Too Many Books

Hubby went to an Asperger meeting last night. He really enjoys hearing about other Aspergians' frustrations in dealing with NTs. He says he doesn't talk much, but laughs a lot.

I bet. I can just imagine his hyena-like hysterical bellow that he often forgets to control in movie theaters and restaurants, the one that make the kids and I cringe. 

He hears about actions that are similar to his own, so he doesn't feel alone in his oddities.

Library books, for instance.

When Steve is interested in a subject, he immediately hits our local used bookstore and the internet to search for books on that topic. I wish that Amazon offered 'buyer bucks' like eBay does. We spend a small fortune on books each year. Good thing I know how to resell them on Amazon and eBay when he tires of them.

He also orders books from the library. It's not unusual for my husband to check out twenty or thirty books at a time. Kids books, adult books, fiction, nonfiction, magazines, videos, dvds. When he enters a topic into 'search' he checks out or reserves each and every single title listed.

Last night Steve came home jubilant. Someone had confessed to currently having over five hundred books checked out from the library.

All at the same time.

Never mind about lugging them all home and back; where in the world would one set that many books at one time?

Huh.

Right now The Hubster only has twenty-two library books stacked next to his recliner. Yes, on the floor. I guess that he never had a librarian in school who ranted on and on about the appropriate places to store library books as I had. 

"You never, ever, ever set a library book on the floor!" she'd rage.

So I never, ever have. Nor 'dogeared' a book, set it down splayed open, or let any pet within a hundred miles of it. Well, maybe within a foot or two.

Looks like I have something else to be thankful for today.

Actually twenty-two things, lol.

L.A.L.

This sign pretty much says it all.

So many times I am upset at situations of my own making or design. Things that I purposely allow to bother me.

Unmet expectations.

The need to be 'correct'.

Stubbornness.

Lack of knowledge or understanding of Asperger or Autistic behaviors.

Judgement of my life in comparison to NT couples' marriages.

*Sigh*

I try to snap out of it by going online to read blogs and posts by others dealing with their own Aspergian traits, or those of family members and loved ones.

The key, I think, is 'love'.

I never expected adult behaviors from my toddler children. I did try to teach them by example, as well as verbal instructions. We practiced new situations. We role played challenges and problems. We rehearsed and giggled and laughed.

Strange as it may seem to regular NT adults, these same methods often need to be used with my husband. Sometimes even over, and over, and over again.

I see in various discussion groups and blogs the annoyance, frustration, and even anger at the necessity of this basic truth in our NT/Aspie lives.

It is so very true that there are moments when I don't 'feel' the love. Doesn't matter. I married for better or worse. I just had no concept at how much 'worse' it could get at times.

I would not tolerate physical abuse of myself or my kids, but I'm reminded that there are times when what I consider to be 'verbal abuse' is nothing more than semi-typical Aspie blunt/rude/blurt/bark. 

I can choose to ignore it. I can go for a walk, put music on with headphones, go out to run errands, distance myself from the tirade. I can choose to not participate.

No, I don't always laugh. No, I don't always apologize immediately. And no, recognizing those things in our lives that I can't change doesn't always dawn on me at the moment.

My life is what it is. I am very thankful for all of you out there who are sharing in this strange and ever evolving journey with me.

You are much appreciated!

A Trip to Normal

It's Saturday morning and our home is peace-filled.

Yes, The Hubster is off to a breakfast meeting for work. Manlet is sleeping off his high school football game from last night. Our dogs are done patrolling our property for nocturnal marauders that may have uninvitedly left strange scents whilst said pups were snoozing. Stretched full length across the livingroom floor, they are once again snoozing.

Such is a dog's life. At least in our home.

As I nurse my third cup of coffee, I contemplate my day thus far.

Darkness still permeated every corner of the house when my eyes popped open this morning. I tried to lay still in order to avoid waking Steve.

I couldn't. Lay still, that is.

Slipping out of bed as gently as possible, I slid into my robe and fur-lined mules and quietly let myself out of our room.

