Helen Needs.

I did the google thing! Go to google, type in your first name and then 'needs' and search...this is what I need, apparantly!!


Helen needs to forget all that has happened in the past ten years, ( strange, yet true!!)

Helen needs a bassist ( sometimes we can need things we never knew we needed!)

Helen Needs Your Help ( oh yes)

Helen needs effervescent refreshments, ( never say no to some fizzy pop!)

Helen needs to change her life and quickly. ...( and so say all of us!!)

Helen needs the new owner at 325 Crestwood Terrace to shut up a minute ( do I? I hadn't noticed they were noisy)

Helen needs a bigger apartment ( or house, even, 4 beds, 2 bath please)

Helen needs to be put out to pasture. She is an embarrassment and a liability ( say it how it is, google, don't hold back!!)

Helen needs a cookie (I may make that my new catchphrase). Helen needs cooling down after opening her hunky-men calendar ( haven't seen one yet but never say never)

But Helen needs help, and friends ( absolutely)

Remember, Remember the FIFTH of NOVEMBER

Not the 29th of October or even the 27th, not the 6th of November and not even the 4th. Firework night, bonfire night, Guy Fawkes night is NOVEMBER the 5TH. So why am I jumping out of my skin and hearing BANG WHIZZ FIZZ and POP now? WHY?
Every year this drives me to insanity.
I used to love guy Fawkes night ( and if you don't know what that is I'm afraid you'll have to read this , I'm too bored to fill you in!) the annual standing in the freezing cold, dark with torrential rain to watch a mediocre display of FIREWORKS ( yes I know, I am showing that I have way too much time on my hands tonight) and ooh and ahhhh at them all, baked potatoes and hot dogs and hot chocolate by the scalding plastic cup full. Loved it. Somewhat marred now by having been to the 4th July parades and fireworks in L.A. Wilsons park on July 4th......makes the grandest of firework displays here seem shameful and snigger worthy. Of course you have to give the Americans the fact that they are doing there stuff in the summer but even taking that into consideration we have to hold our hands up and admit that we are super crappy at celebrating over here. Not on a personal level, as individuals and families, even smallish groups we can shimmy with the best of the brash and show offy, but as a nation. Hopeless. Unless royalty is involved and then we can put pomp and splendour into the mix and win the prize every time.
We live in a pretty cool spot for firework night, we're right at the top of the town ( you know, "up that hill") and so, last year we took the boys in the front garden, gave them a couple of sparklers and pretended the whole shebang was for them.....when we got bore we went inside and they stood at the window for hours....we get to see the whole towns display, ever one from 5pm until " will you shut the hell up and go to bed"pm Which helps dear H feel almost as if he is at home where they do things so well and so 'much'.
SO......if the fireworks are so few and far between ( unless you watch everyones' from your front garden) on the actual night, which I say again is NOVEMBER the 5th EVERY YEAR, since 1605. WHY do people insist on letting the damn things off night after night BEFORE and AFTER the day? WHY? It brings out the very very worst in me, I even find myself worrying about the poor cats and dogs in the country who we are warned must be locked away and kept safe ...how do you do that if you have no idea when idiots are going to be banging and exploding all over the place?
I'm not even an animal lover, that's how much this whole yearly outrage bugs me.
It's 9pm...early for me to be sitting here writing, but the banging and fizzing has been going on for an hour already and I'm not oohing or aahhing.......I'm grrring and huffing.
At least the boys are asleep, and the results of the X FACTOR are on in a minute. All is not lost after all.

It's past 11 ( 32 minutes past to be exact) and the bloody things are still being lit, not constantly though, big enough gaps in between for you to forget they are going off, so you relax, forget and then BANG ( hells teeth, how well timed, one went off at exactly the moment I wrote that!!) hit the ceiling and have to come up with a new swear word so you don't bore yourself. I am running out of swear words, I'll have to ask Seth for some new ones for tomorrow night, Jordan is keeping him up to date with all the best and most shocking ones. Marvellous.

When I grow up.....

Is it possible to believe that someone of 43 can still think about the things she will be or do when she is grown up? I do. Honestly.
I think about how one day I will have a tidy car...how is it that I can keep a house relatively tidy and almost always clean but my car is a place where most sane people would feel obliged to wear masks and gloves and bring a blanket to sit on? why can't I keep it clean? I drive past a lovely lady and her 2 little boys every day on the way to and from school, knowing that she lives near me and has a hill the size of everest to climb on her way home and yet I don't offer her a life because I know she would just hold her breath in case she caught something from the inside of my car.

I look at lovely older ladies in their immaculate frocks and shiny shoes, jewellery and perfect hair and say quietly to myself " I hope I'm like that when I'm her age" I am 43....I live in jeans and baggy t-shirts, if I put on a skirt my kids think I am going to church, my hair hasn't been cut for 18 months and is dragged back in a pig tail every day because it is so curly and so wild I would get lost in it in so much as a slight breeze. Isaac brushed past my leg last week and said " Hey, Hedgehog" don't even think about my armpits ( no, really DON'T think about them)
I do make every effort to smell clean and fresh and if I fail, my most heartfelt apologies to all who meet me in real life, I wash and brush everything that needs washing and brushing but somehow that's as far as it goes. Why then, do I feel there is the slightest hope that at some stage on my way to old age am I suddenly going to become poster girl for the Edinburgh woollen mill? Will my children begin to buy me silken scarves and fake pearls for christmas? ( please don't!)
I don't want to think that in reality I shall be a polyester slacks kind of old gal, slopping around in bendy soled slip on shoes and mismatched cardigans but it's terrifyingly closer to the me of today.

I want to be the kind of woman my mum is, all quietly spoken and chairman of the W.I material but if I am brutally honest it isn't going to happen because I am LOUD. I swear rather more often than I want to admit and find crudity and sarcasm so hysterically funny they would throw me out of the Womans' Institute without so much as a by or leave.

I CAN, however, see myself becoming the jolly person whose door is always open to feed people. I can see myself in a pinny, welcoming children and grandchildren into my toasty warm home with happy music playing and feeding them until they almost burst. I can imagine being a grandma that can keep good secrets and confidences and dish out wisdom and hugs. You can do that kind of stuff in comfy old clothes and I'm pretty sure that there are few people in this world who would choose to spend time with a blue rinsed whispering posh lady over a fat old cosy bird serving up hot pies and laughter......maybe I'll stick with what I've got, sometimes it's better than what you think you need.

Come on in......

It's not quite done and I'll be darned if I could get the pictures to make it look as cosy and glorious as it looks to me......it's my front room, my matching and comfy and tidy front room.
I think what makes it most fantastic, to me, is that apart from the curtains, everything is either from E.bay, car boot sales or the reclaimation yard...the sofas were actually in someones shed and they were about to have them taken away ... one man's trash is definately my treasure!
I bought the huge coffee table when Dan was a year old, we lived in Germany and I loved it, a neighbour was moving back to the UK and didn't want to take it. It has been climbed on, jumped off, eaten from, drawn on and loved in more homes than it should have been dragged into , mum loved it for me while I was in the states and now it's being climbed on and jumped off again by the new batch of bouncing boys!
Having said that the littlest heathens are actually very respectful of this room, we have a sticker chart in operation and they NEEEEEEEEED stickers, they love them and dream of them and the worst thing in the world is to get no sticker but a frowning face.....no jumping means a shiny happy face sticker. Toys away means a 'fantastic' or 'superb' sticker..... 8 days and we have had only one frowning face ( Isaac) and no time outs, hardly any yelling and as helpful little boys as you could ever hope to meet.
Today Isaac brought 3 toys into the front room, right after they had tidied up their toys, Seth said " Right Isaac, play with those properly, don't just dump them on the table and go and get more and put them away when you've finished."
Yippedy doo dah!

