Good morning readers! Well it's morning, which means I have survived another night, which is good enough for me.
It's been a long time since I've blogged. Not because I haven't wanted to or because I decided I couldn't be bothered any more or anything. Oh no, it was much worse than that. We suffered the horror of broken laptop! Let me assure you, this was serious. No youtube or cbeebies for Luca, no blogging for me, and I lost the first few chapters of my book! There were tears and tantrums, and Luca didn't take it too well either. Luckily my cousins husband is a computer whizz, he has retrieved everything from our own laptop, and has lent us one to use so that normal life can resume. Phew!
So first things first, I need to offload. This lack of sleep is killing me. It's not just Roman, restlessly smacking and pinching me all night, shrieking like he's being murdered if I turn away from him and deny him access to his milk source (that it comes from a part of my body with nerve endings is irrelevant to him) and it's not just Luca, awaking at anything from 3-5am and running up and down screaming until the rest of the house admits defeat and rises with him. No, on top of these things, which I have long been used to and have accepted as a part of life, my brain has now decided to turn me against, well, me. Even during the hours where my offspring are dreaming, I'm lying there awake and thinking.
Am I a good enough mother (no, you're not)
Is my house really that much of a mess? (yes, it is)
Do we have enough money to pay all the bills and still treat the kids at Christmas (possibly, but they'll not get everything they might have asked for. Oh, how disappointed they will be)
Is Roman autistic, like Luca is? (yes, he is. No, of course he's not. But what if he is? What then?)
Does my husband love me? (No, he's biding his time and will leave you just as soon as he can)
Do my friends even like me? (No)
Is Isabella really clever, or just an out and out brat? (the latter, probably)
Will Jack be ok at secondary school? Did i make the right choice applying to that one? (no, its a horrible school full of bullies and a rubbish head teacher)
And on and on it goes. Until I finally fall in to an exhausted sleep, only to wake with a start because I heard a noise, which could only be aliens coming to kidnap me for experiments. So then the cycle starts over.
By the time morning comes I'm too tired to even be able to cry properly, so all I can manage is a few dry eyed sob type whimpers, before throwing on mismatching pyjamas and haphazardly going about all the things that need doing before the school run.
Then the guilt sets in. Compared to some people I know, my life is a piece of cake. How dare I lie here, wallowing in self pity when some people have real problems! I look at my daughter sitting on the rug colouring in her sparkly ponies colouring book, I look at my baby, in his highchair, waving at the TV with cheerios stuck to his chin and think about my 2 big boys, off being clever and doing well at school, think about my husband, who knows everything there is to know about me (some of it as un-pretty as it gets) and still he's here with kind words and cuddles, and of course he loves me, why on earth would he still be here if he didn't. So I'm one of the lucky ones! Why don't I feel lucky? Surely raising my children, looking after our home, cooking dinner, it shouldn't feel like such hard work, should it? Who knows. I'm in therapy, hopefully it'll fix my faulty brain wires!
The upshot of this lack of sleep is that I am one moody cow! Things that on a normal day would go over my head, become a huge deal. One woman got the sharp edge of my tongue yesterday (well keyboard but whatever) Twice. And it was mainly because I was too tired and emotional to deal with her crap in the way I normally would, by ignoring it. Oh well. Lee and the kids have a tendency to tip toe around me, which only succeeds in annoying me further, but being noisy annoys me further still, so they can't win!
One day I'll get a decent nights sleep, and the world will be a friendly place again. If we haven't all been stolen by aliens by then, of course.
Lots more has been going on since my last blog, dear readers, I'm trying to think! It was my birthday and I was spoiled rotten by Lee and the family. That was nice. We also went out, just the 2 of us, for the first time in I don't even know how long. I only had a couple of mojitos and a beer but was quite tipsy, and the food was amazing. I'd like to do it once a month (babysitters please apply here)
Roman has a tooth! My nipple knows alllll about that. He is also trying to crawl, eating anything you put in front of him, as well as mashing it in to his hair, and has developed a severe case of separation anxiety, resulting in me taking him everywhere with me to avoid the screaming. His favourite place to be is the bathroom, I think he likes the echo! Luca had the starring role in his class performance at the harvest festival. He sung 5 currant buns, on the microphone, while dressed in a chefs hat and apron. Cute overload, and of course I cried.
we've begun the long, slow task of getting the house back in order after building our extension. It's gonna take a while!! I have a new rug and curtains in the living room which i'm very happy about (yes I know that's quite sad) I've started bootcamp, basically 3 nights a week I stand in a carpark in basildon (yes, in the dark, wind, and rain) killing myself with exercise, along with 10 or so other woman. I will get slim if it kills me. I am now in constant pain from muscles I had forgotten existed.
So on that note, I shall leave you. And I promise you, next time I will have found a better mood, and normal service will resume!
Wednesday 14 November 2012
Friday 5 October 2012
Holiday, Christmas, Organisation, Envelope!
So it's been a busy month in the madhouse. We've had a lovely holiday, £10 sun newspaper offer, Isle of Wight, thank you very much! Mind you, by the time we'd packed the car (it's like a game of extreme sardines, even with the roof box) packed the children (oh how I wish we could actually do that, in little sealed and sound proofed boxes) driven 3 hours to the ferry, waited an hour to get on the ferry, then an hour actually on the ferry, I think we could have got to Spain and it would have been less stressful! Also, I have to tell you a little story...
A week before our trip, I say to The Husband "our sat nav isn't working, we should probably order another one before we go"
"No no, I've had the sat nav working fine, you just need to jiggle the lead a bit"
"Really? Last time I tried to use it, it wasn't working at all! It'll be a nightmare if we don't have a sat nav"
"It'll be fine, it works fine."
"O.k dear"
So. The morning of our trip comes, we get in the car, and The Husband says to me "If you could just put the postcode in the sat nav"
Hmmm. Guess what. IT WON'T EVEN BLOODY SWITCH ON!! Bloody marvellous. So muggins here is wedged in the back seat, with screaming baby one side and grumpy female child on the other, using my map app on my mobile and manage to get us to Southampton. Upon exiting at the other side, my phone promptly dies (queue another revelation from The Husband, he forgot to pick up my phone charger, as requested) and we are then poodling aimlessly around this Island trying to find our camp site! Eventually we got there, and spent the rest of the trip using a map of the island pulled out of the middle of a magazine. Joy! Other than sat nav gate, though, (which I did not let him forget for the duration of the trip) we really did have a wonderful time. It was lovely to all spend time together, with no computers, school runs, stress, arguments, you know what I mean. We were all very sad to come home. And you'll be pleased to know we now have a lovely shiny new sat nav. We have named her Mindy and I really like her, she's not as patronising as Sindy, our old sat nav.
Now our little jolly holiday is over and done with, my attention has been turned to the biggest stress inducing event of the year for families around the globe. Christmas!! Unless you live under a rock, I'm sure you have been out to the shops or switched your TV on and been reminded that it is fast approaching. I decided at the beginning of last year to bite the bullet and pay £50 a month in to a Christmas savings scheme. I did it for a few years just for a small amount and it worked really well so fingers crossed they don't decide to go bust this year or we'll be screwed! I'm not so worried about the cost of it, as hopefully the money I've been putting away will take care of it, but I do worry about making sure the day is perfect, the kids have fun, the house looks nice (ie clean, tidy, decorated nicely so that it looks Classily Christmassy, and not like the sugar plum fairy threw up in there.) You have to try to make sure you see all your family members at a time where the kids are kind of awake enough to be happy to open presents with an appropriate level of enthusiasm, but not so awake they're bouncing off the walls, or on the flip side, not so tired that they are miserable and liable to throw a tantrum at the mere mention of wrapping paper. On top of that, Bella is insisting that we make a Christmas cake, which, she informs me, you have to make and then wrap it up tight and hide it for a long long time before you can decorate it. I can only assume someone else has been telling her all about it! We're going to have a go at making one, so watch this space!
This leads me to my next topic...organisation. Basically, I have none. Never have been organised, probably never will be. It's like a chronic illness. I know it's a problem, I know life is made harder because of it, but try as I might, this condition just gets the better of me!! Of course we'll be sat there at 3am of the 25th December wrapping presents. Just like at 11pm on any given week when we're tumble drying school t-shirts and making packed lunches while still half asleep. I vow that one day soon I will try to be more organised and get things done. Not this day though. This day is dedicated to tea drinking, Jeremy Kyle (to remind me that my life is really not so bad) and hugging my poorly teething boy. What worries me is that I've passed this affliction on to my oldest offspring, who gets given homework on a monday and can often be found frantically completing it on a friday morning, 10 minutes before we have to leave for school. I can't tell him off when I'm just as bad!!
Now, I just want to clear something up. The word envelope. Why do people call it an "onvelope"?? It's one of my bugbears. We don't go to the zoo to feed the oliphants or eat oggs on toast, hippie types don't travel the world for onlightenment, so why do people put their letters in onvelopes?? Stop it, please, just use a plain old envelope like the rest of us commoners!
