It’s All Greek Salad to Me

Kidlet has been off visiting his sister’s and brother’s families since Christmas Day. I was actually able to see him last night at my girlfriend’s home where we all gathered with other friends and their families for a holiday get together. It’s strange not having him around each day. I miss him.

For my hubby, however, it presents an entirely different dilemma than lonesomeness. Steve and I are now responsible for Kidlet’s chores. Dishes, taking out the trash, feeding the dogs, along with miscellaneous tasks that come up.

For my Aspergian husband, it’s all Greek. He doesn’t understand.

“Sweetie, can you run this out to the trash for me?” I ask as I set a large bag of refuse from our Christmas gift unwrapping next to the front door.

“Why should I do that!” thunders Steve. “That’s Kidlet’s chore!”

“Kidlet is gone for a few days, Dear. I really don’t want to leave the trash there until he returns. Do you want me to do it instead? I thought that you were on your way out to the shop right now.”

“I AM!” rages The Hubster. “AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND! You told me to never, ever, ever, ever do Kidlet’s chores for him!”

I take a deep breath instead of the bait.

“Steve, I’ve asked you to let him do his chores when he is here. Right now he is not here. This is a situational rule. I am asking you to please take this out for me since you are going out anyway.”

Hubby harrumphs and grumbles as I walk away to go start laundry. A bit later I walked towards the livingroom and see the bag still sitting by the front door. I decided to say nothing about it.

Since I get up so early, usually around 4:30 a.m., I will often take a midday nap. A siesta if you please; a common, ordinary event in many parts of the world. It hurts no one and helps me stay up until 9:00 or so.

Due to the feasting of the last couple of days, we both grazed through leftovers for lunch and he watched a bit of the tube. I asked Steve to turn off the TV as soon as he was done watching his show as I was going to take a nap. He assured me he would.

I had been asleep for maybe ten minutes when there was an awful screech of metal as well as banging and clanging coming from the doorway at the top of our basement stairs.

To keep our two dogs downstairs while we eat or are gone, as our Finn can both open doors and clean off an entire countertop of edibles in less than a minute, I bought and installed a metal garden fence section as a swing gate just inside the basement door. It has two hasps with pins to keep it shut. A couple of days before Christmas something spooked Finn when we were gone and he literally tore through that gate, popping welds off and pulling the gate open. He greeted us at the door when we returned home. The gate was a mess and Finn was nearly inconsolable. Sadie cowered in the background. We never did figure out what frightened them.

So now I am trying to take my nap and The Hubster decides he needs to weld the gate back together. Being that it was so twisted and misshapen; disconnecting it from the hinges that attached to the doorframe was a challenge for him. Not to mention noisy.

“Steve! Please stop and do that later! I’m trying to rest!” I called out.

More clanging and banging. I get up. “Steve! I told you that I was going to rest for a bit! PLEASE go away!”

“What is wrong with you!” thunders He. “Why don’t you sleep at night like a normal person! Just go back to sleep – I’m not making that much NOISE!”

I was dumbfounded. This man is supposed to be my helpmate, my friend. He wouldn’t stop his racket until the gate was off. Then he did leave. I tried to get back to sleep but couldn’t. Shoot.

Granted, he did a nice job on the welding, and remembered to touch up the welds with fresh paint, though it was flat black and the rest of the gate is shiny black. I kept my mouth shut. But that bag of trash sat there until the next day when I picked it up and headed out the door with it.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING KIDLET’S CHORES?” yells The Hubster. “YOU TOLD ME TO NEVER, EVER, EVER DO KIDLET’S CHORES FOR HIM!”

Can someone please get me a new iPhone with a verbal translator app installed? I think that I have been speaking Greek again, lol.

Saran Scrunch

On Christmas Eve day our home was a buzzing hive of activity. I was decorating, baking, cleaning, wrapping, singing, calling, facebooking, and in a wonderful frame of mind.

I love Christmas.