You'll catch more flies......

Do you like the saying "you'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar"? Of course it's true but who would want to catch flies? I know that what the phrase is trying to make us see is that by being pleasant we will be able to make things go our way so much easier. I wonder why, to some people it just isn't possible to grasp that principle?
Some people have it, some don't. The gift of the gab....kiss the blarney stone and talk your way into or out of anything. I would think that if it were possible to choose a gift, this is one all of us should go for!
Imagine a handsome man starting a relationship with the woman of his dreams, stunning and in every physical way, all he could dream of and hope for...... he arrives to pick her up and sees that she has made every effort to be as beautiful and breathtaking, she's perfect and he is bowled over. He looks at her and heart in mouth says,
" Blimey, your face'd stop a clock!"
Hardly has the same ring to it as " your countenance could make time stand still" does it?

From when my babies are tiny, tiny, I use words with them, I talk to them pretty much the way I write here, things aren't 'nice' they are glorious. When I praise them I tell them they are truly splendid. I am beside myself with glee if my children say something is perfectly ghastly ( please don't let them say 'crap'!!) I try, ( though don't always succeed) to be positive about things, when the rain starts we hooray and say how lucky we are that we have the rain because that's how we live in such green countryside.
I do this for several reasons....it's incredibly cute to hear a squirt talk like an oxford university graduate, lets face it. I am also convinced that if they learn the art of speaking well, they will get far. Education isn't only about exam results and degrees, it's about being able to fit in wherever you are.
I know my big boys learned it and maybe they have a gene of being sociable and accepting. They can both be anywhere and among any kind of people and fit in, be accepted.
Darn it if the girl can't get it.
Jordan and Sophie are teenagers, we all know that the curse of teenagedom is idleness and both these two have the strongest dose of it.
Here's an example of how the gift will get you far...
Jordan.. ( at 5pm, having been in his room and done nothing but 'tidy' the room)
"What's for dinner?"
" Curry"
"when will it be ready?"
"About an hour"
"Who's cooking it?"
"me"
"how much are you making?"
" oh my darling, are you completely starving after your long day in your room?"
""I was cleaning it"
( me, pointing at mass of festering laundry in laundry room)
"when you say cleaning your room, do you actually mean walking with THAT all the way to here and dumping it? Jords, when you did that while you were working I sort of hated it but did it because you were working and you were paying me keep to live here.....now you aren't working and you aren't paying me and somehow I more than sort of hate it"
Jordan, with big sigh... " Oh mummy, why must everything be about money, can't some things be just about love?" Big kiss, patronising pat on head......laundry done for him.
The lolloping great streak of water ( of the passed through the kidneys type, hate to write piss on my blog, it's so uncouth) gets away with murder because he is just so quick and he's funny.

If I ask Sophie about her laundry she opens her mouth and runs with it until one or all of us tell her to shut up..... she is mistress of the 'how unfairs' and is like a terrier with a rat, she never lets it go until everyone is sure she has the last word. If we had a dog it would learn to crawl away on it's belly with it's paws shoved in it's ears.

I think that Isaac and Eli have the gift, they kind of get it already and show great promise...Seth, I am terrified to admit, is showing signs of being a terrier pup. He simply has to fight for his rights and is unstoppable in his quest for justice.
Seth and Sophie argue, you never want to witness it. I am incapable of making the point stick that He is 5 and she is 16, it is ridiculous to all but Seth and Sophie. Help me.

All's well that ends well...

Hideous day. Just horrible. Until I put the boy to bed.
"Night night my Eli"
"Nigh nigh mummy. Mummy? Froke. Wight dare" ( points to forehead) "and wight dare" ( points to eyes)
Mummy strokes.
"mummy, tiss ear...here"
Mummy kisses ear...there.
"Oh mummy, ats nice"

When you say "Eli, where's my squeeze?" he points over your shoulder and says "here...want have it?"
We say "yes I want to have it" and he puts those little arms round and squeezes. How can any day be hideous after that?

Get your kicks where you can.

I am about to confess to the most bizarre way to have fun with your husband, I have dilly dallied for a week or two on whether to tell you or not but here we go, it's what blogs are about, if you're doing it, tell it.
For as long as I can remember the L.D.S church has advised in the strongest possible way, that each and every one of us should be prepared in case of disaster, each member of the family should have a 72 hour emergency bag at the ready, able to grab it and run and survive 72 hours...somewhere, anywhere. "Ha ha, how bizarre" we thought, growing up, what can possibly happen?
I suspect many people are beginning to think it is a pretty good idea no matter where you live, or who suggested it. Is the world going crazy or what?
So, tardy in the extreme, H and I decided that we should do this, how can it hurt? How smug would we feel ( not to mention safe) if we had provisions and stuff to see us through an initial period of emergency until help would come?
So, off we go a wandering a rucksack on our back ( or on our shopping list anyway. ) H made it his quest to find perfect backpacks and it seemed a bloke like thing to me, so I let him....marvellous, one huge one for the daddy person, 3 smaller ones for 3 smaller persons and .....AHEM?!? A mummy sized back pack? Where? HELLO?!?
And then I see the provisions beginning, clothes in vacuum bags, wash bags, Seth's fig rolls, nutrition drinks, matches.....
BACK PACK FOR MUMMY?!?
Medicines and flashlights, nifty cutlery that slots together.....spare socks and ...
WHERE THE HELL IS MY BACK PACK??
It seems that mummy should be in charge of her own backpack because it will need ...ewwwwww girlie things in it , like chocolate and sanitary items .
Fair enough then........so the fight was on.....watch out matey, because I am bargain and supreme great stuff finder of the world . 2 can play at that game!!
HA HA...I have nabbed for a ridiculously low price, a fantastic ensemble of survival kit ( has to be called kit it's not stuff or things, it's definately kit)

a superduper lightweight backpack, sleeping bag, sleep roll and a ONE WOMAN TENT!! I have the most impressive cutlery in it's own little zip up, hang it on the backpack holdy thing.
I have found long life, won't go bad and packed in silver foil airtight bags fry up, bacon, onion and potato brunch, some cook in the mug noodles with exotic flavours. I got me teeny packs of pantene shampoo ( see? no need to look like a drudge even on a hillside I shall have shiny hair ) mini toothwhitening paste and MOUTHWASH! Smell fresh and look great.
I have dettol antibac soap to kill any nasty bugs that might try and cling to my person and a flashlight that is so tiny BUT can light for up to a mile, yes my friends a MILE!

Don't even start me on the fact that I have first aid kits and CHOCOLATE.
I am now going to tell you that I should be up for the wife of the year award, because with the exception of the nifty cutlery and chocolate , I have bought 2 of everything so my husband is as ready as me ( either that or so I won't have to share, probably the last one)
This is such fun, forget date nights have a battle of the preparedness with your loved one.
Whilst my backpack is ready and hanging on a hook just waiting to be grabbed and save me...H and his 3 are in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor waiting for him to get organised enough to put in them the stuff awaiting packing. ( that I have bought because let's face it how happy would I be in the comfort of my one woman tent with my yummy food and dry knickers if they are all without, that's REAL love that is!)
Jordan has scoffed his derision at the very idea saying "what, in case there is a flood you mean?! ( watch out son of mine I suspect there were Noah scoffers a plenty) have you seen the size of this bloody hill we live on?"
Sophie has gingerly asked if there will be one for her and there will be, but she won't know where it is because she will eat everything out of it and I'll have to share mine. If I'm on a hill somewhere in a tent I'll be jiggered if I'm sharing my galaxy with someone who stuffed all theirs in the comfort of the front room.