Not a single creak or noise so far.

Traversing the hallway, I attempted to enter the kitchen in order to make coffee, but the dogs were instantly at the basement door begging to be let up.

Shoot.

Letting them enter our main floor abode means that they will make a beeline to Hubby and wake him up. Finn, unfortunately, is able to open doors. Sadie is close on Finn's tail, so into our room they bound. 

"Ooooohhhhh!" squeals a falsetto voice. "What do we have here?"

'Ummm, Dear Husband,' I think to myself, 'we have dogs.'

"What a good boy! What a good girl," drones an irritatingly high pitched monologue. The Hubster's normal tone is a rich, full bass.

I cringe. My spouse's falsetto voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me, although I wonder how many people these days even know what that sounds like since everyone tends to use whiteboards now.

As I fill the coffee pot reservoir and dump fresh grounds into the filter basket, the thumping and whining continue to echo from down the hallway. I can hear the dogs making noise also.

Now, if I would have woken Steve up, there would have been a near knock down, drag out fight. If the dogs wake him, no problem. Makes me wonder if I can be reincarnated as a canine companion to him. 

Which would give a whole new meaning to "I hate to say it, but your wife is a real dog".

lol

Or would that just be normal?

Everything You Think...

"where are you?" flew a text to my hubby from my phone. "we are in the car!"

No response.

We wait a few more minutes before I request Manlet to go back in and try to find his father.

Not as in the "Luke, I AM your Father" moment, but simply "Dad, we are leaving now."

*Sigh*

I personally have a hard time being patient. I can adopt a whirlwind persona at the drop of a hat. I am also able to sit quietly and read for hours at a time without medication. When I feel 'jumpy' I simply have a cup of coffee. 

Not so with Steve.

The Hubster has his mind sets. That can be good or that can be, well, irritating.  Especially when we are trying to go somewhere.

Punctuality is not one of my spouse's strong suits.

Minutes march on.

It has been a calm and quiet week on the emotional front in our household for a change. Steve's parents sent him birthday wishes that arrived prior to the actual anniversary of his 'birth' day, which had him floating on air with joy. Add to that a special barbeque at work on Steve's actual birthday (coincidental though it was), followed a phone call to him from an uncle that rarely keeps in touch, and a lovely steak dinner prepared by moi (eaten together at the diningroom table after Manlet's football practice) put the finishing touches on a pleasant day. Daughterlet prepared a wonderful meal at her home with her fiance, and our eldest son couple of days later. 

My mother forgot, but she's forgetting many things these days. No worries though, as Hubby went to bed full and happy each day.

Calm and quiet until now, that is, since he's disappeared.

Fifteen minutes have elapsed when Manlet comes dashing out of the house, The Hubster trudging a ways behind. His face is screwed up in a grimace. 

"Where were you?" I demand through my open window. Realizing my voice was probably shrill, I took a deep breath as Manlet jumps behind the wheel. Oh how I love having a chauffeur. It allows me more time to calm myself.

More minutes melt by as The Hubster opens the car door, pauses to check the bottoms of his shoes in case he's accidentally stepped into something that shouldn't be on the carpets of the car, then slooooowly settles himself into the front passenger seat. 

Manlet is itching to put the car into drive but waits for his father to close his door and fasten his seatbelt. Kudos to our son. He's handling this far better than I.

When Papa Bear is finally firmly ensconced and ready for travel, Manlet guns the engine and pops the gearshift, our metal steed in motion at last.

I continue to wait for an explanation.

It wasn't until we reached our destination that Steve chose to share his thoughts.

"I figured you guys wouldn't be ready on time, so I decided to fill the dog feeder and water bowls," states the Questionee.

"Were they empty?" I quizzed.

"Nope," proclaims He of Slow Motion. "I filled them when I got up this morning."

I sat stunned as my menfolk alighted from the car.

Turning around, my illustrious Spouse stared at me.

"Hurry up!" He barked. "You're going to make us late!"

What else was I to do but laugh?