And then I heard this noise coming from my bathroom and I said to myself, Hmm, what’s that noise? and then I got up to see what it was, and what it was, was, my son getting into my earrings. Spreading them out on the edge of the bathtub and loading up his pockets with the ones he particularly liked.
So I took them away from him and was doing the old, “Blah blah blah mine blah blah blah NOT yours blah blah blah out-out-out!” thing.
And, as I finished putting them
With rapt fascination.
Because naturally, my browser was sitting on
Awesome. I can’t wait. “Oh hai, Mrs. Captain’s Mom, this is his very young teacher? Ya, he said something about looking at ‘butts’ on your computer, and I was just wondering, ummmmmmmm…?”
Last week, he told her during a moment of High Drama, that he wanted to killllllll himself. Not because he actually wants to, you know, kill himself, but because he wanted a do-over. His whole world is framed like a video game right now, and to him having a character “die” or “get killed” means they’re going to :ping!: back onto the screen, back at the start of the level. So when things aren’t going his way and he’s pissed off to the point of no return about it, he’ll start saying things like “I want myself to die!” or “I’m going to KILL myself!” in the same way that I might say, “GAH, I wish I could have a do-over on today!!”
Even knowing this, it still creeps me the heck out whenever he says it. And I have to resist grabbing him and delivering an emotional lecture about it – which would, of course, deliver only one message, loud and clear: Heyyyyyy, saying that sure gets a rise out of mom! I should totally do this any time I want to piss her off, which is about forty-seven times an hour!
Fortunately, his teacher being an autism specialist and all, she understood instantly when I explained this to her. (And agreed with me that while he may not mean it in the traditional sense, we do still need to keep an extra vigilant eye on him whenever he starts that, on the off chance that he might throw himself under the bus wheels or something, expecting that he’ll just :ping!: back into his bed and it will be morning again and now he gets to “do the level over” – isn’t special needs parenting awesome?!)
However, I’m not so sure if I can explain an enema pin to her. Especially given my tendency to just really keep going when I get nervous, instead of shutting up like a smart person would do.
“Ya, well, you know how there’s Etsy? You know, Etsy? Etsy? The online art marketplace thing where, ya, well, it’s, you know, art? Ya, well, then there’s this Regretsy blog, ‘where DIY meets WTF’ and, uh, well, there was this…well, a lot of times, it’s like…see, this one time, she found this one where this woman uses her boobs to do paintings? HAHAHAHAHAHA, I mean, heh, yeah, well, ahem. Aaaaaaanyway…it wasn’t what you’re thinking right now, it was just, this…pin…celebrating (I guess, celebrating), uh, enemas, and I mean, heh heh, really, what could be more WTF than that, huh?”
And then she’ll look at me.
And really…I mean…but…
It wasn’t anything like that. It was just, you know…sigh…
…is it way too late to take the fifth right about now…?
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