We planned on attending the 6 p.m. candlelight service at church. Around 4:00 I surveyed the lack of available space on my kitchen counters due to dozens and dozens of cookies and confections in the process of being made, cooling, or being stacked on plates and trays. The dishwasher was running and there was still a substantial mound of bowls, utensils, measuring cups and cookware to be washed.

"Steve? Would you mind going to town to grab a pizza for dinner? If you don't want to, I can do it myself, no problem."

"Do I have to order it?" asks The Hubster.

"Nope, already did it," I respond. "They are a bit backed up so it won't be ready for about twenty minutes."

I went back to singing my way through a winter wonderland and sliding a fresh batch of cookies off a baking sheet.

My hubby came back with the pizza and slid it into the bottom oven for me. He was amazingly pleasant. A family sized double crust stuffed combo pizza has that effect on him.

"Sweetie, the timer for the pizza is set. I need to jump in the shower, so can you take out the pizza when the timer goes off? Be sure to tell Kidlet when it's time to eat, and leave the dogs in the basement. Thanks!"

We have a German Shorthair who believes his sole purpose in life is to remove all edible morsels from horizontal surfaces. Kitchen counters, tables, plates on laps. He is super stealth in his missions. All you hear is the click of his toe nails hitting the floor after filching food.

Clean and dressed for church, I also grab a slice. The Hubster and Kidlet seem to be done with theirs, so I ask Hubster to wrap up the remaining pizza and pop it in the fridge.

Time lapse.

Christmas morning. I am the first one up. Not unusual. It's only 4 a.m.

I put on a pot of coffee. I turn on my ovens to begin preparations for my Christmas day feast. I open the fridge to grab a slice of pizza for my early morning breakfast. I honestly wasn't sure that there would be any left as it often will disappear mysteriously overnight. Such is our life with a fifteen year old male in the household.

Whoopie! I'm in luck. Pizza is there.

But wait! There's a huge wad of plastic wrap on top with a four inch gap in the middle. And yes, the entire top of the pizza is all dried out. The Hubster refuses to use my Saran Wrap. He used that disgusting Saran Scrunch again. The Scrunch that never stays shut.

lol - Merry Christmas!

If You Can’t Say Anything Nice…

then don’t say anything at all!

Zip your lip. Can it. Stuff it. Put a lid on it.

Was there actually a time when I thought my hubby was introverted? I must have been dreaming.

The holidays are stressful for him, I do know that. But he is a grown man and I don’t understand how he can be such a blathering idiot! The things that have been coming out of his mouth lately are unbelievable.

I’m wondering if there’s enough money in the checking account to buy The Hubster a one way ticket to another continent. Hmmm, tempting.

I am not a person to have to dust off the gifts under the tree in order to pass them out. I actually enjoy shopping a few days before Christmas as I love the bargains. Youngest and Oldest Kidlets (actually both are Manlets now) went out and about with me yesterday (fortunately I had already gotten their gifts a few days before). We had a wonderful, relaxed afternoon wandering through our favorite stores. We went up and down each and every aisle, invented randomly obscure uses for common everyday things, poked fun at some of the silly items we saw, and laughed and sang until our sides hurt.

And yes, easily completed our shopping.

When my husband had asked me a few days ago about the Christmas schedule, who what where when, I explained it to him and offered to write it down. Christmas day only with everyone at our house this year. Easy peasy. Since we are going to Christmas Eve service tonight, I don’t even have to put shoes on tomorrow.

“When should I wrap my gifts?” asketh He.

“We are pretty much out of paper and gift tags which I am going to pick up on Monday when the boys and I are out shopping,” replieth I.

There was no further comment, so I thought that was the end of it.

Ha ha!

When we got home yesterday we unloaded the car and carried everything into my bedroom to set it on our bed – oh, I mean gift wrapping station.

And there was a pile of gifts wrapped in wrinkled, pieced together mush.

I walked into the livingroom to confront my husband.

“Did you already wrap your gifts?” I ask. “I thought I told you that you could wrap them tonight after I bought new paper and tags?”

