Being Different & The Diagnonsense Part Two

It was convoluted path to diagnonsense.  Perhaps it was the fact that I turned 40 last year so therefore I decided to quietly have a mid-life crisis and ponder over my life like the deep and intellectual thinker I am. ie. A total off with the pixies space cadet.  But I was giving this Asparagus thing a bit of thought and then coincidentally picked up a book about it in Target  called Being Different by John Elder Robison.

I took it home, read it. Upon reading the diagnostic criteria I was fairly convinced I was Aspie.  I Googled a bit more which seemed to confirm my suspicions.  Funnily enough I'd seen counsellors and shrinks on and off for many years, yet when it came to this I basically had to figure it out for myself! It's amazing how people go undiagnosed for years, especially females. 

I trotted back to yet another shrink to receive the official 'diagnonsense'.  This involved answering a gazillion questions.  She then saw my mum also and asked her a gazillion questions. 

I suppose I could waste a lot of energy wondering if it would have made any difference knowing 30 years ago. It doesn't really matter.  That time is over. What matters is I know now. So I have to stop being so hard on myself and accept the way I am. Not make comparisons with outgoing NT people. NT means Neuro Typical, in other words those people without Aspergers.  I'll nick the term Nypical and use that, I think. Still working on that to be perfectly honest.  It's something I have to keep on reminding myself on a day to day basis.

It also turns out that I am in very good company.  Famous people in history who are believed to possibly be Aspie include Albert Einstein, Vincent Van Gogh and Wolfgang Amedeus Mozzart.  So clearly I too am a genius.  I have absolutely no idea what my genius like talent is, but any day now I'm sure it will become obvious. I hope. Maybe. Soon. Hmmm..oh well. Sigh.

As well as savant like talents or gifts Aspie people are known to have restricted and repetive interests that are often abnormal in intensity and focus.  This has worked out to be very useful in life for me.  My abnormal interest is of course...drum roll please...ta daaa! :  Carpenters/Karen Carpenter.

 Very useful indeed. I can helpfully remember the words to every single Carpenters song, yet I can't remember where I put my keys or glasses five minutes ago. Handy.

This obsession has also enabled me to participate in some intense forum discussions on karencarpenter.com on truly important issues such as the shape of Karen Carpenter's eyebrows and the relative benefits of Goofus vs Beechwood 45789.

For  the record, Beechwood is pure GOLD, I'm telling you, and that critic who said that if the Carpenters were going to record drek like that they should have gotten unlisted numbers, is a very nasty man indeed. Hmph.

After all they are the duo responsible for voicing THE most important question of the 20th Century : Why do birds suddenly appear, everytime you are near?

I'm also completely useless at anything involving organisational skills due to impaired executive function. This is a psychological term which refers to organisational and planning abilites, working memory and other complicated stuff  that frankly I can't remember. See?

At least that's now my excuse, so I'm sticking to it.  I'd always felt that part of my brain was somehow missing, (the part that should be logical and organised) yet to try to describe this to anyone would just sound like I was making an elaborate excuse for being lazy.  Imagine my relief to find it was not a figment of my imagination after all but a real part of my Ass Burgers.

In finishing,I would  like to list these affirmations for Aspie's written by author Lianne Holliday Willey that I like to remind myself:

• I am not defective, I am different
• I will not sacrifice my self worth for peer acceptance
• I am a good and interesting person
• I will take pride in myself
• I am capable of getting along with society
• I will ask for help when I need it
• I am a person who is worthy of others' respect and acceptance
• I will find a career interest that is well suited to my abilities and interests (I'm not sure how this one works for me, don't expect there are many job vacancies for a Carpenters obsessed nut)
• I will be patient with those who need time to understand me.
• I am never going to give up on myself.
• I will accept myself for who I am.

Yep, so I will accept myself for who I am.  A socially awkward, anxiety prone, Carpenters obsessed Aspergirl. Brilliant.

Linking up with The Lounge over at Musings Of The Misguided.

*Tries to think of a leading, thought provoking question to ask at the end of the post...and comes up with...NOTHING.* Oops. Um, why DO birds suddenly appear every time you are near?

What? Not a great question? Look, if it was good enough for Karen, it's good for me, okay? HMPH.

