Why is it never sunny when I need it to be? After days and days of a jacked up sleeping schedule, I finally get somewhere close to normal .... and it's raining.
I wouldn't mind the rain if it didn't make me hurt. God knows I miss the days of walking in it and sitting in trees to watch the storms pass over me. Oh well.
I'm thinking of embarking on a new journey. A parenting blog. I know, I barely make use of this one. Fail. But more and more often I find myself needing to talk about Bratexander the Great and my experiences raising him. I'm not sure that this is the place to do it. I've got a theory that I accidentally killed this blog by mixing up who I follow and instead of keeping up my normally compartmentalized life. I think of it as an awkward party where the frugal peeps are in a corner whispering about the witch-y peeps, who are all staring down the Christian peeps.
And now I want peeps.
Except not really. My stomach has been warring against me for nearly a week now. I think it has something to do with the acupuncture kicking in and doing too good of a job. So, I'm learning my way around the changes.
So.. New World Childe. That's what I describe the boy child as to my mother when I need to make a point, or when I feel like I need to make a point. He wears pink, and loves the Harajuku mini line at Bullseye, he wakes trees with bells, loves to garden, cries a lot, and makes all my neighbors go " Well.. he's fabulous" in that way that means they think he's gay.
Yeah.. he's eight and autistic. It'll be a long time before he discovers any kind of sexuality. He just like what he likes and has parents who let him be.
The Royal Queen Grandmother of Bratexander the Great.. also known as my mama.. well, she's possessive of him. Her biggest pet peeve is his hair getting too long, and she hates any sort of structure and discipline. This is the same woman who regularly whooped my ass at home for sometimes petty reasons. God forbid I give him a stern look. She's got Grandma syndrome.
She's also a hardcore Christian. So.. whenever The Brat wanders into territory I think she'll dislike, I remind her that he's not me, and he's not her. He's his own person, growing up in his own time. He's the child of a new world. That world isn't her home of Peru, or even my home of the nineties. He prays to God and talks to trees, he likes dresses and skirts and pink, he thinks he's Irish, and loves taking trips to new places. He thinks the world ends at Georgia.
Sometimes he kills me with cute and other times I think I'll kill him with my bare hands. Boy has got an ATTITUDE. All the talking in the world doesn't seem to be helping.
Gahh... the family is awake and I must run. More blogging soon.
-Angelwick
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