“It is tonight!” says Steve.

“Yes, it is now 6:03 p.m., but it wasn’t evening when you wrapped them!” I respond.

“I don’t like to wait until the last minute!” says The Hubster, though I do know from twenty years of prior experience with the man that he does in fact often do exactly that.

“Come here please,” I request.

In our room, with the door shut, I pick up a package. There was a wrinkly glob of wrapping paper in the corner of the box.

“What is this?” I ask.

“The gift tag. I made it myself.”

“I can see that, Sweetie. Why is it taped shut?” I inquire.

“Because the paper was too wrinkled to stay shut,” explains my ‘creative’ mate.

I carefully unstuck one side of the mess to peer at the writing.

“Steve! Why does it say ‘From the elves and reindeer?’ Do you mean ‘Santa’?” I am flabbergasted.

“Why do I have to do everything your way? Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

With that he thunders off.

Oh Sweetheart, please don’t tempt me! After all, it's Christmas!

Can You See This?

I can't imagine living life with Aspergers Syndrome.

There are so many things that my husband just doesn't get. And it makes him anxious, confused, angry, frustrated.

"Steve, can I borrow your glue gun for a minute? I just broke off this little doo-dad on my Christmas ornament, and I think that if I put a touch of hot glue on it will be just fine."

The Hubster is watching a car show on TV and looking up car parts or something on his 'puter. He doesn't acknowledge that he heard my request, so after a few minutes I repeat it.

"WHAT?" thunders Hubby without turning his head from his computer screen. "You did NOT say you wanted me to GET IT, or if you were going to get it, and if you wanted it THIS MINUTE or if you wanted it NEXT WEEK, or if you were just ASKING as a general point of reference, and you TOLD me not to make assumptions!"

The roar that emanated from his still-seated form nearly deafened me as I was standing merely two feet away holding the ornament with its broken piece in my hands. 

I allowed the ringing in my ears to subside before I responded.

"I'm sorry, Dear. I didn't remember to specifically ask you if I could use it now, and if you would get it for me, please."

I was trying hard to stay calm. I really just wanted to get the tree decorating done as there was a long list of other things I wanted to do. 

Still remaining motionless, Steve continued to sit.

I sighed and asked, "If you tell me where it is, may I go get it?"

The Hubster's fingers began dancing across his keyboard.

"Huh?" he grunts, still glued to the 'puter screen.

I look at the ornament in my right hand and the "spare" piece pinched with my left fingers. I sigh and set them down on a table.

Looks like the only thing that getting glued right now is his focus on his web search.

Anyone see the forest for the trees? lol

Just Say No

Once again, my inlaws are inflicting pain into my husband's life. His parents and siblings absolutely, positively refuse to accept or acknowledge Steve's Aspergers Syndrome.

Not one of them has a medical degree. Steve has had no less than eight diagnosis' from trained medical experts.

Neither of his parents nor one of his siblings will support Steve in his day to day struggle in understanding social situations, or in his challenges in being a husband or father. Instead they try to break us up.

It adds so much stress to Steve's life, and cuts him to the quick.

The only explanation is that their denial is fueled by ignorance or shame, of which there shouldn't be any. If Steve had been born with epilepsy, diabetes, cerebral palsy, or any number of other conditions that cause health or developmental problems would they be 'ashamed'? As for education, there are so many places on the internet to research and learn about Aspergers Syndrome that it is mind boggling.

http://www.cigna.com/healthwellness/hw/medical-topics/aspergers-syndrome-zq1008

Family and friend support is vital in the life of an Aspergian. It requires an open mind, a willingness to educate one's self, and a spirit of acceptance.

Not condemnation.

An interesting website that I recently found is 'Aspergers Pride'. It offers all sorts of information. http://www.aspergianpride.com/ 

As for The Hubster's 'family'?

Well, he finds himself completely torn. They insist on ignoring me, his wife of twenty years, as well as our children and grandchild. They also want Steve to do the same in order to be a part of 'their family'. Which proves that hate divides, while love multiplies.

