Each and everyday, many people in the blogging realm are typing in the search terms 13 or mouth. Guess one place their glorious search takes these inquiring minds? Yep! You’re such a smart cookie! Right here: the happy little place of Everyday Aspergers.
Because of the lovely search term mouth, my Proverbial Foot in the Mouth post keeps ranking in the top five out of all my blog posts.
I can understand the obsession with the awesome number 13. Who doesn’t love number 13 facts? But why are numerous earthlings searching for the word mouth? Is it something to do with the Mayan calendar?
My middle-son offered studiously, when queried about the blogging-mouth-hunts, “It’s quite obvious, Mom. They are looking for a good dentist, and want to see what type of job the dentists are doing.”
Great thinking. But when I think of people searching for the word mouth, my mind doesn’t go in that exact dentist-handy-work direction.
One can only hypothesize.
Because I cannot control the search term mouth from boosting a post’s ranking—a post I consider mediocre in comparison to the other grand knowledge found on this mighty blog—today I have spent many, many hours searching for 13 intriguing mouth images and 13 facts about mouths.
My favorite part was Googling: “Do Hippos Really Fart through their Mouths?” I still don’t know. Although, I found some disturbing YouTube videos on the subject matter. Okay, without further nonsensical ado, I present a one of a kind list of 13 Mouth Facts.
13 Mouth Facts
People whose mouths have narrow roofs are more likely to snore.
It takes food seven seconds to go from the mouth to the stomach.
In Pennsylvania you may not catch a fish by any body part except the mouth.
A jellyfish passes waste material through its mouth.
An average dog’s mouth exerts 150 to 200 pounds of pressure per square inch.
A person cannot taste food unless it is mixed with saliva.
The crocodile bird flies into the open mouth of a crocodile and cleans its teeth for it.
The snail’s mouth is no larger than the head of a pin, but it can have over 25,000 teeth.
It takes more muscles to frown than smile.
Your tongue is the strongest muscle in your body.
Some moths never eat anything as adults because they don’t have mouths. They live on their caterpillar energy.
When a person pees a small deposit of urine enters the mouth through the saliva glands.
Just as we all have unique fingerprints, we all have unique tongue prints.
The Geek Posse Chimed in on more random facts “we” found while surfing the net.
Sir Brain: 80% of the brain is water.
LV: You cant’ tickle yourself!
Prophet: The sentence “The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog” uses every letter of the alphabet.
Crazy Frog: A group of frogs is called an army.
Little Me: Scientists say the higher your I.Q., the more you dream.
Phantom: A duck’s quack doesn’t echo. No one knows why.
Elephant: One pound of peanut butter typically contains up to 150 bug fragments and 5 rodent hairs.
OCFlea: A female flea consumes 15 times her own body weight in blood every day.
Crazy Frog cites the example of this anomaly as a side lesson: A frog when dropped should move towards the ground. If the frog remains in mid-air, the levitation would be considered an anomaly. Or considered super darn Matrix-Cool!
Sam Craft's Mouth. Or I guess, teeth!
Note: I have not confirmed all of these facts to be truthful. Please never rely on the validity of the Internet or the validity of Crazy Frog.
Is there something wrong with me, if I get excited about looking up images of flattened squirrels?
I almost ran over a squirrel this morning. Upon seeing the little sport dash out in front of my van, I slammed on my brakes to save the critter’s life. Afterwards, I looked in my rearview mirror to make sure there was no one behind me. Nervous and preoccupied, from a near miss, I failed to make a complete stop at the stop sign, which caused a not-so-happy neighbor to honk at me.
After the honking incident, I was a bit perturbed, all the way to my sons’ school. I had wanted to stick my head out the window and shout: “I always make complete stops. But I was saving a squirrel and got nervous!”
Give me a break.
I was upset for a full five minutes about the stranger misjudging me. Upset that is, until, on the return trip home, my youngest, the only passenger still in the van, declared from the backseat, in that casual, got your number style: “Mom. You didn’t make a complete stop, again.”
Guess I’m still guilty of those California stops. Can I just blame the error on cultural upbringing?
Saving Squirrel from the grips of death is the highlight of my day thus far. That, and finally deciding to wipe the glob of toothpaste off the bathroom wall; the same minty-green glob I’d been staring down for a good two weeks. I guess I’m the only one in the family endowed with cleaning toothpaste super powers.
I did have an eventful morning. For that I give thanks. Before I was fully awake, I was serenaded by my youngest, when he screamed at the top of his little lungs: “My eye therapy treatments are a waste of your **** money!” He wrapped up his point with a grand slamming of the door.