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Being Different & The Diagnonsense

Last year, at age 40, I found out that I officially am an Aspie.  Meaning a person with Aspergers Syndrome. Or Asparagus Syndrome as it often referred to.  When it is not being referred to as Ass Burgers Syndrome. 

Ass Burgers Syndrome is an Autism Specrum disorder (to quote Wikipedia ) that is characterised by significant difficulties in social interactions alongside restricted and repetive patterns of behaviour. That's the Reader's Digest abridged definition anyway.

I don't know at what age specifically I realised there was something slightly different about me. Most likely not until I started school. My parents probably noticed early on that my brother and I were (and  still are) vastly different temperaments.  Him being quite social, reputedly dancing at one get together as a toddler until his little legs refused to go on and then sitting down and bopping on. Me being quite the opposite and always wanting to go home whenever my parents took us out anywhere.

Samantha and I. I was about 10

I loved dogs and books.  My nose was always in a book as soon as I could read.   Especially Enid Blyton ones.  I was so quiet, Mum often had to check where I was, to see if I was okay. Usually she found me curled up with the dog.  We had a black and tan dachshund named Samantha. I'd named her that after Samantha from Bewitched which I loved.  Now it's obvious why I might not have grown up with much grip on reality loving such things, as I've mentioned before.

In spite of being painfully shy and quiet, apparently I could talk very clearly when I wanted to. So I never really had any speech or developmental delays . I was just a shy kid.

 It's true, I was and am shy.  I think that's a  different thing or trait than Aspergers. After all I'm sure that not every Aspie is shy.  So it's hard to say exactly how much of my behaviours are shyness and how much is from Aspergers. For example, eye contact.  I still find this impossible.

As a baby only a handful of priveleged people apparently had the honour of being able to hold me.  A couple of Aunties only, and my parents.  With anybody else I screamed.

Whenever Mum took me into one Aunty's kitchen I became very distressed at the sight of the very busy patterned wallpaper.  Obviously it was just sensory overload for me, however I would like to think that even as an infant I already had exquisite taste and thought: "Oh my GOD! Look at that hideous 1970's wallpaper...NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

In fact I still detest fleurescent lights with a passion.  I will often wear my sunglasses in shopping centres, receiving the odd stare from people who probably think I'm a complete wanker who thinks she's as cool as Bono.

The most noticeable Aspie trait I had ( and still have) is rocking backwards and forwards or jumping up and down on the spot. It's too bad I didn't keep the latter one into adulthood, because I sure need the exercise. These behaviours are referred to as 'stimming' in Aspie talk.

I wasn't a great student unless the teacher was particularly pushy with me.  This was mainly due to being an off with the pixies space cadet too busy daydreaming during class.  I'd only listen if it was something that interested me and tune everything else out.  I ended up being good at reading and consequently spelling and written expression.  I was fair to terrible with everything else.

Making friends was hard, but I managed to have one or two in primary  school.  At this stage when I was still interested in Barbie dolls I had something in common with other girls.  This changed later in High School where I ended up virtually friendless.  I had nothing in common with other girls who were interested in boys and liked Duran Duran while I was starting my Carpenters obsession.  This obsession has persisted to this day. Yes, I know, I am...seriously...weird.  Still at least I have my Ass Burgers as an excuse. I've met others online who are just as obsessed or worse. (You know who you are.)

More about my diagnonsense (as my friend Randa calls it)  next time...I'm going to play Carpenters.

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Computer Wars

Now that Micky Blue Eyes is working from home it is quite interesting.  Having failed to become Cashed Up Bogans thus far, we currently only have one computer.  This has become the most coveted item in our home as everyone including Master 3 clamours to get online.

It is of the utmost importance that he should be able to watch Spectacular Spiderman on Youtube. Since Youtube doesn't work worth a damn on our dodgy computer, this can be quite tedious.  When his demands are rebuffed he immediately becomes irate. His little face contorts into a scowling grimace as he glares at us and defiantly declares "I HAAATE YOU!!" 

As I am attempting to type this, he climbs on my lap and starts pleading "Five more minutes and I go on here Muum?" Then starts grabbing at the mouse.  I send him on his way, sulking.

Similarly, Master 8 becomes incredibly distraught when his waddling around on Club Penguin is interrupted or denied. It is very dramatic.

Very, very, dramatic.

Very, very, very dramatic.

Very, very, very, very dramatic indeed.

