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We may take this “anything is possible!” thing too far

5 Jan

I just had a panic attack because I lost my guac and pico de gallo.

“I swear, I put it in the fridge!” I panicked loudly at my husband, who had innocently asked about toppings for the taco meat he was making. I had gone shopping today, and as ground beef was on sale and I’m usually feeling extra lazy after grocery shopping, I picked up things to make tacos. I also inspired the lady at the meat counter to make tacos. Because everyone likes tacos.

Anyhoo, me, just a girl, standing in front of the fridge, yelling “Where did they go too?”

Because ANYTHING is possible in this house.

Because we live with Maura.

Visions flashed in rapid fire succession in my brain. A package of guac under the couch. Pico de gallo all over the bathroom. Food containers leaking into the backpack, seeping into the carpet. The container of guac, hidden away in a toy drawer in a certain girl’s bedroom, not to be found for another three months.

ANYTHING was possible.

Luckily, they were just on the high shelf that I almost never use and obviously don’t look up at enough as I’d check the fridge three times before finding it.

But as I told Josh, after finding an open bottle of ginger soda in Maura’s backpack (which did then leak all over the backpack and seeped into the carpet) ANYTHING is possible in our house.

It’s not as inspirational as it is terrifying, that phrase.

 

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[image description – “Anything is Possible” written in a less cheery font, on a grey, drippy paint, background]

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This is NOT a pet blog

29 Dec

Someone from some other site – a site about home selling or something to do with homes – emailed me.

“We’d totally love to collaborate with you on your pet blog.”

Really?

“We’d totally like to write content for your pet blog, maybe about selling a house with pets?”

Seriously?

“Let us know what you think!”

I didn’t think about it. Until she wrote me back, asking if I was the one to contact about collaborations and such, and if I’d gotten the previous email.

So she got some pro-tips, like “Read the fecking blog first before pitching ideas to me.”, but more polite-like because I am nice.

And no, this is not a pet blog.

Here’s another secret – I don’t even own a cat. I actually am not a fan of cats. I think cats are kinda scary and that they will try to kill me in my sleep.

Yes, everything you thought you  knew…is a lie.

*le gasp*

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[image description – kitten putting paw up to mouth, horrified]

 

 

Ruffled feathers

19 Sep

I blogged about a public meltdown that Maura had. Shared how I felt. I was honest, and maybe a bit too raw about it.

In return, many people asked “If I was one of those people in the proximity of Maura’s meltdown, well, exactly what should I do to help? How can I help?”

So I blogged again, after sitting on these questions of “How can I help?” by saying “Just ask. It’s really that simple.”

There were three reactions to this. 

The first type of reaction I got was that I was rude or snippy or flippant with my response. “We were just asking you what we could do, and instead, we got this post.”

I re-read my blog post, and don’t feel I was being rude. Maybe blunt? But not rude. I do apologize if I seemed rude, that was never the intent.

The second type of reaction I got was “Yes. This. Spot on. It’s just that simple. Thank you.” Oddly enough – that type of response came from other parents of children with disabilities.

Apparently, I said something that made sense to those of us who deal first-hand with the public meltdown, but seemed rude to those who witness the meltdown.

I am a bit confused by this response. Because usually, I am better at bridging that gap – at least, so I’ve been told. But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I really sucked at it this time.

Maybe this is just something that only those of us living this lifestyle get, and that it is hard for outsiders to understand.

Except there was a third response.

Just this one. From my friend – who does not have a child with a disability, or is disabled, or works with the disabled. Just a friend. And maybe because of that friendship, she was able to see through the words I wrote to find the point I was making because she’s heard the tales I don’t tell here. Or maybe because I know this friend is the type who really listens to others, even when they aren’t being clear, who works hard to know what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes. But after I posted the blog, she wrote the following to me…

Thank you!! I was actually going to ask you to address this in a post, and I’m so glad you did even if I’m kicking myself for needing it spelled out. Because duh even if I were to ask the same person on different days (or at different times of day) the response would probably be different. You do an amazing job speaking to your experience, and I can’t begin to imagine the patience it requires. I appreciate it so much, I have learned so much from you. Thank you.

So maybe I did say something that made some sense to those who don’t deal with disability every day?

Who knows.

But where does all this leave me now?

To be honest…as much as I blog and seem to share our lives, I am the type who does not open up much. I have been working in therapy to realize that my feelings should be expressed and do matter, despite what the world has told me my whole life on so many levels. But to open up the comments and read that people think I’ve reacted rudely or badly when I’m just expressing how I feel…honestly, it makes me want to close the laptop, and walk away, and never return.

This is why I tend to shy away from offering advice, from telling people what to do. Because, funny enough, I don’t feel qualified. And obviously, from reactions to my post, many people believe I’m unqualified as well.

And there is a voice in my head going “This is why you don’t ask for help. This is why you keep things to yourself. This is why you don’t reach out.”  – because I go about it the wrong way…or at least the voice in my head dubbed “Mean Phoebe” by my therapist tells me all the time.

And the honest truth is, I don’t really expect anyone to step in and offer help.

I don’t look for help. I have spent a lifetime figuring things out on my own because that’s just how I was programmed. Asking for help is interrupting someone else’s more important life.

So in retrospect, no, I am not qualified to tell you how you could help out people having public meltdowns, because I would never ask for help from strangers in a store during one. I would never expect a stranger to go out of their way for the likes of me. Which is why the few times they have, I am blown away by their kindness.

Maybe that’s what I should have said in response to the questions I got. Then no feathers would have been ruffled at least.

These are just my feelings. My thoughts. My points of view in this world, or at least, the reactions to one blog post. This is still our story I’m telling, and maybe I won’t always do a good job at it. Maybe some of you will stop reading it. That’s okay.

But I’m still allowed to tell it.

 

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Photo by Rod Sot on Unsplash

 

 

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