Sure, Make It My Emergency

Steps to get my son his first job which starts on Monday.

1) get registered with Office of Ohioans for Disabilities

2) take pre employment classes

3) sign up for two week work trial

4) get state ID

5) long annoying zooms about the trial

6) buy him pants that aren’t athletic pants because his job has a dress code.

7) w4 and I9

By this morning, we had done through step 7.

By now OOD or the worksite should have asked me for a work permit and doctors authorization right? Wrong. He starts Monday and I was asked today. So later today when I got home ……….

8 ) printed work permit application and doc authorization

9) faxed doc form to doc office

10) call doc office to pay 30 buck rush fee

11) picked up form from doc office (I told them I needed it tomorrow, Friday, but they were able to get it done today within two hours of receiving it—- LOVE that office.)

THEN I thought I was done. Nope. It’s the APPLICATION for the work permit. Not the work permit. Now I need the school district. So……..

12) I called district about the signature from superintendents office and made a plan to go in with him at 8:00 am Monday. His job starts at 9:00 on Monday. He needs to be with me for the work permit. I don’t want him to miss school tomorrow since he’s missing an entire week for one of his two work trial weeks. Oh just realized he has a half day tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow afternoon would work. But he’ll want a nap. We shall see.

I asked months ago if he would need a work permit. Had they said yes then, today wouldn’t be stressful. The lady called me today and said incredulously…. “he’s only 16”. This is after 2 zooms where she asked for his birthday approximately 67 times.

So do you appreciate a glimpse into a day in the life??

The stupid lady who knew his age for months but finally realized it today? The one with zero personality? She’s his direct supervisor for the two week trial. Lord help us.

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It’s Been Five Days Since My Last Confession

Every time I email Fred’s team at the county board of DD how long it’s been since his last aggressive meltdown, I think about other religions and thier confessions….. “Father, it’s been five days since my last confession”.

It’s been two months since my last blog post and needless to say I have NOT been blogging every time I’ve gotten beaten to a pulp. There has been some police action (our mailman called the police while delivering our mail, even). But tonight I feel like blogging and I certainly can no longer vent on facebook thanks to certain people who screenshot and share my posts with people who are NOT my friends. So here, without using our names, I vent. If you know who I am, you’re likely close enough to me not to screenshot this and show the world.

Tonight’s aggressive episode was from 6:45 to 7:15.  It started because Wilma didn’t want to talk to her grandfather.  Fred was ticked off about it and in no time flat, attacked all 3 of us over and over.  He TRIED to calm down quite a few times but as usual if I had been alone with him it would have ended more quickly.  All of us were home.  Wilma claims he broke her glasses but she was overly dramatic about it and not letting me even get a glimpse of them so  she had yelled plenty of times about how she’s not going to school tomorrow or ever again until I fix her glasses.  Then while we ignored her she went all over the house looking for her old glasses and came up with a pair that I think is Fred’s old pair.  MAYBE in the morning she’ll put on her glasses which are most likely fine and go to school, but probably she’ll play hookey tomorrow and demand I get her glasses fixed immediately.     After Fred went to bed early, Wilma was trying and trying to get positive attention from us over and over.  Amazingly, he didn’t attack her again (I really thought he would by about the 17th time she knocked on our locked bedroom door to different annoying rhythms).

I’m TRYING to focus on how long it’s been  since our last major aggressive episode (a whopping few days but every day without a bite, punch, or strangle is a friggin success!).  Hubby, on the other hand isn’t  there.  Neither is Wilma.  Both of them yelled over and over and over that we need to call the police and I think they’re both extremely mad at me that I didn’t (they both know how to use a phone, by the way and clearly I’m NOT the boss of this house).

One of the Five Percenters

I’ve decided that five percent of the people in our fishbowl community are terrible people. 95 percent are WONDERFUL. So every time my hubby yells at me that we need to pack up our whole house and move (to WHERE, pray tell? We can’t afford a shoe box anywhere else!) I spend a lot of time trying to calm him down and convince him that most of the people here are really and truly wonderful and it’s just five percent ruining our experience. And quite frankly, we moved here in 2005 and from 2005 until at least 2009 or so things were GREAT. Since 2009 or so, things have gone downhill VERY quickly with particular people. One such person used to be our friend. We thought so, anyway. LOTS of incidents over the past few years have convinced us that he’s not just NOT our friend, but our actual enemy now.