I have discovered a strange train of thought though about this whole thing. Why do we, if we do, think about a disaster, always imagine that it will be in the depths of winter and think we should pack dry clothes, thermals and ponchos? We're going to feeling very stupid if it's a heat wave and we're wearing woolly drawers and rain hats.
Also, I wonder why I have it in my head ( do excuse me if I'm in mixed company here) that naturally I shall have my period ( but lets face it, that's a given isn't it? Even if I have been through the menopause I am completely sure that I shall have a 'special' visit from Aunt flo ) and somehow it wouldn't be quite right to have tampons but must pack sanitary towels and even then the bulky kind of 'suffering' ones rather than ultra slim comfy ones?
Is it that we feel that if we're going to be suffering we'd best do it properly?
I think maybe I over analyse sometimes but H was talking about his MP3 player and I was flabber ghasted, MP3? Music? What are you thinking man? In an emergency you should be ready and willing to listen to me wailing and wishing outloud that I had packed 3 family sized bars of galaxy, not tapping your toes along to The Eagles.

Some people just have NO idea!

Sunday ( after a full 12 hours in the house with inexplicably grumpy husband, who has issues with someone other than me but feels that I should somehow share in his annoyance, 2 resident teenagers a token teenager, 3 resident children and a token child)
Little after thought.....the idea of being in a one woman tent eating galaxy and listening to the silence of the countryside is particularly apealing to me right now....even sleeping on a hard mat and squashing into a sleeping bag whilst wearing unbecoming yet warm clothing doesn't detract from the appeal. note to self....must pack a thick and fabulous book. Hmmm where's a good field around here?


can you hear that solitude?!? It's calling my name!

As if there could be doubt.

You know, I'm not being flippant when I say that I am convinced the good Lord knows what He is doing.
So many times I have heard " Ho ho, if s/he were my first s/he'd have been an only child"
That's my Eli.
He is, of course, perfection personified. He has the sweetest and funniest face and I often look at him and just know that he is the image of some cartoon character or crazy little creature I have seen somewhere.....he has the kind of face that is just oozing character and is almost impossible to take your eyes from. Unfortunately there are many times during my day when I have to take my eyes off him and he never misses a chance, he never lets one opportunity go by when I am otherwise occupied to just be as , well, as ....Elijahish as he can manage.
I knew he was called Elijah before I knew he was on his way, I fought against it because it just wasn't my kind of name and I had moved back to England where names like Elijah are for movie stars from that country where people are so crazy they'll call their kids anything. Apple for instance ...I rest my case.
I read every name in every book imaginable , stands to reason he had to have a biblical name as I could hardly have Seth, Isaac and Fred could I?
I had lists as long as my arm but I knew he was going to be Elijah. I think he told me.......just as he told me he had to be born.
When I was carrying Isaac, 8 months pregnant and settling my 10 month old baby Seth to sleep, suffering from a split pelvis, living in my father in laws cramped house I rocked Seth and cried and felt so helpless and weary I knew that this was it. No more babies, Have Isaac and be done. I closed my eyes and was so relaxed, Seth fell asleep and I just enjoyed rocking and resting.
I'm not sure if I fell asleep or not but suddenly I was watching a scene....3 little people, 2 close together and laughing and playing and one little person, standing just a little way back watching. The 2 playing were saying how they would be together and always be friends and then they were gone, one little person standing alone until a man walked up to him and said " Oh, they have decided not to have you, don't worry though, you'll go to a great family who will love you, just not THAT family"
" This little person was bereft, sobbing and pleading saying " but I want THEM, I chose THEM and those are my brothers......"



Oh for the love of weariness, I knew there and then that somehow I would be having one more child.
He IS that child, from the day he was born he has just gloried in his brothers, his first smile was for them, he would strain and crane his neck to follow what they were doing, and now? He copies their every move. He adores them, he laughs at them, misses them when they are at school and nursery and he hugs and kicks them when they get home for a good hour before he lets them breathe again!
He learns every naughty trick and joy of joys he is so much less fearful of my wrath than they are! He has that absolute confidence that he is adored and that actually he can pretty much do anything, flash those goofy, misaligned thumb sucking teeth and make the world a good place again. He is the text book naughty kid, if it flushes he leaves it alone, if it doesn't flush he'll give it a go. He plays in toilet water, eats stuff that most of us would heave looking at, won't eat things we dream of, he jumps, draws, splashes, throws, kicks , if it's wet he jumps it in, spreads it, throws other peoples' shoes in it.
He laughs in the face of discipline...but he is canny, he KNOWS when he can't do some of those things. He somehow knows Auntie Leah can't see to run after him and he adores Auntie Leah. I watch him walk with Auntie Leah and he walks right next to her, he chats and holds her hand and I am stunned that he even knows HOW to walk, he never walks, he runs and charges and jumps, but he doesn't walk, unless he is with Leah.
He exhausts me, I feel my age after a full day with this boy of mine, but there isn't a day where I don't look at him and ask what if I HADN'T had him? People say that if I hadn't had him I wouldn't miss him but I think I would, I think I would have known that he was there somewhere and I would miss him.
When he was conceived and I told people I endured a barage of ( to me) insulting comments about how stupid I was, how thoughtless and careless and irresponsible I was, but I knew, I absolutely knew that I should have him and I didn't for a second feel irresponsible or careless.
There are many things I have done in my life that I have questioned afterwards but having this boy isn't one of them.
My very soul quakes at the idea of him being 13 but life has a way of helping us through and perhaps I shall be so mellow by then that he won't phase me a bit! If he does I shall send him to live with Auntie Leah.........always good to have a back up plan!

I want that.

Do you ever have a flash of almost childlike want for something? You know when a little person almost implodes at the need for something, right there, right then, don't say no and don't make him wait?
I usually don't, today I did.
I popped into BZ ( this is for Claire) BZ is babyzone, a somewhat addictive message board for mums, dad's ( although in honesty dad's don't go there, they just reap the benefits of their wives going there, peace and quiet, advice , recipes.....) and people hoping to be mums and dads, anyway, I used to live, eat and breathe babyzone until it was spoiled for me and so now it is somewhere to go occassionally to catch up on those people that still go there and still have friendships and connections.
So, today I popped in when I had 10 minutes in between school runs, it is definately a case of fly in, pick a few randome posts to read and get out again, as opposed to the leisurely and enjoyable times I used to spend there forging friendships and 'meeting up'.
I chose a post to read by a talented woman who takes THE most amazing pictures, she is professional and the pictures she shares take your breath away. Today she admitted to the fact that her husband had always wanted some sexy shots of her and because she feels a bit insecure she thought she would try and take them herself...and she did. She shared these pictures with us and ....I know this is ridiculous, I actually cried! ( and I'm as hard as nails I can watch Little house on the prairie and not so much as blink hard)
She took such flattering and tasteful pictures, she looked beautiful and sexy and just outright perfect and just for that moment, as I sat in my stretchy old comfy clothes, covering un flattering big knickers and faithful bra, I longed for a body that would look like that. If I wore teeny knickers and stretched my arms above my head, oh Lord.......let's not even imagine it!
I have almost no pictures of me , not with H, not with any of my children and just for a moment or two I so wanted to feel sexy, feel I could look that good and feel that powerful.
I wanted to stamp my feet and say " I WANT that....I NEED that!"
I got over it because, well, what's the point, if I lost 80lbs and exercised for a year I would still have a belly that flaps in the wind, never mind your ears mate, my belly hangs low and it definately wobbles to and fro.
I like to try and think of my belly as premises my children have all lived in, once a house has been lived in and had occupiers, lets face it, it's never brand new again, every occupant leaves it's mark, my belly has had 8 occupants, only 6 ever stayed long enough to show me their faces and leave their stamp on my belly ( although all 8 have left their stamp on my heart and I am sure I know all their faces and will recognise those ones I didn't see in this life)
If I were to take a break from waxing lyrical for a moment, I would also admit to the fact that the crap I eat and that I don't exercise in a leotard and sweatband kind of way, have left much more of a stamp than the 6 babies but I like waxing lyrical so leave me alone!
I like it that I can talk and gain an audience and also love the fact that unless I go as nutty as a fruitcake I shall still be able to do that when I am old and interesting, not many old ladies can wear a thong and get their picture taken and still look glamorous can they?
I am aware that I have many attractive qualities and on a normal day am quite satisfied with that, it was just today that I quite fancied being a sexpot. Oh well........can't have it all I suppose can we?

