are PURPOSELY AND DESPERATELY trying to convince ourselves that our most dreaded fear could not possibly be happening, and our internal alarms are going off at EXTREME RED ALERT, we have to pay attention. My husband and my best friend were too close. Not only did I allow them to become close, I encouraged it. I was so happy my husband and my best friend could get along so well. "Let's go help her." "Don't you think we could give her a hand?" "Now that her husband has left, we'll need to be there for her." Those are things I said. To my husband with a severe hero complex. Does that make me responsible for the fact they ended up together? No fucking way. But...if I am ever so blessed again to be in a relationship with a good man, I will be the most self absorbed, possessive bitch his sorry ass has ever known. He will NEVER allow another woman to become close enough to become a threat to our commitment. And don't get me started on the poor bitch who might ever be fool enough to put her hands on my man. Just don't.

That's it, in a nutshell. We were probably doomed from the start. Probably never should have been together at all. But I'm thankful every day, as I love my children, for every moment. I'm thankful for the good days, when he convinced me I was loved. I'm thankful for the lessons of the hard times. I'm thankful for the strength I take with me. I'm so very thankful for the realization that I'm happy with the person I am, and that I never did give that up for anyone. Especially not the prince who turned out to be a frog.
   

Becoming Famous - Take THAT, Cancer!

Over the last few days, there has been a flood of social media posts in tribute to David Bowie, and now today, to Alan Rickman and René Angelil, (husband of Celine Dion), all taken too soon by that hateful beast, cancer.

Had any of them been an average Joe, and not a rock legend, or one of the greatest movie villains of our time, or a music managing genius who had the good fortune to marry the greatest singer he would ever have the privilege to know, it's probable that nobody would be talking about them. Cancer steals loved ones from us every day. But because THESE cancer victims are famous, and have all touched our lives in one way or another, everyone feels their loss. We're all in mourning.

So I found it ironic when I read the story of Dorian Murray, who has battled cancer for half of his eight years, and who has expressed a wish to become famous BEFORE his cancer defeats him. So I thought, we're not talking about his cancer because he WAS ALREADY famous. He's becoming famous because he has cancer.

And then I thought, "Well, that's a crappy way to think of it!"

No. I don't want to talk about this amazing, brave, strong boy because his doctors have run out of treatment options for his cancer. I don't want to remember his wish to be famous as "his dying wish". I want to help a young boy realize a dream, and I want to always remember his name because even after all he's been through, and even in the face of what comes next, this beautiful boy is smiling. Barring some miracle, he will never grow up and have the chance to show us all he can do, so he wants the chance to know we all will remember his name because he fights the good fight. His chance at growing up to live a great life is being stolen from him, but he is great, right now.

I have a family member who was diagnosed with cancer when she was 9 months old. Her mom traveled to wherever she had to go, just to get her the best care and treatment that was available. It was an exhausting trauma, but her mom never flinched. And I remember hearing my mother talk to her on the phone, asking her, "How are you holding it together? If it was one of my children, I don't think I could go through all this without falling apart." And I will never forget what she said to my mother.

"Every day with her is a gift. If God chooses to take her back, I will be grateful for every day I was allowed to have her in my life."

I was 14 years old when I overheard that conversation and it has always stood out in my mind, whenever I have had hardships to face. My own struggles have blessedly never come close to such a trauma, and for that, I am grateful. And that 9 month old baby with cancer is now 40, and lost her mom to cancer a few years ago. And every day they had together was a gift.

I have seen too many people claimed by the beast. I watched a friend bury 2 of his 6 children and his wife, all victims of cancer. And I see him rejoice in ever having been given the privilege to love them.

So as I look at photos of the smiling face of Dorian Murray, I think of how difficult it must be for his parents to accept the end of a battle they have all fought so fiercely. How do we help them as they cherish every moment they are blessed with this courageous child? We grant his wish.

Tomorrow, Friday the 15th of January, there is a plan to ensure the world will always remember the brave, strong, always smiling Dorian Murray. Wherever you are, whether or not your life has ever been touched by cancer, take a picture of yourself or your loved ones, and post it with a sign of your location. Let's show Dorian every corner of the universe his story has touched. Let's not wait to talk about a boy who "used to be", but let's all celebrate the amazing boy who IS. Click and post. It won't even cost a thing. And don't forget the hashtag #dStrong.

