Hidin' my crazy

My friend Mac over at Homestyle Mama private messaged me earlier on Facebook saying that there needs to be an Autism Mama version of this song for me:

I laughed my ass off because it's pretty true both in and outside of anything Autism related.  Hell, even before the husband and kiddos, that whole song probably would have been true. I've never been shy about being outspoken and kind of ballsy and it's transferred over "some" into the world of advocating for my son. I mean, just a tad.

My grandmother has been telling me, much like the mom in the song, to "act like a lady" my whole life. The woman's even put me in pin curls and taught me to cross stitch (which I enjoy doing, to be fair). To basically "hide my crazy." Well, I can't. I try to, I really do. Honest.

I bite back swear words, I wear make-up, style my hair, put on cute clothes, all that jazz. Most days, anyway. She always tells me she wishes I would swear a lot less, she's been saying that since about 1998. Of course, she only says "shit" whenever she drops something. And, to be honest, she's not that great at hiding her own crazy, either. I hear she once hid from visiting friends in her gardening shed because she thought they were Jehovah Witnesses. Who does that? As I write this, I'm reminded of the time that I told some nut job that we were Jewish and I didn't want any of their religious pamphlets (they were there for the 10th time, okay?)... it was Christmas. We had decorated. In a big way. With a tree, by the doorway that I was standing in. Yeah...

I've been known to shoot off at the mouth. Or, as I like to call it, I have verbal diarrhea. Constantly. As soon as something pops into my brain, it comes out of my mouth. It's hard to check it. Sometimes I bite my tongue, but all serves to do is make me look nutty as hell.

I once, in a hormone fueled rage, asked a college "professor" for her teaching credentials. In the middle of class. The idiot had the nerve to give me a lower grade on a term paper than another student who had listed Wikipedia as a source. Really?

My husband will tell you that I am, by no means, sane. He'll say that, in addition to marrying the love of his life, he married his favorite sparring partner. No, we aren't violent, but we do spar verbally. We met in a class and I told him that the boats he raced were "ocean and lake polluting pieces of shit." He said that the sailboats I raced were great, for old people. Those are fighting words. I even swore at him when he proposed marriage. I mean, he did it as a surprise! I don't do surprises.

My sister attests that I'm crazy. We swear I come by it naturally. I mean, Mom, we love you, we really do.. but you're kinda nutty. In a good way. Swear.

I honestly think that as long as I keep my crazy in some sort of check I'll be okay. Certain school officials have known my propensity to fly off the handle and demand action. Fear can be good. Healthy fear of me? Even better. Sorry, but when someone tells me that my son getting his ass beat by another kid isn't assault and neither is him getting peed on, but him getting spit on is assault, don't expect me to handle that in a calm and rational manner.

Please don't take my admitting to being batshit as a reason to notify DCS. My kids are safe. Probably even safer due to my handling things in an off-kilter kind of way. I don't look at the world through rose colored glasses or really believe in bs-ing my way through things. Okay, that's not true. I bullshit, but I try not to sugarcoat. There, that's a better way of saying it. I speak up for myself and others when necessary. If that makes me crazy, I'll take it. In the meantime, I'm probably more vulgar, potty mouthed, and think differently than the other park moms. I'm okay with that.

I wish I could be just a little less dramatic
Like a Kennedy when Camelot went down in flames
Leave it to me to be holdin’ the matches
When the fire trucks show up and there’s nobody else to blame
Can’t get revenge and keep a spotless reputation
Sometimes revenge is a choice you gotta make
My mama came from a softer generation
Where you get a grip and bite your lip just to save a little face
 ...
Powder your nose, paint your toes
Line your lips and keep 'em closed
Cross your legs, dot your I’s
And never let 'em see you cry
"Mama's Broken Heart" Miranda Lambert

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