That, or we have just been reading too many Mr. Men books lately. (Master 8's favourites)

 It is as if he has had to endure all the suffering and injustices in the World ever, since time began.  And it really does feel like that at times when we are all vying for computer time.  Which is probably an indication that we all desperately need to get a life. Or another computer. FAST.

Micky Blue Eyes spends hours upon hours online doing Accountant type stuff involving spreadsheets  and all that stuff that sends me to snooze land...zzzzzzzzzzz.

But I also need time to type these blogs because all my millions (ie. one - thanks Mum) of fans are so demanding and they have just been bombarding me and begging me to resume. Oh okay, only one person enquired when I would be posting a new one. So I forced myself on here for longer than five minutes, much to everyone's disgust. 

It is rather galling to realise that the average 5 year old probably has their own laptop while I am begging for whatever computer crumbs I can procure.  But then again we have always been a tad behind the times.

I have a pathetic Nokia phone which doesn't even have a camera. While all other parents pull out their whizz bang phones for a photo opportunity at every occasion, I stand there feeling like an antiquated fool.  We also possess an archaic Corolla for a car.  Not to mention the charming old fibro we live in.  

We really need to get with the times and become one of those modern families.  The ones where every family member has an iphone, laptop, xbox, ipad, etc, etc (I'm sure there are gadgets I've never even heard of) and they never talk to each other but instead text each other from the individual rooms of their gigantic McMansion. 

We actually sit at the table for dinner.  And suffer a lot of indigestion, as everyone tries to be the first to finish so they can get on the computer.  Which reminds me, I really need to make dinner, but if I move from the computer it will be promptly taken.

It is not unusual to sit here desperately busting for the loo but too afraid to move for fear you will never get back online. So hopefully, it won't be too long before another bogan installment.  But if you don't hear from me for a while you now know why.

Computer Wars.

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The Box

Home is a charming, quaint, little cottage. ie. an old, tiny fibro in Boganville, obviously. We desperately need to upgrade or renovate. 

"It has potential." Micky Blue Eyes commented when we originally bought the home.  Yes, it certainly did have potential. In the following ways:

• Potential to grow mould on the roof and ceilings of the front bedrooms.
• Potential for the roof to leak (tragically our boys will never be able to thank us during their wedding speech for bringing them up 'under a roof that didn't leak'. This is how Mick thanked his parents during his speech at our wedding).
• Potential to cause all five of us to suffer from lifelong paralysing claustrophobia.
• Potential to cause chills in winter as it so cold. Brrrrrrrrr.
• Potential to feel like a sauna during summer as it is so hot. Phew.
• Potential to become a gigantic, cluttered mess- FAST, due to lack of space.
• Potential to look rather pitiful among some of the other renovated or knock down/rebuilt  homes popping up on our street.

Still, it is our house. We own it, not a bank. Aren't we lucky?  So we try to make the best of it.  Mick started painting. I helped.  (Making him cups of coffee is helping, isn't it?)

  It is half done.  Hopefully the half done look is in, as it may not be finished for another ten years.  The other day we noticed that Master 3 has already helpfully scribbled on the fresh paint. A very cutting edge look indeed, so we might just go with it.

We also have a lovely combination of mismatched, dodgy furniture, including a sofa bed that doesn't match the two dilapidated recliners.  A kitchen sideboard cupboard with the glass missing out of the doors.  And a wardrobe in the boys bedroom which can't be shut. All so very classy and in keeping with our true bogan status.

I'm sure our home could be a candidate for a Home Beautiful shoot.  If there was a Home Beautiful for Feral Bogans issue that is.  Unfortunately, Micky Blue Eyes and I are of the stressy types who would not be able to sleep at night with the worry of a massive debt/mortgage over our heads. Others wouldn't be able to sleep at night in Boganville, ironically.  Me, I'm a born and bred bogan, so I don't know any different. So here we stay, debt free and bogans.

Meanwhile, we can always keep dreaming of the day we become Cashed Up Bogans and finally get that McMansion in Boganville Heights. It's always better to dream big, I find.

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Miscellaneous Morsels

A few days ago I appeared to be in a cooking mood.  I made Spicy Puke ie curry, rice pudding and pikelets. I totally forgot that you're supposed to take artfully lit photos of these tempting treats, so you'll just have to imagine them.  All of these offerings were actually partaken of and consumed.  This is a monumental event in our house.