Facebook: The Good, The Bad and The Salvation

Facebook can be a cesspool. If anyone tells you otherwise, they are wearing rose colored glasses with blinders on the sides. There are people you will find on Facebook who only put forth their most attractive moments, and will let you see just what they think will make you like them. More likes means better LIKED, right?

Whatever helps them sleep at night.

But if Facebook can be so phony and soul-less, why does someone like me invest so much time connecting there?

Let's start with parenthood. There are lots of parents who manage to maintain a healthy social life with a good amount of personal interaction with peers. Fellow parents connecting on the soccer field, attendees at monthly PTA meetings, coaches and dance moms can all be a social lifeline. Science has taught us, peer interaction is good for our mental and physical health, so these social outlets serve to keep lots of parents healthy and sane.

Not every parent has these opportunities. When both parents are working, or in single parent families, just trying to keep up with everyday responsibilities like laundry and homework can suck the energy out of any good mom or dad, making any kind of personal interaction an effort we just can't manage. We spread ourselves thin just to help our kids keep their grades up, devote a decent amount of time to an extracurricular activity, and pull off dinner a few nights a week that doesn't come from a drive thru. We have no time for personal relationships or friendly outings, and even if we can set aside an hour or two, we're too damned tired.

So if parenting the most typical of kids can run us too ragged to carve out an hour for coffee with a friend, I'd like you to imagine how difficult it is for some parents of special needs children. I've written before about the hardship of maintaining friendships as the mother of a child with severe autism. You can peruse the old blog posts to find those thoughts because I'm still navigating this "blog" thing and haven't figured out how to link that stuff yet. But rest assured, leaving the house for ANY social event is always a painstaking project, and most days and nights you will find me alone at the kitchen table, watching Criminal Minds, or playing Candy Crush, just killing time until I have to go pick up my daughter from whatever friend's house she escaped to, or drop her off at dance. Like so many other parents.

Until suddenly we realize, "Holy shit, I'm so fucking lonely".

This parenting gig was lonely enough when there was still a husband in the house. The fact that the marriage was dead long before either one of us would bury it surely contributed to the loneliness factor. But now that it's just me, there's a lot of silence around me. It's better than hateful silence, but it's still hard to endure. So how do I keep from banging my head against the wall, just to remind myself I'm still alive?

Oh, that's right...Facebook.

I have made some really great friends, from all over the world, thanks to the magic of Zuckerberg. Because I have set up a public Facebook blog page, I have found a way to interact with LOTS of people who can relate to the story I tell. I have (virtually and in a few cases, personally) met some amazing people who seem to think I am a writer, of sorts. I guess. I don't write the beautiful words so many of these friends are so skilled at expressing, but I guess if you like reading the story of some real life ups and downs, and you don't mind how they are expressed in exactly the same way they would be if we were sitting at a table, sharing a beer, then yeah, I'm a writer. I think of it more as being a storyteller, but if I'm writing it down, I'll suck it up and say I'm a writer.

Where do I write most of these stories? Oh, yeah...again, it's Facebook.

Once in a blue moon, I'll pop over here and tell some kind of tale to the blogosphere. But I don't submit my words to other publishing sites, because to do so would run the risk of having to give someone else power over my words. No, Scary Mommy...I don't want to put my thoughts in the form of a list. No, Huffington Post, I don't want to give you the right to change my words, or the title of my story. Whatever they might pay, it's not worth giving up my right to speak my own way. And I don't give a flying rat's ass how grammatically incorrect my thoughts might be laid out. I'm not fucking stupid. I KNOW how the words SHOULD be written in proper grammar, but most of the free world does NOT speak that way. So forgive me if I prefer to just tell it like it is, and not have to reconstruct my thoughts to follow some college English text book I never got to read. Believe it or not, I'm a pretty smart cookie, and I don't need to use fancy words and literary formulas to get my point across.

