Well, I'll go the foot of our stairs!

He did it, H. Bought me a present I mean.
He has bought me gifts before, I had a spoon rest on our first Christmas, along with some saucepans of course, because a spoon rest on it's own would ne a pitiful gift, wouldn't it? The second year I had silver wear, a knife, fork and spoon, which to most souls would seem a bizarre idea for a gift for your loved one, except H has his own silverwear, he loves it, it is very special to him and he will never ever use any other at home, he used to take it out with him but he almost lost it once and phew, that was a close one, now they stay at home where they will be safe. H thinks everyone ought to have their own cutlery and they must always be of the highest standard, a certain weight, he is exacting in his requirements for cutlery. So buying me my own was indeed a declaration of his love, I wish he hadn't written ' to Mom' on it because I am not his mom and balk at the idea of ever being in a relationship where I am forever called 'mother' I rather like my name and prefer my husband use it, however that was a touching gift that was somewhat wasted on me because I lost them anyway ( Yikes!)
I was given a kneeling stool once, for gardening, which baffled me, along with a pair of gardening gloves and a hat....I forget what my reaction was, other than the puzzled look and a whispered "wha?" we forget about that effort apart from when I want to laugh at him, then I drag it out and say " HA! Remember THAT? As if!"
When I was heavily pregnant with Isaac, I sat on the toilet and looking around me saw a jar of anti wrinkle cream looking back at me from atop the shower unit, a surpise gift! Yes, moving on.
So, although he often, throughout the years will give me sweet little gifts, like a new umbrella last week when the rains began, when it comes to those days where he is expected to give a good gift, he doesn't usually do well, I got a great camera for Christmas last year, loved that, still love it actually.
So,yesterday dawned, our 10th anniversary and I was on edge because I feel sort of fragile ( how precious) and stomped upon lately, as the day went on I was pretty sure that the day was about to slip past without a mention, until at tea time he said he had to go out and off he went, with Isaac and Seth, returning about an hour later with flowers ( there's TEN of 'em) and Isaac with a big grin and a jewellery bag, from a jewellers! Isaac handed me the bag and said "that's for YOU" he then told me how much it was followed by " Whoops, dad said not to tell you that but it actually WAS that much!" then he told me how many diamonds it had and a ruby and...oh it is a beautiful choker. The cost is irrelevant, the fact that he bought me a completely impractical gift, for no other reason than he knew I would love it and then I discovered that in true H style he researched online and learned that Ruby is my birth stone and so he went in search of something with that in...well, I shall love that necklace for ever.
Also, now I know he can do it.....here's hoping I don't have to wait another 10 years til the next shiny present!

On being thankful.....

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in America, personally, I think we all ought to have one day a year where we think about the things we are grateful for and say them out loud. Everyone, the world over.
I am being grateful a day late, which is fine, nothing wrong with hanging onto your gratitude for an extra day, even if it's because on the day you are struggling with any feelings of thankfulness because you are just so ANGRY at just about everyone and everything and then feel guilty for feeling that way and so where's the room for gratitude?
I was very grateful at 8pm, when guests had gone and kids were in bed and meals had been collected, I was truly thankful then. Just too tired to write about it or even open my mouth to say anything other than " Oh how lovely."
Usually, at Thanksgiving, we invite people we think might enjoy a slap up meal with an American theme, usually they say they can't come and then when we have finished eating, they turn up.....it is becoming a tradition that I don't enjoy, so this year we didn't invite anyone, apart from mum and Leah who I knew I would go and collect and so if they had called I would have said "Oh no you don't ladies.....get your coats, I have cooked this food, you're eating it" They didn't call, even though they know all about the rat saga and Mum was afraid that she would smell Rat pee every time she tried to swallow food and therefore vomit. Bless her heart.
In fact, Gemma popped in this week and said " oooh, your house smells lovely, like cinnamon and lovely things" so I dragged her towards the kitchen and shoved her head in the cupboard under the stairs. That showed HER.
Mum also said that she couldn't smell anything, I let her off and just enjoyed the fact that the burning granules, plug ins and copious cooking smells had obviously masked all the stinky things. Also, she didn't say she hadn't smelled rat until she was in the car going home and I was just too weary to drive home and frog march her to the cupboard under the stairs, also she is 71, I am not totally heartless.