On a very final (and quite sad) note, It has been a really tough few weeks for some ladies I am very close to. We have shared all the nitty gritty parts of our lives and have been so close for over a year now, so their sadnesses and hard times also become mine. You know who you are and I'm not going to name names, but know that my love and kisses are all going to you xxx <3 xxx
A week before our trip, I say to The Husband "our sat nav isn't working, we should probably order another one before we go"
"No no, I've had the sat nav working fine, you just need to jiggle the lead a bit"
"Really? Last time I tried to use it, it wasn't working at all! It'll be a nightmare if we don't have a sat nav"
"It'll be fine, it works fine."
"O.k dear"
So. The morning of our trip comes, we get in the car, and The Husband says to me "If you could just put the postcode in the sat nav"
Hmmm. Guess what. IT WON'T EVEN BLOODY SWITCH ON!! Bloody marvellous. So muggins here is wedged in the back seat, with screaming baby one side and grumpy female child on the other, using my map app on my mobile and manage to get us to Southampton. Upon exiting at the other side, my phone promptly dies (queue another revelation from The Husband, he forgot to pick up my phone charger, as requested) and we are then poodling aimlessly around this Island trying to find our camp site! Eventually we got there, and spent the rest of the trip using a map of the island pulled out of the middle of a magazine. Joy! Other than sat nav gate, though, (which I did not let him forget for the duration of the trip) we really did have a wonderful time. It was lovely to all spend time together, with no computers, school runs, stress, arguments, you know what I mean. We were all very sad to come home. And you'll be pleased to know we now have a lovely shiny new sat nav. We have named her Mindy and I really like her, she's not as patronising as Sindy, our old sat nav.
Now our little jolly holiday is over and done with, my attention has been turned to the biggest stress inducing event of the year for families around the globe. Christmas!! Unless you live under a rock, I'm sure you have been out to the shops or switched your TV on and been reminded that it is fast approaching. I decided at the beginning of last year to bite the bullet and pay £50 a month in to a Christmas savings scheme. I did it for a few years just for a small amount and it worked really well so fingers crossed they don't decide to go bust this year or we'll be screwed! I'm not so worried about the cost of it, as hopefully the money I've been putting away will take care of it, but I do worry about making sure the day is perfect, the kids have fun, the house looks nice (ie clean, tidy, decorated nicely so that it looks Classily Christmassy, and not like the sugar plum fairy threw up in there.) You have to try to make sure you see all your family members at a time where the kids are kind of awake enough to be happy to open presents with an appropriate level of enthusiasm, but not so awake they're bouncing off the walls, or on the flip side, not so tired that they are miserable and liable to throw a tantrum at the mere mention of wrapping paper. On top of that, Bella is insisting that we make a Christmas cake, which, she informs me, you have to make and then wrap it up tight and hide it for a long long time before you can decorate it. I can only assume someone else has been telling her all about it! We're going to have a go at making one, so watch this space!
This leads me to my next topic...organisation. Basically, I have none. Never have been organised, probably never will be. It's like a chronic illness. I know it's a problem, I know life is made harder because of it, but try as I might, this condition just gets the better of me!! Of course we'll be sat there at 3am of the 25th December wrapping presents. Just like at 11pm on any given week when we're tumble drying school t-shirts and making packed lunches while still half asleep. I vow that one day soon I will try to be more organised and get things done. Not this day though. This day is dedicated to tea drinking, Jeremy Kyle (to remind me that my life is really not so bad) and hugging my poorly teething boy. What worries me is that I've passed this affliction on to my oldest offspring, who gets given homework on a monday and can often be found frantically completing it on a friday morning, 10 minutes before we have to leave for school. I can't tell him off when I'm just as bad!!
Now, I just want to clear something up. The word envelope. Why do people call it an "onvelope"?? It's one of my bugbears. We don't go to the zoo to feed the oliphants or eat oggs on toast, hippie types don't travel the world for onlightenment, so why do people put their letters in onvelopes?? Stop it, please, just use a plain old envelope like the rest of us commoners!
On a very final (and quite sad) note, It has been a really tough few weeks for some ladies I am very close to. We have shared all the nitty gritty parts of our lives and have been so close for over a year now, so their sadnesses and hard times also become mine. You know who you are and I'm not going to name names, but know that my love and kisses are all going to you xxx <3 xxx
Tuesday 11 September 2012
baking, breath holding, book writing, shelves!
Today is the start of week 2 of the back to school routine. It's going pretty well! Nobody has been late, nobody has feigned illness to get out of it, although I've been tempted on one or two occasions. If anything, they all seem a little too happy to be back! The other day I had to coax Bella out of the playschool toilets, where she had hidden herself because she didn't want to come home. I told her that her Uncle Steve would be sad, because he'd come all the way from Australia to see her....her reply? "Australia doesn't exist, I've never even been there!" Well, obviously. But she begrudgingly came out after promises of ice cream. Nice to know she enjoys play school but I'd like to think she enjoyed mummy time just a little bit! Luca has had a few issues thanks to the council changing his transport twice in the 6 days he's been back! Of course saving money is far more important than the happiness of a 7 year old boy. One day i'll go all chav on them and will ring up screaming and swearing. Not this day though, i'm too tired.
As my title suggests, I've been dabbling with a bit of baking now I have the time. I've made a pie (yes this counts as baking, it's pastry!) and whoopie pies, which are not pastry, or even pies really, but delicious nonetheless. We've (ok Lee's) done a massive kitchen clear out, and sorted all my baking equipment and I seem to have amassed quite a collection! Baking tins, piping bags, icing nozzles, stencils, cutters, cases, it all looks ever so posh and professional. I just need to start using it! I know what you're thinking, I am neither posh nor professional, but hey, a girl can dream. Once I have my new kitchen, with a shiny new oven and plenty of work surface it might be easier! I also want a resin floor, because icing sugar and buttercream are just a pig to get out of grouting, so I suppose I need to start saving up!
The other thing I really need in order to really get my bake on, is less dramatic children!! Yesterday, as I was merrily cooking dinner (tacos with salad and wedges) Lee came running in with Roman, who was doing that silent scream babies do, because Bella had swung a toy around and managed to whack him on the head. I took him and watched in horror as he continued to do the silent scream without taking a breath until he went blue and passed out. I'm first aid trained, but that all went out the window as I was screaming for an ambulance. Once he'd passed out he started breathing again and came to really quickly, but a paramedic came and checked him over anyway and gave him a clean bill of health. Apparently it's known as a breath holding attack and is quite common in babies and small children. Not in this house it won't be, if he does it again I may just have to smack his bottom!! (social services pls note THIS IS A JOKE!!) Scary scary moment, dinner was very nearly ruined. Such an inconsiderate child.
Ooh, I have also bitten the bullet and made a start on writing that book! I bought a big notebook and a posh pen (ballpoint, black) and sat down the other day to write down some of my ideas. Basically, I keep having this recurring dream, and my book is going to be based on that. It's set in the not too distant future, and life is very different.. A lovely friend of mine, who is also writing a book, has said she will look over anything I manage to write and give me feedback, so at least if it's really bad she will let me know before I embarrass myself! Thank you Freja :) And all the rest of you lovely ladies who have been supporting and encouraging me too of course!
On a final note, shelves. If you have a large family and not such a large house, put up shelves. Wall shelves, book shelves, shelving units, honest to God, my life has changed forever! If it's on the floor, or cluttering up a table, shelve it. Be artistic if you wish, or just bung it on to stop you tripping and killing yourself. Shelves. The way of the future!!
As my title suggests, I've been dabbling with a bit of baking now I have the time. I've made a pie (yes this counts as baking, it's pastry!) and whoopie pies, which are not pastry, or even pies really, but delicious nonetheless. We've (ok Lee's) done a massive kitchen clear out, and sorted all my baking equipment and I seem to have amassed quite a collection! Baking tins, piping bags, icing nozzles, stencils, cutters, cases, it all looks ever so posh and professional. I just need to start using it! I know what you're thinking, I am neither posh nor professional, but hey, a girl can dream. Once I have my new kitchen, with a shiny new oven and plenty of work surface it might be easier! I also want a resin floor, because icing sugar and buttercream are just a pig to get out of grouting, so I suppose I need to start saving up!
The other thing I really need in order to really get my bake on, is less dramatic children!! Yesterday, as I was merrily cooking dinner (tacos with salad and wedges) Lee came running in with Roman, who was doing that silent scream babies do, because Bella had swung a toy around and managed to whack him on the head. I took him and watched in horror as he continued to do the silent scream without taking a breath until he went blue and passed out. I'm first aid trained, but that all went out the window as I was screaming for an ambulance. Once he'd passed out he started breathing again and came to really quickly, but a paramedic came and checked him over anyway and gave him a clean bill of health. Apparently it's known as a breath holding attack and is quite common in babies and small children. Not in this house it won't be, if he does it again I may just have to smack his bottom!! (social services pls note THIS IS A JOKE!!) Scary scary moment, dinner was very nearly ruined. Such an inconsiderate child.
Ooh, I have also bitten the bullet and made a start on writing that book! I bought a big notebook and a posh pen (ballpoint, black) and sat down the other day to write down some of my ideas. Basically, I keep having this recurring dream, and my book is going to be based on that. It's set in the not too distant future, and life is very different.. A lovely friend of mine, who is also writing a book, has said she will look over anything I manage to write and give me feedback, so at least if it's really bad she will let me know before I embarrass myself! Thank you Freja :) And all the rest of you lovely ladies who have been supporting and encouraging me too of course!
