Dar got a black eye and I have no idea how. He says it happened ‘in the pool’ or maybe ‘in my poo’ hard to say his pronunciation is still pretty garbled. At any rate his eye was black and he thought it was cool. I know he thought it was cool because when we were at McDonalds – yes we go to McDonalds – Dar ran into some neighborhood friends who ooohed and ahhed over his eye while he grinned, pulled his shoulders back and shook their hands (a high sign of approval from Mr. Still Pretty Autistic). His pride was cute, his black eye problematic. The complicating factor was that I was about to break my own – never perform near where you live rule – and would be doing my ‘please listen to me I’ve discovered amazing things about autism and cured many children show’ in my local community. Dar’s black eye could raise eyebrows cause whispers and blacken my credibility by association. Every single one of my children has put me in this position at least a hundred times during their lives. The autistic ones just put me there even more often. Its a funny life raising children out of autism …… as they become better they become more social but there are holes in their learning from the years of autism so they are still challenged and doing unusual things. You learn to laugh… As … On their way to typical each one of them passes through the label ‘brat’ ‘spoiled’ ‘out of control’ and ‘rude’ during this period they explore and become exposed to more and more danger with more and more creative ideas about how to create bigger and bigger reactions from people who are willing to be shocked by their behavior … until eventually they learn to value self control…. And fitting into the group. During this period it’s a good idea to work away from home keep your colleagues at a distance and try not to overlap your parenting reputation with your professional one. I was about to break that rule because I wanted to share with my neighbors what people all over the world hire me to share with them. And then – just in time to remind me not to take myself so seriously – Dar got a shiner… which he flashed around for all to see. I was mulling the situation over and deciding whether or not to feel concerned for my career when Dar picked up a girl’s drink gave her his eye brow flex of flirting and took a sip. ‘Jerk!’ she muttered. And the decision was made. My answer was no. No need to be concerned because the important part was working. I giggled hysterically and had to abandon the counter clerk to run and pee (it’s a weak bladder laughing woman thing) because I realized the girl had thought barely verbal Dar was ‘just another inappropriate non autistic black eyed pain in the ass.’ Ah life’s little pleasures.

My granddaughter who used to be overly sensitive and cry or reject easily loves dogs. She is seven years old. She was bit in the face by a dog she both loved and trusted. She was stitched and bandaged. Her shock lasted two days. On the third day we (her mom, her sister, her mom’s friend, Dar and me) were walking to the library all wearing matching bandages (to help her feel normal about her abnormality) when we saw a variety pack of five differently sized dogs. She petted them all. Wow. Testament to her – testament to her mom – testament to neurofeedback.

I used to think an apple a day kept the doctor away … until it gave me … diabetes… because I also thought… more is better… oops!

So I finally stopped talking long enough to write…. Actually that’s a lie. Truth is I couldn’t stop writing long enough to write … I’m kind of a writing addict… so since at present I’m trying to wean myself away from constantly writing and rewriting my one woman show before it grows too long to be a mini series (one reviewer even suggested I shorten it – imagine the nerve – instead I made it funnier… so much so that it grew an extra ten minutes… but I figger if the audience is already sitting three hours what’s an extra ten minutes… especially if its funnier… fortunately the audiences seem to agree… but even I know that if the show doesn’t stop stretching – I may have to adopt the whole lot of them) that’s why I’ve decided to blog a little… I’ve already adopted… children that turned out to be my audience (don’t think about it I just like to talk like that). I expect – for me – blogging will be sort of like a writers patch or writers gum or a pacifier for my writing hand to twiddle – so if you don’t feel like reading it no problem I don’t plan on saying anything… just easing into the process… its all about the writing to write part of breaking the writers habit… I should be doing it for an entry or two… till the next project grabs me by the typing finger so it can spin out of my head and into the computer… Writing is fun. Writing about my life is even more fun. I think that’s why most people blog. But since I mostly write about my life anyway blogging has no edge over projects … especially since projects pay… occasionally… and can end… as long as you’re willing to stop… and end them. Thing is writing autobiographically makes endings a challenge… but writing autobiographically makes so much sense for me because people are motivated by my life … and since I’m still trying to figure out why that is, I like to share… so I can hear myself and maybe come to a deeper understanding. Problem is publishers all know what part of my life they want to hear… and its seldom the same part I want to tell… because they want me to write the story of getting and raising all those special kids – while my kids want me not to – my kids have more pull – with me. So I kind of half satisfy us all and write about me… while I was raising them… since writing about me is writing about them some of the stories seep in. Speaking of stories I just thought of a good… one for my… maybe I’ll just work on my show some more… hmmm… I wonder if there’s such thing as ‘one woman show writers anonymous’?

Today two of my daughters and I were sitting on the kitchen counter (because conversation is so much better there and besides its closer to the senseo which requires proximity because you have to make the coffee one cup at a time)and chatting about various places we’d worked and what a relief it is to no longer have to take care of other people’s egos. We went on and on about how comforting it is be working together. It was quite a lively little gabfest. You see, in my home – unlike many others I’ve been to – there is no sensitivity to jokes and comments (that doesn’t mean all my kids are thusly blessed just the ones who are willing to still live with or near me) nor duplicity, no angst, no arguing, no gossip or two facedness. We get along. It’s all very SMOOTH! And we enjoy talking about how great that is. We went over and over again our blessings and family pride, we bragged and complimented ourselves. We were happy to be comfortably confident. So much so that it wasn’t till we all dispersed and I sat down to blog that I realized we’d used comparing ourselves to the failings of others to appreciate the successes in us. Apparently we’d been gossiping about how other people gossip and priding ourselves on not. Oh well at least we weren’t judging them.