Sweeties

1.  Drumming Down

2.  Splashing Round

3.  Switching On

Kept awake from 2am by thundering rain pelleting down on the velux window.  In the end I went down to the Big Bed. Still couldn’t sleep. Went downstairs. Made a cup of tea. Read paper. Hung washing out. Made another cup of tea. Went back to Double Bed. Still couldn’t sleep.  Son 2 aged 2y 2m wailed “Mummeee!” and I went and got him. “Where are you taking him?” asked a sleepy Son 1 aged 5y 2m. “Next door,” I said. “You can come if you want.” It was past 5am, and I figured I was so tired that I’d fall asleep deeply, they’d fall asleep deeply and then we’d all get a lie in.  I lay in the middle. Son 2 was lightly asleep. Son 1 eyebrowed me madly.   And still I couldn’t sleep. I must have in the end, because Son 2’s chatter woke me. “Get me out!” I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow. “Son 1, go and unzip Son 2’s sleeping bag.” “I can’t. I can’t do the zip.” “You can do zips. Go and let him out.” Son 1 tried. He couldn’t. “Oh just leave him then.” “Waaaaaaaa!”  I unzipped it. Son 2 reached for the light switch. “No! If you want the light on, go somewhere else.” They both slid away. I heard them unwrapping plastic on the landing. The Sweet Shop.

The Man did the Sweet Shop, and I stayed in bed. He brought me coffee at 0845. The Sweet Shop – full of jelly tots, dolly mixtures and wine gums – had been removed and put away.  Son 1 stomped up and down with the box. “We want our Sweet Shop back.”  We did a deal. I took out the sweets, and replaced them with Cheerios,  pine nuts, cubes of cheese, cubes of apple and hula hoops.  I put raisins and Coco Pop balls in the little jars. This was the new sweet shop.  It all went. Except the pine nuts.  On the phone to Granny, Son 1 laughed. “We’ve got a new sweet shop only we haven’t sold any sweets. We just eated them up.”  The rain hammered down. I put on my New York Marathon 2002 gilet and went running. Wet and splashy. I am now running 5 mins, walking 2.5 mins, four times.  One of my walking sections took me to the Rock Pool Beach, so down I went. The waves were loud, the rain was falling, there were piles of sodden, sopping seaweed everywhere. Just a few dog walkers and me. 

When I came back The Man had made a stew for tea and the children were still watching telly. We took them out for a walk and some air, came back, had lunch, watched more telly. Then we went into The Town for the Christmas Lights switch on.  Lanterns, children, street hawkers, Santa, and rain. Lots of rain. Son 1 went shyly up to Santa, who gave him a sweet. “Can I have one for Son 2 please? He’s my little brother.” He was given another. Son 2 was asleep. Son 1 ate it. At the end of the evening, when Son 2 was awake, we saw Santa again and again, he dished out chocolates. ”I daw Nan Ta,” Son 2 said over and over. “What do you want Santa to bring you, Son 2?” I asked. ”An An”  “Animals?” “Yes.” ”What sort of animals?” “Tye Tye. I like Tye Tye.”  Pity. Santa’s already  bought him a farm.

[Via http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com]

3 weeks

Flying in 3 weeks time with my girls to spend Christmas with my parents and brother on the Gold Coast.

I’ve never flown on my own with both girls. Generally one or the other will meltdown during a flight, usually I have another adult with me so it is easy to deal with… well easy for inflight meltdown.

I’m pondering making up some little business cards explaining my kids are on the spectrum and asking for patience and understanding….. and some packets of disposable earplugs. Then if a meltdown does occur I can just hand the card and earplugs over to anyone sitting near us.

Not sure how to word the card, I don’t want to give too much info but want to give enough so the people understand. I wouldn’t hand them out unless meltdowns were in progress, I don’t think random strangers need to know about my kids being on the spectrum unless it is impacting on them.

See meltdowns are a bad time to be talking to the girls, Heidi in particular needs me to be quiet and just provide her with the right sensory input, darkness, silence, squishes, whatever. Annie usually has to cry herself out without physical contact until she has calmed enough for hugs and logical discussion.

I remember reading somewhere about traveling with kids who are melting down inflight, one suggestion was that you will get more sympathy from fellow travelers if you appear to be trying to calm your child. It doesn’t matter if what you are doing is effective or not – and frankly how is a stranger going to know – so long as you look like you are trying to fix the problem. That makes sense and if it diverts antagonism away from my girls I’m happy to play that game.

But I’m also thinking of ways I can educate fellow travelers and make them feel more at ease. Particularly those in the seats close to us.

Which reminds me I had a brilliant idea of getting sleeping mask for Heidi’s eyes something that could block out all visual sensory input.

Should I be asking the Qantas people for assistance? Word up the flight crew before hand?