Truthfully, I will never be auditioning for Master Chef. Or even Mediocre Chef.  Even though, in reality every meal here feels like a Master Chef challenge, with my boys being tougher critics than Matt Preston and co.  It is quite the challenge trying to feed them.
Master 8 will scoff grilled fish with enthusiasm, one night, exclaiming "Mmmmm! I LOVE fish!" So then, I confidently serve fish again with flourish the following week only to hear: "Yuuuuuck!! I HATE fish!"

This battle started from the day they were born.  I sucked at breast feeding. The baby didn't.  I felt like a failure.  The feeding problems persist to this day.

Cake made by my Mum for my 40th birthday.Who needs Masterchef, I have my Mum.

My mother happens to be the best cook in the whole world. Makes melt in your mouth apple pie.  The Best Caramel Slice In The World Ever.  That's what I call it.  Because it is.

Unfortunately I did not inherit this ability.  Sometimes my culinary efforts are fine.  Often they aren't.  It may have more to do with the fact that I frequently  can't be bothered more than anything else. I'm sure I could become reasonably competent in the kitchen if I could somehow summon up the interest and desire to do so.

Somehow when you have three fussy kids and this has to be done everyday it suddenly becomes a massive chore. "Get them involved" say the 'experts' "Get them into the kitchen, cooking with you."  Yeah right. It's all very well for the Jamie Oliver's of the world to suggest this, but they obviously don't  have a kitchen the size of a postage stamp.   Frankly if I put on any more weight, I'll have a hard enough time fitting in there myself let alone getting my kids in there as well.

Besides, they only want to help if we are making something cake like, so they can make a gigantic mess, with flour everywhere, get to lick the bowl then leave me with said gigantic mess to clean up. As well as cakie things which they won't eat because they weren't made by Grandma.  I will then proceed to eat all of them, when I really shouldn't.

I also hear all these stories of children who just love vegetables.  When I announce I can never get my boys to eat anything green, such as broccoli (I don't think their own snot counts) other parents stare at me open mouthed. "Really?" they say "I just tell them it's little trees and they eat it." So I attempted to convince Master 3 to eat it with this method "Look at the little trees!" I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.  Truthfully I don't really get that excited over it either, at least not as excited as I do over chocolate and cakies, but I had to try to convince him.

Master 3 then proceeded to show me exactly what he thought of my pathetic attempts at vegetable consumption coercion by throwing the 'little trees' at me. He also threw the burgers we had last night.  When I informed him we were having burgers he reminded me rather scornfully "You get those at McDonald's you know." perhaps also inferring that they might be superior to anything I could cook.

Is it foolish to keep repeatedly trying to make healthy meals for your kids when they are happier with fish fingers and two minute noodles? And I'm happier with a lot less washing up? I think I'll just go with the second option tonight.

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Books Are My Bestie

I have a book fetish.  Books have been my major companion and 'bestie' since childhood. As soon as I could read, I always had a book attached to me and would often come wandering out to the breakfast table, book in hand.

The amount of times I was busted reading a book under the desk at school are too numerous to mention. It all started with Enid Blyton, of course.  Admittedly all the constant references to characters named 'Fanny' were a bit too much for me at times, but nevertheless the stories were so entertaining that I couldn't put them down. It never dawned on me to question  how four kids and a dog could outwit hardened criminals, always remaining unscathed throughout, in all those gripping Famous Five books I read avidly.  I was rather gullible and dreamy. 

It has since dawned on me that a love of Enid Blyton books might not have started me off on the best path to having a firm grip on reality.  A situation that was made worse by a love of such unrealistic TV shows as I Dream Of Jeannie and Bewitched.  I mean, pleeease,  a beautiful witch, with magical powers that mean she can go anywhere and do anything she desires, yet all she wants to do is completely forsake those powers just to be a normal housewife.  RIIIIGHT.  I don't think so.

Anyway, back to books.  At age 10 I read 'Anne Of Green Gables' and then 'Anne' books took over from Enid as my favourites.  My friend Poss will want me to mention the 'Jill' books. So I will. They were 'horsey' type books.  And I say, they were frightfully good. Smashing and all that.  Just like Enid Blyton.  I did like the odd 'horsey' book, which is curious, because I've never particularly liked horses.