Oh the fun!

Just a quick note because it made me laugh....Elijah was being a super nuisance when I was trying to download some music...so I downloaded a wav of a man ( It sounds like God actually ) saying ELIJAH! I played it and he stopped in his tracks......looked at the computer screen and said "Yes man?"

I found the wav when I was searching for this song......
Go like Elijah


Now, the Chillow....it was really hard to get used to at first as it just doesn't get warm, your body gets warm and your head stays cool cool cool.....I must have flipped it in the night and woke up hot with it under my other pillow! It has memory foam so that it forms to your head and is so comfy but the minute I realise I am blissfully comfy I then begin to think about moving! The trouble with this thing is, it then takes a while to reform to the new position.
I had a monster headache of the puking kind this afternoon so Jordan said he would watch the boys while I lay down. Ahhhhhh that cool chillow formed itself around my splitting head and I swear it was kissing it better!
Very early days but I think it will really become beloved.
H loves it too so Santa may get him one for his aching neck, he is due to go and get owie shots in his neck as he has so much pain in it but he says the chillow feels so good! I am being a loving wife and allowing him to put his poorly neck on it while I sit here ( he just walked past to get some trifle and said " man that thing is like a miracle")......I suggest you buy one, it does what it says on the tin ( or the box actually) I'm pretty sure they have them on E.bay, I got mine on Ebay UK. Smashing and lovely.

Let's chill.....

It is a poorly guarded secret that I don't sleep well, in fact with twitchy legs, racing thoughts and feeling hot ( and no I am NOT going through the change, I am simply one hot mama ) it seems I am doomed to snatch a feeble 4 hours sleep a night and wake up with a miserable head ache and less that cheery disposition. My days are filled with a longing to crawl back into bed and sleep a good sleep.
I am a pillow thumper, I endlessly search for the cool spot on my pillow and when I find it I sigh in simple ecstacy until it's hot and miserable again.
Oh I hope my torment is at an end.....have I found my heaven? I have bought myself what would appear to be the very answer to my every prayer ( well sleep centred prayers anyway.) I am tod it is the migraine sufferers dream, I am assured that hot mamas ( and papas) will bless the very name of the chillow .
It arrived today and I keep sneaking into my room to lay my head down and darn me if it isn't actually TRUE the thing is COOL, really COOL, how does that work? My pillow is going to stay cool all the time, it doesn't go in the frige it just is COOL! H has been at mum and dad's today, they are away and he is laying flooring in their loft as a suprise for when they get back , it is a fabulous christmas gift as they are almost impossible to buy for and this is something they long to be finished ) anyway....he is aching and his neck is throbbing, he lay down on my chillow and could feel it working. Marvellous but let me tell you a dark fact about me, I will give you my last penny, I would lay down my life for my family but don't try, don't even ask to use my pillow, my pillows are the only thing that I am this selfish about, ( unless I have a bar of galaxy chocolate and then I'll pretty much fight you tooth and nail for the last bit) no matter how much I adore you, you won't get my pillow. Ever. I have a sneaking suspicion that my chillow might become close to a worshipped and guarded with my life inanimate object, much as I like to say that I don't worship inanimate objects.
I am almost excited to go to bed and start my relationship with my chillow, of course there is that hint of reservation, because any woman will tell you when they are about to go to bed with a new bed fellow when the expectations are high, well the disappointment can be great.........tomorrow I shall let you know how Chillow served me, will I be all smiles and tension free, full of sniggering inuendos and smug grins? Oh I hope so, I hope I don't have to scuttle in and pretend I was thrilled and chilled beyond all description whilst muttering under my breath about the overblown sell I was fed.
Blimey, my life is SO full of wonder lately I need that chillow to cool me down and chill me out!

Oh how we rest on sundays.

It is 8.47am. So far Elijah has scribbled all over the desk with a permanent marker ( how aptly named ) he has taken his nappy of 3 times ( but that's as close as it goes to potty training!) he has unironed all the beautifully ironed laundry ( and yes I do iron at 7am, if we're up and there is little else to do why not get the ironing out of the way?) and he has sprinkled and spread a bottle of juice over the coffee table. He is master of trash it in a second, I was in the toilet when he scribbled, getting water for the iron while he sprinkled, right THERE when he grabbed the pile of ironing and flung it and also right there when he rips the nappy off.
He has helped daddy cook french toast and clear up ( which we can tell is NOWHERE near as fun as cooking on your own with a pint of milk and some pasta and who the hell likes clearing up?!?)

It is almost time to get them dressed and send them to church to repent of their sins.....that'll take some doing Elijah! ( how ironic that we chose such a hallowed and holy name for him!!) As I type he is standing next to me as gloriously naked as the day he was born, thumb in mouth and holding his blanket, he is divine....I wouldn't change him for the world ( but if I am totally honest I do love wednesdays when he is Auntie Leah and Gramma's adored baby and I get the whole day to do nothing but miss him or do everything that is less easy with a hellion in tow.)
I wonder what the rest of the day holds for us.....probably best not to wonder.






And if you think my hands are full......you should see my heart!

I can spell October.

Being a parent means so many things and emotions can switch from elation to frustration in the blink of an eye ( and back again just as quickly) One of my most favourite parts of being a mother has to be the things they say.
Never will you hear such absolute honesty than from the mouths of babes, they can make or break you with a single sentence!

Tonight Seth was having his computer time and his latest joy is to set up an e.mail and just spell things. He called though to me.... "oh, hey, mummy, I can spell october!" The kid is a genius, 5 years old and can spell october ( I'm impressed that he even knows what month it is, never mind know how to spell it!)
" How clever are you? How DO you spell October? "
" O-K-T-O-B-U"
Completely brilliant.

Also this evening Isaac was sitting on H's lap watching TV and he said
" mummy, me saw some bootafull frowers, I was wiv my daddy, me want buy um for you"
" Isaac, how exciting, how beautiful were they?"
" they was ferry bootafull, me say buy um my mummy....but daddy said no"
the look on H's face was probably worth more than the flowers would have cost except I couldn't see his face, it was cringing behind Isaac's back. Oh my husband.....I bet you wish Isaac hadn't mastered the spoken word don't you?!?

My sister Leah was just a little bit of a girl when I was pregnant with Dan, I was staying at the house with mum and dad and Leah was in the bathroom when I was getting out of the bath, looking at my stretch marks she said
" when I grow up I am going to have maps on my bum too!"