Have I told you how I obsessively read every Calvin and Hobbs comic book that existed, when I was a young adult, and wished desperately for a brainy, precocious, and adventurous child like Calvin? Don’t’ tell me that wishes don’t come true!
I am chuckling through life, while assuming I missed some news breaking story, because four people accidentally ended up on my blog by using the search term: cheerleader sticks leg down garbage disposal. I stopped myself from Googling for details. Yet, now wondering, if you might.
I could use a good laugh. The Dean of the Education Department has yet to call back about my tuition reimbursement. It will be two weeks tomorrow. I am doing better with the whole not showing up to class thingamajig while still on the university roster. Although, last night, while in the videogame store, I did ask my husband to check my pulse (twice), as I was having heart palpitations.
I adore my husband. He is always looking after me. However, I must share that he is concerned about this Everyday Asperger’s blog. What’s he concerned about? Well, supposedly, I’ve shared way too much about him. (Pausing a moment here, because I still find this so very funny. I’m not thinking, I need to explain why.)
In fact, in scanning through the some 60 pages I’ve scribed, one could infer that my husband Bob was a science major, is a father, was born sometime in February, is turning 50, snores, can count (pulse taking), and acts like Spock. Tons of information, right?
Of course, in knowing he is married to me, you can definitely infer Bob (if that is in truth his real name) has a very high tolerance level! That or he’s on some heavy medication. Happy Birthday sometime this month, Bob!
If I’m not posting anything tomorrow, you can assume I’m on restriction.
Once a month my boys have late start—a time where they go to school an hour late because the teachers have a staff meeting. This bit of schedule variation sets me up for an anxiety-ridden morning. Everything—the alarm clock, breakfast time, traffic—is a little bit off. And the morning is always a little less predictable.
For instance, my youngest is currently undergoing an eye therapy program, and because we had extra time before school began, he played his favorite eye therapy game with one of his older brothers at 8:00 am. Eye therapy first thing in the morning, instead of the traditional afternoon time, brought about changes. Changes that included Robert, my youngest, standing on the basement-level floor at the bottom of our staircase, knocking wooden blocks off an ironing board by smacking an orange soft ball with a big stick. A ball held by a string hung over the stair banister at the top-level, a string that I balanced, while playing referee and keeping score.
Late start meant that there was time for my youngest, age ten, when finished knocking over the blocks and shouting gleefully, to make himself some scrambled eggs (without asking); so that when I returned from a cold shower, (because all three boys had enough extra time to all shower in a row, which left Mom no hot water), I found the kitchen, I had painstakingly cleaned, covered in eggs, shredded cheese, and what-have-you.
This while my Spastic-Colon (my dog; not my intestines) decided to do that move that all dogs do when there is a clump stuck to their rear. I watched, my hands covered in wet egg, as Spastic-C balanced on her butt, used her front legs like ski poles, hiked up the back legs, and slid across the kitchen linoleum, leaving a line of crap. My oldest, by then groaning and moaning from the disgustingness of the situation, was made (by me) to balance Spastic-C between his legs and hike up her tail, to ensure I had the best vantage point and stability for scissoring off the poop lump.
It’s about 9:00 am and I’m so ready to crawl back in bed. Only my husband’s big 5-O is arriving shortly, and I haven’t the faintest idea what to buy him. That, and LV is shouting: “Oh my gosh! You’re going to be married to a fifty-year-old! Gross.” (Yes…I know…it’s right around the corner for me, too.)
I thought about making a sweet list, using an acrostic of the alphabet, where I match one item/person/event that I’m thankful for to each letter. For instance, A is for apples, B is for boys, C is for custard. But then I thought (because let’s face it, thinking is what I do best) that I wasn’t in the mood to be some chipper, happy-go-lucky, nothing-gets-me-down, poop head! I’m not a Pollyanna; never will be; never could be. Though that used to be Spastic-C’s name when we adopted her, which in retrospect explains a whole lot.
By the way, my real name means from Mars.
Right now my eyes hurt, my shoulders hurt, and I’m freaking out knowing I’m only about 10% done with this blog. Since I’ve already written about 60 pages. Logically, I hypothesize I will be typing some 600 pages by the time this blog hits the magic 365 Days. Don’t you even think about erasing me from your blog email list!
There is no doubt I have enough thoughts inside of me to share 600-pages of content. That’s not the troubling factor. What I fret over is the absurdity that could potentially leak out in roughly 300 days.
