More Eli-oh.

Funny, isn't it, how you think you feel something and are justified in feeling that way and then something comes along to smack you in the head and show you that you know nothing really? Funny peculiar that is, not funny Ha Ha.
I was much more sad about the impending pediatrician's appointment with Eli, so sorry for myself, oh woe is me why MY kids? Why THIS boy, oh sob.
I half heartedly tried to look at the doughnut, not the hole but it was quite nice wallowing in the self pity for a while.
On wednesday, at 8pm precisely Eli got poorly. He said his tummy hurt and he couldn't get comfortable, he sat up, he lay down, he lay on his side, on his back, sat up again, nothing worked, he was so tired and kept asking when he could go to sleep and he would fall asleep and then sit up crying because oh, how his tummy hurt .
By 9.30 I knew this wasn't just a little boy tummy ache, it wasn't a bug, it was something different. We called the out of hours doctor, we went to the lovely new hospital in town and met with the on call Dr who said he thought it was appendicitis and sent us with a letter to the bigger hospital a few miles away, telling us that we wouldn't have to join the masses in the waiting room, we would go straight through to be seen by a surgeon.
That would've been nice.
We sat in the waiting room and as we sat, Eli got more agitated, more in pain and after ( immediately after) asking how long this wait was likely to be and being told that it was impossible to say, Elijah said those words that every parent dreads. " I am going to puke!"
We'd been so ready, bring with us a puke bowl for the car, puke bowl and precious animal blanket. Animal blanket came with us into the waiting room, puke bowl stayed behind in the car and there followed a slow motion clip from a horror movie, a panic glance around waiting room, a hasty "Hello? can we have a bowl please?" a blank stare followed by total inaction until I saw a bin across the room and I picked Eli up, ran and ALMOST made it, I was right there, foot on pedal and the forces erupted and more puke than I have seen in many a long year came out of that little boy. On the bin, by the bin, on his PJs, on Sophie's flip flopped feet but not on precious animal blanket because a mother's instincts are quick and my left hand somehow grabbed that thing away from him and over to the side before he replicated the scene from the exorcist.
Funny Ha Ha AND Peculiar thing, within seconds we were called in to see the surgeon. Before we could move I had to strip that little fellow down and carry him in nothing more than a pair of boxers and his socks through to the examination room.
These things always take a while and I remember so clearly the how long I had to experience the gamut of emotions a mother feels at this time. Fear because ...dear boy is precious and splendid and how I hate to see him so ill.
Relief because I don't care what people say about the NHS it has always been right where I need it, right when I need it and scruffy corridors, dejected looking paintwork aside, it works, people who need help get it and they never have to give a second thought about how they will pay for it. I really DID think about that when I was there because I have so many friends who can't say the same thing, they can't say they don't have to worry when their kids are sick that a co-pay, prescription, appointment, test might cost more than they can afford.
Gratitude because although these doctors are hard worked, tired and nowhere near appreciated enough, they are ( in my experience) so lovely. Kind and funny and no matter how busy they are I noticed how careful they were to explain to me and to Eli exactly what was going on, why something was being done, why nothing was being done and were happy to answer any questions I had.
Shame. Oh the shame.
There is a law irrevocably decreed that should your child ever need emergency treatment, it will almost certainly be on that very day when you have looked at your filthy kid and said " Meh, a bit of dirt never hurt anyone"
On wednesday, when I picked the boys up from school we stayed behind so they could play with friends after school. The played on scooters and on the field, the slid on slides and climbed up grassy banks. When we got home they ate dinner, then they played in the yard, fixing bikes, taking parts of their old bikes and putting them back on, tightening chains and mud guards, all the things boys do. I said several times in the evening how they all really needed haircuts and also ' you are SO having a bath this evening' but they were having such fun and bath time is such a chore.
I knew that had to have a bath, I just kept putting it off until some friends came to visit and it was already 8 o'clock and ' whoops', never mind. I did, in all fairness to me, scrub them a bit, cleaned the worst of the grime off and sent them off to bed.
So here I am, in the hospital with this sick child, in boxer shorts that look like a 6 year old has been wearing them all day ( it's OK, that's as descriptive as I will get on that one) socks with puke spots on them, ribs you could play like a xylophone, legs that have barely a mm between the bruises and fingernails the like of which you might only ever have seen on a mechanic. His hair badly needs cutting, he has a double crown and so he looks like he has a pair of chimney sweep's brushes stuck on the back of his head.
I looked at his little sparrow body, all grimy and pitiful looking and I looked down at myself, I had, thankfully had a shower and washed my hair but then I threw my comfiest clothes on and that was what I was wearing.
I seemed to get asked if my family is known to Social services more than I remember ever being asked before. I watched the faces of the nurse as she took the details of our family when we were admitted to the childrens' ward, the " who lives in your house" and " how many children and what ages are they" replies got some raised eyebrows. Sophie came with me when we took Eli, so there were a few " So *you* are?" and "*this* is?" One nurse eventually caved and said "I have to ask you, where is Eli's dad from because his skin is so beautiful and I know his dad must not come from here" Loved her face when I said "America" and let her puzzle that one out before I put her out of her misery and told her that he has Mexican blood. Sophie made her laugh when she said " you want to know about *my* dad too don't you because I am have such beautiful skin as well. My tan came from a week in Tenerife and it's NOT fading at all!"
The fact that Elijah ran into a gate on tuesday didn't help matters, his front teeth are crooked and his poor little gums are all black and raggy looking.
He had 2 days of testing, blood tests and urine tests and 3 pediatricians, 4 surgeons poking and prodding. He got better and then he got worse, he was happy and he was so pitifully sad.
He slept for 3 hours the first night, crying in his sleep and waking up because he hurt.