Yesterday all four of us went to Walmart. Daring, I know. But we’ve HAD some successful Walmart trips lately and in fact, yesterday’s trip was GREAT for Wilma. For once, she did NOT instigate ANYTHING with Fred. But….. Fred had a moment. A loud, aggressive, the whole store turns to see how we’re going to handle THIS show kind of moment. Yes we got hurt. Yes it sucks. Yes, Walmart workers tried to TALK him down. Protip for those who work at stores…. if you see a 200 pound teenager punching and strangling his parent or caregiver, don’t try to TALK to the kid to tell him not to beat his mom. Get eye contact with the parent or caregiver and ask THEM if they need help. If they have the kid out in public, they’ve got training under their belt to do it as safely as possible—- or they don’t, but would like you not to make it worse, k? Dude at Walmart is lucky HE didn’t get slammed. I’m fine now, thanks— except for the adrenaline hangover– those are always fun. Walmart is back off the list for a while.

Anyhoo, our ahem…. FRENEMY……. saw the whole thing. Apparently. We did NOT see him there— we were trying to response block and get the situation under control before getting to the car. He told a neighbor of his to tell hubby that he will beat him up until we agree to leave this city. This is HIS city and we have created a great blemish on the community. If he were truly a friend, he or his wife would call us and ask how they can help. Hubby now has to go to minyan every day and daf every night walking on eggshells waiting for this butthead to beat him up. He’s already punched him before, but not (yet) beaten him to a pulp. We’ll see. This guy makes our community shine brightly, doesn’t he?

Life on Zoom and Facetime

When Fred started yelling curse words at his piano teacher’s house, his piano teacher asked us to move piano lessons to Facetime. Her young kids are home a lot….. this way, on Facetime, she can wear headphones and her kids don’t hear Fred’s side of the lessons. Better for her. Harder for us because I have to sit right next to him to watch his fingers more closely and for whom does he reach when aggression hits? Me!

When Fred bit his ABA tutor we were asked if he had a current std test. He was like 12 at the time. Good for them to have a papertrail that he’s clean. Hard and offensive on us. Really damn offensive.

Last session with the pre-employment gal from the agency providing services so that through the Office of Ohioans with Disabilities, the twins might qualify for a work program next summer….. Fred punched the gal. I wasn’t at all surprised. Horrified as usual, yes, but not surprised. I WAS surprised he didn’t BITE her. Sooooooo from now on our pre-employment sessions will be over zoom. Better for the pre-employment people. Harder for us—- keeping Wilma engaged on zoom is impossible and with her psychiatrist I’ve COMPLETELY given up—– her psych doesn’t require me to have her sitting at zoom appointments with me, thank goodness. So I’ll be dealing with his “what do I write here” meltdowns, dealing with her wandering off, and dealing with the gal on zoom all at the same time (around the same time that my husband comes home and wants dinner)– life is fun. Again, better for the pre-employment agency. Harder for us.

Sometimes it’s not even the behaviors themselves—- it’s the aftermath. It’s the “oh I can no longer work with you face to face, sorry” or the “has your twelve year old tested clean for STDs?”. And I know where this leads….. .when we finally give up on trying to keep him at home because truly, our other child isn’t safe— forget about US……. show me the group home or residential treatment center who WON’T try to deny him because “we take those without such behaviors”. If he didn’t HAVE the damn behaviors, he wouldn’t need to leave home, now WOULD he? I’ve had friends go through this—- denial from services due to behaviors that are too severe. As it is, the kid is kicked out of public school. Public SCHOOL! ok, he’s in a “school”, but it’s NOT a school I would WANT for him and he does NOT have the same opportunities. They’re very nice people, but…… ok, that will be a different post.

911

I posted the following on facebook tonight (using Wilma’s actual name): An ambulance and three police officers later, all is ok at our house but Wilma is in the ER, hubby is with her, I’d rather not say more than that and if you’d like to pray for all of us that would be appreciated. Hug gifs below please. Or jokes.

——–

I got love and support jokes and gifs and that was great. I did NOT say that I called 911 on my own child, right? But then hubby went to his nightly daf yomi class and got harassed.

who the hell told the guy who harasses my husband that we called 911 on our kid? Neither of us wrote that on our facebook — we mentioned police and ambulance but we didn’t say it was because of our kids. we simply said Wilma went to the ER— we didn’t say why. and the neighbor who saw the police and ambulance wasn’t told that we were the ones who called. So whoever is reading our posts, ASSUMING we called 911 on our kid, and reporting it to the asshole who harasses my husband—– you are about as much of an observant Jew as the asshole who harasses my husband—– observing only the Jewish laws you think benefit you and certainly not the ones relating to man versus man (or woman of course). If you are talking “facts” about our situation tonight to other community members, go ahead and unfriend us.

By the way, it’s not just one guy who harasses my husband. But for tonight, HE is the one who has threatened to come over and beat up my husband because we make our community look bad.

Don’t judge Judaism by the Jews.

