Hello left hand, said the right hand..what have you been up to?

I won't bore you with details ( or maybe I will, who can tell, once I start there are times I find it hard to stop, did you know that about me?) all I can say is that here in the UK, the country I love and am so happy to live in, there are different benefits agencies. It would appear that one has no idea what the other is doing. So, having spoken to one ( the one who said that I am no longer eligible for benefits) for several days, and today was told to call another one, it would appear that even though ( and I beg to differ on their decision because I am a scared old bag who shakes at the slightest challenge and although my blog would lull anyone into believing I am a bit confident and brazen, actually I can usually scarcely remember my name, my address is beyond me, ask me where I lived 3 houses but only 9 weeks ago and I say things like " that big house, the one I really liked, you know it was near the post office" ) I am deemed fit and able to work full time, the fact that I am here with a husband who can't go out to work ( although in theory he could, in reality it isn't going to work out that way and we have long accepted that and love having him here doing so much that I cannot imagine having to do myself) and my Isaac who needs extra care, not to mention the other 2, well it would seem that it is understood that I am needed here and the money is not being stopped, nor reduced or changed in any way.
Thankyou Lord and also England.
I sort of felt the last couple of days that people would wonder about H in all this. My answer to that is well, H is H and this is my blog. I don't want to discuss him as if he isn't here ( when he is..right over there eating his rhubarb and apple crumble and custard) and what his issues are are not for discussion. Not here anyway, here he just gets praised and honoured because he is a perfectly splendid man. He wears good hats and slippers ( usually not at the same time) he is my steadying thing.
When I weep and rage and panic and wail, he sits and he waits. He pats arms and he strokes backs, he does dishes and he clears jungles. He says " good job and well done and OK, very good" when I say I am just going here or there or need, or want or have done.
When I have been a snarling bear with the little people who make my ears bleed at times, when my patience has snapped and unravelled, he quietly says things like "hmm, overwhelming tonight, that Eli is a git huh?" and I know it isn't just me but he can manage to hold in his grumpiness until I am in control again.
I used to wish that he was a whizz of a business man , a financial genius who would bring home huge pay cheques and let me spend them. I often wondered where my determination to marry for money the 'next time' had gone and how loud the angels had laughed when my heart sort of tugged in this man's direction. I don't think that way anymore because I see 3 little boys who have a life I could never have imagined, not even in my most dreamiest of dreams.
I see him putting together an 'office' for little boys to sit in and relax.



I hear him reading and bringing magic into little boys' lives every day.
Riches indeed.
That said the 'git' has come back downstairs, I should go and be nice to him because he has been a particularly annoying git today and might be wondering if I am ever going to be nice to him again. Even the goofy smile and puppy eyes don't cut it when he has been a gitlike as he has been today. I do like to send them to sleep feeling that they made it through another day without being sold to the gypsies though, so I shall go over and grit my teeth ( one less in number and gaping hole seems still to be throbbing like the very devil) and be a nice mummy in the hope that he will please go to sleep and stop talking to me because it is 9.45 and I stop liking children at 7pm. Maybe it is time to stop the naps after all. Damn.