He would seem so well, he woke up after a nap and said " All clear, tell 'em I can go home, I don't even have a teensy bit of pain or puke, I am better" and he ate a good lunch, he played, he hopped, skipped and jumped and then, in the blink of an eye he was sick again. High temperature, glassy eyes, sweet face all crumpled with pain and surprise that he wasn't all better and he couldn't go home.

He loved having a TV right by his bed and he watched 'Top Gear' even when he was poorly and hot.

We had a room to ourselves and I was so happy to know I could sleep right there with him. I slept for one hour. I realised just how glorious my bed is these past 2 nights. Eli had a big hospital bed and I, well I had a little put you up bed, that folds up into the wall. I had one pillow and I swear that thing had a mind of it's own and it hated me. It had the obligatory plastic covering but it was a sealed cover that had an incredible amount of air in it. Every time I put my head on that pillow the air would shoot over to the other side and my head would slip off.
I know that I didn't weigh anymore in the hospital than I do at home but why on earth did I feel like I was crushing my own self? Whenever I tried to lie down I felt I was crushing my arm or squashing my legs. I tossed and turned, I fidgeted and fussed and eventually just gave up.

I did more puzzles and crosswords in the past 2 days than ever before, I love puzzles and crosswords but even I got weary of it!
He was so splendid, every minute we were in the hospital I found myself looking at him and just feeling so thrilled that he is mine. I watched him while he answered questions and I listened to his little voice, I stared at him while he slept and I enjoyed every part of who he is. He is so endearing, so accommodating and he is so happy to go along with the flow that often, I think he gets forgotten. We don't have to think about whether he is happy because he just is. We don't have to think about whether he likes doing whatever we are doing or if he likes what he is wearing, we don't have to think twice about what he eats because he just eats what he is given, he just likes whatever we are doing, he wears whatever is right in front of him.
I saw so much of his little personality while we were alone and he is just so lovely. Over and over he would say " You are so happy I am getting better, aren't you?" or " You like being here with me, don't you? I am happy you are with me you are the best mummy in the whole world."
He clutched his animal blanket the whole time and when his temperature was high I would tell him that he could have the blanket next to him but not over him. He covers himself with it and usually sleeps with even his head under it. One such time he said to me " Are they coming soon to do my degrees because my blanket is actually magic and if I can lie UNDER it, I will get better" I love that he said ' do my degrees' instead of take my temperature. I was telling H what he said and his face lit up and he said " It is actually TRUE! Every time I lied under my blanket I would get better! It made me feel well again."
As I watched him last night, I realised that I don't care anymore what the Drs tell me when he is assessed for autism, whatever they say, he is who he is. A label won't make him any different' he won't change and I am so happy about that, I adore who he is. I am overwhelmed that he is mine. When he was little we would sing to him

"Eli Henry is divine.
Eli, Eli-oh.
I'm so happy that he's mine
Eli, Eli-oh."