So, we didn't invite anyone outside the family and I was THRILLED, oh I was so happy to be preparing for just family, all relaxed and laid back. I was all ready on wednesday, everything bought and waiting to be turned into heavenly food.
At 7 pm on wednesday evening the phone rang and a voice on the other end said " Hey! Helen, it's Elder ( can't remember) here, I hear you are wanting to feed the missionaries tomorrow for thanksgiving!"
"Oh, did you? Well, actually,I did look at your dinner appointments weeks ago and saw that the date was blocked out, I assumed that meant you were all set and so I invited other people"
"Hey, well that was because blah blah blah blah and now that doesn't matter and so HEY we are free, lucky you huh?"
"Oh, um, well, I suppose we will see you at 5.30 then"
And I was SO ANNOYED! So indignant that someone had told them to call me the night before and invite themselves to dinner when I didn't want to make it a big deal, when I was so happy that my house was going to look lovely, smell lovely and be filled with delicious food and I was actually going to be able to enjoy it all for a change rather than be worrying if we had enough food, enough places to sit, not fret over the fact we don't have a dining table and now I had to DO ALL THAT FUSSING.
I had to go and buy more turkey because we bought one that was just right for our family + 2, Sophie's friend had also asked what Thanksgiving was all about and then said " Oh lovely, I'll come for that then" numbers were creeping up and all by people I didn't CHOOSE. Yes, unchristian indeed.
So we bought an extra Turkey breast joint and a big ol Turkey drumstick, all good. All set again.
Yesterday, when I went to put the turkey into the oven, it was still frozen, rock solid frozen, even though it had been out of the freezer since monday. I didn't want to believe it was still frozen so I took the giblets out and ran it under the cold tap for an hour...still very frozen but I was cross so I put it in the oven anyway and thought I would be fine if I just prayed that no-one would die. After 30 minutes, I thought that maybe that was a wonderful way to prove my faith but a sure fire way to prove I didn't have quite enough faith and then kill people.
I took the Turkey out and poked it again and the outside was all hot and steamy and the inside was still so hard I knew I had to admit defeat and not cook it. Of course I had, by putting it in the oven rendered it totally inedible and swarming with salmonella bugs. In the bin and I was back in the car.
Have you ever tried to find fresh turkey in England, in November? Don't bother , you won't find any. I cooked a turkey breast joint, 2 big old turkey drumsticks and 2 chickens.
At 5pm, I had a phone call from the missionaries to say they were delayed and wouldn't be able to make it at 5.30pm and I am sure I detected the idea that I was meant to say "oh, never mind, we can wait"
However, what I actually said was " Oh, that's shame, do you have a car? Oh good, well, when you are done and when you get back, call around and I will give you 2 plates of delicious food that you can take home and eat, how does that sound?"
And after a quiet moment he said " Oh, OK, thankyou"
My mood immediately lifted and all was well.
Oh, after the invite themselves phone call, when I was grumpy, Mel was here with Joshua-the-destroyer, her face was sweet and she said very quietly "can you save me some?" and I said of course I would and I so wanted to invite her to come up and I'm not saying I don't adore Joshua at all times but dear life that child has 4536 arms and on each arm are 3 hands and on each hand there are 534376 fingers and every one of those hands and fingers and arms are at all times busy with their sticking in of little things into electrical items, he loves buttons and lights and if something has buttons that turn on lights, all bets are off and he is in heaven. He also likes me, for which I am eternally grateful and he wants mammar to pick him up and carry him, until I do pick him up and carry him and then he wants DOWN! DOWN NOW! And so despite my adoration, I was loathe to add him to the mix of great grammas and uninvited people and my own loud and show offy kids. But I did.
How can you NOT invite your own grandchild and his quite beautiful and lovely mummy to thanksgiving dinner. So I did and I said "How lovely, all you girls and Joshua can have a lovely get together in Sophie's room and you can eat in there and watch TV and KEEP THE BABY WITH YOU and have fun and enjoy the food and KEEP THE BABY WITH YOU and I am so excited you will all be here and be in Sophie's room WITH THE BABY!