On a final note, shelves. If you have a large family and not such a large house, put up shelves. Wall shelves, book shelves, shelving units, honest to God, my life has changed forever! If it's on the floor, or cluttering up a table, shelve it. Be artistic if you wish, or just bung it on to stop you tripping and killing yourself. Shelves. The way of the future!!
Monday 3 September 2012
bedrooms, bravery, and ohmygod I may kill this dog!
For my Dearest Avid Readers. (you can take the pleural out if you wish, but don't tell me, I don't want my bubble busted!)
I am writing this in the splendour that is Lucas new bedroom. It's awesome. Even if I do have to deal with smelly 7 year old foot in my face, and mario kart at full volume. It smells (foot aside) like fresh paint and new carpet, and is not yet completely demolished like every other room in the house. Well. There has been one incident, whereby the shelf that was home to his tv and dvd remote has been ripped from the wall, but we won't talk about that. It's been a real labour of love, this room. there is a Peppa Pig/Mr Men mural on the wall, hand painted by The Husband, the rest of it is sunny yellow and bright and airy, and Luca seems to love it, he slept very well in here last night, other than the shelf ripping incident which we have already agreed not to talk about.
This, coupled with the previous move of Jack in to his new room, means that we now have the opportunity to switch around upstairs, put Bella in the big room, and decorate the small room for Roman. I know this is an inevitable part of the expansion of my house and family, and is a necessary step toward becoming a real boy for my tiny baby, but am I really ready? The answer is a resounding NO! I'm not ready to admit that he's no longer a teeny baby, I'm not ready to give up those early morning snuggles and the sound of his breathing right next to me in the dead of night, I'm not ready to give up being able to roll over and kiss his sweaty little head whenever I feel like it, and most of all, I'm not ready to drag myself out of bed every 63 minutes to traipse down the hallway and in to another room to settle him back to sleep when right now all I have to do is allow him access to my boob without even having to open both eyes. At the same time, I am SO ready to be able to have pillows, starfish, do away with the godforsaken bed guard that I always end up falling in to because there is just no room in the bed, and maybe, just maybe, not waking up to every little sigh, snuffle and whimper. "Alone time" with The Husband doesn't really figure in my pros and cons list, we've got 4 kids, we'll never be alone again. I think knowing Roman is my last baby is a large part of my reluctance to see him grow up, as I know once he's gone there will never be another baby sharing my bed, and that chapter of our family life will be over, so I want to prolong and savour it all as much as possible. Plus, as I say, I don't fancy having to keep getting out of bed to see to him through the night!! I suppose it will have to happen again eventually, ask me again after his 1st birthday and maybe I'll be feeling a little better about the whole thing.
So today, for me, is all about bravery. When some people think about bravery, they think of jumping out of aeroplanes for charity, rushing in to burning buildings, standing up to a robber or a mugger, etc. But that's not the only type of bravery, sometimes something mundane and ordinary to one person can be an extremely brave act for another. It all depends on how scared you are, and how much courage you've had to pluck up to do whatever it is you're doing. So my brave act today was taking Jack and Luca out for lunch, all by myself!! Not really that big a deal, but since Lucas diagnosis I have always been afraid to do things like that. Afraid he'll run in to the road, afraid i'll turn my back for a second and lose him, afraid he'll have the mother of all meltdowns and people will stare and I'll end up turning in to a raging violent fishwife and confirm what everyone is thinking...that my child is an arsehole because i'm a shitty common mother who has never disciplined him or taught him how to behave. Thing is, all these things have now happened and I have survived them. He ran in to the road once, I immediately ran after him, caught him, apologised to the rather shaken up driver who had performed an emergency stop to avoid hitting the mother who had run out in to the road after her child who was already safely on the other side. He escaped the house once when me and his dad weren't looking and we had to get the police out, who found him within 15 minutes (the longest 15 minutes of my life) completely oblivious to the fact that he was lost, and a little annoyed at being made to come home. He had a meltdown in tesco recently, and an old lady looked at him like he was scum, so I told her to stop staring or I'd smack her in the mouth, and actually? I didn't feel common or fish wife-y at all, I felt pretty good about it! So there we have it, I thought to myself, all those things have happened, we survived, we overcame, and actually there is no need to remain a prisoner in our home for fear of these things happening when actually I have already proved to myself that if they do happen, we will deal with it and move on. So off we went to Ramos, Luca decided he was too old to hold my hand (sob) and walked next to me with only a few re-directions (this way, stop, keep up, etc) we had our lunch, we walked to the sweet shop to buy ice cream for afters, and we walked home again. His behaviour was pretty impeccable, and I now feel brave enough to do things like that more often. I may have to build up slowly to taking all 4 out on my own without having a nervous breakdown, but it's a good start!!
Lastly, I happen to be dog sitting for my parents while they have a holiday. I've had dogs before and always found them to be hard work but manageable. Not so with this spawn of satan. So far, he's pissed on the front room floor, pissed on the kitchen floor, crapped on the hallway floor, howled all night, barked at everything and anything that dares to come in to our garden, from unsuspecting cats to falling leaves. Just this morning, The Husband let him in to the garden. 3 minutes later, he came in from the garden and left a pile of poo on the front room floor, before going back out to the garden. Then, after i'd spent an hour hoovering, sweeping and mopping , I let him in from the garden to find he's been out there rolling around in the dirt, and he then proceeded to leave little piles of dirt all over my nice clean floors! He is inches away from being taken to the nearest pound, and has reminded me that I do not want to own a dog for at least the next 15 years. Perhaps when all my children have moved out i'll get one, instead of one of those creepy dolls we discussed last time.
^Lucas new room
^Lunch date with the bigger boys
I am writing this in the splendour that is Lucas new bedroom. It's awesome. Even if I do have to deal with smelly 7 year old foot in my face, and mario kart at full volume. It smells (foot aside) like fresh paint and new carpet, and is not yet completely demolished like every other room in the house. Well. There has been one incident, whereby the shelf that was home to his tv and dvd remote has been ripped from the wall, but we won't talk about that. It's been a real labour of love, this room. there is a Peppa Pig/Mr Men mural on the wall, hand painted by The Husband, the rest of it is sunny yellow and bright and airy, and Luca seems to love it, he slept very well in here last night, other than the shelf ripping incident which we have already agreed not to talk about.
This, coupled with the previous move of Jack in to his new room, means that we now have the opportunity to switch around upstairs, put Bella in the big room, and decorate the small room for Roman. I know this is an inevitable part of the expansion of my house and family, and is a necessary step toward becoming a real boy for my tiny baby, but am I really ready? The answer is a resounding NO! I'm not ready to admit that he's no longer a teeny baby, I'm not ready to give up those early morning snuggles and the sound of his breathing right next to me in the dead of night, I'm not ready to give up being able to roll over and kiss his sweaty little head whenever I feel like it, and most of all, I'm not ready to drag myself out of bed every 63 minutes to traipse down the hallway and in to another room to settle him back to sleep when right now all I have to do is allow him access to my boob without even having to open both eyes. At the same time, I am SO ready to be able to have pillows, starfish, do away with the godforsaken bed guard that I always end up falling in to because there is just no room in the bed, and maybe, just maybe, not waking up to every little sigh, snuffle and whimper. "Alone time" with The Husband doesn't really figure in my pros and cons list, we've got 4 kids, we'll never be alone again. I think knowing Roman is my last baby is a large part of my reluctance to see him grow up, as I know once he's gone there will never be another baby sharing my bed, and that chapter of our family life will be over, so I want to prolong and savour it all as much as possible. Plus, as I say, I don't fancy having to keep getting out of bed to see to him through the night!! I suppose it will have to happen again eventually, ask me again after his 1st birthday and maybe I'll be feeling a little better about the whole thing.
So today, for me, is all about bravery. When some people think about bravery, they think of jumping out of aeroplanes for charity, rushing in to burning buildings, standing up to a robber or a mugger, etc. But that's not the only type of bravery, sometimes something mundane and ordinary to one person can be an extremely brave act for another. It all depends on how scared you are, and how much courage you've had to pluck up to do whatever it is you're doing. So my brave act today was taking Jack and Luca out for lunch, all by myself!! Not really that big a deal, but since Lucas diagnosis I have always been afraid to do things like that. Afraid he'll run in to the road, afraid i'll turn my back for a second and lose him, afraid he'll have the mother of all meltdowns and people will stare and I'll end up turning in to a raging violent fishwife and confirm what everyone is thinking...that my child is an arsehole because i'm a shitty common mother who has never disciplined him or taught him how to behave. Thing is, all these things have now happened and I have survived them. He ran in to the road once, I immediately ran after him, caught him, apologised to the rather shaken up driver who had performed an emergency stop to avoid hitting the mother who had run out in to the road after her child who was already safely on the other side. He escaped the house once when me and his dad weren't looking and we had to get the police out, who found him within 15 minutes (the longest 15 minutes of my life) completely oblivious to the fact that he was lost, and a little annoyed at being made to come home. He had a meltdown in tesco recently, and an old lady looked at him like he was scum, so I told her to stop staring or I'd smack her in the mouth, and actually? I didn't feel common or fish wife-y at all, I felt pretty good about it! So there we have it, I thought to myself, all those things have happened, we survived, we overcame, and actually there is no need to remain a prisoner in our home for fear of these things happening when actually I have already proved to myself that if they do happen, we will deal with it and move on. So off we went to Ramos, Luca decided he was too old to hold my hand (sob) and walked next to me with only a few re-directions (this way, stop, keep up, etc) we had our lunch, we walked to the sweet shop to buy ice cream for afters, and we walked home again. His behaviour was pretty impeccable, and I now feel brave enough to do things like that more often. I may have to build up slowly to taking all 4 out on my own without having a nervous breakdown, but it's a good start!!