Look at this face, the profile shadow of his cheeks is a thing of great slendidness.


This morning, after he slept for 8 hours he woke up and he was ALL BETTER! He was bouncy and totally Eli.


We were so sure he was really all better and I was just miserable when he crashed again, his temp shot up and he said his tummy hurt again. The surgeon came to see him again and at last we knew what he was suffering from, it's called Mesenteric adenitis. We were allowed to come home, he is likely to be poorly for a while but we know what to do for him and he has been better since we came home.
It is so good to be here, noise and chaos and all.
I am beyond touched at Seth's reaction, he is not usually at all emotional or compassionate, he has been sitting with his arm around Eli and saying sweet things like "Oh Eli, I think actually you are my best friend" which is huge from Seth, how lovely to see such a kind side from him.
Funny indeed how something that at first glance appears negative can actually be a positive thing, a hospital stay with this little boy has turned my thoughts around, I saw that Elijah is made just the way he is supposed to be and I am lucky enough to be his mum. Can't beat that for a happy thought.

Eli, Eli.......Oh.

Elijah Henry, even writing his name makes me happy, I love his name, I adore him, every floppy, puppy eyed, sticky out eared, grimy nailed inch of him.



He is 6 years and 9 months old. Still, there is rarely a day passes that I don't look at him and wonder what life would be like if we had chosen not to have him, to stop after Isaac, when my body was so weary and getting old for having babies, when the desire to have a break was so strong..what if we'd gone with that decision and not listened to the whispering ovaries that said 'just one more, there is just one more' I am so happy that we had him.



From the day he was born he has been a joy, totally delightful. As a tiny baby, if he would cry, all it took was a murmur of his name and he would stop. He was the kind of baby that makes a mother yearn for more, except when he was born, I knew. I knew that this was my last baby, that he was everything I needed.



He has always been completely different to all my other children, I can look at all the others and see similarities to each other, Dan and Seth are very similar, Seth is also very like Sophie in some ways, Isaac and Jordan are very alike, Elijah is his own person. Unique in every way.



He is gloriously ditzy, he forgets everything, usually before he even knew it. He falls over a blade of grass, he drops, breaks, loses. It's what he does.



He likes shoes.



He mostly likes other peoples shoes, he cries when we make him wear his own shoes because they are BORING and STUPID and he HATES THEM.



Every single day we will tell him to get his shoes and he says he can't find them, then he brings a pair of shoes belonging to someone else and PLEADS to wear them and he is so sad when he isn't allowed to wear some basketball boots that are 4 sizes too big, oh it is so sad and his day is going to be MISERABLE!



On sunday, just as we got to church he said "Oh. Hmm, I forgot to put on my shoes" Now I can understand going outside with your slippers on and then laughing at how you nearly went out in slippers....I am not sure I understand how you can walk outside with nothing on your feet, climb into the car and then wait 10 minutes before realising you have bare feet.



Lately, maybe the past few weeks, Eli's devil may care attitude to life has become less cute and more frustrating.



I began to wonder if he had always been *this* dotty or if it just seemed worse because he is older.



I started to watch him more closely and become disturbed by what I saw.



He is still delightful but less endearing. He is more 'away with the fairies' than is appropriate for someone who is nearly 7.



He doesn't seem to understand the simplest of instruction.



I spoke to his teacher yesterday, it seems that right at the same time I was seeing things I don't like, she has been feeling the same.



He is not working at school. At all, he is disruptive without seeming naughty. He is not rude...he is just 'vacant'



He is not naughty, he just doesn't do what is expected or explained to him.



He reads beautifully without understanding what he is reading.



He can spell beautifully but cannot write a sentence that makes much sense.



He has forgotten how to play with children, he now runs after the 'naughty' kids saying they are his friends, when we speak to them they tell us that they aren't his friends and that they aren't playing with him, they are running away from him because he is annoying.



He stares at the teacher when she asks him to do anything and he seems to understand and then he does something completely different to what he was asked.



I went to see my Dr today and discussed all this with her and she is sufficiently concerned that he has been referred to a pediatrician.