Gosh, doesn't it sound like they want him to be their little boy, instead of a grown man with his own family?

So, so sad.

And it makes my heart ache for my husband. 

Clipped

I realized this morning that I've been constantly irritated with my husband, for one reason or another, over the last few weeks. Perhaps it’s because of the weather changing from summer to winter seemingly overnight, resulting in my arthritis sending me into agony due to the damp cold outside.

It could be because I would rather be someplace warm now.

It could be because Steve often goes into depression this time of year, so he is sulky and withdrawn. 

Or it could be that I am focusing on the irritating activities and forgetting to focus on the endearing qualities my hubby possesses. Yes, multiple - not singular, though some days I might only be able to remember a couple.

Steve keeps his nails trimmed. I really like that about him. He can spend all weekend working out in his shop on car engines, but come Monday his hands and nails are clean. He really does a good job on that.

He doesn't use my gas discount points at our local grocery store any more. There were a few times years ago that he would use a 20¢ discount while buying a two gallon jug of gasoline for the lawn mower. I convinced him that since I drive around 25K miles a year, I should get first shot at the discounts when filling up. He has since complied, though I know that his OCD is running at full throttle when he's seen the "would you like to use your 40¢ discount now" and has to hit the 'NO' button.

The Hubster eats just about anything and complements me on my cooking. I tend to just ‘cook’, not following any specific recipes. Most of the time my meals turn out great. Once in a while a combo doesn’t work. If I don’t like it, Steve will say that it wasn’t his favorite, and that is that. I just don’t make it again. Lesson learned.

I love listening to his deep timbred voice. Steve loves to sing. Unfortunately he is tone deaf, but a cappella he is fantastic. He tends to do a lot of Elvis, whose music I loathe. I just remove myself from the area rather than ask him to stop.

It definitely is therapeutic to sit and count my blessings. It helps to focus on the positive. I am calmer when I am happy, and being positive creates happiness.

Unless he starts singing Elvis in the car, lol.

New Project

Steve has a new Jeep project.

He insists that it just needs a few parts and it will be ready to roll.

His list is short.

Frame, body, running gear, axles, glass, dashboard, and tires.

Right.

There are times when I wonder if my hubby's inability to grasp the concepts of reality are Asperger driven, (excuse the pun), or some sort of mental illness.

"Sweetie, do you see the same thing that I see?" I query. "I see a few parts to put in/on an existing Jeep."

"Well, I know it probably needs a few things..." The Hubster mutters.

We had just been discussing my current 'complaint' regarding the projects within view of our home when he comes home with a new one.

Since we live in the middle of six acres, I'm of the persuasion that I shouldn't have to look at those projects from the windows of my domicile.

The Hubster is proud of his work, thus enjoys 'showing' them off.

Huh.

For some ten or twelve years now I have been begging him to stop purchasing or obtaining any more projects until he finishes his current ones. But he is obsessed with searching the internet for more. I have explained that we must live within our budget in order to keep our home. He spends anyway.

I've read blogs about Aspie husbands that 'control' the household funds as a drowning man grabs onto a lifeline.

My hubby is definitely not one of those.

With his approval I've temporarily removed the debit and credit cards from his wallet. I've hidden the checkbook. I feel like a headmistress at a boys school.

It's not a good feeling.

Steve promises to put his new 'rig' in his shop this weekend - provided he can clear enough space for it.

At that, I laugh!

The Junk Yard

Yes, this is the view today out of my office window.

It is very similar to the view out our livingroom and diningroom windows, as well as my kitchen.

Yuck.

I’ve begged Steve to park his junk piles behind his shop. I paid hundreds of dollars to have enough space cleared behind his detached shop to park up to a dozen vehicles.

Between The Hubster’s refusal to build a functioning gate in the fence that goes around the back of his shop, and his obstinate rejection of requests to keep the parking pad in back cleared of undergrowth, his ‘projects’ dominate an otherwise beautiful view.