Because usually, Joshua follows me and I would never, ever say or do anything that would ever make such a precious baby feel I didn't want him close to me, so I can be found in the kitchen, where all the hot things are found saying "Oh my darlin' did you come to see gramma? Did you, uh oh, careful my darlin' it's so HOT in here and oh, don't touch that sweetie, OH OH Joshua, bless your heart, where's mummy? Oh no don't touch that darlin' oh.. whoops, no don't eat it, don't eat that baby, where's mummy, careful it's hot! Oh no...not in there baby, whoops"
So, I knew then that I would be catering for 13 and I got used to the idea. When I knew that the 2 not family members wouldn't make it to sit down and eat I cheered up immensely. Call me hard hearted.
When I came downstairs on wednesday, I found a line up of ingredients all along the worktop, marshmallows, pumpkin pie ingredients, cornbread muffin mix, green beans, mushroom soup and I gathered from such a sight, that H had exacting ideas of what he would like and how he would like it and the prickling began. He said he would like oyster dressing, which made me heave, he explained that his aunt Gloria would make this dressing, so I looked it up, heaved a bit and wrote down what I would need. Then he said he would like the sweet potato casserole with marshmallows (which has always made me gag a little and wonder who thought of such a thing?) so I looked that up and wrote down what I would need. I was all set, I then went to buy the things I didn't have, armed with a list, written by H. A list. I have never in all my 47 years taken a list shopping, I will admit that as I wandered around the supermarket checking this list and picking up ingredients for food I was pretty sure would make me vomit, I felt a fleeting irritation towards H and then I let it go, for about 8 hours.
I always want him to feel that the Thanksgiving meal is perfect and I always hope that it makes him happy and miss home a bit less, I try my hardest and usually it is a success, so to be told that it ought to be done differently made me a little cross.
Wednesday night, as the boys were going to bed, I asked Seth to pick up his clothes and fold them, he picked them up and sort of rolled them into a muddled pile and as he was about to leave the room H said " Seth, do you really think that is a good job?" Seth looked and said " well, yes, I do" and I said ( flippant me) " SETH! Anyone would think you are a BOY!"
And there followed a rant about how offensive that remark was, how dare I say such a thing? Why would I assume that just because he is a BOY he wouldn't be able to fold clothes properly? What was I thinking to say such a thing? Why did I think that kind of throw away remark was OK because didn't I understand that the boys would grasp such remarks and use them to do a sloppy job and then who would we blame? Huh? HUH?
I kept my mouth shut, if I had opened my mouth right then I would have blown it. So, I sat and I fumed and I raged inside, I was overwhelmed with such a sense of injustice that I wasn't sure I would ever be able to open my mouth and say what I wanted to say, I toyed with the idea of not saying anything and just hurting him with a solid object, for longer than I should have probably, luckily, he took 45 minutes to read to the boys so by the time he came back downstairs, I was ready.
Sophie was in the room and I was darned if I was going to wait until she left to say what I wanted to say so I let him have it.
"Would you regard it as offensive for someone to assume that only a woman could cook a large thanksgiving meal? Would you? Oh good. Would you be offended if someone were to leave a pile of ingredients out for you to see and then assume that is what someone else wanted YOU to prepare? You know, rather than ask nicely or actually open their mouth and say something polite like " Oh, you know what I would like this year? Would you mind doing that? Is that OK? Well I DO find that offensive, really offensive and yet, I kept my mouth shut because I told myself that you didn't intend to be so rude and thoughtless, I ran around buying all the things YOU wanted, I have found everything you couldn't even be bothered to tell me you wanted, just by looking at your signs and working them out for myself, I am cooking this meal..WHY? Can you not do it because you are a man? How thoughtless and rude of me to assume I ought to be doing all this work because I am the woman and here, all this time you could just do it yourself? Who thought?"
I said all that without giving him a chance to answer because when he does answer me during one these times when weeks of frustration come bursting out of my soul, he is guaranteed to say the wrong thing. Sophie, in a rare show of tact, quietly closed the laptop and left the room , either tact or a quiet surity that she was in the line of fire.
He has been saying and doing the wrong things consistently for the last 2 weeks, without any effort at all, he has made me angry and sad, furious and bereft over and over again. What I should say is, he has managed to ignite what is already there, I am so anxious lately about things I can't even write and true to form, rather than work on what is really worrying me, I push that aside and so H will open his mouth about something irrelevant and a whole slew of rage will come pouring out. H is tactless, it is all part and parcel of who he is and the aspergers and I try to be understanding of that, the thing is, who is giving ME some slack? Who is there for me, with some understanding and knowledge that this is who I am, there are times when I just really wish that he would give some thought to why I feel the way I do....but he can't and so, this is it.