Anti-Torah Mindset

A teenage boy, whose father harasses my husband constantly, came up to my husband today and apropos to nothing, said the following:

“My Rebbe said that if you have retarded children, it’s because of aveiros you did in your past.”

His father was right there— smiling. His father even said “hey, he listens to his Rebbe!”

We have such wonderful people in our community, but the handful of total assholes spouting their anti-Torah mindset— calling our children retards, telling us about our past aveiros….. they are who are forcing my husband to demand we move. Keeping us living here is becoming a JOB.

Stay Away From Us!

Haven’t had an evening this terrible in a whole week. I am physically and emotionally SPENT. Wilma’s therapist had to tell me to “breathe, just breathe, just focus on breathing” for a good 20 minutes while I hyperventilated. Anyone know how to cry but control the over the top hyperventilating? I’d like to have a cry when I need to (my shoulder got injured in the chaos and it hurts, but not enough for the ER) but not have it affect my blood pressure and physical being for hours afterwards.

Anyhoo…..hubby went for a walk to get away from it all and ran into someone who doesn’t know our situation all that well and didn’t know that we haven’t taken a vacation since 2006 and certainly doesn’t know that hubby had just been punched and bitten. She said “you look a little stressed…. perhaps you need a vacation”. WRONG THING TO SAY TO ONE OF US unless you’re handing us a qualified babysitter who could handle a potential dangerous situation….. who Wilma would allow to do her medical treatments (she won’t even let hubby do it— I’m the freaking only one allowed near her). Go ahead, y’all. FIND the perfect babysitter for an autistic 14 year old who is likely to beat you up and harm you physically……. who can also do medical treatments on a 14 year old who WILL. NOT. ALLOW. YOU. TO. DO. SO. Soooooo we don’t vacation. Ever.

She should have STAYED AWAY FROM HUBBY.

A certain head of an Orthodox Jewish day school saw my husband at shul with his sleeve rolled up (the men roll up sleeves to put on their tefillin) and told him he shouldn’t roll up his sleeve in shul because he’s scaring the boys from his school at davening with his bruised up arms. Gee, sorry our getting chomped by our aggressive kiddo is terrorizing the same twerps who run around calling my husband the “retard manager”. (I’ve probably mentioned it before— a large group of boys from that school call my husband horrific names because he used to work there as a 1:1 para (with a “retard” (note the quotes– I hate that word— but those boys love it and are never called out on it) and he himself has kids with disabilities, who, according to this stellar group of young men, are “retards” as well.

He should have STAYED AWAY FROM HUBBY.

In short….. if you’re approaching us to tell us to take a vacation, tell us God doesn’t give us what we can’t handle, tell us that God gives special kids to special parents, or to tell us that we’re scaring children with the bruises we incur by being punched and bitten……. just STAY AWAY FROM US.

Bar Mitzvah Stuff

We ended up doing… NOTHING.  No Kiddush, no party, no invites.  It was the best thing for our son and it was the best thing for our current situation.  Our son didn’t have a massive meltdown upon realizing he was the center of attention and there was a crowd, and none of the riff raff who make it their job to harass my husband knew when and where our son would be called to the Torah and there was no free food for them to come crash our Simcha.  So our Simcha was QUIET.  Just the people who daven at our shul anyway.  Fred was called to the Torah for his Aliyah, the men  sang to him for about 2 minutes, and we moved on with our lives.  I’m incredibly depressed that we couldn’t throw a shindig and yet so incredibly grateful.  I mean the truth is that we could have thrown an invite only party NOT at a shul that wasn’t announced in newsletters just like Wilma’s, but you can see why I was gun shy to do that based on what happened at HER party.  If a double meltdown ran down HER party, kol v’chomer it would most certainly run down HIS.  He certainly didn’t care about a party.

We did GO  to a Bar Mitzvah recently.  The baalas Simcha promised us that a certain person wouldn’t be there.  Not only was he there, he was given an honor.  The baalas Simcha promised us that her son’s classmates wouldn’t be there (they live in the “other neighborhood”).  My husband literally spent Shabbos morning counting bochurim and noticing how many came from the other neighborhood— he got to be called a retard manager, and when he yelled at a few boys for on purpose knocking right into our son, he was yelled at by the certain person mentioned above (who, by the way, finally invited us to leave our city— I was wondering when he’d “kick us out” of here).  Wilma stayed home.  She NEVER goes to shul on Shabbos morning anymore and she NEVER even gets out of her pajamas on Shabbos.  She takes at LEAST two naps each Shabbos.  (we tested her thyroid and vitamin levels—-  I’m guessing it’s just the 8 thousand meds she’s now on).  Fred did come with us.  Hubby went on time, and I took Fred around 9:45— Fred is able to walk quietly into the men’s section, find my husband, and do great during davening.  And then  there was a Kiddush.  Oh how I hate Kiddushim.  Let the record show we tried.  Kiddushim bring out the very worst in people.  So about ten minutes into the Kiddush my son is crying, having a massive nosebleed and yelling curse words in the bathroom.  A Rebbe (who KNOWS Fred has autism) admonished my husband for not disciplining Fred.  If discipline worked with Fred’s cursing or aggression or meltdowns or ANYTHING, don’t you think we would have tried it?  So yeah, we won’t bring Fred back to a Kiddush for a long long time.  None of us ate at the Kiddush or enjoyed it but I think we get brownie points from the Baalei Simcha for being there.