Lastly, I happen to be dog sitting for my parents while they have a holiday. I've had dogs before and always found them to be hard work but manageable. Not so with this spawn of satan. So far, he's pissed on the front room floor, pissed on the kitchen floor, crapped on the hallway floor, howled all night, barked at everything and anything that dares to come in to our garden, from unsuspecting cats to falling leaves. Just this morning, The Husband let him in to the garden. 3 minutes later, he came in from the garden and left a pile of poo on the front room floor, before going back out to the garden. Then, after i'd spent an hour hoovering, sweeping and mopping , I let him in from the garden to find he's been out there rolling around in the dirt, and he then proceeded to leave little piles of dirt all over my nice clean floors! He is inches away from being taken to the nearest pound, and has reminded me that I do not want to own a dog for at least the next 15 years. Perhaps when all my children have moved out i'll get one, instead of one of those creepy dolls we discussed last time.
Thursday 23 August 2012
cooking, writing, babywearing...
Ooooh check me out. Another post and it's not even been a week!
To be quite truthful, not much has happened. I've been doing that endless round of cleaning, tidying, bribing, begging and bargaining that is all part and parcel of parenthood. I'm sure you know what I mean. Making breakfasts, lunches and dinners that are regarded with suspicion and discarded, almost completely untouched, for fear that a vegetable may have touched the plate at some point during the cooking process. Wiping the kitchen sides 50 billion times because no matter what you do, some form of stickiness still remains. Convincing your daughter that blackcurrant squash and milk mixed together will not make a tasty treat. Explaining, for the millionth time, that felt tip pens are not really recommended for use on wallpaper.
I make it sound like parenthood is tiring, infuriating and thankless, don't I! Well it's not always that way. Honest! We do have fun, and there is a lot of laughter, I've just had to accept that my house won't look the way I want it to until they've all grown up and moved out, and knowing me, when that happens I'll become one of those bereft women who buys those disturbing life like dolls, or owns 12 cats, because the house is just too quiet!
But anyway, the one thing i have got back to doing just recently is cooking proper dinners! While I was pregnant and waging war with my body, I couldn't do much more than remain lying down lest my blood pressure killed me. Then came the c-section aftermath, where I just wanted to crawl in to a hole and pretend the open infected wound and the pain that came with it belonged to someone else, and all my energy was spent pumping milk and visiting my little squib in the hospital. When said squib came home, it transpired that he was not the kind of child who would sit happily in a bouncy chair while I lovingly prepared healthy hearty meals, no, he was the type of child who felt that the only reason my arms existed was so that he could be in them and attached to a boob. 7 months later, he'll now go down for naps, and sit in his chair watching me, so I can get back to it.
What I've learned from my little foray in to baking, is that cooking and baking are 2 very different things. Baking is a kind of science, everything has to be weighed and measured just so, and mixed in a certain way, or else all you have is a recipe for disaster. Cooking on the other hand, is bakings mystical twin. You can experiment, you can add or subtract certain ingredients without too much of a problem. You can keep checking on and tasting and stirring throughout the whole process, so if you feel that things are not quite going the way you want them to, you can make adjustments, add more salt, or a dash of mustard, or some more water, and so on. So far this past week i've made stew, bolognese, pasta bake, pie, and they have all been lovely. This gives me a sense of achievement! I'll still stick with the baking, because it's fun and exciting and I'm happy to laugh (a little bit) at my disasters, but there is something quite therapeutic and comforting about knowing I can knock up a roast dinner with my eyes closed.
The other thing I've been thinking about an awful lot lately, is writing. I've had a love of reading for as long as I can remember, I literally had to read everything, from books to food labels. This love of reading turned in to a love of writing when I was probably about 7. I would write short stories, mainly about dogs, or groups of school children, as that's what I knew and was familiar with at the time. But just lately, I've been reading books and finding myself thinking "I could have written that" or "If this were my story, it would have ended differently" I have very vivid dreams, one of which has been recurring and evolving for months, and I wake up every morning thinking I should write it down, get it arranged in to chapters, figure out where this story is going. There is just one thing holding me back (if we don't include lack of time) and that is the fear that when I write it down, it'll be rubbish. Or worse, that i'll love it but nobody else will! There is something very intimate about writing a story for others to read. It's like allowing them to see in to your soul. Anything remotely sexual, or dark, or gory, comes from the deepest parts of your mind, and your fears, desires, wants, even needs, are suddenly laid bare for all the world to see. I have a massive alien phobia, to the point where I can't have even the smallest gap in the curtain in case they can see in the window and abduct me for probing, and I just know that my fear would end up playing a role in the type of book I would write. And alien invasion has been thoroughly done already. I still keep thinking I should just start, do a few pages, see where I end up, but then again, maybe i'll leave it til another day.
Last topic for the day... It has been bought to my attention that I am in fact what some people call an "attachment parent" What this means, is that I breastfeed on demand with no intention of stopping til my baby decides he wants to, I sleep with him in bed with me, I carry him in a baby sling during the day, I pick him up when he cries. I've done the same with all my children, with the exception of the breastfeeding, which due to lack of education and support, didn't work out the first 2 times. It's not something I do to feel superior to others, it's not something I do because I think it will make my children be smart (they are, but that's beside the point) I do it because that's what comes naturally to me. I do it because carrying him around in his sling means I can get stuff done without listening to ear piercing, gut wrenching sobs. I sleep with him because I feel happier knowing he's close and I can deal with him with little sleep lost should he wake in the night. I pick him up when he cries, because rather than learning to "self soothe" I'd rather he learned that mummy will respond to his needs, even if all he needs is a cuddle and a singsong. I like to think that this will carry on as he grows, and he, along with the others, will know they can depend on me being there for them when they need me, no matter how small the problem may seem. "Dr" Miriam Stoppard recently branded this style of parenting to be "extreme." Really? Well, if loving my babies, hugging them, welcoming them in to my bed for quiet, night time dreamy snuggles, holding them close in those early years before cuddling becomes something they want to avoid at all costs seems extreme to you, then call me what you want love. All I know is, my floors are mopped, the sides are wiped, and my eardrums are still intact. I'm happy with that :)
^ Extreme. But at least the floor gets mopped.
To be quite truthful, not much has happened. I've been doing that endless round of cleaning, tidying, bribing, begging and bargaining that is all part and parcel of parenthood. I'm sure you know what I mean. Making breakfasts, lunches and dinners that are regarded with suspicion and discarded, almost completely untouched, for fear that a vegetable may have touched the plate at some point during the cooking process. Wiping the kitchen sides 50 billion times because no matter what you do, some form of stickiness still remains. Convincing your daughter that blackcurrant squash and milk mixed together will not make a tasty treat. Explaining, for the millionth time, that felt tip pens are not really recommended for use on wallpaper.
I make it sound like parenthood is tiring, infuriating and thankless, don't I! Well it's not always that way. Honest! We do have fun, and there is a lot of laughter, I've just had to accept that my house won't look the way I want it to until they've all grown up and moved out, and knowing me, when that happens I'll become one of those bereft women who buys those disturbing life like dolls, or owns 12 cats, because the house is just too quiet!
But anyway, the one thing i have got back to doing just recently is cooking proper dinners! While I was pregnant and waging war with my body, I couldn't do much more than remain lying down lest my blood pressure killed me. Then came the c-section aftermath, where I just wanted to crawl in to a hole and pretend the open infected wound and the pain that came with it belonged to someone else, and all my energy was spent pumping milk and visiting my little squib in the hospital. When said squib came home, it transpired that he was not the kind of child who would sit happily in a bouncy chair while I lovingly prepared healthy hearty meals, no, he was the type of child who felt that the only reason my arms existed was so that he could be in them and attached to a boob. 7 months later, he'll now go down for naps, and sit in his chair watching me, so I can get back to it.
What I've learned from my little foray in to baking, is that cooking and baking are 2 very different things. Baking is a kind of science, everything has to be weighed and measured just so, and mixed in a certain way, or else all you have is a recipe for disaster. Cooking on the other hand, is bakings mystical twin. You can experiment, you can add or subtract certain ingredients without too much of a problem. You can keep checking on and tasting and stirring throughout the whole process, so if you feel that things are not quite going the way you want them to, you can make adjustments, add more salt, or a dash of mustard, or some more water, and so on. So far this past week i've made stew, bolognese, pasta bake, pie, and they have all been lovely. This gives me a sense of achievement! I'll still stick with the baking, because it's fun and exciting and I'm happy to laugh (a little bit) at my disasters, but there is something quite therapeutic and comforting about knowing I can knock up a roast dinner with my eyes closed.