Funny how now I seem to be thinking back and seeing all the signs, like his running away in London, twice. Most kids of 6 can understand " stay here while I read this board" and stay there, they have enough sense to know how scary getting lost would be. Eli didn't grasp that and even when he had been lost once, he STILL didn't get that he should stay close to daddy. He was then happy to walk up to a total stranger and say " I lost my dad, can you get him back?" At the time, although I was horrified at his wandering off, I was still in the land of "bless his dopey heart"


Like today, he wandered away from us and I was calling and calling, couldn't find him, couldn't hear him, my heart was pounding and then I found him, standing behind a pile of boxes, with his hand in the air because his teacher says ' don't shout out, raise your hand' which is great at school but outside, in crowds, when you are lost? Not helpful!

He went to a birthday party and there was a bouncy castle outside, picnic rugs and all manner of fun things. There was a small gate leading to the car park and a low wall. I told Eli that he must not go out of the gate, that there were cars and it was dangerous, I also explained to the parents at the party that he was prone to wander and asked that they just keep an eye on him when he was outside. I got back to collect him 20 minutes before the party ended and sat in the car reading, there were a good few kids playing outside and I watched them for a while, then I saw Eli come outside, run around a bit and then that little stinker climbed over the wall into the car park, he didn't see me sitting there and right as I was about to shout to him, the dad saw him and called him back in.
The thing is, as it happens, I told Eli he mustn't come out of the gate.....so he climbed over the wall. Problem mummy? Huh? But I didn't go out of the gate! Bless his straight thinking little head.



I feel stupid. I have been drinking up his eccentricities because they are so refreshing and sweet, I should have been noticing that this is not OK.I have no doubt that he will be fine, it might be hard work getting him there but he will be as fine as can be. I'm not sure it is possible for him to be more splendid than he already is, he melts everyone he meets such is his sweet self .

He is Elijah, no matter whether his most splendid points are because of some disability or just because, nothing will change who he is.

Mind your block!

I am a monster. From out of nowhere, with absolutely NO idea why, I have become a raging monster. I have yelled, LOUDLY, with no control whatsoever at TWO strangers in the street, YES in the STREET, in the past 2 days, I seem to have not a ounce of self control and it is so unexpected and completely mortifying.
Both occasions have been when I have tried to drive somewhere and some eejjit blocks me in. I'm not going to give details of just how much I yelled and behaved like a deranged fishwife but on both occasions I have been mortalaciously embarrassed, only to go and do it again!
What in the name of hormones is wrong with me? I don't think I feel bad tempered as a rule, I go about my business as usual and then, without a second's notice, I EXPLODE! I will admit that my anxieties are through the roof, I am nervous and shaky about everything, sensing terrible dangers around every corner and that certainly puts me on red alert.
I collected the car and was horrified to discover that I hated it, I drove away and wanted to cry because it wasn't my lovely Renault, all clean smelling and handy, I was thrilled to have paid for it and for it to be mine, without worries of monthly payments but I was so sad with it.
I tried not to show it and everyone else seemed thrilled with it. H declared it quite the deluxe model, the boys are beyond thrilled with the space and while waiting outside the local hospital for Sophie for an hour ( bronchitis, she is still smoking, no sympathy) Isaac, he of the obsessions with buttons and opening and closing things, learned what every single seat, window, door, catch, lock, knob and whistle was capable of. That was fun. Not.
I drove it and I sweated buckets when trying to get it into the parking space outside our house, the space that is perhaps 8 inches wider than the car and a mere 6 inches longer. Oh what FUN that is and when some selfish none thinking sod parks across from my house that makes it even MORE fun and yes, that might well have been one time I opened the window and yelled "Can someone watch me reverse and do a 39 point manoeuvre into this tiny parking space? Only some selfish git has parked where they have no place parking and I would HATE TO RAM THIS GREAT BIG CAR RIGHT INTO THAT BLOODY CAR THERE!"
Yep, that was one of the times. The other time was similar.
The one time I didn't yell and in fact I was kindness and patience personified would be when I got into the car, having driven to Plymouth and deciding that actually, this car isn't so bad and it looks so shiny and nice when I walk towards it, it smells of fresh apples now and not old car and I decided that all was well, ahhhhh, what a relief, home we go, CRUNCH.
Oh, OH NO! What did I hit? Did I kill and old lady with her trolley because this car is SO BIG and high and a teeny pensioner wouldn't be visible.....I got out and saw that indeed it WAS a pensioner, an elderly man, although he had been in his little Toyota and had reversed into me as I reversed into him. I asked him if he was OK and he said he was, he was just old, I told him that that was OK because I feel old so we were quits. No damage to either car but my nerves and I suspect the nerves of old Toyota man were jangly for the rest of the day.
I have become more fond of the big old bus as each day passes, I have taken mum and Leah out, the boys and H out, Mel, Jordan and Joshua out, Sophie has been out and I have been out on my own. I have driven 150 miles and used £20 of petrol, with petrol at pretty much £6 a gallon that is really darned good for such a heavy car.
I like it more. I might even really like it when I stop getting in such a state about whether I will be able to get back in to the parking spot when I get home.
I love that it has Air Conditioning, that's a treat and we've even had some warm weather in the last few days.
I'm writing about the weather. Time for a break....
The boys seem to be wild lately, is it spring do you think? Spring madness indeed, it seems not to matter how long we are out, how much they have run and played, shouted and laughed, they are still bouncing off the walls when we get home. I am not enjoying it, I like the fun laughing and the outside playing, the endless shrieking, play fighting, not play fighting, yelling, jumping, all that stuff drives me to distraction and I would say to anyone thinking of having children later in life, it is not the playing or running, the sleepless nights and keeping up that is the tough part it is the total lack of patience for age related stupidity that is hard to live with!
I have been watching re-runs of 'One foot in the grave' and although I laugh at grouchy old Victor Meldrew, I feel a little sad that I know how he feels. I tell people on TV to shut up ( especially Ryan Seacrest, could he be more annoying? And that Kara whatever her name is WHO IS SHE? ) I love Ellen though, she makes me laugh as a judge on American Idol, this year has been so dull but her little quips make it bearable. I am a grumpy old woman who would knock your block off as soon as look at you, so watch out for that block, if you want to hold onto it that is.

