Mugs are important: update

A brief update for those who understand that Mugs are important

The hunt is still on for the mug to fill the place in my hands & heart formerly occupied by welly mug. But,for the princely sum of £1, I have a temporary, meets-part-of-my-criteria, tea hugger:

It's not "the one" but I have a soft spot for elephants. Especially colourful, fabric ones. And this one has an added bonus:

I get to wave an elephant's bum in people's faces whenever the mood takes me. This makes me happy. Childish, but happy.

Mugs are important

I am devastated. I just killed my lovely RNLI mug that brightened my mornings and made me smile. It had no sentimental value- I bought it for myself - but it was exactly the right shape, colour and pattern and it felt "right"in my hands.

So now I am on the look out for a suitable replacement. One that will just make itself known the moment I lay eyes on it. Just like this one did.

It's not "just a mug" It's a visual and physical comfort. It contains the hot, sweet tea that gets me going in the morning (and keeps me going through the day). It's my version of  worry-beads or a stress-ball. It is an important purchase, and not one to be made lightly.

...Ring in the new

A year ago I was just coming out of a period of depression that turned my understanding of myself upside down and left me feeling raw and exhausted. To celebrate my recovery, I wrote my first set of New Year's resolutions since adolescence: Adventures In The Fog: Ring out the old...

Revisiting them today, I am pleased to say I manged to stick to most of them, although five and six still elude me. I guess I'm just not ready to be ruthless and organised yet. I still need that cushion of too many possessions and  insurmountable mess to protect me from the big, bad world.

It has been a tough year in many ways, but after getting through 2011, 2012 has been a doddle. So, no resolutions this time, just a simple wish for a better year filled with good friends, good times and the strength to survive anything life might throw at you.

Christmas at Chaos Central

"Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?" - Charlie Brown

And so another Christmas has passed. This time relatively peacefully, with very little fuss and no major meltdowns. I would call it a success, but an expensive one. Not financially, but emotionally.

I wish that Christmas and birthdays could be just another ordinary day. That we could just periodically buy the boys gifts whenever the money is available with no thought to the date on the calendar, but just because they deserve them, want them or we want to give them. But they know about Christmas and birthdays. They know these dates mean balloons, decorations, presents and cake (and sometimes guests) and they would be outraged if these conventions were not adhered to.

We tried really hard this year to get the balance right between making Christmas "Christmassy" enough for our younger son, and trying not to over-stimulate his older brother. I didn't for one minute think that it would be the younger one who would find it more difficult; He was so happy and excited that it was finally here.

It's exhausting trying to stay ahead of all the potential stress points, it's also impossible to deal with them all, but it is so absolutely worth it when things are going well and they're excited, happy and staying just the right side of overwhelmed. The trouble is, even when you prepare them ahead of time, introduce the decorations slowly (keeping them fairly minimal), try to arrange it so that they get a few things they really want rather than lots of unexpected and exciting things and try to spread the excitement out over a few days so it's not quite so overwhelmingly-different then straight-back-to-normal...they struggle. 

So anyway, the boys had a good day. We had no conflict, no jealousy over who got what.They did the most wonderful job of sharing and turn-taking right the way through from 6am to dinner time. But then it all caught up with them. The older one retreated into the internal film show that seems to be constantly playing just behind his eyes and the younger one got "cross and disappointed and tired and lonely" and sat on the stairs throwing his Story Cubes around before lining them up along the centre of each of the first nine stairs.

He didn't know how to get himself away from this feeling and couldn't explain why he wasn't happy anymore, so I gathered up the Story Cubes and took him to his bedroom where we shut the door, put his "Keep Out" sign up and told each other silly stories using the cubes as a starting point. I love spending time with him, doing the kind of things we both like, but I always feel guilty that I've so far been unable to find something equally enjoyable I could do with my older, strange, beautiful and unpredictable boy, who I struggle to understand but love just as much.

"Your Assessment" (child report)

Something arrived in the post today that we've been waiting a long time for. The envelope was addressed to me and my partner, so I opened it.

Inside was a covering letter and, behind that, a report addressed to our younger son. The results of the series of assessments he has been attending recently in a simplified form, phrased so as to alleviate some of his fears (bearing in mind that his older brother was diagnosed with an autistic spectrum disorder (ASD) at the age of three and has some very real difficulties with speech, social skills, frustration & anger and sensory needs).

As it was addressed to him (and I already knew more or less what it said) I put it back in the envelope and quietly fretted while pacing up and down in the school playground, waiting for him to come out so that I could tell him it had arrived and see how he felt about reading it.

As we walked home together, I told him that a letter had arrived from the people who were assessing his strengths and difficulties. He looked a bit anxious at this, so I asked him if he wanted to read it on his own, or did he want me to read it with him. He said he didn't want to read it until Saturday "when we can have some alone time."

I told him he didn't have to read it today, but that I could tell he'd been extra anxious ever since starting the assessments and that maybe knowing what they found out would make him feel better. Also, we would have enough alone time before his brother got back to read it and talk about it, or not, whatever felt right for him. He thought about this all the way home.

When we got to the door, he said "OK. I don't really want to read it, so will you read it to me? I'm not much good at reading letters. And you might need a hug after."

It was a lovely report: Pitched perfectly for him to understand exactly what his diagnosis means (and doesn't mean), reassuring him that he is not affected in the same way (or to the same extent) as his brother and spending most ink in telling him about his strengths, while not glossing over his difficulties. His favourite bit (apart from the list of things he is good at) was this sentence:

"We predict that as you get older, and with the right help and support at times when you need it, you will be much less affected by these difficulties in the future"

He wriggled and hid his face the whole time I was reading it, but afterwards he said " So I was right. I DO have autism. They said lots of nice things about me. I'm blushing. When can we see them again so I can tell them all about me like before, only this time they can help me with my focus and concentration."