The other thing I've been thinking about an awful lot lately, is writing. I've had a love of reading for as long as I can remember, I literally had to read everything, from books to food labels. This love of reading turned in to a love of writing when I was probably about 7. I would write short stories, mainly about dogs, or groups of school children, as that's what I knew and was familiar with at the time. But just lately, I've been reading books and finding myself thinking "I could have written that" or "If this were my story, it would have ended differently" I have very vivid dreams, one of which has been recurring and evolving for months, and I wake up every morning thinking I should write it down, get it arranged in to chapters, figure out where this story is going. There is just one thing holding me back (if we don't include lack of time) and that is the fear that when I write it down, it'll be rubbish. Or worse, that i'll love it but nobody else will! There is something very intimate about writing a story for others to read. It's like allowing them to see in to your soul. Anything remotely sexual, or dark, or gory, comes from the deepest parts of your mind, and your fears, desires, wants, even needs, are suddenly laid bare for all the world to see. I have a massive alien phobia, to the point where I can't have even the smallest gap in the curtain in case they can see in the window and abduct me for probing, and I just know that my fear would end up playing a role in the type of book I would write. And alien invasion has been thoroughly done already. I still keep thinking I should just start, do a few pages, see where I end up, but then again, maybe i'll leave it til another day.
Last topic for the day... It has been bought to my attention that I am in fact what some people call an "attachment parent" What this means, is that I breastfeed on demand with no intention of stopping til my baby decides he wants to, I sleep with him in bed with me, I carry him in a baby sling during the day, I pick him up when he cries. I've done the same with all my children, with the exception of the breastfeeding, which due to lack of education and support, didn't work out the first 2 times. It's not something I do to feel superior to others, it's not something I do because I think it will make my children be smart (they are, but that's beside the point) I do it because that's what comes naturally to me. I do it because carrying him around in his sling means I can get stuff done without listening to ear piercing, gut wrenching sobs. I sleep with him because I feel happier knowing he's close and I can deal with him with little sleep lost should he wake in the night. I pick him up when he cries, because rather than learning to "self soothe" I'd rather he learned that mummy will respond to his needs, even if all he needs is a cuddle and a singsong. I like to think that this will carry on as he grows, and he, along with the others, will know they can depend on me being there for them when they need me, no matter how small the problem may seem. "Dr" Miriam Stoppard recently branded this style of parenting to be "extreme." Really? Well, if loving my babies, hugging them, welcoming them in to my bed for quiet, night time dreamy snuggles, holding them close in those early years before cuddling becomes something they want to avoid at all costs seems extreme to you, then call me what you want love. All I know is, my floors are mopped, the sides are wiped, and my eardrums are still intact. I'm happy with that :)
Wednesday 15 August 2012
Broken bone, birthday cake and being a noisy neighbour
Dear reader. If I have any.
It's been a very long time, and all I have in my defence is the school holidays, a little accident, and falling in to that horrible pit called depression!
I'll start at the beginning. Roman broke his leg. Correction, I broke Romans leg! I was carrying him across the nursery school playground, tripped over a box, and landed with his leg kind of under me. Queue a trip to the hospital, an x-ray, a very sympathetic doctor who patted my back as I sobbed over my precious 6 month old, and assured me that "He'll break plenty more!" Why, WHY?! of course he won't, he'll be bubble wrapped from here on in!! He's fine now, the cast was only on for four weeks and there is no lasting damage (other than my emotional scarring, of course.) What it did do was send me in to that downward spiral. I started feeling nervous and panicky, and convinced that everyone would be blaming me and my terrible parenting, not helped by the fact that he reverted back to crying, fussy whinge bag baby, and the onset of school holidays, meaning I was home alone with 4 kids from 8am-5pm, and honestly felt completely incapable. Like unable to rise from the sofa incapable. Made sooooo much worse when my "friend" decided to start up a facebook vendetta about people who moan when they have no "right" to, and made her status a blatant description of my life the way she sees it, and let me assure you, it was mean, nasty and downright uncalled for, and made me feel even more useless. Deleted and blocked, moving swiftly on. Poor Husband didn't know what to do with me. (I do seem to make his life a misery when i'm miserable!) Anyway, I did the brave thing and spoke to my doctor, who is arranging for me to have some therapy to teach me some relaxation techniques and ways to deal with my anxiety (because of course now i'm convinced that we will all die in our beds, or explode in a horrific car crash, or be kidnapped and turned in to a real life human caterpillar, which, yes, i do have nightmares about and i've not even seen the film!!!) I already feel a little better, thanks to Luca receiving respite care in the form of Saskia the angel with invisible wings, and Roman being far more settled.
On to the next topic of interest....Lucas birthday! He turned 7, which quite frankly makes me want to cry, he really should still be a tiny baby. He is totally obsessed with Mr Men, so I bit the bullet and got out my baking equipment to make him a Mr Bump and Mr Tickle cake! The actual cakes came out ok, other than Mr Tickle, who was a little on the um..... hilly side. (totally lopsided, bordering on pissed if you want the truth) The icing was the most fun ever, just buttercream with food colouring. The blue came out perfect and went on like a dream. The orange however....well. It would not go the colour I wanted, and when it finally did, it had so much food dye in there that it just would not harden. I was spreading it over the cake and it was running off, resulting in some very colourful language coming from the kitchen, which by that point was a sea of icing sugar, orange(ish) buttercream icing, and cocktail sticks (in place of paintbrushes, obviously. Improvisation at its finest) My daughter wanted to help, but eventually staggered from the kitchen choking on icing sugar and looking distinctly white. Poor girl. In the end, I stuck with Mr Bump, and put Mr Tickle down to experience. And in the bin. But the cake I did succeed to complete looked cheerful, if not completely professional, and was recognisable, and Lukey loved it! Score 1 to me. Plus, as a little added bonus, everyone who ate a piece ended up with a delightfully blue mouth! I think maybe I need to do some more research in to the correct use of food dye. But anywho, nobody was poisoned, and that to me is a sign of success! We have a wonderful video of Luca sitting having "Happy Birthday" sung to him and blowing out his candle. Sounds very normal, but this is the child who just a year ago would run from the room with his hands over his ears, so tears all round and the progress he's made!
Then, there is the little issue of the letter I received from one of my neighbours. Not sure which one, as they weren't brave enough to say, but long story short, someone is unhappy with the amount of noise Luca is making on his trampoline. Apparently it goes on for hours and hours, and is not like the noise that "normal" children make, and is "something of a nuisance" and "unacceptable" and "needs to be limited or other action will be taken" After i'd finished crying down the phone to my mum in sheer heartbroken racking sobs, I pulled myself together and had a little think. Firstly, yeah, he's noisy. No denying. But if you have ever heard a child with autism (and unless you live in a bunker or under a rock, you probably have) you'll know that the noises made are very repetitive, quite distinctive, and can be very loud. These noises are not exactly voluntary, they are what is know as a "stim" ie a way of stimulating a mind/body that is not stimulated and does not react in the way that a "normal" person would. He needs to make sense of the world around him, and also, often, to cope with the world around him, and bouncing, spinning, rocking, screaming, shouting, etc etc, are the way he does that. I can't make him stop, I can't keep him imprisoned in the house, and I refuse to feel guilty over someone elses prejudice. So out went a little note to all my nearby neighbours, basically explaining, apologising for the inconvenience, and making it quite clear that it wasn't going to change any time soon. Two fingers up to whoever it was that moaned!
Now, you may have noticed, I've written all of this all in one go, (almost) totally undisturbed, thanks to the implementation of what is known as "Romans nap time" It is the most heavenly hour in the morning and afternoon! This morning, during the hour, I swept, mopped, washed up, tidied, put some washing on, and made (and ate!!!!!) lunch. This afternoon, during naptime, I threw together a (pink, i'll explain later) chicken stew, made a large blackcurrant with ice, and settled down to type. I honestly think this naptime malarky has saved my mental health! When he's not napping, he is in my arms or in his sling, being put down is still an extremely risky business it would seem, so naptime is pretty much the only time I have my arms/back/shoulders to myself. I don't mind, not at all, if what he needs is to be close i'm happy to oblige, but omigod yay for nap time!!
Just a few points to finish up with....if you want pink stew, just pour in a tin of whole plum tomatoes. I thought i was pouring in chopped toms, my bad, didn't think it would matter but yeah. Pink! Secondly....shrek is an excellent bargaining tool when trying to persuade your now 7 year old to put his pants on.
^ cake.
It's been a very long time, and all I have in my defence is the school holidays, a little accident, and falling in to that horrible pit called depression!