H has said some pretty spectacular things in his time too...
Newly married and getting ready for church, I put my hand right through the last pair of tights I had, I saked H to run out and get me some to which he replied
" Sure, what size do you need, Queen?"
QUEEN SIZE???? SINCE WHEN WAS I A MATTRESS?!?

He asked me how his mama hippo was when I was 8 months pregnant, not a wise move......ever seen a pregnant woman do the snot cry? That gulping kind of weeping that makes snot come out of your nose eyes and even your ears? Yeah right, he was particularly careful in the words he chose from then on!

Feel free to share your howlers with me....I love them!

Oh and I have to say that I am simply glowing with delight at the comments I got yesterday....I am thrilled to see who is reading me and beyond thrilled that some of you came out of hiding to let me know! Don't be secretive, say hello whenever you come by, I love to have you visit.

I often wonder...

....who reads me.....I see that 994 times my profile has been read, who read it?
I admit that I read many blogs and sometimes can't think of anything to comment and so disappear without saying a word, sometimes I leave a comment because we all know we love it, I am pathetically thrilled when I see I have a message, sometimes I see through e.mail that I have a comment and never read it there, I have to actually come to my blog and read who said what and feel a bit special ( in a happy, not educationally needy sort of way, although I grant you that could be up for debate on some days) .

My doctor asked for the link to my blog, heavens, I have had a good strip wash and been almost on my best behaviour in case she popped by ever since, but will I ever know? If you are here Dr M, may I say how grateful I am that I feel so comfortable coming to see you and even though you tell me to go for walks to get my thrills I still think you are a great doctor.

My sister reads my blogs but my mum doesn't, I still can't make myself be rude though, so perhaps I am much more refined than I give myself credit for.

My kids don't read my blog because they don't know where it is or how to find it, I think they know I write one but it's great that they can't read it . I am free to say they drive me insane or make my heart smile.

H doesn't read it, he says he wants me to be able to write and say what I need to say, if I knew he read it then I wouldn't. I'm glad about that although I have been known to read bits out to him, I think he is just amazed that people actually get anything out of sharing feelings. He likes others to know he is hungry although he won't ever actually SAY he is hungry, he just growls a lot and looks stoney faced, feed the beast and the sweet man reappears, simple, just the way we like our men.
I am particularly impressed with H today, he stripped, washed, dried and remade our bed today, that is SUCH a big deal, no-one has ever made a bed for me, not even the first one when I had been out of hospital for a week and had an 8 inch wound across my belly, when I did it myself the wound ripped inside and I ended up with a gaping hole for 5 months. ( or did that happen 2 hours before, when he dropped me 3 miles away at the drs to get the stitches out and went to his secret and adulterous girlfriend's house and forgot I existed- making me walk 3 miles, in rain, with no coat and a massive wound..who knows and who should probably care after all this time except me because somehow, I was too sad at the time to realise that I had every right to care. Bastard.)
Making beds is somehow unspokenly ( is that a word in real life, I know anything is a real word in blogland because what you want to be, is, hoe bloody marvellous is that?) a woman's thing isn't it? Men just don't seem to do it, certainly not ironing pillow cases and making sure they smell deliciously fresh ( and to be fair H did leave the pillows naked but he did the grunting over the fitted sheets thing which is the bane of my life) We are a bit grand in the bed department at the moment as I found sheets and valances ( even the word is grand isn't it, so much grander than 'frills') on sale, they are posh ones and reduced from £32 to £3, all smooth and silkyish and we feel just posher than posh people when we slide into bed. Life is great when your bed makes you feel posh isn't it?

I know a lot of glorious and funny women read my blog and my friends always leave me a comment, thankyou my cyber friends. I love you, you make me laugh and cry and see that I am not the only mother who is terrorised by little people.

I have a divine group of gay men who read me. I love these men, I learn more about my Dan when I read their blogs...... I am more tolerant and so much more understanding of just how strong these men are who have the courage and strength to be just who they are and show such infinite dignity when faced with such opposition, even from those who should be their very strength and support, who continue to love their families even when those very people have let them down when they need it most.
I am so grateful to them for stengthening my resolve to be my son's advocate and support. In reading the blogs of these men I have learned that being gay isn't about sexuality alone. Sexuality is the smallest part of who these men are ( except for Daniel of course, I'm not sure why he says he is gay, I know he doesn't do the sex thing because he is my son, my child.......Shawn and Dan arrange their CD's in alphabetical order in the evenings and watch the whole set of Will and Grace DVD's they own. They share a bedroom only because the flat is so tiny and there is only one bedroom but I know my child doesn't do the sex thing. Every mother knows that about their child, it is an unwritten law. We know this or we would go mad. Just as our parents don't do the sex thing...they very politely did it just enough times to beget the children they have and are very sure not to make any sounds or enjoy it or anything, they just very quietly and with dignity perform the necessary act in order to conceive us. Our children don't do it at all, honestly.)

So, who else reads me?

Would you humour me just this once ( actually, feel free to humour me whenever you like because I really would love to feel important and tell myself that I have a vast army of followers hanging on my every word, because no-one in this house EVER hears a word I say) will you say hello and leave a comment, its as easy as blink and would just make me feel beyond important...unless no-one leaves a comment and then what? Will I feel unloved and unread? Probably not...I'll still come here every night and prattle on about who knows what. If you hit the comments button and then leave a comment I will thank you from my nowhere near humble heart.......

you gotta have a laugh.....

Oh my, sometimes I just have to have fun at my childrens' expence! We keep coming home to the dreaded note left by the postman saying they tried to deliver a parcel but found no-one home...ARGH! How is that teenagers can be woken by a cell phone on silent but can sleep through 3 little boys doing an impression of a herd of marauding elephants, me yelling at them to wake up, show any sign of life because the smell is making me nervous and even a twitch or grunt would let me know that they aren't rotting in their own breath fumes, and definately never, ever do they wake to the trilling of the postman ( who I'm told always rings twice).
I woke ( well not woke, but managed to get an ''uh'' from Sophie and a "yeah" from Jordan) before going out on the school run, pick gramma up from work run, go to town and fix the glasses Eli broke so Seth can see run with H this morning and just knew that before I had even finished the " we're expecting packages" sentence, they were back in the land of not a thing to worry about teenagedom slumber, so, I wrote the postman a note........


and it worked....3 parcels waiting, hoorah!

Well, well......

I'm liking what is happening here at the moment.
Take myself back many years and I can tell you that there were too many people telling me that I needed to relax where housework was concerned, chill out, let it go......I couldn't see what they were talking about as I loved doing what I did....I loved to walk around my home and see things where I wanted them to be and just adored the whole tidy, clean thing.
Who knows what happened except I relaxed so much it would be understandable if it were thought I'd passed into a coma! We're still clean, don't get me wrong but the toys have overwhelmed me and I had forgotten what the show home feeling was about!
Now taking into consideration that a playroom can go from
to......


in less than 3 minutes, it could be forgiven if a women were to throw up her hands in dismay and resign herself to living under construction ( or is it destruction) for the next 18 years or so....but the tidy me was fighting to get out, the happy with a shiny surface, matching pillows and straight pictures me was battling with all her might to just have a say and a chance to shine and match again.
H is loving his castle, he is master of the washing up bowl and cordless drill ( not both at the same time of course, that would be dangerous and not a good example to 3 such impressionable and copying little H's) but he has found his niche in this house that is our home.
I wonder why we are so well suited when actually our tastes are so different! He loves old stuff, oak desks with 'character,' preferably rescued from a fate worse than bonfire and settled lovingly in the bedroom. He loves curiosities, those things discarded by others with less desire for pleasing the eye, ancient clocks that don't work but were made by a man called 'Howard' terrifying looking old money boxes with blacker than black faces and boggley eyes . He has a 'shelf' in our room, I put it in inverted commas because it is actually called the 'shelf' ------
" Hey look you guys, this should go on daddy's shelf, huh?" and 3 little boys and a daddy get a glazed look on their faces at the thought of how fantastic the 'thing' will look on the 'shelf'. In fact, Seth and Isaac both have their own 'shelves' now...right by their beds, just like daddy and every saturday they find treasure for their 'shelf'. Brass dolphins, wooden rhinos....you name it, they collect it. They decide each night what will sit on their shelf until the morning....


