Parenting, The Internet, Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll

I know it's probably not in good taste to post a photo of myself in front of the vodka display at my local grocery store, however facetious, but I just wanted to let ya'll know that this is what I look like after an emotional discussion with my teenager** about the internet, Facebook, bad language, sex, drugs and rock and roll. Those of you who have a child with severe disabilities AND a child or two or three or more without might think with a teeny tinesy part of yourself that you're going to get a pass, perhaps, on the more uncomfortable parts of parenting a normal teenager. There might be a teensy tinesy part of yourself that thinks the Universe is sometimes ordered or that you have a divine sort of perspective, especially given the shit you've been doing or going through as an extreme parent. You might even think -- with a teensy tinesy part of yourself -- that the good lord above will give you a break and your non-disabled children are going to be a piece of cake. At least I did. Well, a teensy tinesy part of myself.

Call me silly, call me naive -- hell -- call me an incipient alcoholic.




**No need to feel alarmed. All is well and neither of my boys are in any trouble whatsoever (other than the damn laundry basket filled with their clothes is still sitting on their bedroom floor and not put away).

Respite, Day 6, Solo Drinking and Walking

So, I woke up today and spent it alone. I walked all over the city, did a little shopping, ate a little pizza, drank prosecco at lunch, staggered to a spa where I had a scheduled massage, possibly the best massage I've ever had by a guy named Carey (maybe the best massage I've ever had by any guy named anything), walked over to the Empress Hotel, elegantly and almost absurdly colonial, sat in the famous Bengal Lounge, ordered first a drink called the Empress 1908, consisting of Empress tea-infused vodka, lemon juice, simple syrup and egg white -- my god, it was good and totally not sweet but perfectly weird and tart. It came with a tiny little scone because of the tea thing, and I ordered a pint glass of tiger shrimp and cocktail sauce and then a beer! Oh, and the waiter brought me a finger bowl while I ate the shrimp. I finished at around 7:00 and since Javier couldn't meet me, I staggered home in the bright Victoria sunshine (it's the first day of sunshine and for these Victorian folks it was as if the heavens had opened and Jesus himself had descended such was their joy), and now I'm waiting for the sun to start going down which will be in another couple of hours (north country fair) so that I can walk over to the water and offer up my gratitude to the universe that made Heather McHugh for this week.

Yakety Yak

Me and my yak

Have you ever had one of those days where you talked and talked and talked, so much that it was too much? I had one of those days, and while every conversation was a good and deep one, I'm talked out. Today I talked about my children and I talked about medical marijuana. I talked about dyslexia and I talked about gratitude. I talked about how difficult it is to receive things gracefully. I talked about marriage and I talked about divorce. I talked about turning fifty years old, and I talked about losing weight. I talked about the books I'm reading and the jobs I'm looking for. I talked about advocacy for children with special healthcare needs, and I talked about my family. I talked about others and I talked about myself. The only thing I didn't talk about was drinking.

That's why I'm grateful to my baby sister Jennifer for directing me to this website called Thug Kitchen and this particular post. If you're at all offended by cursing, avoid it. Otherwise, have fun.

Now I'm going to stop talking and go make myself a Blackberry Bourbon Fizz.

Then I'm going to chill the  ------ out.