Category: Blogging

She's Alive!

7/1/2014

Snapshot of Summer

To quote the 80s cult hit Weird Science, “She’s alive!” Yes, I’m here. And, yes, that is odd that I’m quoting from a movie that I likely didn’t ever finish watching. Now that I think of it, I think my son might like that movie, a boys’ real life fantasy come true.

I was afraid that some people might’ve thought I’d bailed on life given my somewhat cryptic post before signing off in May. What I’d hoped to gain, i.e. clarity, just hasn’t happened. I guess that’s the fantasist in me wishing for something without thinking through the details. Summer + kids don’t equal peace of mind. I can’t even hear my thoughts. I’m more frazzled than when I signed off a month ago. More than a month ago now. I didn’t intend to stay gone this long.

Today is the first day I’ve compiled all of my random thoughts that were stuck in my blogging folder, scribbled on Post Its and on the back of grocery lists. Ideas that I can’t wait to write about. Things like mohawks and autism and how Peter smoked an E-cigarette. My nightmare shopping trip searching for a bathing suit for a 10 year-old girl and how my daughter nearly took off all of her eyebrows. But here’s the thing: I can’t think to blog with these kids around!

My bedroom is like the mecca of our home. A playroom in the absence of a real one. Sure, I could exert my parental authority and kick them out. But it occupies them and keeps them outta my hair. Some things are worth everything.

And even if I were to think enough to write, this damn computer is beyond frustrating! The one that we all stand in line to use. I know hardships are relative, but trying to share one computer for a family of six is a challenge. Access is one thing; using the computer another. There are pop ups and unprovoked commercials blaring from the screen. The computer won’t recognize my flash drive and my blogging site is messed up. There’s a strategy I have to use just to sign on. I’m not able to edit once I post. And when I’m not able to do something to my standards, well, it busts my motivation.

So for now, I’m signing off again until early August. By then, I hope my life will calm down and I’ll get the technical kinks worked out. Not by me, of course. I barely understand ram and gigabytes, etc. I’ll leave you with the quote of the month. More an excerpt really, from my daughter’s teacher’s fifth grade commencement speech. Now, if we could just teach our husbands the same thing…

If you open it, close it.
If you turn it on, turn it off.
If you unlock it, lock it up.
If you break it, admit it.
If you can’t fix it, call someone who can.
If you borrow it, return it.
If you value it, take care of it.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If you move it, put it back.
If it belongs to someone else, get permission to use it.
If you don’t know how to operate it, leave it alone.
If it’s none of your business, stay out of it.
If what you have to say will brighten someone’s day, say it!
If what you have to say will hurt somebody, don’t say it!
If something isn’t broken, don’t try to fix it.
If you think you know it all, look around and see how little you really know.

Thank you to all my loyal readers and the ones checking me out for the first time. Every time I checked my blog visitors, I had that queasy feeling thinking you forgot about me. You know, that same feeling of anxiety before I check my bank balance. That’s on my blog list to: misplaced anxiety.

Happy July 4th!

Go Team U.S.A.!

(I can't even do the colored fonts I want! Grrrr....)

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Adults Need Time-Outs, Too

5/23/2014

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School's out and so am I.
I'm taking a blogging hiatus for a few weeks to mother without distraction; to reflect on where I am and where I'm going; and to nourish a discontented soul. And that break just might include a few margaritas or two, or three, ...

Image Credit (and crookedness): My son

P.S. The chipmunk is alive and well outside...until the next encounter with a hungry feline.

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Mining For Respect

4/16/2014

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Can you be something you don’t respect? That's the question I keep asking myself. Whether it’s in a marriage, career, or any position you’re in: Can you do it without respecting it? Maybe it’s staying in a marriage for the kids or working in a job just for the paycheck. Maybe it’s being a stay-at-home mom because being independent isn’t an option--yet. We can all call B.S. on people who do things that aren’t universally respected. Take that Duke girl who’s paying for school by doing porn. I think we all know she’s full of it when she says that she feels empowered. This also begs the question: Does the end always justify the means? Can we do something we don’t respect if the validation comes later on? Maybe our opinion of that Duke girl would change when she has a degree in hand. Yeah, no.

The reason I bring this up is that no matter how much I want to respect the art of blogging, I just don’t. I wonder why some bloggers even write. And then I see the garbage they’re getting paid to market. I never wanted that and have turned away those that have inquired. I guess some people don’t want to give away the milk for free, though some of theirs might’ve soured.

I know this might offend bloggers or sound like I’m shooting myself in the foot. Here’s the thing. I’ve been blogging for almost a year. I know how much time, effort, and planning it takes just to keep it going. It takes time away from family, hobbies, and for me, things that feed my soul like daily exercise and being anywhere but in front of a computer screen. And all for what? Just to see how many hits I get not knowing if what I wrote resonated with anyone. Perhaps some of my readers weren’t really fans at all but empty clicks from someone looking to spam me. I know I’ve visited blogs, read a few lines, and clicked away never to visit again. I should tell them that my visit to their site shouldn’t really count.

