Miracle Fish
My first sight upon entering the kitchen this morning was the body of Nemo, a fairground evacuee, laid out ceremoniously on the counter. "Thanks" I mentally said to my husband, believing him to have discovered the fish belly-up in the early hours, and presuming that he had left the burial at sea for me to perform. On closer inspection (much closer - contact lenses not yet inserted) I saw a faint twitch in Nemo's black eye.
Grimacing against the slimy, twitching feel of him, I quickly flipped him back into the vast trifle bowl which does as his home. Like a hydrated pot-noodle, he instantly sprang to life! Ok, I believe; bring on the miracles!
Real life miracles aren't strictly like this, though are they? They are gradual, day by day affairs. You pray and you pray for something, you promise all sorts if your prayers are answered (I'll never pass on another bitchy nugget of gossip; I'll never buy another mid-week bottle of merlot, etc., etc.,) but when these unspoken wishes come true, we very quickly accept them as our right and forget about the dark days of hoping that preceeded them.
Daisy's walking. How we take that for granted now! She stomps around, manages the stairs, even bounces on the trampoline (in the traditional manner, not on her bottom!) - Lenny's words; "Shoar?" he asked me in a gentle voice this morning. He meant "shower" but I'm not going to start getting picky. Until last week his method of gaining access to his much loved bathroom was to push me roughly in the direction of the door and scream.
Rosie's bad thoughts have all but disappeared (another miracle). I'm thanking Charles Dickens for this, in a round about way. She has been involved in the school production of "Oliver", with rehearsals all last week, and performances this week. What with all her usual homework and activities I don't think she has had the mental space for any untoward imaginings. Richard and I went to see the show last night and it was brilliant! Kids from all year groups are involved, and they really did give it one hundred percent.
See you soon,
XXX
Published Date:
18/03/2010
Modified Date:
18/03/2010
Mother's Day Treats
Happy Mother's Day to all you ladies out there on the everlasting treadmill of domesticity, performing tasks which are invariably undone before they are completed, meals agonised over, cooked to perfection, sometimes commented upon and sometimes not, occasionally eaten! 'Why do I bother?' I have said more than once, and have heard friends complain again and again.
Today we are reminded why we bother. The little treats, the handmade cards opening with a surprise shower of glitter (more hoovering, grrr) a bacon sarnie cooked just the way I like it, fat trimmed off, crispy round the edges, thinly sliced tomato, white bread with real butter and a strong cup of tea. Oh the little things that make me sneakily suspect that I may just be appeciated after all. These are more impressive than all the huge gestures in the world, I think.
Rose wrote her own poem for me, and decorated it with felt tipped hearts, swirls, and drawings of her with Daisy and Lenny all wearing golden crowns.
Mummy
The lady who works
Her fingers to the bone
The Lass who treats us like Royalty
The woman who brought us three to this world
The girl who keeps us here with her love
Thank you for everything
The Royalty, The Earth and the down to the bone fingers
Now I will pay you back
With this poem, I hope its enough
This is for the Lady who works
Her fingers to the bone
The Lass who treats us like Royalty
Nice, eh? My fingers actually aren't even nearly down to the bone yet. In fact my nails are quite nicely manicured, thank you very much, but I appreciate the sentiment.
I dropped heavy hints that the perfect mother's day gift would be to buy in a 'deep clean' of the house, although I do realise that this one-off type gutting does require quite a lot of prep work which I am not sure I would have the time or inclination to do. Actually, now I'm remembering the last time I splashed out on such a luxury and forked out thirty quid for someone to come in and do the internal windows and polish all the wooden floors. She did a great job, but left in a corner a pile of 'bits and pieces' that she had found and wasn't sure if I needed. Among this random pile of goodies, along side the pencil sharpeners, Buckeroo pieces and assorted foreign coins, lurked a mummified fish finger and two ancient spheres of poo. She was supposed to contact me about coming back on a regular basis, but I never heard from her again....