I'll start at the beginning. Roman broke his leg. Correction, I broke Romans leg! I was carrying him across the nursery school playground, tripped over a box, and landed with his leg kind of under me. Queue a trip to the hospital, an x-ray, a very sympathetic doctor who patted my back as I sobbed over my precious 6 month old, and assured me that "He'll break plenty more!" Why, WHY?! of course he won't, he'll be bubble wrapped from here on in!! He's fine now, the cast was only on for four weeks and there is no lasting damage (other than my emotional scarring, of course.) What it did do was send me in to that downward spiral. I started feeling nervous and panicky, and convinced that everyone would be blaming me and my terrible parenting, not helped by the fact that he reverted back to crying, fussy whinge bag baby, and the onset of school holidays, meaning I was home alone with 4 kids from 8am-5pm, and honestly felt completely incapable. Like unable to rise from the sofa incapable. Made sooooo much worse when my "friend" decided to start up a facebook vendetta about people who moan when they have no "right" to, and made her status a blatant description of my life the way she sees it, and let me assure you, it was mean, nasty and downright uncalled for, and made me feel even more useless. Deleted and blocked, moving swiftly on. Poor Husband didn't know what to do with me. (I do seem to make his life a misery when i'm miserable!) Anyway, I did the brave thing and spoke to my doctor, who is arranging for me to have some therapy to teach me some relaxation techniques and ways to deal with my anxiety (because of course now i'm convinced that we will all die in our beds, or explode in a horrific car crash, or be kidnapped and turned in to a real life human caterpillar, which, yes, i do have nightmares about and i've not even seen the film!!!) I already feel a little better, thanks to Luca receiving respite care in the form of Saskia the angel with invisible wings, and Roman being far more settled.
On to the next topic of interest....Lucas birthday! He turned 7, which quite frankly makes me want to cry, he really should still be a tiny baby. He is totally obsessed with Mr Men, so I bit the bullet and got out my baking equipment to make him a Mr Bump and Mr Tickle cake! The actual cakes came out ok, other than Mr Tickle, who was a little on the um..... hilly side. (totally lopsided, bordering on pissed if you want the truth) The icing was the most fun ever, just buttercream with food colouring. The blue came out perfect and went on like a dream. The orange however....well. It would not go the colour I wanted, and when it finally did, it had so much food dye in there that it just would not harden. I was spreading it over the cake and it was running off, resulting in some very colourful language coming from the kitchen, which by that point was a sea of icing sugar, orange(ish) buttercream icing, and cocktail sticks (in place of paintbrushes, obviously. Improvisation at its finest) My daughter wanted to help, but eventually staggered from the kitchen choking on icing sugar and looking distinctly white. Poor girl. In the end, I stuck with Mr Bump, and put Mr Tickle down to experience. And in the bin. But the cake I did succeed to complete looked cheerful, if not completely professional, and was recognisable, and Lukey loved it! Score 1 to me. Plus, as a little added bonus, everyone who ate a piece ended up with a delightfully blue mouth! I think maybe I need to do some more research in to the correct use of food dye. But anywho, nobody was poisoned, and that to me is a sign of success! We have a wonderful video of Luca sitting having "Happy Birthday" sung to him and blowing out his candle. Sounds very normal, but this is the child who just a year ago would run from the room with his hands over his ears, so tears all round and the progress he's made!
Then, there is the little issue of the letter I received from one of my neighbours. Not sure which one, as they weren't brave enough to say, but long story short, someone is unhappy with the amount of noise Luca is making on his trampoline. Apparently it goes on for hours and hours, and is not like the noise that "normal" children make, and is "something of a nuisance" and "unacceptable" and "needs to be limited or other action will be taken" After i'd finished crying down the phone to my mum in sheer heartbroken racking sobs, I pulled myself together and had a little think. Firstly, yeah, he's noisy. No denying. But if you have ever heard a child with autism (and unless you live in a bunker or under a rock, you probably have) you'll know that the noises made are very repetitive, quite distinctive, and can be very loud. These noises are not exactly voluntary, they are what is know as a "stim" ie a way of stimulating a mind/body that is not stimulated and does not react in the way that a "normal" person would. He needs to make sense of the world around him, and also, often, to cope with the world around him, and bouncing, spinning, rocking, screaming, shouting, etc etc, are the way he does that. I can't make him stop, I can't keep him imprisoned in the house, and I refuse to feel guilty over someone elses prejudice. So out went a little note to all my nearby neighbours, basically explaining, apologising for the inconvenience, and making it quite clear that it wasn't going to change any time soon. Two fingers up to whoever it was that moaned!
Now, you may have noticed, I've written all of this all in one go, (almost) totally undisturbed, thanks to the implementation of what is known as "Romans nap time" It is the most heavenly hour in the morning and afternoon! This morning, during the hour, I swept, mopped, washed up, tidied, put some washing on, and made (and ate!!!!!) lunch. This afternoon, during naptime, I threw together a (pink, i'll explain later) chicken stew, made a large blackcurrant with ice, and settled down to type. I honestly think this naptime malarky has saved my mental health! When he's not napping, he is in my arms or in his sling, being put down is still an extremely risky business it would seem, so naptime is pretty much the only time I have my arms/back/shoulders to myself. I don't mind, not at all, if what he needs is to be close i'm happy to oblige, but omigod yay for nap time!!
Just a few points to finish up with....if you want pink stew, just pour in a tin of whole plum tomatoes. I thought i was pouring in chopped toms, my bad, didn't think it would matter but yeah. Pink! Secondly....shrek is an excellent bargaining tool when trying to persuade your now 7 year old to put his pants on.
Monday 11 June 2012
school holidays, autism and STRESS!!
I think you know how this is going to start. Still no baking being done here! I think I was maybe a little over ambitious thinking it was going to happen with a newborn. But I assure you, i'm still determined! Please don't think I have been resting on my laurels though, I haven't. Well not much. I have just come through the horrific experience that is yet another school holiday. The very mention of half term fills me with a dread that only other mothers can understand. And even the majority of them regard me with a judgemental kind of disgust because I can freely admit that I don't look forward to having them home and breaking out the messy play and baking (ha ha) apparatus. But I think what some of those may not understand, is that on top of my other 3 children, who are about as (far from) perfect as any other child, I also own a Luca.
I know I have touched on his autism in most of my previous posts, but generally it's pointing out the funny side and joking about the whole situation, because, let's face it, if you didn't laugh you'd cry. What I very seldom talk about is the stress, the worry, the tears. Many parents of children with autism will tell you it's quite offensive to use the term "suffers from autism" I'm going to tell you that actually, my son does suffer. He suffers daily as a direct result of his autism. He suffers stress, anxiety, fear and upset that he wouldn't suffer were he not autistic. In this house, we ALL suffer from autism. We suffer from headaches because of the screaming. We suffer bruises, broken toys, sleepless nights. We suffer living in a house with locks on every door and no windows open so we can keep him safe and contained. We suffer trips out being cut short because he's having a meltdown for reasons we can't fathom. Let me take you back to the start.
Luca was born at lunchtime on a muggy August day. We laughed at the size of his shoulders compared to his hips, we marvelled at his jet black hair. We hugged him close and took him home the next day as proud as could be, took a million photos the way you do and thoroughly enjoyed showing him off to our friends and family. So began our life as a family of four, I loved having my 2 boys and my man (we weren't married back then...oh the shame!) and I looked forward to all the things to come. By the time he was 15 months, we were convinced we had an absolute genius on our hands! He knew so many words, he knew animal noises, he could point to parts of his body! by 18 months, I was still convinced he was a genius, but was starting to have this niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach. He didn't really follow instructions, he would run away from me outside and not care if he couldn't see me, he cried a lot for reasons I couldn't work out. I mentioned things to health visitors when I saw them but always got the same response "he's fine! Just different to your older son" so I continued telling myself he was fine, and convinced myself I was being paranoid, learned not to discuss my worries with people, even his Dad.
4 days after Lucas second birthday, we got married! One of my fondest memories is walking up the aisle and hearing Luca say "there's mummy! hello mummy!" I tried to think back to another time he'd said that and came up blank. How lovely that that first observation should happen on such a special day! But that was the last time I heard him say that, or make any other kind of remark or observation for a very, very long time. I can remember a time, maybe a month later, sitting in the bath with him and asking him what does a duck say...no response. What does a cow say? No response. Asking him to look at me, pulling his face to mine and seeing his eyes slide right past mine to stare at the wall. I still remember the sheer horror I felt. What's wrong? Maybe we stopped doing animal noises for a while and he's forgotten them.
A trip to the park. The last time I took him, maybe only a few weeks before, he'd laughed when I pushed him on the swing, and enjoyed being there. Not today, today I can't even make him stand up, he's lying on the floor screaming and kicking out at me, and everyone is staring! Shaking their heads and muttering, while I try desperately to make him stand up so we can leave. He starts blinking rapidly at things. I notice that he doesn't so much play with his toys, as just drop them on the floor or pile them up in corners. I start to look back at everything, wondering where i've gone wrong, what i've done to make him act this way? Health visitors still laugh it off, call it the terrible 2's tell me he'll grow out of it, tell me he still says words and don't seem to want to listen to my "yes he does, but..." because he may have said words, but they had no meaning to them. He'd just repeat your words straight back at you, word for word.
Things never got better, if anything they got worse. I finally managed to get somebody to listen to me when I went to his playgroup and they agreed with me that there were concerns. I finally felt justified in going to the doctor about this problem specifically, rather than just happening to mention in passing something along those lines when I took him for a temperature or a rash, and have them look at me like I was a bit strange for bringing anything up in the first place. It still took a year from our first appointment with a paediatrician to get a diagnosis, and by that time he was well over 3, still not really speaking, not potty trained, still having major tantrums over who knows what, and for me, the damage was done. I'd lost all confidence as a parent, I felt as though i'd done something to break him, it was all my fault! Getting the diagnosis provided some relief as we finally started getting some support (eventually, after many complaints and lost referrals) but I was in a very dark place.