There is only so much editing Crazy Frog can do (my lingo button); and there is a limited amount of brute strength I possess to keep LV and Sir Brain from running the show. Then there is Elephant, who likes to clomp over the pages, and Prophet in my Pocket’s extremely profound, lost-in-my-mind prose. Then I have Phantom, who hasn’t even showed herself fully. I can only imagine what she’s got hidden under her cape.
Oh Crap! (I hope that’s not offensive in countries outside of the USA; because where I live, crap is actually quite mild comparatively speaking. I’m stopping myself from using the thesaurus in combination with crap. But feel free.)
I typed Oh Crap because I forgot I had to still take my youngest to school. Don’t worry. He ran barefoot to the van and got his socks and shoes on during the ride, just in time, before he had to sprint to the classroom. Although, he couldn’t wear his new tie-shoes because there was no time for shoe tying. That’s why he said to me as he was bolting out the van’s side door, “Don’t worry Mom. I’ll call you if my shoes fall apart!”
I’m such a good mom.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes when I’m in an exhausted, wish-I-had-stayed-in-bed mood, I don’t like to read about how grateful people are and how life always has a bright side.
In all honesty, what cheers me up is hearing about other people’s crap and their struggles, and how they’re still doing okay despite it all, and that we’re all just free-styling in some giant pool of life, because know one really knows how to swim the right way.
Here’s a list that would make me happy, if you wrote it. I invite you to make one and post your list in comments. Just right (write) the first thing that pops into your mind. That’s what I did. But you probably figured that out.
Things That Make Me Go EWW! (or bother me)
A: Ants when they crawl out in masses out of cracks in the house
B: Beef on a plate
C: Curds on milk
D: Dentist chairs
E: Egg shells dripping with raw egg
F: Fat around my waist and on my upper arms
G: Goats’ stench at petting zoos
H: Hamburger cooking smell
I: Insides of the toilet bowl rim
J: Jellybeans that are throw up flavor
K: Kids picking their nose
L: Lights that are fluorescent
M: Money; it’s a love-hate relationship
N: Nuts in frozen carrot cake that scratch my throat
O: Octopus on a plate
P: Pigeon poop
Q: Questions that aren’t really questions but disguised insinuations or insults
R: Red coming out of a nose
S: Sunshine factor in the state of Washington
T: Teeth that are chipped
U: Underneath firewood where there are bugs and spiders
V: Vampire HBO series endings, because I want more
W: Wind
X: X-rays of any type, especially teeth x-rays
Y: Yellow in the toilet bowl
Z: Zoos, especially petting zoos
I thought that list would take a long time. It didn’t. So therapeutic! I think my next list will be people that make me go EWW! No. Just kidding.
Here is a link to one of my Linkedin Articles that will bring you to my profile and some articles there!
My new works include much advocacy for Universal Design in the Workplace, which equates to true inclusivity, where all employees are given opportunity to the same support measures and community engagement, such as the same best-practices interviews, job coaches, support team; not just one marginalized minority, e.g., autistic individuals.
I am working on a book on empowerment on the autism spectrum.
I am my waving from afar, and wishing you so very well! I cannot believe it’s been 8 YEARS!
I now call myself a ‘neuro-minoriy’ (coined by Judy Singer) and consider myself a neurodivergent-blend (coined by me!). I am neurodivergent-blend because of my autistic profile, gifted-intellect diagnosis, dyslexia, dyspraxia, OCD, etc. etc. etc.
My book is now available around the world in paperback! Check out Barnes and Noble or Amazon.
Everyday Aspergers is an unusual and powerful exploration of one woman’s marvelously lived life. Reminiscent of the best of Anne Lamott, Everyday Aspergers jumps back and forth in time through a series of interlocking vignettes that give insight and context to her lived experience as an autistic woman. The humor and light touch is disarming, because underneath light observations and quirky moments are buried deep truths about the human experience and about her own work as an autistic woman discerning how to live her best life. From learning how to make eye contact to finding ways to communicate her needs to being a dyslexic cheerleader and a fraught mother of also-autistic son, Samantha Craft gives us a marvelous spectrum of experiences. Highly recommended for everyone to read — especially those who love people who are just a little different.”~ Ned Hayes, bestselling author of The Eagle Tree
10 Myths About Females With Aspergers
1. Aspergers is Easy to Spot
Females with Aspergers are often superb actresses. They’ve either trained themselves how to behave in hopes of fitting in with others and/or they avoid social situations. Many grown women with Aspergers are able to blend into a group without notice.