Published Date:
14/03/2010
Modified Date:
14/03/2010
Equal Rights and Money Showers
One of the golden rules of parenting, we are so often told, is to treat siblings equally, so avoiding planting seeds of resentment which can be nutured in the fertile soil of children's imaginations for decades. Anyone can see the wisdom within this advice, but what to do when your children are incapable of following rules, guidelines, and seem oblivious to any form of punishment? How am I to chastise Rose for occasional sarcasm when she frequently witnesses Daisy nut me and bite my face while I am attempting to dress her? or Lenny wilfully destroying all of his favourite posessions and then descending into a full-blown paddy when we are unable to mend them? And all with no obvious punishment resulting? It really is a tricky one. I am also very conscious of the more far reaching unfairness of not allowing a child to realise their full potential, and sometimes in letting Rose get away with things because of the unusual family circumstances, I am in danger of doing this.
I am nursing a vague hope that someone will e-mail me the answers to these questions, but in my heart of hearts I think the only answer is to plod on, doing one's best. Most hard and fast rules go out of the window in these circumstances, and all we can do is to try and keep sane in order that we don't follow them!
On a much lighter note, Rose and I counted Lenny's birthday fivers and tenners up last night, and he has amassed a total of 148 quid! We have decided to buy him some drums as making noise is his passion of the moment. If we can try to mould this obsession into something akin to creativity, then it will be £148 well spent! Spying the pile of notes on the living room rug when he bounced in from the garden, Lenny scooped handfuls up and threw them into the air in the celebratory manner of a lottery winner!
"Weeee!" he sang, with real joy.
To the uninitiated bystander it would have seemed that his delight lay the knowledge of his newfound wealth, and not in the glorious way these crumpled rectangles of paper floated through the air! Incorruptable innocence!
Published Date:
11/03/2010
Modified Date:
11/03/2010
Birthday Boy!
We celebrated Lenny's eighth birthday in style yesterday with a disco at our local working men's club. Family, friends, neighbours and children from Rose, Daisy and Lenny's schools were all there enjoying the fun, so it was a great mix.
Lenny doesn't really understand the concept of a birthday, he has no idea whether he is eight months, eight years or eight decades old (he displays behaviours appropriate for each of these developmental stages!) What my son undoubtedly did understand yesterday, though, was that all of those people were there for him! I have rarely seen him so happy, running up and down on the rows of padded chairs, being dragged around the floor on his new parachute by his lovely cousin Jack, jumping up and down to all of his favourite songs (will someone please show Tony Christi the way to Amarillo and put us all out of our misery!)
Yes, a good time was had by all, Daisy stuck to the peripheries, minesweeping drinks and pizza alike with beguiling dexterity. She slept very well last night, and I have the sneaking suspicion that some of the beverages she partook of were of the fermented variety, though she didn't have a hangover this morning.
The two mobile disco guys that we hired were brilliant with the kids, allowing them to do an impromptu talent show after the final 'Road to Amarillo'.
Take care
xxx
Published Date:
08/03/2010
Modified Date:
08/03/2010
Mad Morning
The flurry of overnight snow has heralded another mad morning here at the King household.
The day did not get off to a good start when, upon rising from his (exceptionally good) night's slumber Lenny did not make it to the bathroom and promptly weed all over the three neat piles of uniform. I watched the scene in slow motion, as the perfect steaming arc drenched each and every carefully ironed garment. Cool. Calm. Keep cool in every situation. There is no event that can be made easier or less stressful by an out of control temper. Breathe.
'Bathroom Lenny. Wee-wee in the toilet'. He did manage to squeeze out a couple of extra drops in the appropriate place before asking hopefully, 'Kikkit?' (I have in the past given biscuits as a reward for toileting and do now reallise the folly of such apalling parenting).
So bags were stuffed with lunches, nappies, home-school books and all the usual paraphenalia. Rose was kissed goodbye with specific instructions for filling in her parents evening 'appointments card', which I am not convinced she fully absorbed. I am having to hold back on dressing Lenny until five minutes before his transport arrives these days, as he constantly gets undressed and leaves his clothes in bizarre places around the house. It works out well, anyway, as the nutella smears are far easier to clean from his body than his clothes.