You know what thought did, don't you!

I thought, briefly, once, I think, that should I ever get old enough for 'the change' it would happen in a slow and comfortable way, easing me gently into the new life about to start, the free life, the one without PMS and inconvenient bleeding, the one where H would leave behind his irrational yet regular plunderings into complete arseholehood behind him, becoming a steady and unmoody H once and for all.
I heard about 'perimenopause' I liked the sound of that and I thought I would put that on order, for around 2025, I envisioned a slow irregularity to periods, where I would one day 'hmmmm' to myself and then remark that Aunt Flo hadn't been for a month or 7 and how MARVELLOUS that was.
I was completely confident that this was how I ordered it and therefore, this is how it would be. eventually. In 20 years or so.
I was looking forward to the no more periods bit with enormous excitement. I wasn't going to ever have the rest, in actual fact. It all seemed so stupid to me. Hot flushes ( flashes in America, trust them to have to be flash when we are flushing) those most certainly weren't on my list. I've had all the hot sweating I ever intend to have, with anti depressants and their miserable side effects. Wouldn't you know it though, still as regular as clockwork, every 28 days, complete with mood swings and a husband who behaves irrationally.
So then, imagine my surprise when I began to feel bizarre happenings, little moments that make PMS seem like a hilarious jape - OH THE FUN!
Moments such as this one, when recounted to my mother was met with a resounding WHOOP of a laugh followed by "that's the MENOPAUSE that is!"
The whole must not spend money because SHINY CAR thing is carrying on and we are doing splendidly, almost there, perhaps one more week. One.more.week.
In order to help myself not spend money I made a list, which is a HUGE thing, I live with autistic people, we live by rigid routine, you think I am making lists and sticking to them as well as every other must do, think on. Not I.
But I did make a list, or a menu, for monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, friday and even Sunday.
Monday. Spaghetti with bacon. Lovely, fry bacon and mushrooms, add garlic, onions, canned tomatoes, tomato puree and lots of black pepper and pour over cooked spaghetti. Delicious and simple.
Tuesday ( missionaries coming for dinner) Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans.
The rest of the week is as uninteresting as that ( apart from Sunday, roast lamb and all trimmings, yum) and not important to the tale.
Monday afternoon, H is picking the boys up from school and everything was in order, I thought I would just lie down and have a short nap. Ideal.
5.30pm... OH OH NO! Is so LATE, get up! What day is it? Where am I? What?
I stumbled downstairs and could smell cooking, strange, thought I, cooking? How so?
When I walked into the kitchen, there was Sophie, cooking dinner.....smells great.....spaghetti, well done, she can read....but Oh! Look! OH NO! Spaghetti with meat sauce, ground beef.....
and that is when my head flew off, hit the ceiling, rebounded off the back door and then landed back on my neck just in time for me to SCREAM "WHAT ARE YOU DOING???? and as I screamed I pointed at the LIST!! The LIST!! " It says BACON! CAN YOU SEE?? BACON!!!!!!"
Sophie ( with puzzled and yet amused/horrified look on her face) "And?"
"AND??? AND???? That ground beef was for TOMORROW! Meatloaf --TOMORROW and now what? Hmm? NOW WHAT? Well, NOW, Obviously I will have to go and buy MORE beef won't I and...."