And before somebody else says it, I am NOT so full of myself that I think any of these publishing sites would actually pay for my words. My story is pretty simple, and not at all controversial, so I doubt any giant crowd would be interested enough to warrant a prominent platform such as a Scary Mommy or a Huffington Post. But the small crowd I have managed to gather, they are fierce. And they are loyal. And they are smart enough to decide for themselves that what I write about is real. And they can relate. That matters. It's why we connect.

So I tell my story on Facebook. Some people may think I lack ambition. Some people may think I lack any actual talent in the art of expressing the written word. That's fine. The truth is, my words are my words. And they tell my story. It's a true story. And those people on Facebook who have connected with me, (and I, so very much with THEM), they bring me validation, purpose, and the very real connection of friendship. Without them, I would truly be lost.

Some folks believe that Facebook is a dying outlet of social media. To me, it is very much alive, and bringing me the only interaction I have, some days. I hope it will remain the outlet that provides the greatest opportunity for me to find my peers. I hope these friends I have made across the universe will remain my friends for a lifetime. They have saved me in so many ways, and I hope they find something of value in our friendships as well. As for the phonies and the sharks in the cesspool, I'll continue to do my best to scroll on by and choose NOT to allow them to occupy my head. That's another saving grace of Facebook...I get to choose who surrounds me, and I can delete the rest. Now if only we could do that in real life...

Please Choose To NOT Be A Joy Suck

Some folks will tell you, there are two kinds of people: those who see the glass as half full, and those who see the glass as half empty. And then, inevitably there will be the smartasses who claim there are also people who see room in the glass for more vodka.

*flails arms, wildly

The truth is, no matter which kind of person you may have considered yourself to be at any time in your life, every minute of every day is a chance to be whoever you'd RATHER be. 

Since finding my voice on social media, I have made a ton of friends. I am closer with some of these online "strangers" than I am with friends I have known all my life. Some of these folks are friends I have reached out to, based on how much I might have related to a story they told, or the laughs they had shared. Some friends reached out to me because they felt connected to my own story. The one characteristic that draws me closer to one friend than another is the inclination to be a positive life force. It is my hope that I can be that light to others. 

Some of my friends I have discovered, do NOT see the glass as half full. They don't see room for vodka. Not only do they see the glass as half empty, but whatever is in the glass, they see as poison. 

Some of these friends are actually family members, or people who have been in my life for AGES. Some of these folks will wake up and before their eyes are even opened, they already see the problems that lie ahead. No matter how many good sides of a situation you point out to these naysayers, they can always counter with the equal or more urgent cry of doom. It is a RARE occasion these friends will offer a positive or happy story, and even if once in a good, blue moon they post a status update that doesn't make me want to jab my eyes out with a spoon, it will quickly be followed with a detailed account of all the ways the day managed to turn against this poor soul. These members of my social media circle are the ones who I have come to know as:

THE JOY SUCK.

Right now, there are a few folks who are asking themselves, "Shit, is it me?" If you are wondering this, chances are, you may, at one time or another have been on the "JOY SUCK" list. Or maybe you are just a totally self conscious ball of nerves with low self esteem, but I have always found you to be a delight:) I am certain there have been times when I have been the JOY SUCK. But my friends, 

I have found a better way.

Life has dealt me a few rough cards. Some of those cards were drawn by my own choices. Some of them, bad choices. Some, REALLY bad choices. Some of my bad choices were made with the best intentions, making the road to hell seem sparkly and beautiful, but it was the road to hell, nonetheless. Now, I could have chosen to sit down on the road and cry. I could have chosen to point a finger at everyone who had a hand in leading me down that road. I could also have chosen to keep paving that road until I was too close to the rusty gates of hell to ever claw my way back out. I couldn't rip the road up, like it had never been there in the first place. Instead, I chose to use those painful bricks as the foundation for the road back to happiness. Instead of wallowing in sadness, on a road I probably never should have been on, I vowed to pave myself a new road by following a few simple guidelines. 

*I will never again wonder why people have mistreated me. I will feel sorry for them, for having lost the love and devotion of a good person. There is nothing I could ever have done to change what another person did or felt, but I can sure as hell choose NOT to allow it to define me.  

*I will not feel badly about having failed to complete everything on my "to do" list. I will forgive myself for whatever gets put off until tomorrow, and be satisfied with my best effort today. 