A phone call at 8.30 brought news of transport delays because of the snow, so a new plan had to be formulated.
I quickly phoned Daisy's school and was granted permission to drive onto the school premises, and to use the disabled parking space right next to the school entrance. Once Lenny was wiped clean of spready chocolate and dressed, I loaded the two of them into the car, and off it was to school! Unfolding Daisy's new wheelchair once we were safely parked in our allotted spot took most of my attention for a couple of minutes, and I failed to notice as Lenny unbuckled himself, climbed out of the boot and disappeared into the school entrance. Thankfully someone recognised him and alerted me, so, leaving the pushchair unfolded and Daisy in the care of her support worker, I pelted after him.
Alerted by the sudden flurry of chaos, the school receptionist looked up from her paperwork, and informed me in no uncertain terms, 'You are not allowed on school premises'. Like a rabbit in the headlights I was torn for a moment! If Lenny disappeared off into the maze of school corridoors it could take forever to find him. But of course, the receptionist was quite right. Rules are rules and without the correct identity badge I am not allowed onto school premises. Despite the fact that I was obviously a frantic Mum chasing her autistic son, I could have easily been a fundamental terrorist who had shaven off his beard in a cunning disguise! I chose to retrieve my son before apologising, and making our shame-faced exit.
Lenny's transport arrived minutes after we returned home. The sun is trying desperately to shine now. Spring is coiled and well and truly ready to spring.
See you soon
xx
Published Date:
02/03/2010
Modified Date:
02/03/2010
The Price of a Perfect Smile
How much do you reckon Sharon Osbourne or Cheryl Cole paid for their perfect gnashers? Well to restore Daisy's beautiful smile I forked out a grand total of forty quid today, but the cost in humiliation was a lot higher (to me; not her).
Check in time on the ward was 7.30 am, so I was up and about at 5.30, breakfasting in secret before I rudely awoke Daisy (she was nil by mouth until after the surgery). I decided to splash out on a taxi as my navigational skills are far below average. A wise Asian gentlemen arrived to pick us up punctually at 6.45. It took us only fifteen minutes to arrive at Dewsbury Infirmary, and the taxi driver kindly offered to wait for us in the car park while we ascertained that we had arrived at the correct entrance.
"Could you tell me where 'Hydes Ward' is, please?' I asked the reception lady, who, in lieu of a response, stared gormlessly at me while scratching her nose.
'Never heard of it', she answered, eventually. Not the most promising start.
I stood my ground and demanded to be directed to someone who might be more likely to know. Frustratingly, none of the suited or white-coated professionals that she asked had heard of the mysterious ward. I indignantly took the appointment letter from my bag and pointed to the words "Hyde's Ward" in a manner bordering on patronising.
The receptionist took the letter from me, studied it for a few seconds and then handed it back, pointedly indicating the words "Pontefract General Hospital" (that is Pontefract, and most definately not Dewsbury).
"No!"
She raised one manicured brow, and I felt a deep blush rising.
I loaded Daisy's wheelchair and jumped back into the taxi, desperately attempting to explain the change of plan to the taxi driver, but being unwilling to admit responsiblity for the error.
"What!?" (it seemed that he was apalled on my behalf) "'Nother hospital? They cannot change! Who is saying?"
"Never mind" says I "Can you take us to Pontefract?"
"Change hospital! Who is saying? Where does Doctor work?"
"Can you take us?" I pleaded.
"Oh, plenty money" he said gravely, shaking his head.
"I have plenty money".
"Why change?" he persevered.
"Oh, its a specialist clinic" I said, vaguely, trying in vain to hide behind the language barrier.