And then I went on and on the whole time my head was yelling at me "SHUT UP! She is COOKING dinner, without being asked, because YOU WERE ASLEEP and yet you are yelling...shut your stupid mouth." I ignored my head of course. By the time I went into the front room, H was sitting open mouthed ( but not letting any words out of his mouth because he is a wise, wise man.)
Also, 3 times this week, when we are experiencing a week of biting cold temperatures and even, in some parts of the country, snow and wind, hail and more rain, I have sat and said "Oh, oh my...why is it so HOT? What is going on? Did you turn the heating up? Pass me that piece of card / magazine / envelope. Fan Fan flap fan.
Oh the misery, the beginning of a prickly scalp, then the burning, burning cheeks, the prickly heat over the chest....from head to toe heat, miserable, strangling heat that makes me want to open windows, strip off every stitch of clothing and pour ice water over my head.
H is a wonderful husband, he has been doing all the dropping off and picking up, the boys take bikes and scooters and he patiently follows on behind and herds them home. I want to say that all that walking up hills and down dales would have killed me but actually, I am pretty sure it would have done me good. I will admit that the first couple of days, walking here and there and lugging heavy bags up this hill we live on, made me feel I was about to give up the ghost. Oh my goodness, the heart pounding, lung bursting, face throbbing, muscle screaming pain of it....and then. on day 3 or 4, I noticed that I could walk up the hill without stopping, still panting but not stopping. This last day or two I have been able to walk and talk, my legs don't hurt anymore. I feel better and I know that I have to keep walking.
Sophie and I took the bus to Torquay today and we walked and walked and then we got back and I walked up the hill without stopping, carrying 3 big bags of shopping and it didn't hurt.

The new car is big, 7 seats, bigger engine. Petrol is now £1.20 a litre. A LITRE, I don't even want to work out what that is a gallon, it is disgraceful I know that much. It means that I simply cannot drive everywhere anymore. I will have to walk if I just want to wander around town, or only have to pick up bread or milk, I will have to leave the car behind.
I have also noticed that my shoulders, knees, ankles and wrists are hurting, they are less mobile and I know that if I want to keep them supple I have to use them more. Walking has helped my hips and knees, my shoes are really bad ones for walking and I think it is those that make my ankles hurt so much.
My foster brother posted a load of old pictures on Facebook this week, lots of me when I was young and several of me when I was about 19.....when I saw them and remembered how thin I was, I thought about how I used to run ( for fun!) and how busy I was way back then, I realised that this body I am in, is not how it is meant to be. I don't need to be this way and it is possible for me to be fitter and more healthy and look better.
Who knows if I will ever manage to stick with a lifestyle that makes a difference for long enough for it to actually make a difference, it is so hard to change such bad habits but I am glad that I keep trying! I hate to think what size I would be if I just kept eating and eating and never losing any of it.
I know I have some things to look forward to that will make it easier to plan and work for and I want to encourage Sophie to do it with me, we spoke about it today and have decided that on monday, after the Easter weekend, we will help each other to make some changes.
Perhaps I should make a list! Plan things that will make me sweat! Just a thought and you know what thought did, don't you!