2. Professionals Understand Aspergers
No two people are alike. Professionals have limited experience, if any experience, with females with Aspergers. Professionals have limited resources, limited prior instruction and education, and little support regarding the subject of Aspergers. Comorbid conditions with Aspergers are complex. Females seeking professional help are often overlooked, and sometimes belittled or misdiagnosed.
3. An Effective Diagnosis Tool Exists for Females with Aspergers
There is no blood or DNA test for Aspergers. No one knows what causes Aspergers or if Aspergers is actually a condition, and not just a way of looking at the world differently. The diagnostic tools, such as surveys, are based on male-dominant Aspergers’ traits that do not take into account how the female’s brain and the female’s role in society differs from the male experience. Diagnosis is largely based on relatives’ observations and individual case history, and is determined by professionals who often do not understand the female traits of the syndrome.
4. People with Aspergers Lack Empathy
Females with Aspergers usually have a great deal of empathy for animals, nature, and people. A female’s (with Aspergers) specific facial features, body language, tone of voice, laughter, and word choice might result in an observer misjudging a female’s (with Aspergers) thoughts, feelings, and intentions. Women and girls with Aspergers are often deep philosophical thinkers, poets, and writers—all traits that require a sense of empathy. Females with Aspergers usually try very hard to relate another’s experience to their own experience, in hopes of gaining understanding.
5. People with Aspergers are Like a Television Character
Many individuals have learned not to compare an ethnic minority group to a character on television, because such comparison is a form of stereotyping and racism. However, people are comparing male fictional characters on television to females with Aspergers. This happens usually without intention to harm, but out of a desire to understand. People with Aspergers aren’t living in a sitcom. There is a need for a greater degree of understanding beyond observing an entertainer.
6. Aspergers is No Big Deal
People with Aspergers often face daily challenges. There is no magic pill to make an Aspergers brain think differently. People with Aspergers see the world in another way than the majority. Females with Aspergers are not different in a way that needs to be improved. They are different in a way that requires support, empathy, and understanding from the mainstream. Aspergers is a big deal. The diagnosis can bring varying degrees of grief, acceptance, depression, confusion, closure, and epiphany. Here are just a few of the conditions a female with Aspergers might experience: sensory difficulties, OCD, phobias, anxiety, fixations, intense fear, rapid-thinking, isolation, depression, low self-esteem, self-doubt, chronic fatigue, IBS, shame, confusion, trauma, abuse, bullying, and/or loss of relationships.
7. Aspergers Doesn’t Exist
Aspergers does exist. There is a subgroup of females all exhibiting and experiencing almost the exact same traits. If there is no Aspergers then something dynamic is happening to hundreds upon hundreds of women; this something, whatever one chooses to label the collection of traits, requires immediate evaluation, understanding, support, educational resources, and coping mechanisms.
8. There are More Males than Females with Aspergers
In regards to comparing females and males with Aspergers, just like our history textbooks, more males are in the spotlight than females. Males are typically the doctors, professionals, and researches of Aspergers—males that do not have Aspergers and who obviously aren’t females. Thousands of females with Aspergers remain undiagnosed. Hundreds of women are searching social networks and the Internet daily for answers, connection, and understanding about themselves and/or their daughters.
9. Females with Aspergers Don’t Make Good Friends
Females with Aspergers are all different. Just like everyone else, they have their quirks and idiosyncrasies. Many females with Aspergers are known for their loyalty, honesty, hard work ethics, compassion, kindness, intelligence, empathy, creativity, and varied interests and knowledge base. Females with Aspergers, like anyone, have the capacity to make fantastic friends, coworkers, and spouses, if, and when, they are treated with respect, love, understanding, and compassion.
10. Aspergers isn’t Something that Affects My Life
More and more children are being diagnosed with Aspergers. Adult males and females are realizing they have the traits of Aspergers Syndrome. The rise in Aspergers is a financial strain on the educational system and medical system. There isn’t adequate information, support, and resources available to assist people with Aspergers and their families. There is probably someone in your local community who has Aspergers Syndrome. You can make a difference. Just share your knowledge and understanding. Pass on this list of myths or other resources.
I’m once again on the verge of tears. Which, for me, isn’t that unusual. Though, in totality, I’ve likely cried 100 times more in these last two months than in the last few years. I’m upset and have gnawing-tummy pain.
The feeling stems from having had just left another message for the Dean of the College of Education at the university I am (I was?) attending. I’ve yet to be withdrawn from the class, even though I have decided to stop my course work. This leaves me in an unsettling position, without closure, and without finality. I’m an INFJ on the Myers Briggs test and an Idealist. What these personality traits boil down to is that I need !fricken! closure.