I don’t get it. We have a big three car shop that is totally stuffed with junk. None of the vehicles parked in front can be put into the shop. None of those vehicles are drivable for one reason or another.

Steve argues that they all do ‘run’. Okay. I will admit that you can turn the key in several of the cars and the engines may or may not start. But none, even if the license tabs were current and there was active insurance on them, can be driven to town and back.

I do want to point out that the camo Blazer K5 was fully painted by moi.

http://www.camotruck.net/phpBB2/gallery2.php?g2_itemId=2076

Yes, I am that good.

I love cars and trucks. I love going to auctions and shows. I love a wide range of vehicles. But completed ones. And not background view junky ones.

I have an uncle that is into collectible vehicles. He has dozens of fantastic rigs. Every single one of them is stored in a clean, neat garage space. Yes, he has eight or ten garage stalls on his main house. He owns rental houses nearby with separate garages on the back of the properties where he stores the rest of his collection, all spotlessly organized.

My hubby does not.

Nor will he listen to my pleas to keep his junk piles out of sight.

I’m sorry, but it is not a laughing matter. Blue tarps give me nightmares.

Grumpy Face

I’m whisking sour cream into a humongous pot of cheese sauce as fast as I can when I hear the front door open. 

A loud falsetto voice calls out, “LooOOOOOOwwwww!” 

A rampaging herd of dogs careen around the corner from the basement doorway and down the hallway. Yes, both of them. Nails scratching at tile flooring, tails and bottoms wagging violently, yips and whines echoing throughout the entryway, vigorous canine leaping and bounding to and fro. 

The Hubster is home! 

“I’m in the kitchen,” I call out as I lean back from the cooktop to look straight out the doorway and down the hall to meet Steve’s gaze. Yes, I am now looking him straight in the eye. 

“Where are you?” angrily erupts from his mouth. His face is beginning to contort. 

“Right here, Sweetie! How was your day?” I reapplied myself to my task of mac n cheese for fifty. Except that it was truly four cheese pasta, as I use penne noodles. My turn to help feed Kidlet’s football team on pre-game eve. The players and coaches eat a lot. We moms cook a lot. Tonight’s menu is mac n cheese, pulled pork sandwiches, Caesar salad, deviled eggs, cookies and brownies. Just enough to keep those players full until they get home to eat dinner. I am making just half the required mac n cheese. There are nine others covering the rest. 

The Hubster’s face is beginning to look thunderous. A storm could be brewing. Just what I needed. Not. 

“You said you needed help!” roars my illustrious spouse. “WHY AREN’T YOU READY?” 

I close my eyes and sigh, then take a deep, calming breath. 

I inform him that I don't need to be there for another half hour, then ask, “What are your plans, Sweetie?” 

“I WAS GOING TO WORK ON THE JEEP!” is the rumbling reply, definite warning of the probable intensity of the impending storm. 

“You don’t need to help me if you are too busy,” I respond. “I just wondered if you were available to go to the high school with me to carry these huge pots.” My voice trails off as Grumpy Face approaches me. His stomping feet are rattling the dishes in the cupboard. “And you don’t need to shout at me. I am right here,” I add. 

Kisses and an ‘I’m so glad to see you’ no longer seemed appropriate. 

As his lunchbox slams onto the counter, violently dispelling contents, Hubby begins to grumble under his breath. 

I try again. “You really don’t need to help if you already have plans, Dear. Why are you so grumpy?” 

Startled, Steve turns to face me. “Am I acting grumpy?” he asked in amazement. 

“Ummm, yes,” I respond. 

“Oh.” He stands still as puzzlement creeps across his face. “I didn’t realize that.” 

Huh. 

Steve stands quietly for several minutes. Gears are turning. 

“If you can help me, why don’t you just drive yourself to the school so you can go home after carrying in the mac n cheese?” I query. “We will have plenty of people to help serve.” 