And then comes the other onslaught, the one you don't expect. People, your family and friends even, all have an opinion about this "new fangled" condition. It's caused by lack of discipline, it's an excuse for a naughty child. It's nothing a good slap won't cure. You can see the dislike on peoples faces when they look at your child. You feel it when they glare at him as though you've been slapped in the face. You start feeling the need to defend and excuse and apologise for his every move. You see his wonderful funny side and can't figure out why others can't see it. You notice that invitations to birthday parties, toddler groups, coffee mornings, all dry up. I once had to sit in a car as my friend invited my sister in law to a trip to the park they'd organised for the next day for all the kids, and suffer the humiliation of watching her walk away without even looking at me. I've also had to suffer losing one of my very best friends, who took offence to the fact that I claim disability benefits while she has to work. I was called a bad parent because we used his DLA money to treat our babies to a holiday, one that I still think was well deserved, given what they have to deal with on a daily basis. Do people not think? If i could have a perfectly healthy child, i'd go back to work tomorrow. If Lee could, he'd work in the city and earn shitloads, but he can't, because some days I just can't cope and he has to rush home to help.
And then there's the other side. we do laugh at it all these days, and he's come on so well since being in his special school, and he's so loving and funny, his laugh is totally infectious! I've met people I would never have met otherwise and experienced compassion and kindness and understanding that blows me away. I've had people tell me what an amazing job I do. I don't, I do what any mother would do in the same situation, and probably swear about it a lot more than they would.
I wouldn't change my amazing boy for all the world, but if I could take his autism away? I'd do it in a heartbeat. I love all of my babies, I would die for any one of them, but when it comes to Luca? Well, that love morphs in to a kind of fiercely protective super power. He needs me more than the others, and will continue to for the rest of my life. Does that scare me? You bet your life it does, the thought of what will happen to him when Lee and I are gone chills me to the very bone, but right now I'm loving his quirks, his sense of humour, his learning capability, and am trying my very hardest to look forward to all the joy he is yet to bring in his own special way. And you know what? About 3 months ago he walked in and said "there's mummy, hello mummy!" And he's said it almost every day ever since :)
Saturday 12 May 2012
Booby juice, big boys, and basing our opinions on fact
So I'm having a bit of a break from the norm today, just because I want to talk about a subject that's close to my heart. And maybe a little bit because I STILL haven't been hands free enough to bake anything. But mainly because I want to talk about breast feeding!
"Oh God no" I hear you cry..."Why can't this subject just be left alone!" comes a groan from another direction. I'll tell you why. Because breastfeeding rates pretty much the world over are abysmal. Society was brainwashed back in the 50's in to thinking that the stuff our body makes to feed our children is inferior, is hard to produce, is not enough to satisfy a small baby, that it "runs dry" at the drop of a hat and for no reason. These days, anyone who does enough research knows all of this is completely untrue, and was bandied about by formula companies, not because they want what's best for our precious offspring, but because they want your money. Less than 1% of women are physically unable to breast feed, and of course for those women's babies, formula can be a lifesaver. (I would talk about wet nursing/donor milk, but I fear that would not so much rock the boat as stamp a gigantic hole in the floor and then capsize it)
Some women, as we know, choose not to breast feed. That is their right, and as long as they are aware of their choice and have made it being absolutely certain of it and aware of the associated risks, then hats off to them.
Some women attempt breast feeding, and for many reasons (which pretty much all boil down to lack of correct support) decide to move on to formula. Many of these women feel guilty or as though they have failed, and they really shouldn't. In actuality, they themselves have been let down by a system where breast feeding support is inadequate, and a society who say "oh, well, you gave it three days, the baby got the colostrum and really formula is just as good these days" instead of "I'm sorry to hear you're finding it hard, let's look in to this, let's see what we can do to help you" Many of these women then feel as though they are being judged by the "mummy brigade." As though they have abused their children by giving them evil synthetic milk, or been selfish in their decision etc etc. I find this very sad, no Mother should be made to feel that way.
There are then, of course, the women who do succeed in breast feeding, who actually enjoy it, who find it easy and convenient, who believe wholeheartedly that they are doing their very best for themselves and their child/ren and are willing to keep at it through many obstacles and feel proud of themselves for doing so. And society applaud them. To a point. Then, all of a sudden, come comments like "So little Timmy is 6 months now, time to wean?" "Oh look, young Amelia has 2 teeth! That's natures way of telling you to stop breastfeeding you know" and "You're creating a rod for your own back by still feeding that child at 14 months, why, he'll still be wanting milk when he goes to college!" oh and my personal favourite "Well, there's absolutely no benefit at all after a year, if she's still doing it it's for her own personal reasons, she has issues!" And that's if they've made it unscathed through the "Do you have to do THAT here, in this public place? Can't you stay home/put a blanket over you/go to the toilet to feed your baby??" Because for some people, seeing a baby being breastfed is tantamount to you pulling down your strides and taking a dump on the floor. Naked on page 3, sure, hefted up in sexy bras on billboards, of course, but feeding a child? Heaven forbid!
So what IS the correct age to stop breastfeeding a child? Well, that's totally up to the individual. Preferably the individual who's breast is actually involved!
Recently, Time magazine created uproar by using a picture of a gorgeous supermodel as their front cover. Not so out of the ordinary i hear you say. Well, she was pictured breastfeeding her 3 year old son. Some of the comments I personally have seen have made me lose faith in humanity. Words like sexual abuse, child pornography, incest, sick, wrong, unnatural. People convinced that the child will grow up damaged in some way and that the mother needs counselling/imprisonment/burning at the stake. The fact of the matter is, breast milk IS still beneficial to both mother and child at that age. A child's immune system is not fully developed until they reach somewhere around 5-7 years. Breast milk contains anti-bodies to develop a childs immune system. Baby teeth also begin to fall out around that time, and generally feeding from the breast becomes difficult once permanent teeth appear. Surely this suggests that mother nature intended for a child to receive breast milk right up to between 5 and 7 years? There is no research in to breast milk after 2 years, probably because finding enough women who are still breastfeeding despite all the opposition they get would be difficult, but here is some research I was able to find *:
So there you have it. Natural weaning can occur anywhere from 2.5-7 years. Much longer than is currently deemed socially acceptable! I know there will be mothers out there outraged by this research, who will say their bottle fed baby IS healthy and clever, while their breast fed baby is sickly and small. All I can say is I'm sorry to hear that, and that anecdotal evidence is exactly that. It's not scientific evidence, and in every single scientific study that's ever been done, the result is that breast milk is better for children than either formula or cows milk. Just like every study ever done shows that smoking while pregnant is extremely harmful to babies, yet you get those who say "i smoked and my baby is fine!" Yes, you were lucky. I didn't smoke and my pregnancies were riddled with complications, usually life threatening. I was unlucky, but i do at least know its not my fault, i did everything i could.
So in conclusion, what I would really like is for everybody to accept that breastfeeding your toddler/young child is NOT weird, or sexual, or pointless. It may not be something you want to do, and that's fine, but that doesn't mean its wrong. You could be of the opinion that it could just as easily be expressed in to a cup, but let me tell you, as someone who had to pump for my premature baby, its really not that simple! That requires time you may not have, extra washing and sterilising that you may not want to do, and more importantly, denying a child the comfort they receive from cuddling up with their mummy for some mumma milk.
For me, stopping in the next 2 months (when my baby reaches 6 months) seems inconceivable. I didn't pump exclusively for 4 weeks, grit my teeth through 8 weeks after he came home of feeding every hour day and night, drag myself through colic, reflux, never being able to pee, let alone get washed or dressed, just to stop because some guy on the street says "eeewww!" I will continue to feed my baby for as long as he wants to be fed, happy in the knowledge that science at least is on my side.
Also, if i stop too soon, i'll miss out on hearing my 3 year old daughter shout "Stick a booby in it!" every time her little brother squawks, or witnessing my 6 year old autistic child attempting to breast feed his buzz lightyear figure. And who wants to miss out on that!
*paragraph taken from "A natural age of weaning" by Kathy Dettwyler
"Oh God no" I hear you cry..."Why can't this subject just be left alone!" comes a groan from another direction. I'll tell you why. Because breastfeeding rates pretty much the world over are abysmal. Society was brainwashed back in the 50's in to thinking that the stuff our body makes to feed our children is inferior, is hard to produce, is not enough to satisfy a small baby, that it "runs dry" at the drop of a hat and for no reason. These days, anyone who does enough research knows all of this is completely untrue, and was bandied about by formula companies, not because they want what's best for our precious offspring, but because they want your money. Less than 1% of women are physically unable to breast feed, and of course for those women's babies, formula can be a lifesaver. (I would talk about wet nursing/donor milk, but I fear that would not so much rock the boat as stamp a gigantic hole in the floor and then capsize it)
Some women, as we know, choose not to breast feed. That is their right, and as long as they are aware of their choice and have made it being absolutely certain of it and aware of the associated risks, then hats off to them.