My boy is back!

I'm glad we did this today. I'm not entirely certain whether I pushed it more for his sake or mine, but he does seem  to be much happier now that he knows he has "a high functioning autism spectrum disorder" And we will arrange to see Darren, Reeta and Josselyn again some time in the New Year.

My kids are amazing. No more or less amazing than anyone else's, but they sometimes frighten me with just how special they are, and how much of my heart belongs to them.

Cup-and-ball

What do you do when your child wakes up to the sound of his pubescent brother screaming and swearing and banging things, and can't get back to sleep?

What do you do when he crawls in to bed beside you and curls up in a ball with his feet on your stomach and his nose pressed to his knees and will not look at you?

What do you do when he quietly confides in you that he had a bad dream where he left home to escape "the angry" and "waited out on the street to be adopted but no one came so I found three cardboard boxes and only lived in one to confuse anyone who wanted to find me"?

                            * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *          

You curse yourself inwardly for being the catalyst that started his brother's angry fit.

You stroke his hair and tell him that you will never let him live in a cardboard box. That you will keep looking for him, however long it takes. That you will look in every cardboard box you see and search the whole world over until you find him and that when you do, you will hold him tight and bury your face in his hair and breathe him in until he agrees to come home - at least for a bath, because living in a box has made him a bit smelly (this makes him giggle). And if he won't come home, you'll live in the cardboard box next door until he decides where he wants to be.

You make him laugh, because he knows you won't live in a cardboard box, but the image in his head is a funny one of you being too big for the box and sticking out of all the corners.

Your heart leaps when he finally looks up at you. You nod solemnly and say "thank you for telling me" when he takes pity on you and tells you to "just look for the box with my drawings on the outside"

You fall asleep, listening as his breath becomes slow and steady, breathing in the smell of his hair. A Mummy cup and a boy ball, believing ...no, knowing... it will all be better in the morning.

More Assessments

Almost two years ago, I wrote a post called Assessments. I stand by everything I wrote there because, at the time, it was true. It was an honest account of my feelings and fears as well as a declaration of the fact that I knew those feelings were irrational. But feelings are what they are and we get nowhere by pretending not to feel a certain way to make ourselves look better.

We are now half-way through these assessments. It took much longer than the projected three to six months, but in the interim we had other, more general, assessments done which provided us with an initial diagnosis of ADHD and a recommendation to pursue further assessments as there were other behaviours and difficulties not explained by this diagnosis.

My bright, funny, enthusiastic, sensitive child is still exactly that. I wouldn't change anything about him. I've come to the realisation that my feelings when his older brother was diagnosed were not grief, but were instead misplaced feelings of guilt. And very real fears for his future.

I know so much more now than I did then. I know where to find help, information and support. I have dealt with the worst of my own feelings of inadequacy, guilt, anxiety and am trying really hard to be the kind of parent my children deserve.

So. Now to the point of this update: I am not scared any more. Whatever the end result of these assessments, I will not grieve because I will have lost nothing. I will instead have gained a better understanding of my child and of how to help him become a happy, healthy and productive adult.

Assessments are great and knowledge is power. I will try to remember that in future.  

Dear Teacher

Dear Teacher,

I just wanted you to know how much we appreciate your efforts over this past year.

Our child has blossomed in your care. He is beginning to believe in himself and this new confidence has made him less anxious and more willing to try new things. You have consistently encouraged him by pointing out his strengths, while quietly working away on his weaknesses without drawing his attention to them.

I wish you could stay his teacher indefinitely, but that would be unfair on the other children in the school and besides, coping with change is an important lesson for any child.

Thank you so much for your consistent, patient approach and, most importantly, for your part in my child's growth as a person this year.

Wishing you all the best  for a wonderful summer,

A truly grateful and appreciative parent

casagrande's Rain Of Poetry

The poetry bombing on the South Bank this evening was beautiful and chaotic. As the poems fell from the helicopter, they looked at first like butterflies, then a murmuration of starlings, and finally like glittering, dancing helicopter seeds. Once they landed I felt a slight pang of disappointment as they became just paper again. Their fleeting magic lost until you read the poetry printed on them.

I found whole flocks of them on my way to get the bus home. I picked them up, read them and then tried to give them away to the people I passed as I walked along. A few of them stopped and asked what it was all about and seemed enchanted by the idea of  poems that had fallen from the sky. They walked away smiling, clutching their "sky poem"

Most people, however, were uninterested and unmoved. They looked at me as if I were mad and it was catching. I found that incredibly sad. (Mind you, I had a huge happy grin on my face and may have looked a little bright eyed and feverish. Also, it probably didn't help that I kept referring to them as "sky poems")

So now I have many tens of beautiful poems to give away. Maybe tomorrow I can raise some smiles, with their help.

Today I am happy

Today I wore a red polka dot dress, because I was feeling a bit low and red dotty things make me happy.

Today I sat in a meeting and didn't sweat, cry, feel claustrophobic or even notice that I wasn't feeling any of things.

Today a colleague told me how different I am now than I was a year ago. And that she is proud of me.

Today another colleague told me that, after seeing my journey over the last year from absolute wreck to the smiley, scatty person she remembered from years ago, she was inspired to do something about her own depression and is now in counselling.

Today I am actually feeling quite wonderful, because lovely people (who have no vested interest in my happiness) made me feel noticed and appreciated and proud of myself.

Tomorrow I am going to tell someone how brave I think she is. Hopefully I can make her feel the way I do today.