Visibly relieved, Steve agrees to this arrangement. His entire body relaxes, his face reverts to his normal expressionless mode, and he turns back to the dogs. 

I contemplate the Jekyll and Hyde story. Not so far fetched, thinketh I. 

lol

Auto Bond

While it’s no secret that the German autobahn is one of the last places where you can drive as fast as you want, the fabled public highways aren’t a free-for-all. Today, some sections of the autobahn have speed limits, though great stretches remain unrestricted. And while most of the autobahn’s driving rules will be familiar to Americans, the Germans have unique laws and rules of conduct in place that they say help to keep high-speed driving safe. And we probably don’t need to tell you that Germans take their rules seriously.

http://www.caranddriver.com/features/eight-rules-for-driving-on-the-german-autobahn

Now substitute “Aspie” for “German” and “NT spouse” for “American”, and you have a pretty good description of my daily life.

Don’t get me wrong. I love cars. That mutual interest was one of Steve and my immediate attractions to each other, along with rock and roll music and (according to him) the way my jeans fit me. When you love an Aspergian, enjoying their single interest(s) make one’s journey much more enjoyable. His jeans were okay.

I always wonder about couples that insist that they have no common interests. There must have been something that initially drew them to one another.

Back to the eight rules of the Autobahn.

I love the fifth rule “It’s only slightly rude to flash your headlights at a driver you wish to pass.”

This so describes my hubby! Since he is very quiet and shy in social situations, it can be startling to hear his voice break into a discussion on, let’s say, the local economy. Often his comment is so far off track that most people are simply startled. As long as I keep steering the subjects into different areas every few minutes, I can keep The Hubster’s blurts to a minimum. It’s only when there has been a steady conversation on one topic for at least five minutes that things begin to get tense.

I can handle slightly rude. I have problems with obnoxious.

An older gentleman was stating his own views on local food banks at a recent fundraiser. Those in our group (mostly) just listened to his ideas and nodded our heads, not so much in agreement, but to acknowledge that we heard him. Then a voice blurts out.

“Well, that’s stupid!” says my spouse.

The gentleman stopped mid-sentence, and being startled so, slightly spilled his drink on his shirt as he whipped his head towards said spouse. The rest of the group turned their heads to follow his gaze.

“Young man!” the pontificator harrumphed. “Just what do you know of the facts?”

Steve shifted from foot to foot. His drinkless hand began to flap against his leg while his eyes blinked rapidly. I am sure his blood pressure was soaring. Several uncomfortable minutes of silence passed amongst our group. I could actually hear the gears turning in my hubby’s mind.

“Oh look!” I exclaimed as a waiter approached us. “It’s time to be seated for dinner!”

As we all turn to be escorted to our various tables, I silently thank God that the stately gentleman of my husband’s scorn is taken across the room from us.

Phew! That was a close one.

Our table fortunately held two fellow car enthusiasts, so the rest of our evening went by pleasantly. An ‘auto bond’ was established, and we all enjoyed our dinner. I ‘helped’ Steve eat his ignored salmon. I am a dutiful wife.

Slightly rude I can handle. It can always be turned into a laugh or two.

And I do love to laugh!

The Mom Song

I’ve had an epiphany!

I’m the Mom.

Why? Because I said so.

And my hubby believes me! How did I not recognize this before?

The Mom Song (youtube)

“Sweetie, do you think I should drive 92 miles to trade away my big shop compressor for a set of used tires?”

“What’s wrong with your shop compressor, Steve?” I ask as I slice onions for dinner. Tears have begun coursing down my face.

Startled, possibly in reaction to my tears, Steve quickly answers “Nothing!”

“Then why would you want to get rid of it?” I inquire.

“Well, we have that little household compressor in my workshop in the basement,” responds The Hubster, as if this made sense.

“Can it run multiple air tools at the same time?” I continue to probe.

“No, but the shop compressor doesn’t either,” says Hubby.