[Via http://leechbabe.wordpress.com]

Fact #2 RM wants six children

I realised today, only one day in, what the potential pitfalls of blogging about what you learn every day could be, when what you’ve learned is really dull.

For example:

Today I learned…

… that Garratt Lane runs all the way from Tooting Broadway, through Earlsfield all the way to the Southside Shopping Centre in Wandsworth

… that the number 44 bus will take you all the way there

… that if you hang out washing on a clear and breezy day, it’s guaranteed to throw it down as soon as you are too far away to bring it in

Essentially, spending a day doing washing and wandering round the shops is not conducive to expanding one’s mind.

However, I did learn this evening that my friend, RM, wants to have six children. Although this isn’t a particularly useful fact to me, it could be of some use to someone in the hopefully not too distant future.

And so I’m putting it forward as today’s entry for the Fact of the Week shortlist.

[Via http://factoftheweek.wordpress.com]

CONVOCAN UNA CONCENTRACION INDEFINIDA EN MADRID EN APOYO A HAIDAR

Convocan una “concentración indefinida” en la Plaza de España de Madrid “en apoyo a Haidar

Madrid/ Distintas asociaciones y entidades de apoyo a la autodeterminación del Sáhara Occidental han convocado a partir de este sábado en Madrid una “concentración indefinida” para “acompañar a Aminatu Haidar en la defensa de sus derechos y libertades”.

De la Vega pide a Haidar que deje su huelga de hambre y facilite una salida

Enviados de la Fundación Robert F.Kennedy visitan a Haidar en Lanzarote

Bardem ve a España una nación “injusta y cobarde” con el Sáhara

Según la convocatoria encabezada por la Federación Madrileña de Asociaciones del Sáhara (FEMA) y la Coordinadora Estatal (CEAS), la concentración irá acompañada de ayunos de 24 horas que llevarán a cabo los activistas “como denuncia al Gobierno de España y a la Ejecutiva del partido que lo integra” por “el secuestro que han llevado a cabo” de la activista saharaui.

Según los firmantes, el Gobierno y la Ejecutiva del PSOE son “directamente responsables” del “estado crítico de salud” en que se encuentra la activista saharaui a causa de la huelga de hambre y Haidar “no interrumpirá” dicha acción de protesta “hasta que se le devuelva su derecho a la libre circulación”.

En este sentido, el comunicado se refiere a la denuncia efectuada por el Consejo General de la Abogacía Española (CGAE) y, tras indicar que dicho derecho ha sido “torticeramente conculcado”, se indica que está protegido por la Constitución Española, el Convenio para la protección de los Derechos Humanos del Consejo de Europa y la Convención Internacional de Derechos Civiles y Políticos firmada por España y Marruecos.

Junto a las dos entidades mencionadas, firman también el comunicado la Plataforma Universitaria de Apoyo al Sahara (PUAS), el Festival de Cine del Sáhara- FISAHARA, Jóvenes por una Causa, Poemario por un Sahara Libre, Colectivo Ezkharit, Generación de la Amistad, Mujeres conectando luchas, y Western Sahara Resource Watch España.

Fuente original: http://canarias24horas.com/index.php/2009112769168/lanzarote/convocan-una-concentracion-indefinida-en-la-plaza-de-espana-de-madrid-en-apoyo-a-haidar.html

[Via http://boicotmarruecos.wordpress.com]

No matter how hard it gets, stick your chest out, keep your head up.... and handle it.

I’m horrified by the source of this quote.  I mean absolutely horrified. So much so I refuse to quote it’s source, you’ll just have to look it up. But today, it works:

“I know it seems hard sometimes but remember one thing. Through every dark night, theres a bright day after that. So no matter how hard it gets, stick your chest out, keep your head up…. and handle it.”

If I was making an attempt at being intellectual, I might have instead called this post, Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem – (Remember when life’s path is steep to keep your mind even). It’s just today, words need to be as they are, no pretence, just what they are.

I’ve spent the day at the less enjoyable job. I wonder if today I have actually made a difference. Interviewing people today, I have seen several people who had already been drainking pre-lunch (to the point of making my eyes water), people who’s hope of finding work has all but vanished and one person who has not lost hope, but gave me a sharp shock back to remembering that teaching can knock you off your feet. We were discussing child protection, a major part of one of the courses I teach, by opening up this subject it became the catalyst for them to talk about their own experience of disclosure from the child’s perspective. During the discussion, this person’s face changed from the strong adult person to the confused child who was only able to make partial disclosures for fear of hurting those around them. I remembered at that exact moment why being a social worker had been such a tough career choice. I had loved that job, knowing I made a difference daily, but the pain that I felt knowing what children were dealing with was just too much once I became a mother (tbh, even before that I would come home in tears daily knowing that I had walked away from kids that needed help that I couldn’t offer). I theoretically knew that as a teacher disclosures were possible, but when working with adults you tend to think about it less. The situation which this person described was one a child should never have to live through and has left me very grateful for my sheltered childhood. Yes, I played big boys games before I really understood what they meant, but that was partially me rebelling and being led astray outside the home. Not the same. Nowhere near. 