It is our 10th wedding anniversary today and so far, no comment or acknowledgment has been forthcoming, although Sophie gave us a card, addressed to 'Mum and Dad' and really, after that, anything is going to seem inferior because what could possibly be greater than this particular child of mine showing that the man she fought for 9 years is like a dad to her? Nothing that's what.
By the way, the dinner was very successful, H said it was all perfect and exactly what he loves, everyone enjoyed it and I was so happy when it was all over and everyone was stuffed and relaxed, I love that H does all the clean up, to not have to wash a single dish is still a thing of glory to me, even after 10 years.
Happy Anniversary H, now go out and but me a present.

All is well, all is well.

As I get older, or wiser or more embarrassed about my mind, I speak less and less about how I feel, I even think less about how I feel, choosing, rather, to just get on with it and say 'all is well.'
It is, of course, well. It is, life is well. People are well and happy and I am aware that I am blessed and lucky.
I can sit and think and see that I have much to be happy about and I am, indeed happy about much.
This is a good post isn't it, all flowy and funny and making such sense, it is days like this that make me so glad I keep a blog.
Any minute now I will work out what I want to say and gosh darn it ( do you like that? It's sunday, I always try harder on sunday not to swear and usually I manage pretty well, of course, if I open the laundry door and see a big fat MOUSE, that effort is all for nought but I'm sure the Lord understands and tries to let it go.) just as soon as I do work out what to say I will jolly well say it.
The more I try to be cheery, the more the misery seems to take hold.
Bizarre isn't it that your body will do what it chooses to do despite your head trying every trick in the book to tel it to shut up?
I truly don't believe I am sad, I don't. I can't think of a single reason why I would think to be sad.
I am, however incessantly anxious. About everything. Even though I am so MAD at being anxious and even though I am damned sure I won't let this feeling beat me, I go through the motions of bloody well doing what I want to do and NOT giving in, it is actually winning. That makes me so furious, I can't tell you how furious.
I don't talk about how I am feeling, I don't tell H, or anyone because I can't stand it myself, I am annoyed with myself never mind allowing others in on my miserable secret.
I am the least tolerant person when it comes to depression, when I see anyone overwhelmed by it and hear that they have given in to the staring at a wall and not moving longing side to this infuriating and disabling affliction, I am of the 'pull yourself together camp' I KNOW how hard it is to carry on, I understand how overpowering the need to shut off and stop thinking can be and I puff myself up and tell myself how much better I am than they, because I keep going and I don't allow anyone to see just how awful I am feeling, except who am I kidding? I like to think no-one knows what I am feeling and perhaps they don't, I suspect that makes it worse, I wonder if the people around me are looking at me and wondering WHAT THE HELL???
I'm only writing this now, this disjointed ramble of stupidity because I woke up, just now, after a lovely sunday afternoon nap, thinking I was dying.
I woke up and couldn't breathe, was sweating and gasping for breath and was sure I couldn't BREATHE, oh the terror. Panic attacks are bad enough when you feel them coming, when that prickling terror begins at the centre of your very soul and builds until the world comes crashing down, when I feel that happening, I can usually talk myself out of it, when it happens while I sleep, there is nothing I can do. It is by far the most terrifying feeling, I woke up and was grasping at the sheet, trying to get some breath into my body and just stop, that's usually what I say to myself, stop, stop fighting, think, breathe and stop and breathe and you are not dying, look, in fact you ARE breathing, in, out, in out, keep doing that. So I do.
All of this year has been anxious, for no reason that I can fathom, I just have been more panicky and worried, how many times did I say that HA! Imagine getting on a plane feeling like THIS! Yes, that will never happen! Whooo, not THAT stupid, even I know my own limitations and shutting myself in a metal box and sitting in there for many hours is asking way too much of my stupid panic attacky self.
I didn't listen though, did I? Not even to myself, of course if anyone else had dared to say to me "Helen, don't do it, please don't push yourself *that* far, it doesn't matter, if you think flying is too much to ask right now, it probably is" I would have, in my own bloody minded way, have stuck a metaphorical finger up and said " Oh yeah? Watch me! You're not the boss of ME!"