“But that is because you haven’t completed running fixed airlines throughout your shop as we discussed eighteen years ago when we built it! We purchased that huge compressor so you could put it into an insulated side shed, running solid airlines with multiple connection fittings all around the shop so that the noise wouldn’t be so deafening.” I explain.

Silence.

“So I can’t trade it?” queries my Aspie husband.

“No.” I state emphatically, tears subsiding as I’ve moved on to chopping sweet potatoes.

“Why not?” demands Sir Arguesalot.

“Because I said so!” I respond, utterly exasperated now.

“Oh, okay.” Steve turns and walks out of the kitchen.

Say what? Huh. Will wonders never cease! LOL

Mind Blind

I can do this.

I will survive.

This won’t/can’t last forever.

My husband is driving me crazy.

One way ticket to Tahiti, please.

I have absolutely no idea what is going on with Steve, but the lack of understanding, miscommunication and self-absorption over the last month is indescribable.

Temple Grandin often refers to theory of mind and mind-blindness in her speeches and her writing. Autism Speaks also discusses this:

Theory of Mind can be summed up as a person’s inability to understand and identify the thoughts, feelings and intentions of others. Individuals with Asperger Syndrome/HFA can encounter difficulty recognizing and processing the feelings of others, which is sometimes referred to as “mind-blindness”. As a result of this mind-blindness, people with AS may not realize if another person’s behaviors are intentional or unintentional.

This challenge often leads others to believe that the individual with AS does not show

empathy or understand them, which can create great difficulty in social situations.

http://www.autismspeaks.org/family-services/tool-kits/asperger-syndrome-and-high-functioning-autism-tool-kit/executive-functioni

Another source describes mind-blindness as thus:

Mind-Blindness can be described as a cognitive disorder where an individual is unable to attribute mental states to self and others. As a result of this disorder the individual is unaware of others' mental states. The individual is also not capable of attributing beliefs and desires to others.  This ability to develop a mental awareness of what is in the mind of an individual is known as the Theory of Mind (ToM). This allows one to attribute our behavior and actions to various mental states such as emotions and intentions. Mind-blindness is associated with… Aspergers Syndrome… (those who) … tend to show deficits in social insight.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mind-blindness

Difficulty explaining behaviors, understanding emotions, predicting behaviors of others, emotions of others or perspectives of others. Lack of understanding ones own behavioral impact on others. Problems with joint attention, social conventions, differentiating fact from fiction.

Whooh! This nails it. This is exactly what is going on. So it’s not necessarily intentional.

However, Steve is an intelligent man, so it seems he has the ability to stop and calm himself if he wishes. Lately he refuses. Or perhaps he can’t.

I honestly don’t know.

*Sigh*

Rust in Peace

Time heals. Sorrows lessen. Loss initiates memories and, for many of us, thankfulness.

This last month has been hard for us as a couple. Monday I found out that my cousin’s husband had passed away.

I am humbled.

Here I am with my husband intact, albeit infuriating to me, and my cousin sits alone.

Perspective.

I look around our weedy, hulk littered property and am irritated. But my husband is still here to possibly clean it up, so I have hope. Were he to die, as much as I am tempted some days, he couldn’t. I too would be alone.

The times I find myself longing for ‘alone time’ I need to remember this. It’s easy to take myself off somewhere, and then come home. Death, however, would change that forever. Death is the final aloneness.

I have friends who’ve become widows. Some are still single. Some have remarried. Some of those marriages are already over. Those friends are once again alone.

Focus.

I need to remember to be thankful. I need to focus on the positive. I need to choose to be happy, or at least choose not to be upset.

I am soley responsible for my own actions and reactions. Not everything in life is going to be good, easy, enjoyable or understandable.

Not everything is going to be fun.

Life can be hard at times, but the good thing is that it is life, not death.

As I mourn with my cousin and her family, I am reminded afresh of how blessed I am. I can hug my hubby when he comes home from work today. I can lay down beside him as we retire for the night.

And, Lord willing, wake up next to him tomorrow morning.

May his many ‘projects’ rust in peace. Today I choose not to complain.