*I will not allow the fear of a particularly challenging day to defeat me before the day even begins. As long as I reasonably plan ahead, I will do my best to complete whatever I set out to accomplish, and be thankful for whatever I survive. 

*I will take responsibility for my own actions and for what I have allowed to happen. Even when the choices of someone else are the cause of whatever may have hurt me or caused me hardship, I will realize I had the power to walk away from a bad situation, (even the ones I preferred not to see), and I will make better choices to keep myself safe from the questionable intent of others. 

*I will NOT wallow in sorrow. Allowing sadness to consume me has been exhausting. While there are days I don't have the energy or the inclination to put on my "happy face", I have realized it is SO MUCH MORE energy consuming to give in to sadness. In much the same way as expending energy while exercising will give me MORE energy, forcing myself into a happy frame of mind will actually ignite a happy frame of mind. 

*I will always realize there are options. I can choose one action or another, and THEN I can choose one REaction or another. What I choose to say or do or be can dictate the temperament of a day. I will keep in mind if I approach a situation with an open, positive outlook, the chances of a positive outcome are much higher than if I am approaching with the JOY SUCKING negativity of a Debbie Downer. 

*Before I post any of my thoughts on social media, I will carefully consider whether or not those thoughts have the potential to uplift, or to be a drag to someone who might read them. Life is hard. Every day WE ALL encounter hardships. WHY would I want to ADD to someone's struggles? If I find a way to overcome whatever stressors I might face in the course of a day, why on earth would I not prefer to share THAT?!!! 

Now, with all these points being made, I feel I should point out, I don't mean to suggest we should NEVER complain, or whine or bitch. WE ALL do those things. We all NEED to do those things. It's part of our ventilation system. We blow off some steam so we don't spontaneously combust. But it's not healthy to STAY in that pit of sadness. We have to be able to draw the line. If you're unsure as to whether or not you are the JOY SUCK in your own circle, look back at your last ten posts. If you read them all through and come away feeling uplifted, it's not you. But if after revisiting the last ten thoughts you chose to share with your friends and loved ones, you feel bad...you feel terrible for the person in those posts, it's you. You are the JOY SUCK. And I have news for you: you are sucking the joy from yourself, too. 

There is a great big energy swirling around us. It's electric. There are positives and negatives. If all you ever put out is negative energy, that is all that will ever find its way back to you. It may feel like the world is dumping all its finest CRAP on you, but it may very well be because the CRAP is all you are inviting. STOP IT. 

All this "choosing happiness" is what works for me. I surely don't think anyone needs to be "more like me". Being me works for me. You should be you. But if you are a JOY SUCK, you may find that people initially feel bad for you. You may find people offering sympathy, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. But eventually, all the JOY you have SUCKED will become a burden that is too heavy. You may feel like you are a victim of bad luck and the wrath of the universe. You may feel like people have abandoned you when they can no longer carry that burden and the sympathy runs out. But you  have to keep in mind, people want to be helpful and caring, but people don't want to feel oppressed by additional hardships. I promise you, they all have their own.

But fear not, my positivity challenged compadres!!! It's never too late to invite joy back into your being! 

Pay closer attention to the aspects of a specific happening to which you assign your focus. This week, I have $6 to carry me until Thursday. I am not focusing on all the things I CAN'T do because I'm short on funds. I'm grateful to have that money so I can make sure I have enough gas to get me to work. I just keep telling myself, it's only 3 more days. I can do this. I COULD choose to dwell on the hardship, but who does that serve? It creates a bad atmosphere for my kids, my coworkers, my family. I don't want to be that person. So I make the CHOICE to stay positive:) And maybe my positivity has me on some list of "obnoxious positivity pushers", but I'll take it. I much prefer to be the joy BRINGER. 

My Favorite Little Box

When we have children, it is a great blessing if our parents are around to be a part of their lives. If there is anyone on this planet who will love our kids as much as we do, it is surely most grandparents.

When I was growing up, my Grandma was probably the most loving person I knew. I had a Nana as well, and she was my mother's mother. I have seen families who tend to be closer with the maternal grandmother, but my Nana had 19 grandchildren. The five in my own house didn't fall into her "favorites" category. Which is NOT to say she didn't love us. She surely did. We just weren't as close with her as we were to Grandma.