Only I could be so stupid as to dare myself!
On the way to the airport I was so terrified, so overwhelmed with terror that I was speechless, apart from saying " Please Dan, please drive slower" or " Oh please don't" as he went to overtake another car, I was unable to speak or even breathe more than a shallow little huff and puff. I spent the 4-5 hours talking to myself, telling myself how foolish this was and how look, how may times have you done this and it has been OK? And then thinking of H and the little boys, thinking how, if I died they would be left with the feeling that I died leaving them to just have fun, to do nothing more than please myself. I weighed up how awful it would be to just stay home, to send Sophie and just not go, I thought how disappointed my friend would be if I did that.
I was stupid and show offy in shouting about the trip, once I did that it turned from being a visit with Cathy to a big old get together with people I didn't know...one of my biggest panic triggers, as I heard of more people joining in I became more and more worried and grumpy, cross that I had opened my mouth and allowed this to happen, feeling terror at the idea of people seeing me and having to be funny and witty and everything people think I am.
I wasn't funny, or witty or anything. I seemed unable to be anything but upright and breathing. When I was there I felt as though I was walking through treacle, just trying not to be a weeping stupid mess.
As the time to come home came closer I think I cheered up, I know that when it was just Sophie, Cathy and I, I felt better, that's not to say that anyone who came had made me miserable, I was making myself miserable, me and my people fearing panic attacks. Sophie was my saving grace, I hid behind her effusive and outrageous persona, I adored her every loud moment, she was the center of attention and I was able to hide in her shadow, she is divine and I don't think I will ever tire of saying that, of spouting how glorious she is, how much I love her. We had a splendid time in the hotel room, watching movies and running outside with the fire alarms, making sure we could fit all the loot into the suitcases, I love that I have the chance to do this with her, or to have done that with her because I am pretty sure I won't be doing it again.
Flying home is never as frightening to me, I think there are several reasons for that, one is that if I die on the way home my family will always be thinking " she died coming back to us" ( and we won't think of the fact that they might also think "selfish cow shouldn't have left us in the first place, however...at least she was coming home") Also, I know that waiting for me will be the people who know me best, the ones who love me the best and I am excited to be with them without feeling that they will gasp at how fat I am or how old I am. ( why do I feel that all the way through this post I should keep writing disclaimers? Let's do one and be done with it. * I am not saying that anyone in Boston would EVER say or think these things, I adore my friends, I know they love me, every worry I have is in MY HEAD*, imaginary or not, it's what I think and feel and is the reason I said I would not be getting on a plane again, will someone remind me should I ever get above myself again and decide that this is a good idea, please?)
When I came home, I didn't seem to get jet-lag, I was tired for 2 or 3 days and then I was all better, better that is, apart from the need to hide or hibernate, to shut myself away and not talk or look at people, to just be. Quietly be.
One thing about living with H is that I don't need to talk and I'm not sure that is a good thing, it would be easy to go days without saying anything of any import, so depression is easy, I can say all the day to day things like " get your lunch box" and " who peed on the seat AGAIN?" and not ever voice a single thing that matters, which means I don't burden anyone with how I am feeling but whatever I am feeling builds up inside until it explodes in a spectacular panic attack. It has been building for a few days, while I sit and write or read or watch TV my heart will pound and I have to talk myself through breathing and then I am calm and I get through another day.
After I woke in the midst of a panic attack, I calmed down, made myself see that I was not dying, I went into the kitchen and started dinner, H walked in and as I looked at him, it all came out, the snot crying and the guilt that I had left him and the boys just to have fun and the fear of what if I had died and maybe wasting such a lovely treat by not loving every second of it, I'm not sure he even heard what I was saying because the gasping for breath and the hysterics, the burbling and hiccuping and all that emotion....but it didn't matter because he just said " Oh" with such love and he patted my back and said " Oh" again and I knew, in a second that all is well.
He doesn't think I am the worlds worst wife and mother for flying to Boston and having fun, he doesn't think I am useless or stupid and he doesn't care if I fall into a heap in the kitchen and wail about all the hopeless feelings I can't even explain. He just loves me and he doesn't even have to say it for me to know.
All is well.