Miraculously, we managed to make it to the correct hospital with a couple of minutes to spare! Daisy was an absolute angel throughout the procedure, accepting all intervention with good grace, and bewitching the nurses with her beauty and good humour. And now her smile is restored to its former glory. I don't know about you, but in a battle of the smiles between her and Cheryl Cole, I think that Daisy would have the edge!
xx
Published Date:
26/02/2010
Modified Date:
26/02/2010
Autism and Naughtism
It could so easily have been a relaxing evening; all the ingredients were there. Richard had gone out to football training at 6.45 after he had bathed the children and I had restored calm to the post-dinner kitchen and dining areas. Daisy had taken herself up to the peaceful sanctuary of the attic for an early night (after an exhilerating session twizzing around an assortment of coloured plastic coathangers) and Rosie had settled down with her Hilarious Bumper Joke Book, only disturbing me by occasionally reading out jokes that she found particularly funny or that she 'didn't get'.
Lenny on the other hand....well, where do I begin?
Reduced to confetti a bunch of yellow tulips which my friend had given me today,
Climbed atop the fish tank and refused to come down, biting my cheek when I insisted,
Repeatedly barked 'Kikkit!!' at me whenever I made attempts to interact or, God forbid, suggest an 'activity'.
Ransacked a collection of dvd movies, pulling out disks at random, throwing them around the room, attempting to install some into the dvd player, but discarding them as soon as the Disney or Pixar introduction had ended (he loves that Disney/Pixar lamp thing that hops along, he will search through the most unlikely of movies to find it - old Auf Wiedersein episodes, The Young Ones, Red Dwarf (may I add, few of these belong to me - not that I would admit it if they did...)
Weed on (and in) my lovely new brown boots
Oh dear, as I so often say these days, its a good job he's cute. And he is, he really really is. When he gives a cuddle he means it, he squeezes so tight, looks right into your eyes and dazzles you with his one hundred percent love. Such a pity his behaviour is incongruous with this affection.
'Daisy's been an angel tonight', I said to Rose, 'and you've been absolutely no trouble'.
'Len's been a demon, though, hasn't he?' Rosie said, good-naturedly as ever.
'No sweetheart', I corrected, patiently, 'he's just been autistic'.
'Naughtistic, more like' she replied. "From the mouths of babes".....as the saying goes!
xxx
Published Date:
24/02/2010
Modified Date:
24/02/2010
My Knight In Yellow And Grey Armour Has Returned!
Q: What is worse than having to hoover up every hour, on the hour for the rest of your natural life?
A: Not being able to hoover up every hour on the hour (or at all) when the bizarre eating habits of your offspring enforce such vacuuming diligence.
My dear Dyson has been returned to me after extensive surgery, and I shall never take him for granted again. I shall exorcise the nasty black fluff every other day, I shall clean the filter every twelve weeks, allowing it to thoroughly dry in a natural environment before employing the services of my yellow and grey knight once more. I may even treat him to some of those fragrant granules you can get, so that each time I hoover the place doesn't smell of damp dog. You never know...
Daisy and Lenny are in respite tonight, so we are planning a nice Sunday roast and a game of Monopoly. Playing board games is nigh on impossible when they are home as every ten minutes or so the pieces are obliterated from the board and then there is a mad scramble to find them all before someone swallows a house or, even more alarmingly, an hotel.
Despite the temptation that the new snow fall has offered, we are keeping Daisy indoors as her health has been in fine balance these last few weeks. The snot continues to flow freely and her cough comes and goes. She has to have a general anaesthetic on Friday under which her broken front tooth will be repaired, and if her cold develops at all between now and then this will be impossible. Whilst she is under, the dentist is taking the opportunity to give her a good scale and polish, remove a couple of teeth that are cluttering the back of her mouth, and covering all her molars with a protective veneer, to prevent future decay. As she is most unwilling to cooperate with teeth brushing then I think this a very wise move.
Anyway, all three are back at school tomorrow, hubby back to work, so I'll have the place back to myself! (I used to hate being alone before I had my family!)
xx
Published Date:
21/02/2010
Modified Date:
24/02/2010