Image Credit: Dreamstime

Maybe part of my frustration is that I want my time validated. I’ve spent almost a year blogging and nearly four years working on my memoir. I don’t want to look back and feel that I’ve worked on something for nothing. That way of thinking is similar to how I felt when I first learned about life and death as a child. I looked at my life in relation to the universe. “I’m something but I’m nothing,” I thought to myself. That reference still comes up in my mind. That doesn’t mean that every life doesn’t matter or, in this case, that blogging has been a waste of time. I’ve grown as a writer and tested my vulnerabilities. And even though my blog stats might be inflated from readers who didn't really count, I appreciate every reader who does.

What I’m realizing in this hamster-wheel-life is that I’m drifting away from what I really care about: sharing my memoir. A life story about getting married to an Iranian immigrant at nineteen. With one small detail: he was sixteen years older. The alienation that brought among my siblings and that lingers today. How we lived the American Dream with money, children, and what would be a white picket fence if our H.O.A. would’ve allowed it. A Recession that collided with our son’s autism diagnosis and all the emotional hell that brought. Living near poverty and the shame that comes with it. Trying to hang on to a marriage ripped to shreds from drugs, deceit, and infidelity. Building back a life that seems doomed to fail. An authentic tale of life and not some sugar-coated version of life people want to share on Facebook.

Most everyone has a purpose in writing. For memoirists, this describes it best: “We must build a structure with our truth so that other people can shelter there.” So, for now, if blogging is the way to get there, then I’ll keep mining for respect. Besides, nobody ever promised a life with guarantees.

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What Makes You 'Jump, Jump, Jump Around'?

11/4/2013

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Image Credit: MS Clipart

Ever wondered if those people who remark “LOL” or “ROFL” across social media are actually doing either one, or are instead sitting stone-faced as usual without so much as a grin? (Side note: ROFL= rolling on the floor laughing) The same goes with those emoticons. Whenever I add a smiley or old-school : ) it’s more that I’m softening the written word instead of genuinely smiling at my computer screen. I use emotional punctuation sparingly and never employ the ones with a wink ;) because that’s glaringly insincere coming for me. Have you ever encountered those people who use exclamation points for everything, whether they're writing that their dog died or are volunteering to bring potato salad to the next pot luck, as if both invoke the same emotional response? Let's face it, messages are often misinterpreted when tone isn't coupled with human inflection. It’s been said that technology is impeding human contact, but it’s also manipulating our authentic human responses.

I had an interesting conversation with a friend this weekend when she told me that her husband admitted that he’d never be so excited as to jump up and down over anything. She prodded and still got the same response. Now, granted, her husband tends to lean towards the unemotional end of the spectrum with a recurring habit of being a “buzz-kill” with his gloomy, morose personality. The glass is not only half-full in his eyes, but shattered with a puddle of a red-dye infused liquid, seeping into his porous counter top. He’s the polar opposite of my friend who’s overly-expressive with enthusiasm that’s infectious. She’s the type of person you want to talk to, and share a story with, just to hear her laugh. And she’s the type who shows emotion by jumping up and down.

In thinking about my friend’s husband, I wondered about how people express emotion differently. What type of scenario would warrant a spontaneous, uninhibited jump-up-and-down, ecstatic reaction that he claims he’d never do? Jumping up and down isn’t the kind of reaction that’s planned and calculated. It’s an uncontrollable exuberance, oftentimes a release of what’s been aggregating internally. Perhaps that display of emotion is one of the most authentic expressions of an emotional high. Most commonly these displays happen in sports arenas or in my friend’s living room when her college alma mater edges ahead of the rival team. I felt that same high on Saturday when my son’s football team scored in the last minute of the single-elimination playoff game advancing his team to the next round. I celebrated my son’s victory with a reaction that was purely spontaneous.

I thought about other situations in life whereby one would be overtaken by an emotional rush that elevates them off the ground and back down again. Elation over passing the bar or medical licensing exam, or years before that, getting into a certain college. What about seeing a long lost relative or overcoming a terminal diagnosis? And of course, the always cliché--winning the lottery. For my friend’s husband, I’m not even sure a lottery win would make him do a happy dance. The ways in which we release joy might also vary across age and differing personalities. Whether you're a bold extrovert or a guarded introvert like me, sometimes letting loose just feels good for the soul. Try it. Those around you just might join in.