Which is SO the stuff that makes memories and is so touching to my heart I am weepy with emotion, but *sigh,* oh woe is me....what about my colour co-ordinating soul? How about my matching dreams?
AHA! Last week I said to H ( after he had beamed while showing me the fabulous spice rack he made in the kitchen..out of sticks, yes sticks that match ( there you see, they match, shut your mouth Helen and thank the stars for small mercies) the utensil rack ...

......I said " My darlin' I am so thrilled that you love our home, I am touched beyond measure that you gain such joy from making it so unique but would it be too hard to just let me have ONE room? One room where I choose how things look? where maybe I can buy stuff that someone else made and I have chosen and bought and matched and loved.....as much as I love the shelves made out of bunk beds and the racks made from sticks I should LOVE the front room to be a place of Helen styling. Just that one room.......Please."
Oh sweet joy..I am back, I am a women obsessed, we have wooden blinds ( not made out of sticks or bunkbeds) we have lamps that look beautiful and work well, there is not a brass dolphin or wooden Rhino in sight, not a batman video is to be seen unless it is being watched ( the other 327 are in the playroom) I am a picking up machine and a dusting demon in my front room, somehow, without me saying a word, the boys have grasped that this one room is just a teeny bit sacred, their legs seem unable to totally stop leaping on the couches but they are very reverent in their leaping and although the growing pile of squashy pillows are tempting to the minds of little tigger like people, a few good jumps and bounces and they are satisified for anything up to 6 minutes.
Yesterday Seth said " Oh I think I am so happy to have a tidy house" ( as if it was ME all along that made it UNtidy!) I think, maybe, he can sense how much better I feel with just one room pleasing to the eye? Who knows.....I can feel me coming back....I don't want anyone to think that I have ever been a person who is so anal that the house isn't a home, I just like not cringing if anyone comes by!!! I love walking in and feeling happy to be there instead of feeling as if I am about to sink and drown in chaos and disorder....by small and simple things.....
H , in fact EVERYONE, is enjoying the new front room, from the little ones to the big ones, everyone has made a positive comment and when I am done I shall post pictures but we are a work in progress and I am loving every minute!!

Ooooooh it'll cost ya missus.

What is it about mechanics that make them assume that having bosoms renders you an idiot unable to see just how slimey and insulting they are?
I have been mistress of my own vehicle for 13 years, capable of many things but car repairs cannot be included among my talents. As a single mother for 10 years I swore that if I ever married again it would be to a man with money and vast knowlegde of all things vehicular...oh how we laugh about that now!
In writing this blog I have discovered the hitherto hidden violent streak in me and find myself far too often proclaiming the desire to physically beat the beejeebers out of various people. Mechanics have to be almost at the top of my list. I stubbornly refuse to have my husband accompany me to the garage when needing repairs or a service ( I mean my car of course, although the hoists and pit might be handy when the need for examining my undercarriage is necessary, I have to draw the line at the grimy fingernails and lack of genteel conversation found in the garages around here, not to mention the almost obligatory biting wind that howls through the workshop)
I am aware that every mechanic known to woman is convinced they are onto a good and profitable thing when a mere female wanders into their territory whittering on about stange whistles and clanking noises and asking how much something might cost, but it just grates too much for me to give into it and ask H to help out. My car is MY car, I am very fond of it, in an embarrassed kind of way, and it would feel far too disloyal to pretend it's not mine when it needs some tender care and convincing that another few years would be appreciated.
So I gather up my best 'don't mess me with me' face and drive with purpose to enquire about the needed repairs.
My dear car has been poorly lately, still getting me from a-b but with petrol at 94p a LITRE and every drop counting, getting 26 miles for every £10 I put in is just not good enough is it? Add to that the fact that if I slow down ( which much as I hate it, is necessary at roundabouts and traffic lights) it coughs and dies .....no ignoring it anymore. So, although I do actually have a garage that is very nice to me, it is a few miles away and every now and then I tell myself that surely every other garage in the world can't be run by money grabbing woman hating ( or at very least, woman sneering), get your tits out mentality morons, can they? Apparantly they can.
Is there a college that these men have to attend in order to be so universally oily? I don't mean oily, I mean oily, they even seem to look the same, except for my garage, which is run by a lovely old chap who was wearing shorts today....
Inground grime and oil, dark dirty hair ( honestly, I don't think blond men can fix cars in this country) and a very unsatisfactory mustach. Shave it off, it's ugly and at the same time, cut those finger nails, for heaven's sake we understand the oily nails but NOT long oily nails, the topless calendars hanging in the office are an unneccessary clues to the fact that you have no women in your life, long oily fingernails are the biggest turn off, get a clue and get some clippers, blech!
Here is a picture that I found when typing into google "mechanic" For the love of realsim...who are they trying to kid?!?

Oh, if only it it were true!!
Anyway, no matter what I say when faced with said oil monkey, I am greeted with a sucking in of air between the teeth and the phrase " ooh it'll cost ya" or " oh, can't give you a price luv, never know what we'll find" they take one look at my imported old jallopy and positively shine with the thoughts of how if they tell me " parts for those don't come cheap" I'll believe them and hand over every spare penny I haven't got.
So I laughed and told them that I might be cabbage looking but I'm certainly not green and I'll be going back to the nice little garage in the village who for some glorious and heaven sent reason, have never, ever, ripped me off, they only ever do what is needed, even say on the odd occassion " oh your brakes will need doing before too long but for now they're fine" they have even given my car the yearly MOT and called to say it has passed with flying colours and doesn't need a thing doing! Can you imagine it!? Today they serviced my old darlin' and put some new brake pads on the front, new spark plugs ( "ooh those buggers were a bit pricey my love but you'll get a good couple of years out of 'em, two of they old ones was burned right out, I mean burned RIGHT out") and I am almost excited to see how long my tenner of unleaded lasts, please let it be further than 16 miles. I think I might even ask H to clean the car tomorrow, I'm not too proud to hand that chore over, not for a second.

EYE EYE YIPPEE!!

Seth and I had our tests at the hospital today. his drops have WORKED!! the sight in his eye is only 1 step away from the good eye, they think 2 more weeks of enforced blindness in his left eye will do it! I am SO thrilled! Because the vision is good and the eyes are perfectly straight they are pretty sure that once corrected he will never revert to the poor sight he had. HOW GREAT IS THAT?!
This little boy has had such trouble with his eyes his whole life and at last we are seeing that he will be fine!