I my teens I went through a stage of reading the dreaded Mills and Boon type romances.  This horrified one year 9 English teacher, who called my mother up to the school to inform her that reading such books caused young girls to believe that if they had sex and had an orgasm, they were in love!

Books are the only thing I still hoard as an adult. With other ladies it's usually a handbag or shoe fetish, with me it's a book fetish. Everyone has their thing.  This is fortunate for my husband in that I'm happy with a two dollar book from an op shop, rather than a two hundred dollar handbag.  Not so fortunate however, in that we often need a spare suitcase to bring home all the books I buy on our holidays.

The fact that I will never have time to read all of these books even if I live to be 137 years old is completely irrelevant.  I still have to have them.   Now I still read lighter stuff. I have a short attention span and three kids, so what I am going to read, War and Peace?

 I do sometimes attempt classic authors like Austen, Bronte or Dickens, all of whom I love, but they require more concentration. So I mostly stick with frothy, girly 'chick lit' as they call it, or war time sagas, because I find it amusing how they always have to time for a brew in between all the dramas and bombs exploding, being a cuppa tea girl myself.

Interestingly, I've never read any Harry Potter books.  And I never will. As I've mentioned before, after having three sons, I'm over it.  I may also be the only person in the entire world who has never read the The Da Vinci Code.  I fear it would be too confusing for my fragile brain.  I can't even figure out how to put my sons Lego sets and other various toys together, so my brain might explode trying to decipher such a book.  I won't be reading the Twilight series or The Hunger Games either.  Ditto Fifty Shades Of Grey.

Instead, I'll just read 'Anne' again for the millionth time. Okay, trillionth....

"Mrs Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed by alders and ladies eardrops and traversed by a brook....."

Note: That opening line from Anne Of Green Gables was quoted straight off the top of my head.  Truly.  Yep, I really am that tragic.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

                                                         Which books do you love?
                                      What are you reading at the moment?

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Hormones From Hell

I fear I am alarmingly fat. Side on I could definitely pass for being six months pregnant.  With quads. As for my notorious double chin.  It's becoming triple. I seem to remember life on a parallel universe where I could devour hot chips and lasagne while size 8 hot pants still fit. And as many chocolates as a chocoholic likes. Which is quite a lot, actually.  After all we all know the old line: The answer is chocolate. And I don't give a damn what the question is. Boom Boom.

Of course I am presently living in the wonderful world of PMS. Nothing is guaranteed to turn me into a sobbing wreck more than these feral hormones from hell. I will sob at the sight of a Huggies commercial. I will sob when pants that fit me yesterday, suddenly decide not to zip up today.

I will be found weeping tears of utter desolation, unable to contain my heartfelt and utterly sincere despair over - absolutely nothing. To only minutes later, feeling palpable rage, rancid and real, coursing through my veins.

Slamming doors and glaring at anyone who has the misfortune to glance in your direction.  Micky Blue Eyes innocently looks at me and enquires "New top, is it?"  I am certain that what he really meant was "Looking a bit pudgy aren't we?"  He becomes the unfortunate recipient of the 'death stare' and wisely retreats behind a newspaper without waiting for a reply. I will snap at my boys for the slightest thing then begin wailing seconds later convinced I'm The Worst Mother In The World Ever for behaving like such a monumental bitch.

You will find me walking around feeling like a bi-polar, bloated balloon, with breasts swollen to Dolly Parton like proportions, so tender to the touch that a mammogram would seem like fun in comparison to your partner even attempting to come near them in a futile attempt to have sex. SEX?!!!  You, must be joking, I hear all you ladies shriek along with me, just give me a jumbo size block of chocolate and GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!

Of course, it's comforting to know that all of this will eventually subside only to be replaced by unbearable cramps, the equivalent of 500 knives being stabbed into your lower pelvic area and twisted around torturously for several days, after which you have the luxury of being allowed to be normal again for a couple of weeks (assuming you are one of the lucky ones who has clock work cycles, most of us don't) before - YOU START IT ALL OVER AGAIN!!!

Then, if all of that isn't bad enough, the only way out of this cycle of hellish hormones is to get older and then experience the wonderful world of even more hellish hormones called - menopause.  This is a prospect that sounds about as thrilling as being forced to attend a One Direction concert with a bunch of those idiotic, screaming teenage girls, with their hormones raging. GAH! You see what hormones are responsible for??!!

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

What causes you to have a good old sooky la la sobbing session?

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