Here’s hoping we don’t get invited to another Bar Mitzvah in our city anytime soon and if we are, we’re smart enough to leave our kid(s) at home and my husband is smart enough to wear blinders and earplugs so he doesn’t have to hear or see anything.  And yes, of course, we had the moving discussion again.  And again.  And again.

Organized Bullying

I’m beginning to think that the only thing organized in some (not all!) Orthodox Jewish communities is the bullying, both of children and of adults.

It’s a small group of teens and adults who continue to bully my husband, but boy are they loud. And constant.  And causing us to argue about moving.  ALL.  THE.  TIME.  Our son is supposed to celebrate becoming a Bar Mitzvah in two months.  We’ve done nothing.  We absolutely cannot agree.  Should he be called to the Torah at all?  What will happen?  Should we have a kiddush?  Who might show up?  Sadly, we may just buy him some special treats and congratulate him and let the community simcha part just……  blah.

Tonight, some bochurim called a treif restaurant FROM the synagogue, ordered treif pizza to be sent to our address (lovely, they’ve got our address) and gave the name as “the retard manager who attended Yeshivas I once ate pork”.  (they call my husband retard manager because he used to be a para in a couple of the Jewish schools working one on one with students with special needs.  The organization that hired him and the schools could never agree on what his job actually entailed, and the students looked at him as a babysitter.  The schools didn’t care about the middos of their students, so years later these kids and their younger siblings are still calling my husband these horrible names.)  The Yeshiva—– well, we’re Baalei Teshuvah.  We catch flack for that too.  Apparently Yeshivas I Once Ate Pork is quite popular because I have a lot of BT friends, but I digress.

Where are these boys’ fathers?  Not at mincha or maariv with them supervising them, that’s for damn sure.  Where are the Rabbaim?  Well if the boys are from important families, families of Rabbanim or Rebbeim, or rich families……  my husband is always told to just “be mevater”.

 

Being Pelted By Wet Paper Towels

Being Pelted By Wet Paper Towels.  It’s what I’m feeling every time something happens to my husband, he vents to me about it, I vent about it on facebook, and some facebook “friend” reports it to someone in the community who then yells at my husband for what I’ve posted.  I need to use this blog more and facebook less, clearly.

In the “this actually happened” category…… my husband went to pick up take out. Two boys who know him followed him into the bathroom where they proceeded to pummel him with wet paper towels.

I KNOW DARN WELL that both of my kids have a tendency to act immaturely so I am always certain that they are well supervised. If my kids did this, I’d be horrified and apologizing profusely to the victim. My husband was asked to cut them slack.

I’m sick of seeing children above a certain age acting like fools with zero consequences from their parents.

I bitched about it on facebook and  someone recommending calling the cops.  MOST incidents that happen aren’t cop worthy— the cops aren’t coming for an adult being pelted with wet paper towels by a couple of 13 year olds. But when you add up a bunch of those types of incidents over time….. yeah the cops still don’t care.  And my husband gets angrier and angrier.  And takes it out on me, screaming at me almost weekly that it’s time to move.  For various reasons I REALLY can’t move right now— that’s a whole other blog post.   We’ve used the D word (divorce) so many times, my head is spinning.  We don’t want a divorce— but…. we’ll see.

So now he’s crazy angry at me for posting about anything on facebook (deleting it now, geez), and this blog will become a private bitch fest (hardly anyone knows about it— hello to those of you who do) and my facebook will be a lot less personal.  I’ve had it.

I am BEYOND disillusioned, both by the behavior of “frum” kids in our community who treat adults with complete and utter disrespect, the behavior of “frum” “friends” in the community who have to talk about my facebook bitch fests directly to people so that they’ll confront my husband (no of COURSE I didn’t use any names), and the behavior of husbands who don’t get that wives need an outlet— my blood pressure with two special needs kids is high enough that my blood pressure meds really aren’t working well.  And when I have a screaming husband on top of it…..   man, being bitten by my 12 year old is easier than considering divorcing from a 20 year marriage.