As for me, there are no signs of Retinitis pigmentosa...which is great BUT they are sending me to have scans of my brain! YIKES! I asked outright if I should worry and his answer was that he wasn't seeing anything that should make me worry he was being ultra careful in making sure the R.P isn't there. He said that they are going to test how the messages are getting from my eyes to my brain....good luck on that one, I don't think anything is getting to OR from my brain too well , my brain cells are either having a doo whoppy of a party or they've given up the ghost and left the vicinity. I am a complete doughnut in the brain department lately. I shall be more than thrilled if they actually manage to FIND a brain, any activity will be a bonus.
The most glorious and touching moment happened whilst at the hospital though. Seth has had years of eye testing, every appointment has him being held down while "stingy" eye drops are being put in. He hates it, truly hates it and yet is still such a sweet boy and so polite to everyone. He was beyond thrilled that today, as well as him having to go, I was going too and he asked again and again if he could wathc me have the stingy drops.
At first the DR said that I wouldn't be having drops but later when I was sent to the 2nd doctor, the time came. Seth had finished with his appts and so I asked if I could call him in with me, he came in and was so patient, he stood to the side of me while I had a couple more tests and then the Dr came to put in some drops. While the drops were put in I felt a little hand creep into mine , then my hand was squeezed SO tight and a sweet whispering voice said " Oh you are being SO brave!" Be still my heart.....what a gulpingly sweet moment.
I have been in silent admiration of this boy all day today, the dilating drops make your vision SO blurry, make your eyes so weary and sensitive and yet this little man has had them in every other day for weeks and weeks and still gone to school, carried on with all this discomfort and only this weekend, after so long, did he break down and plead for no more drops ( and hid the bottle, little stinker!!) I am so thrilled that the whole exercis has been so successful!

My babies

Sweet ELIJAH

MY ISAAC


Cute boy Seth

Enjoy my little ones!

FREEZE!

I am in awe of the way little people have such trust in us as parents. Even though I have been a mum for 20 years I still stand still when I think about how huge this responsibility is.
I love and envy a child's ability to just fall asleep, when tired, wherever they are with that truly remarkable surity that if we are close by, all will be well.

Watching a child sleep is heaven to me because they do it so well...real letting go of the world and total peace.

I actually feel a bit of that with H, if I am particulary sad about anything or worried I don't tell him, partly because usually there is nothing he can do and chances are, God love him, he will say exactly the WRONG thing and it seems so unfair to put him in that position, mainly it is because he actually doesn't need to do or say anything, I always go to bed so much later than him and I crawl in next to him and just listen to him breathe and feel better.
Sometimes I creep into our room and find him on his knees next to the bed praying...how calming is that sight to me? I don't think if I were to see him lift a souped up SUV with his bare hands he would look more powerful and strong than when I see him, with such humility, praying.
I just love the fact that grabbing my trouser leg can make Isaac feel safe in his world, Seth is able to face all that school may challenge him with as long as I see him wave through his classroom window and wave back.
I sometimes feel sad when I look at my hands, they used to be such beautiful hands that a photograpjer once asked to capture them, now they look like butchers hands to me! But every night the boys ask me to stroke them when they lie down in bed....they love me to stroke their faces until their eyes get too heavy to open, nice hands, gentle hands...lucky me.
Of all the trials in this world I will never stop being grateful that I never had to face life without having been a mother.

and lookee here...its the assembly pictures, my Isaac was a STAR! He walked in and was smiling.... of course he couldn't wear his yellow hat because then he would have stood out( !!) but he smiled and he sat with Louise and Nicky, he stood when the other children stood and he didn't cry......he didn't get on the stage but sat very close to it with Nicky and he was SO proud, he earned a pink iced doughnut for being so brave!
HA! my boy is the tiny dark head not on the stage....
oh and Elijah? we had to keep dragging him OFF the stage, had to rescue someone else's hat and block him from escaping into the limelight!! Sod's law!


I was also reminded of another childhood joy this morning, the old "if it itches scratch it" theory, to a child what's the problem in scratching that itch, no matter if you are dressed like a giant turnip, or on a stage in front of your peers and their parents, if your bum itches, reach back there and give it a good old scratch, if your drawers are stuck up your bum, hoick them out, comfort is of paramount importance to a child.
I also love the way they all walk into the hall and search for their parents..necks craning and the grin of all grins spreads across their face when they see you are there to watch them. A line of little people grinning and saying " It's Me! Hey! hey! Mummy! Daddy! I'm HERE!" you couldn't buy that experience, not for all the money in the world could you?

Snot and green sweaters.

I have been a veritable queen of busy bees this weekend, rediscovering the thrill of Ebay selling! It's verging on pathetic at how excited I get in those last minutes of bidding, I sit in my swivelly computer chair "OOH OOHing" as I refresh the page and see those numbers climb. I sold 4 items and made over £400 , ( double that for US dollars) shame I was selling for other people but I LOVE the thrill of it!
Isaac didn't have his picture taken at nursery today ( how extraordinary, he doesn't most days!) it was picture day and he has just the nattiest haircut and would have looked too gorgeous but I'm told he super freaked and he says " me juss too fraid"
In thinking about it I can see how the very idea of a stranger sitting him on a chair and looking at him would be terrifying, to point a huge lens at him and zoom in..well get the straight jacket and bolt the doors! Poor little man, it is just so hard for me to always be a few steps ahead and think about how things that seem so normal to us, would appear so frightening to him.
Seth DID get his picture taken and I am sort of hoping that they managed to snap him without the snot that eerily matched his green school sweatshirt that he didn't wear anyway! I say sort of, because actually I am a bit of a fan of the 'real' school pictures, I never quite got around to liking the lean against the wall looking dreamy whilst holding a flower type of school pics Sophie would come home with when we lived in California, and as for the studious looking Jordan smiling over a pile of text books, well gag me on a spoon, I NEVER saw him anywhere NEAR text books in real life, why would I want a picture of him posing with some? Now if he'd come home with a picture of him with biro scribbles all up his arms and a backpack with the arse kicked out of it thrown over his shoulder then I might have coughed up the ridiculous prices knowing that I would gaze lovingly at it when I was old and feeling whimsical. So, here's hoping for crooked collars and snot in Seth's school picture then.
This week is Isaac's Harvest festival assembly, we are all agog with excitement as the thought of spending an hour or so sitting on hard school benches, hearing other peoples' children sing " All things bright and beautiful" and talking about the blessings of autumnal fare, we shall smile sweetly at every beaming child ( but ours ) holding up carrots and turnips, while our child sits hiding behind his blanket ( if they can even get him anywhere near the hall, that is!) He is beyond excited about the whole thing ( in theory) and we hear him singing 'Jelly on a plate' when he thinks we're not listening, but reality will overwhelm him and bless him, I'm sure he will just not be able to join in.
Dare I say that actually, I know why these eccentric children were sent to me, it is because I absolutely adore their quirks. They are a joy to me, what would I write about if they weren't so whacky?

Saturday is a special day....