Grandma had only the five kids in our family and two grandchildren from my dad's only sister. My aunt had moved across the country even before the birth of her second child, so Grandma didn't get to see them much. Therefore, for Grandma, the sun rose and set on my house.

I was the oldest granddaughter. It gave me a bond with her that holds close today, 23 years after she left us. She took my older brother and me to our first show at Radio City Music Hall, took us out to eat at The Lamps Of China in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, all when I was about 4 or 5 years old, and all by subway.

She took us to our first Yankees game when I was 7. We took the B train from her house in Bensonhurst and switched to the D train at DeKalb Avenue. That D train left us right at the doors of The House That Ruth Built.

She carried a plaid, vinyl, insulated bag full of heros she had made that morning. Peppers and eggs, veal and peppers, sausage and peppers...(must've been a sale on peppers)...and she had a separate bag with drinks. A hot bag and a cold bag. She held those bags the whole trip, but never let go of our hands. That memory is so vivid, I go back there in my mind every year when baseball season starts.

There were lots more trips to the stadium after that. I remember going on "bat day" and getting a Roy White baseball bat, only after my brother conned me out of the Bobby Murcer bat that was originally handed to me. Could you imagine the stadium giving out bats today? Thank God, those were simpler, less violent times. We were there once for an "Old Timers Day". I think it may have been 104 degrees that day. Grandma had to break down and buy us drinks when her supply in the insulated bag was gone. My love for The Yankees is fierce, and stems from those trips with Grandma. She made baseball a magical experience, even for a little girl in the early 70s. She often told us the story of being at Lou Gherig's last game. "There wasn't a dry eye in the stadium", she said.

Christmas time with Grandma was probably the greatest bonding experience in all my memories. We're Italian, so the big fish dinner on Christmas Eve was the tradition. Even as a young girl, she made me love scungili salad, fried shrimp, and those amazing blue claw crabs in the sauce. She prepared everything at her house, and cooked it at our house. We were all in the kitchen with her. The antipasto (and if you pronounced the "o", my father would slap you off the back of the head), was the job of the kids. We would tightly roll up the 3 pounds of salami and arrange them on a platter. We would open cans of olives, put the roasted peppers in a bowl, and arrange lettuce leaves and sliced tomatoes on another platter. When I got a little older, I would help her bread and fry the shrimp. She made sure to make enough so my brother and I would have leftovers to eat the next morning, cold out of the fridge. By the time the antipasto was finished, we were hardly hungry for anything else, so she would wait to boil the linguine. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. Those meals were some of the most incredible of my life, because they were made with pure love.

After our fish dinner, Grandma would hand us each a card with money in it. She couldn't get around to shop too much, and she knew we didn't have much to spend, so it was a big treat to have pocket money. Even when we were older, she always had that envelope and a Russell Stover chocolate Santa. And magic. My Grandma gave us Christmas magic.

When Grandma got older, she sat me down and gave me a collection of costume jewelry she used to wear, back in her party days. Some of it is quite exquisite. There was one piece that must've been a more recent addition. It was a necklace made of stainless steel links, and in the front was a locket full of a solid version of her perfume. Windsong.

🎶I can't seem to forget you. Your Windsong stays on my mind🎵

I have treasured those pieces. Even the ones I have never worn.

Grandma left us in 1992. She was 79 and I was 28. She only got to meet my oldest, but I know she watches over all my kids. Every spring, when a butterfly lands on my girl, I know my Grandma is with her.

One of my kids was going through my box of jewels. I can't remember which one, but maybe I don't want to remember. The necklace with Grandma's perfume was broken. All the links scattered across the floor and there was really no repairing it. So I collected up all the pieces and put them into a little box that my daughter had painted for me. It's a flower shaped box, and it was painted red and green for Christmas. She may have been 3 or 4 when she painted it. But much like my Grandma, I have cherished every gift from my kids, and that box seemed the perfect place to hold that treasure from my Grandma.

Whenever I am sad, or feeling alone, I open the little box, and the smell of Grandma reminds me I am never alone. I love my Grandma. And because of her, I love The Yankees and I love Christmas. And I love that little box.