I’m so nervous inside. I’ve been waiting for the Dean’s phone call for over ten days. I was very social-rule-conscious about not calling her too much, after I received a slap in my self-esteem from one professor who told me my two (count them: two) emails stretched over the time of one week—seven days apart—we’re too frequent and urgent. ?? As loony as I think the professor’s judgment was, no matter, I’m hyper-sensitive about contacting anyone at the university.
I’m thinking it’s getting to the point that I ought to share what’s going on with you, only there’s a little part of me, probably Sir Brain, (as he is the push-over, and the token naïveté of my geek posse), who wants to not burn any bridges, not lay blame, and not rouse attention to the situation. LV is secretly hoping that we might attend a summer session at the university. Little Me, I’d like to magically transform into a sea turtle and swim off the coast of Maui.
No such luck.
I struggle with what I can share, what action constitutes grounds for taking care of myself and sharing MY story, and what is best kept in private. The dilemma in what to write in this blog all comes down to my tendency to over-share, and then eventually regret what came out. The hard part is not knowing if this Dean is going to be another authority-figure whose actions I interpret as inconsiderate, non-empathetic, and downright mean. I’m worried she won’t call, yet again, or that when she does call, I’ll be heartbroken. If you see two posts today, in your email inbox, consider me heartbroken.
I’m hoping for one post. I’m hoping the Dean’s call will be productive and positive. But in order to get my tuition back, I have to file a complaint. Or I could walk away silently (without expressing my concerns), withdraw, and be out the money.
Speaking my truth means putting other people in a bad light—which I dislike with a passion. I’ve always had a hard time disliking people, even people who might be considered as having done me wrong. I have trouble with understanding hate and retaliation. I understand extreme disappointment, agonizing humiliation, anger for circumstances, embarrassment, grief, and a host of other not-so-comfy emotions, but I don’t understand vengeance. If I had a little dab of vengeance in me, I figure I’d probably not have much trouble hanging out the truth of the situation.
Once, when I had to be a witness to a man standing trial, I couldn’t muster up any anger. Instead I felt sorry for him: the potential loss of his business, his embarrassment. And he was a man being accused by six women for misconduct, me being one of the victims. Still, I couldn’t feel anything but deep sadness for everyone involved.
I don’t consider this inability to have vengeful feelings a negative aspect of myself; I wish though, at times like these, I carried more of a warrior quality, and less of a wounded healer spirit.
Sometimes people say to let go, relax, give your worries to a higher power, take life day-by-day; sometimes I say those words to myself. The challenge is in having this brain. As I’ve shared, LV just doesn’t work like that. I choose not to medicate myself. I choose not to drink myself to oblivion. I choose not to partake in illegal substances. My body is too sensitive for most mainstream fixes. I can’t even have chocolate without zits or a full glass of wine without gastric pains.
I’ve tried (and still partake) in many alternative treatment plans—from acupuncture to supplements. Still, LV is always about. What works best for my mind (and body and spirit) is a good hot shower, keeping up with the house cleaning, exercise, yoga, sauna treatments, spiritual readings, solitude, uplifting music, healthy eating, getting out of the house and writing—those actions keep me running efficiently, without as much thought-clutter.
Only problem is, with university loose ends hanging over my head, I’ve had the motivation of a slug.
My husband is even worried. Which is stating a lot. He is that Spock-like type from Star Trek who deals with emotions about as often as I deal with revenge. For him to come out and tell me that he’s concerned about me, is saying something fairly vital.
So, as I’ve today, I’ve given myself a few ground rules. I know by putting the words in written form, smack in front of my face (and yours), I’ll hold myself accountable.
To Do:
Start writing no sooner than 9:00 am.
To do absolutely before I write: shower, morning chores, green-tea (shower and tea cuts down on physical pain)
Check blog once in morning and once in evening, only.
Partake in at least one of these each day: sauna, yoga, walk, or swimming.
Take pool aerobics at least once a week. (Be a sea turtle!)
Read spiritual books once a day.
Call someone other than husband a few times a week.
Partake in what I enjoyed before my diagnosis: coffee shop, second-hand stores, nature walks, educational classes, matinée, etc.
Re-explore all the writings I scribed as a spiritual counselor.
Be present and avoid sugar.
Right at the time I wrote number seven, one of my very best buddies called me from California, and she is booking a flight for a visit with me in April! I love how the universe works. Going to follow my rule number three right now. Look forward to touching base soon. Time to crawl out of my shell and face the world again—sea turtle style.
Everyday Asperger's 