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For My Blogging Peeps

10/23/2013

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Who am I fooling? Using the word "peeps" is about as awkward and misplaced a term for me, almost as if I'd addressed one of my children by calling them "honey." (See one of my prior posts if you have no idea what I'm talking about. http://www.whininginmysleep.com/1/post/2013/10/honey-dear-and-other-words-id-never-say.html.) Here's a joke that all of us bloggers can appreciate. Happy 'hump' day! Oh, wait! I'd never say that word either...

Image Credit: Parade Magazine circa early 2000s

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Pussyfoot and Other Words I'd Never Say

10/6/2013

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I was brought up to believe that “screw” was a bad word because of the images it conjured up. That was mostly for my mom’s sake who thought the word “screw” meant the same thing as ‘F’. (Wow! Even as a grown woman I feel I’m disobedient writing the f-word in full. Besides, I promised to mostly steer clear of those posts.) Looking back, my mom’s reasoning seems like a bit of a stretch. Yet she was raised in a household where saying the neighbor’s dog was in heat got her into trouble! There’s no doubt that words once considered profane are now commonplace. Nowadays people almost never say “screw up” because who says that when “F’d up” is more mainstream, if not socially acceptable in certain circles.

My dad is notorious for using phrases that aren’t commonly used today, if at all. The words leave me blushing inside and asking myself why he doesn’t substitute a more appropriate word. Take for instance the word “dicker.” Used in a sentence: I had to dicker with the mousetrap to get it to work. I’ve never met anyone other than my dad who uses that word. (Side note: It’s still a mystery to me how the name Richard is shortened to Dick? That’s my uncle’s name and I’ve felt uncomfortable addressing him since I was old enough to know that dick was slang for penis. If anyone knows the origins, please enlighten me.) And on that same note, my children have already caught on and look for any opportunity to inquire about Uncle Dick or ask me to take them to Dick’s sporting goods. Wasn’t there another name on the drawing board?

Hump. That’s another word my dad uses. Used in a sentence: Just study hard and hump it these next few weeks until finals are over. For me, the meaning of the word hump is the same as how my mom envisions the word screw. All I picture is my dog popping a pink one and gyrating uncontrollably in the air. I guess those words are just what makes my dad special. That and once asking my brothers to put the ladder up while he was still on the roof!

There are those words that when standing alone mean nothing, but when combined take on a whole other meaning. Take the phrase “chill out” that’s equally as inciting as “relax” especially when coming from a pimply preteen. My son has a habit of saying both. Tell me to do either one and I’m bound to do neither. And don’t get me started with how I feel when he says, “That’s what she said.” Who is she and where is her mother? My son also pushes the boundaries by calling our cat a “pussy,” which I think is just as foul as calling our dog a “bitch.” But being twelve is all about discovering those few crossover words that make him believe in his own cleverness.

And what about the phrase pussyfoot? I’d always assumed that was a bad word until I heard a T.V. commentator use it on a non-cable channel. It’s interesting how my view towards certain words that were prohibited throughout my childhood has carried over to adulthood. I had to unlearn some rules that were so engrained that I never questioned them. Lastly, I never use the word panty. Not for my Hanky Pankies and not for my girls’ Hanes. Panty has a sexual connotation so I use the broad, gender neutral term underwear instead. You’ll also never hear me say “TT” for pee. I’m as confused about that phrase as I am about the shortening of Richard to Dick. I guess there are some mysteries that will always remain unsolved.

Image Credit: etsy

Update 11/22/13: In watching my new favorite show, The Goldbergs, I realized that I forgot to add the word "suck" to the list of words I could never say growing up. Maybe that was a universal view shared by parents in the 80s because the mother in the show scolded her son for saying that something "sucked." I'm not sure how sucked became categorized as one of those forbidden words. Besides the sour, crass tone carried with the word, I've also heard that "suck" somehow relates to oral sex. That, to me, is a far stretch, but, nonetheless, to this day I almost never say that something sucked. Old habits die hard. (Finding double entendres could go on forever.)

And on the subject of The Goldbergs, you're really missing out if you aren't already a fan. This is our show; By our, it's for every child of the 80s who could never relate to That '70s Show. The show brings to life the images sketched in our memories and sometimes developed by Fox Photo. From the decor of wood and cane dining chairs to the busy floral prints and dull blue picture matting; to the cars that stretched from mailbox to mailbox in length with seat belts that were perpetually loose and ill-fitting; and the ever present track suit wearing tennis mom who was never anywhere near a court, the show's setting is perfectly reminiscent of my childhood. And maybe yours, too.

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My Own Niche

9/13/2013

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Fuck. Still reading? Dick. Still there? Whore. Have I lost you yet? While finding my place in the blogosphere, and in doing some research, I found many mom authored blogs with posts equally as vapid as the crude words in the text. Don't get me wrong, I have a foul mouth at times; I just don't enjoy reading those words for shock value. I'm unabashedly old-school or reserved, whichever label you choose. I prefer manual can openers and hand churned pencil sharpeners. I cook popcorn the Amish way and listen to CD's on my SONY boom box while exercising, instead of using a trendy IPod. And just over my shoulder is a gigantic desk calendar, because who wants to risk a technical glitch. Living somewhere off the grid is my secret dream.