Today isn't bad anyway....although I am beginning to be more and more wary of saying how great something is, seems every time I do it all goes to the dogs within minutes!
Yesterday was a great day to begin with, we were told that the benefits for Isaac were all going through and back paid from July 12th...this means that not only will our income be doubled but we will have a lump sum that means our dear old car can be fully serviced and get new brakes, we can pay off some outstanding bills and get straight, once we're straight we should be able to live without stressing about how we will pay everything and there will be enough for treats and extras for the boys!
I don't want to hear any chawing about money grabbing ne're-do wells or sponging because this money isn't means tested, every family with a child who had disabilities can apply for this extra money, if, after vigorous testing and checking it is deemed that the child ( and adults actually) have needs beyond the norm , they will be awarded money to cover the costs and ensure that they will have a standard of life elevated to overcome the difficulties they and their families face. So, when faced with the harsh reality that your child is facing lifelong obstacles, it is certainly made more manageable when the financial burdens are lifted. Great Britain.....can't say it often enough!
Isaac and I have been having our weekly outings with the boys and mums at his nursery, it is astounding to see the difference this makes, yesterday he actually handed a toy to Rhys! Usually he will hide behind me and whisper "you show maffyew my pow dranger thord" or " tell weece me dot blue pow dranger" yesterday he stood next to me and asked me to show Matthew and Joe and then very gingerly, with the very tips of his fingers and his arm stretched out as far as it will go he handed his beloved power ranger sword to Rhys. This is a massive step and only made possible because we go once a week for lunch and a playdate with 3 little boys and their mummies. Now speech therapy has it's place, the doctors can advise, but the nitty gritty of it is that by having fun, with no time limit, no restrictions, no routines, no pressure, he is seeing that little boys aren't scary creatures and won't hurt him, they don't push him, they just talk to him and show him toys and they do all the things little boys do while mummy sits close by and has fun with the other mummies....he has gone from being stuck to my side or behind me, to sitting next to the boys when they eat and now handing a toy over!
When money is pretty much spoken for before it even reaches your bank account, play dates and lunches are a distant dream, now we can do this and check out swimming lessons or after school activities that he can have fun at and learn more.....what a huge step for our family!! ( and lets face it, it is a known and proven fact that when faced with 2 hours of breath holding and screaming over a pair of shoes, if you can see some advantages that have come along because of these very things, they seem infinitely less irritating.)
The day went downhill pretty fast after that, I went shopping with Isaac,my mum, dad and sister, we came back here to show gramma the much adored motorbike ( and stroller that was waiting for me when I got back oh joy)
Can I even stand to tell you the rest? If I say 'Sophie' can you just imagine the rest? Probably not, mum and dad were here and saw it and couldn't believe it, this time though we had Jordan, my placid and laid back happy boy adding to it and suffice to say that he was standing in front of H, arms apart yelling " come on then, fuckin' let me have it...want to try it with me?"
Horrible.....Sophie telling me to tell H to just fuck off and die, all because she was told to get out of our room and mind her own business. 4pm, still in her night clothes, having slouched around for hours saying she was bored, telling us to shut up and she doesn't have to do anything if she doesn't want to, suddenly deciding that she would put groceries away ( because she wanted to grab any treats before they hit the cupboards) We are so tired of her behaving like some kind of diva, deserving unending adoration, serving and respect without doing a thing to earn it, speaking to us as if we are scum under her feet. She stays out until 4am, lies in bed until 2pm and then queens around making the house stink of either her cigarette smokey clothes or like a whores handbag with perfume and nail varnish. She sat smoking in the garden 2 days ago, right in front of my face, when I asked her if she was smoking she laughed and said " No ( duh)" I quite calmly told her that I wouldn't tolerate her smoking on my property that such disrespect was beyond my understanding and sent her away until she had finished.
Jordan has been out for work for 2 weeks, I have let him enjoy the freedom but enough is enough, he now knows that the holiday is over.....he stood up for Sophie yesterday because he is unaware of the back ground story, of how we listen to her endless rudeness and vicious mouth. He didn't understand that H's fury at Sophie wasn't because she was putting groceries away but because she so blatently refuses to ever do anything when asked, yet takes over when it is something she thinks is her right.
She stormed out ( after my having tried 3 times to speak with her reasonably but being told that I had better shut my fucking mouth because she didn't have any intention of listening unless I was going to tell my husband to fuck off and die) she said that she would rather sleep in MacDonalds car park than anywhere near us to which I harshly said " bye then" .She didn't come home last night and Jordan said she was lying on the floor of a friends house hysterical with grief, which actually means she was having the best time of her life surrounded by equally selfish teenagers telling her how hard done by she is and sympathising with her.
How harsh I am, how uncaring and unmaternal. I guess years of being called a whore and being told to fuck off will do that to you, even if you are a mother.
Naturally, I am sick with worry and every news channel or newspaper I see is full of 3 beautiful teenage girls who have been grabbed, raped and murdered in the streets right near their homes this week..one snatched right outside her front door at 4am...was her mother just asleep after having walked the floors until 2am feeling sick because she didn't know where her child was but feeling useless because her daughter had told her to shut the fuck up and mind her own business, it's her life and she'll do what she damn well chooses to do?
Another had just moved with her family to a new flat in London, she was snatched by people in the neighbourhood and murdered, her body dismembered and stuffed in a place no child should ever end up...had her mother told her to stay at home? Was she worried about her child being in a strange area? Did this daughter scream that she had a life to live and she'd go out if she wanted to and who the hell did her mother think she was to try and stop her? How many of the children yell that they know how to look after themselves and tell their parents that they are stupid and old and don't know anything?
Sometimes it's impossible to know what to do next.
I know I am beyond tired of living in the middle, trying to stop her killing H or him going for her...3 little boys in the middle and now a big boy in the mix.....am I the only one capable of actually ( PMT included) thinking of the long term effects of what I say or do before I actually say or do them?
Funny how in this whole family I am the only one deemed to be suffering from mental health issues yet I am the only one in control enough to not cause anyone ELSE to be disturbed ( maybe that's it..I am too in control, If I let rip and told THEM all what I think and let MY emotions carry me to the place that allows you to do what feels good at the time I would be completely and utterly without problems! ) Can't help but hear the pyschiatrist telling me again that actually I'm not ill I really DO have a crap life, if only there were a pill to take--- arsenic anyone?!?
All is not lost though, I have a new stroller to polish and stroke and look at and fold and unfold and push, I have a delicious brown eyed baby to sit in it and tell myself that he will never be a horrible teen and even if he is I shall be so unbelievably insane by then it won't matter.
I shall be wearing crimpolene trousers and stretchy purple sweaters, comfy mismatched shoes and feeding the neighbourhood cats leftover cottage pie. The highlight of my week will be buying the TV guide and planning my schedule ( oh shit that's already the highlight!) and meeting my creaky old sister at the scouthut for W.I and buying homemade goosberry jam. She will smell of dogs because she is already a grandma and her babies are 2 springer spaniels called Jiggy and Meers, they are beloved and I give her 2 years before she is having their portraits painted, doing them christmas stockings and telling them to come and kiss mummy, she denies it will ever happen but I have an uncanny eye for the future sometimes.
I will smell of....hmmmmm what WILL I smell of? not wee because I am never letting my pelvic floor muscles relax, incontinence shall not be my demon! I shall smell of lemons and vinegar because I already have a yearning to make my own cleaning products and white vinegar, bicarb and lemons will clean anything. ( no kidding, wrap paper towels soaked in white vinegar on those limescale old faucets and they come up like new in about 30 minutes!).I shall spend all day cleaning and all the next day dragging H around to see how it is STILL clean!
My Daniel will still love me and take me out for the day and cook me lovely dinners, Jordan will think of me when his kids are driving him insane and Sophie will be a mother of 4 girls all just like her ( and living at least 300 miles away please Lord) pleading forgiveness for being such a hideous cow for so long in her growing years, we will have saturday evening phone calls with her telling me how bloody awful her life is and how she can't understand how her children can be so mean and selfish...and I shall love them and forget they ever made me so sad by forgetting so often that anyone else matters.
In the way of all mothers I shall forget it all and tell mothers of horrible teenagers that I can't give them advice because my children were never a bit of trouble, just as I tell everyone that my babies slept all night from 2 weeks and never cried when teething.
Ahh mothers, the worlds best amnesiacs and the worlds most convincing liars.