So I’m left in this weird numb state. I came home and couldn’t talk about it. There’s something that I need to get closure on, except when I have a moment where someone points out just how pointless my issues are compared to what they could be I feel terrible for finding them so hard to deal with. Then I just fold up like a telescope (thank you Alice).  So, for now I’m capable of screaming lots of words in my head that will come streaming from my fingers on the keyboard, but I’m unable to communicate any of this verbally.

So what issues is it at all possible to not have covered in the masses of posts I’ve done? Well nothing actually. And that’s what’s so frustrating. It’s no longer a disclosure for me, it’s become picking to pieces the things that bother me most. Like daily whining about my useless uterus (in fact I may just call it that from now… ), the general longing for it to work rather than require donantion and medical coaxing out of  my eggs. And for those of a nervous disposition look away now, and the magnifying glass to this whole thing still all boils down to me having locked away things for such a long time, and working on the basis that having disclosed everything in the blog (going back a year) everything should have found closure. Except it hasn’t really. Probably because once I’d said it, I put it all back neatly in it’s box to rot when in fact I probably hould have thrown some dettol on it. I am aware at this point I’m totally beating around the bush and no-one actually knows what I’m talking about. I’m not so good at getting this nasty little skeleton out of the closet – it bites. I think what has been getting to me is the question, how is it that I’m ok with the whole sex thing (more than ok if we’re being honest here) having experienced the less nice side of it? The ex, the revolting excuse for a man that I’ve mentioned before, I’ve used the big R word here too. Combine the two and that’s where I’m going with this. Nasty period of time in my life and therein followed some serious body issues. To this day I am utterly convinced of my uselessness in that department (despite evidence to the contrary), I remember being informed of my uselessness, I believe the term ’sack of potatoes’ was used, with hindsight having said no before then not being totally happy with the whole act happening in the first place probably didn’t help. So now, in the moment is very very different. However, there are occasions when I continue to wonder if he had a point which is a dangerous road to walk down.

So there, weird stuff in my head. Other people have it far worse, but for tonight I am null. Blank girl.

 

 

[Via http://thegeekwithin.wordpress.com]

Amy Alkon was a perfect child, apparently

Shorter Amy Alkon: I didn’t get to scream in public when I was a child, so neither should anyone else.

SRSLY.

Of course, Ms Alkon is basing this on her recollection. I’m sure that, like most people, she doesn’t remember very much before the ages of 4 or 5, probably not daily events even after those ages, and I’d be fairly surprised if she didn’t do her share of screaming in public at age approximately 2. But even if she’s right and she never did, she clearly doesn’t understand the concepts of “community” and “family” and “parents having a life even when they have small children”.

[Via http://jotamar.wordpress.com]

I say potato, you say spreadsheets...

I’ve just come from visiting a friend who’s 4 months pregnant with her first baby.  Having been made redundant in her first few weeks, she was expressing some concern about her unhirability…ness, and fretting over her lack of future income. My other friend pointed out that she has savings plus rent money coming in from a flat she owns, however this to me wasn’t the crux of the issue.  I don’t believe the drifting apart arises from one party bringing in the bacon and the other not. The problem is that while we’re at home with the kids - whether as a working mum on maternity like me, or a stay-at-home mum – we’re knocking our pans in from the early hours of every day: running around like  blue-arsed flies, starved of adult conversation unrelated to our or other people’s children; sick of the sight of the local park; cooking, washing, and tidying endlessly; cutting, pasting, colouring, baking, playing, organising and never finishing a single bloody cup of tea off and certainly never in peace.  And this doesn’t stop at 6pm.  It is ceaseless till we fall into bed and often continues through the night, depending on the ages of our children.  He, on the other hand, goes to work and yes, no doubt he deals with stressful and taxing situations but at least with other grown-ups (largely) and with a hot, fulfilling Starbucks in hand.

His take on the above however, is as follows.  He works. You don’t.

And that’s where the drifting of parental continents begins.  We are so many, many miles apart in what we’re experiencing on a daily basis that communication breaks down. Let’s face it, I don’t care if Sally in Marketing is incapable of operating her opposable thumbs to run a  basic report and H doesn’t care if B dragged dog shit into the front porch (provided it’s cleaned up before H gets home).

All the financial independence in the world would make no difference to our separation, if I was still spending it on soft play and groceries.

[Via http://ehmummy.wordpress.com]