Fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: I hate my autistic daughter

I belong to a few closed and/or secret groups regarding Autism and other disabilities. Last night, someone in one of my groups posted the below clip, and some of the parents in my group were dismissive of this mother. They called her names like "bitch", "heartless bitch", "psycho" and more. But an equal number of members came to the defense of this woman. Not in defense of her actions, mind you, but seeming to understand how a mother could reach this breaking point.

So, I watched the clip, and I tried to figure out how I felt/what I thought. This was hard to watch, because I knew that if she was publicly admitting to pushing her daughter and "hitting her on the arm", the odds were that she'd done much worse. Also, WHERE THE F*CK IS THE DAD?? I'm pretty sure that child has half his DNA, so he needs to get his ass of the couch and do his part. Overall, I can't completely condemn this lady, because thank God she had the courage to come onto national T.V. and admit to her feelings before she ended up possibly killing her child.

I sort of feel like we're putting special needs parents like this in a double bind. On the one hand, we want these parents to ASK FOR HELP. We say it all the time. "If only s/he had told someone!" Or, "Holy crap, autism wrecks yet another family!" Then everybody nods and posts "heart" and "hug" emoticons. Someone else puts up a Facebook page in memory of the child. We hold virtual hands and sing "Kum-bay-ya" by the firelight. Then we snuggle deep into our covers, secure in the knowledge that we would never even consider that as an option. And if we have felt these emotions, we post about it, showing that *we've been there*.

In NO WAY am I belittling or judging anyone who has done of the above. We all come here via different paths. I'm just pointing out a general trend as I've noticed it.

On the other hand, when these parents DO ask for help, knowing they will be judged, they find themselves at the center of a public stoning. These parents, warts and all, let it be known that they have reached their limit. They somehow find the courage to express their innermost thoughts, fears, emotions, and personal stories, and in turn, we hurl invectives, pass judgement, and point fingers. If we want things to change...really change, we can't continue to send such mixed messages to those of us who are, deep down, fighting the very same fight we are. Not if we expect things to change for the better.

You never know what you're going to find at Goodwill, but whatever it is, somebody else didn't want it. With *BONUS* wine and scotch reviews.

Several weeks ago, I bought a faboolous pale blonde mink coat for 29.99. This coat is swing-style, with a huge collar I can wear up. It goes nearly to my knees, and did I mention IT WAS IN PERFECT FREAKING CONDITION? I tried it on, and it was a perfect fit. I stuck my hands into the pockets (This is a very bad habit of mine. One day I'm going to get stuck with an AIDS needle, and I will have no one to blame but myself).

Soo! In the right pocket, I found the original receipt, dated 1972! The husband paid $1233.75 for this mink coat. IN 1972!!! There were even receipts for storage fees!  This coat was taken care of.

The heavily embroidered silk lining was in perfect condition. I snapped it up in a heartbeat, and ripped the price tags off the second it was mine. I had a strong desire to wear it out of the store. I had decided that my combination of yoga pants, a Bob Marley thermal, and Sketchers would perfectly offset my new mink coat. I was pretty sure that movie stars wore furs with jeans and such.

But. Just in case...

"Smell this. Does this smell bad? I asked my 10 year old son. I shook the fur in question in his face. He inhaled deeply. Because he's a rube.

It smells fine. It smells like that place. Here, he pointed a finger to the thrift store we had just recently exited. Ok, fine by me. I slipped the coat over my Bob Marley thermal and immediately felt The Swank.

*sidenote* I have absolutely no sense of smell. None. Whatsoever. Never have. I can't smell babies, cookies, flowers, or my own child's personal scent.


I also can't smell pig farms, dead skunks on the highway, farts, decomposing flesh, or my own child's shitty diapers.

I'm pretty sure I'm winning.

So, I dropped my son off at home with my teenage daughter, and then I drove to UFS...wait. What is UFS, you ask? ONLY THE BEST FREAKING PLACE IN THE WORLD, THAT'S ALL!! UFS stands for Unclaimed Freight Store. Basically, it's shit nobody signed for, or wanted. So they sell alcohol at ridiculously low prices (name brand alcohol, I might add), as well as flooring, tents, grills, snacks, curtains, and mini-fridges. There is also another UFS across the street that sells furniture, dishwashers, refrigerators, and ovens.

The most important part about a Friday evening trip to UFS is making sure I'm there way before their 6pm closing time. I parked my car, stepped out, and sashayed in the automated doors. My mink coat swinging. The coat seemed to give me unnatural powers of speaking my mind, because once I found out that UFS was having it's bi-weekly wine/scotch tasting, I stepped right up. The wine girl asked which wine I wanted to try, and I said, all of them. It was cute how she pretended to think I was joking.

Then I meandered over to a table that had a bottle of Kahlua on it. But not just any bottle of Kahlua. This was a bottle of PEPPERMINT MOCHA Kahlua! So of course I had to talk out loud about this amazing occurrence. Which led to me being given several shots of Peppermint Mocha Kahlua. Then, I bought some cut-rate Little Debbie Snacks for my kids, the aforementioned Kahlua, and wine.

So I'm pretty much rocking it as a parent.