Many posts I read were anti-husband. What woman can't relate to those? I did a walk-through after my husband left for work this morning, closing cabinets, putting down the toilet lid to protect the cat, and loading a plate into the dishwasher after scrubbing off the dried runny egg yolk that hardened after a brief time. Then I retrieved his black dress socks from the middle of our backyard after the dog confiscated them from where they'd landed the night before-on the side of the bed. I can bash my husband with the best of them. And I do so often. Yet reading those posts leaves me feeling empty.

Truthfully, I have some envy for those sites that draw in thousands of readers each day. But just as people with autism fall on a spectrum, so does every reader. Maybe we choose which blog to follow the same way we choose wine. Who really understands those earthy, fruity, floral descriptions anyways? Don't most of us pick a bottle simply based on the colorful label or price point? I hope that my writing appeals to people who are turned off by the words in my intro and like honest, thought-provoking content instead. I get dizzy reading sites that are overloaded with material. I get that same feeling trying to keep up with the news anchor moderating a panel, while the ticker scrolls at the bottom of the screen that's already half blocked with a bulleted list of talking points. It's too much for the human mind.

So as I venture out into the blogosphere, working to increase readers with unique content, I realize that the topics people choose to read about are just as vast as the places to find them. I've been continually immersed in writing for the past few years, before the launch of my blog, hoping to become a published author. I find myself dreaming in sentences and jotting down ideas on scrap paper that I stuff in my bra for safekeeping. I often wonder if blogging is the right platform for an introvert like me. There are those that write and those that speak. Bloggers seem to do both well. I prefer to write.

At the very core of blogging is a self-promotion and confidence that assumes that people want to read the inner thoughts circling in my head. There's always that continual struggle between staying isolated and allowing myself to feel vulnerable. There is no reward without the risk. So I promise to abandon some inhibitions, but the curse words will stay mostly contained in my head instead of littering the screen.

The best way to find a blog is to share the ones you like. What are some of your favorites?

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Why blog?

9/5/2013

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The first class I took in college, after returning in 2009, was Journalism 1001 taught by a young, male TA. A very cute one with fluffy, wavy, light brown hair. I'd always thought I wanted to be the next Barbara Walters, sometimes staying home on Friday nights during high school to watch the latest 20/20. Then life happened and I got in the way of my own dreams.

So here I was returning to school at thirty-one, with four children at home, and taking a journalism class to resume a passion that hadn't died. The class was very dry, mostly writing newspaper articles and a bunch of quizzes based on the AP Stylebook. The TA lectured about the journalism field with such a negative spin that I changed my major to nursing the next semester, before changing it again. And again...

One thing I can't forget is how the TA said that anyone can be a journalist because everyone has a platform at their fingertips by simply writing a blog. Looking back, I might've been intimidated by the vast competition. I remember agreeing with him, wondering who really cares about Johnny's football and Susie's adventures in preschool, outside of close family. And even they aren't always interested. Besides, isn't Facebook enough of a platform to narrate one's life? I think there's also a generational gap, too, between sharing and over-sharing. Even my mom asks, "Why does everyone want to make everything so public?"

Now, four years later, I'm starting my own blog and thinking back to the TA who criticized blogs for encroaching on every journalists' domain. And, I must confess that, I just recently learned that blog is a blend of the words web + log. I'm not afraid to admit my weaknesses. (Shhh! Don't tell my husband.) People write to share experiences and have their voices heard. And in an age of autism, with the numbers of those affected growing by the day, I hope to connect with those people who love someone diagnosed on the spectrum, and expose it to those people who only know it from the headlines. I hope to share a side of autism that was missing when I was trying to figure out why my son climbed on the roof of the car, instead of sitting obediently in his car seat, and why he screamed for us to stop when we sang Happy Birthday to him?

The title of my blog isn't just descriptive of my whining, though I confess it comes with the territory of raising a special needs child. Whining refers to waking up at night to tend to my son’s whining, and then whining on the way to his room because he hasn't had a normal sleep schedule since he was born. There's no quicker way to change a personality than to interrupt one's sleep. I hope you'll find that my posts aren't saturated with pessimism.

And, lastly, there would be no blog without readers. So thank you for visiting my site, sharing your input, and growing our voice!

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She's Alive!

Adults Need Time-Outs, Too

Mining For Respect

What Makes You 'Jump, Jump, Jump Around'?

For My Blogging Peeps

Pussyfoot and Other Words I'd Never Say

My Own Niche

Why blog?

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