Some women attempt breast feeding, and for many reasons (which pretty much all boil down to lack of correct support) decide to move on to formula. Many of these women feel guilty or as though they have failed, and they really shouldn't. In actuality, they themselves have been let down by a system where breast feeding support is inadequate, and a society who say "oh, well, you gave it three days, the baby got the colostrum and really formula is just as good these days" instead of "I'm sorry to hear you're finding it hard, let's look in to this, let's see what we can do to help you" Many of these women then feel as though they are being judged by the "mummy brigade." As though they have abused their children by giving them evil synthetic milk, or been selfish in their decision etc etc. I find this very sad, no Mother should be made to feel that way.
There are then, of course, the women who do succeed in breast feeding, who actually enjoy it, who find it easy and convenient, who believe wholeheartedly that they are doing their very best for themselves and their child/ren and are willing to keep at it through many obstacles and feel proud of themselves for doing so. And society applaud them. To a point. Then, all of a sudden, come comments like "So little Timmy is 6 months now, time to wean?" "Oh look, young Amelia has 2 teeth! That's natures way of telling you to stop breastfeeding you know" and "You're creating a rod for your own back by still feeding that child at 14 months, why, he'll still be wanting milk when he goes to college!" oh and my personal favourite "Well, there's absolutely no benefit at all after a year, if she's still doing it it's for her own personal reasons, she has issues!" And that's if they've made it unscathed through the "Do you have to do THAT here, in this public place? Can't you stay home/put a blanket over you/go to the toilet to feed your baby??" Because for some people, seeing a baby being breastfed is tantamount to you pulling down your strides and taking a dump on the floor. Naked on page 3, sure, hefted up in sexy bras on billboards, of course, but feeding a child? Heaven forbid!
So what IS the correct age to stop breastfeeding a child? Well, that's totally up to the individual. Preferably the individual who's breast is actually involved!
Recently, Time magazine created uproar by using a picture of a gorgeous supermodel as their front cover. Not so out of the ordinary i hear you say. Well, she was pictured breastfeeding her 3 year old son. Some of the comments I personally have seen have made me lose faith in humanity. Words like sexual abuse, child pornography, incest, sick, wrong, unnatural. People convinced that the child will grow up damaged in some way and that the mother needs counselling/imprisonment/burning at the stake. The fact of the matter is, breast milk IS still beneficial to both mother and child at that age. A child's immune system is not fully developed until they reach somewhere around 5-7 years. Breast milk contains anti-bodies to develop a childs immune system. Baby teeth also begin to fall out around that time, and generally feeding from the breast becomes difficult once permanent teeth appear. Surely this suggests that mother nature intended for a child to receive breast milk right up to between 5 and 7 years? There is no research in to breast milk after 2 years, probably because finding enough women who are still breastfeeding despite all the opposition they get would be difficult, but here is some research I was able to find *:
1. In a group of 21 species of non-human primates (monkeys and apes) studied by Holly Smith, she found that the offspring were weaned at the same time they were getting their first permanent molars. In humans, that would be: 5.5-6.0 years.
2. It has been common for pediatricians to claim that length of gestation is approximately equal to length of nursing in many species, suggesting a weaning age of 9 months for humans. However, this relationship turns out to be affected by how large the adult animals are -- the larger the adults, the longer the length of breastfeeding relative to gestation. For chimpanzees and gorillas, the two primates closest in size to humans and also the most closely genetically related, the relationship is 6 to 1. That is to say, they nurse their offspring for SIX times the length of gestation (actually 6.1 for chimps and 6.4 for gorillas, with humans mid-way in size between these two). In humans, that would be: 4.5 years of nursing (six times the 9 months of gestation).
3. It has been common for pediatricians to claim that most mammals wean their offspring when they have tripled their birth weight, suggesting a weaning age of 1 year in humans. Again though, this is affected by body weight, with larger mammals nursing their offspring until they have quadrupled their birth weight. In humans, quadrupling of birth weight occurs between 2.5 and 3.5 years, usually.
4. One study of primates showed that the offspring were weaned when they had reached about 1/3 their adult weight. This happens in humans at about 5-7 years.
5. A comparison of weaning age and sexual maturity in non-human primates suggests a weaning age of 6-7 for humans (about half-way to reproductive maturity).
6. Studies have shown that a child's immune system doesn't completely mature until about 6 years of age, and it is well established that breast milk helps develop the immune system and augment it with maternal antibodies as long as breast milk is produced (up to two years, no studies have been done on breast milk composition after two years post partum).
And on and on. The minimum predicted age for a natural age of weaning in humans is 2.5 years, with a maximum of 7.0 years.
In terms of the benefits of extended breastfeeding, there have been a number of studies comparing breastfed and bottlefed babies in terms of the frequency of various diseases, and also IQ achievement. In every case, the breastfed babies had lower risk of disease and higher IQs than the bottle-fed babies. In those studies that divided breastfed babies into categories based on length of breastfeeding, the babies breastfed the longest did better in terms of both lower disease and higher IQ. In other words, if the categories were 0-6 months of breastfeeding, 6-12 months, 12-18 months and 18-24+ months, then the 18-24+ month babies did the best, and the 12-18 month babies did the next best, and the 6-12 months babies did the next best, and the 0-6 months babies did the worst of the breastfed groups, but still much better than the bottlefeeding group. This has been shown for gastrointestinal illness, upper respiratory illness, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, heart disease, and on and on and on.
So there you have it. Natural weaning can occur anywhere from 2.5-7 years. Much longer than is currently deemed socially acceptable! I know there will be mothers out there outraged by this research, who will say their bottle fed baby IS healthy and clever, while their breast fed baby is sickly and small. All I can say is I'm sorry to hear that, and that anecdotal evidence is exactly that. It's not scientific evidence, and in every single scientific study that's ever been done, the result is that breast milk is better for children than either formula or cows milk. Just like every study ever done shows that smoking while pregnant is extremely harmful to babies, yet you get those who say "i smoked and my baby is fine!" Yes, you were lucky. I didn't smoke and my pregnancies were riddled with complications, usually life threatening. I was unlucky, but i do at least know its not my fault, i did everything i could.
So in conclusion, what I would really like is for everybody to accept that breastfeeding your toddler/young child is NOT weird, or sexual, or pointless. It may not be something you want to do, and that's fine, but that doesn't mean its wrong. You could be of the opinion that it could just as easily be expressed in to a cup, but let me tell you, as someone who had to pump for my premature baby, its really not that simple! That requires time you may not have, extra washing and sterilising that you may not want to do, and more importantly, denying a child the comfort they receive from cuddling up with their mummy for some mumma milk.
For me, stopping in the next 2 months (when my baby reaches 6 months) seems inconceivable. I didn't pump exclusively for 4 weeks, grit my teeth through 8 weeks after he came home of feeding every hour day and night, drag myself through colic, reflux, never being able to pee, let alone get washed or dressed, just to stop because some guy on the street says "eeewww!" I will continue to feed my baby for as long as he wants to be fed, happy in the knowledge that science at least is on my side.
Also, if i stop too soon, i'll miss out on hearing my 3 year old daughter shout "Stick a booby in it!" every time her little brother squawks, or witnessing my 6 year old autistic child attempting to breast feed his buzz lightyear figure. And who wants to miss out on that!
*paragraph taken from "A natural age of weaning" by Kathy Dettwyler
Thursday 26 April 2012
confession, birthdays, reflux and artistic flair
O.k, first the confession. Forgive me cake critics for i have sinned. Its been many weeks since my last baking session. I have many excuses, but basically, life got in the way. The school holidays were a killer, the largest offspring was moved in to his new bedroom which set of a few autism inspired rages in number 2 son who was used to sharing with him. We're back to peeing in places other than the toilet. I can laugh about it now (whether you like it or not, seeing your son poke his peeing parts out of the zip of the trampoline netting and pee on to the grass while shouting "LUCA! You don't. wee. HEEEERE!!" is gonna cause a slight giggle fit) however mopping a lake of piss around the kitchen floor is not much fun. Thats not the extent of it but i won't bore you with the screaming, headbutting, flapping and constant asking for things he can't have details.
Add to that the smallest offspring ramping it up a gear with the crying, and you have yourself a nice little recipe for mummy thinking it may be best if she gives up on this parenting thing! I mean, only a mere 14 years ago I was well known for managing to kill 2 tamagotchi pets within 20 minutes of having them. Now all of a sudden i'm in charge of 4 kids, a house and a husband?! There's something worrying about that. I've never been trained or interviewed, I don't remember ever having any kind of police checks, for all we know i could be a maniacal serial killer...how do we know i'm not?! This is the kind of craziness your brain spits out when you're at the end of your rope people. So yeah, my cute little baby turned in to some kind of evil being, who only ever drew breath so as to make the screams louder. I turned in to some kind of mouldable jelly-type substance, who lived in a purple winnie the pooh dressing gown and only drew breath to pray for an end to come soon. Eventually the poor wee chap was diagnosed with reflux, which is baby-speak for acid indigestion. He has medicine now. Things are improving. Huzzah!
We also celebrated the princess's third birthday this week. Ooohhh the fun i had perusing the pink aisles of toys r us, and the pleasure we got from watching her open her presents! "Oh i love it!!!" And before you ask....the cake was from asda.
So anyway, back to the task at hand. Baking. The rock cakes came out lovely and were scoffed within an hour of coming out of the oven. The only problem was that at first check i didnt think they were cooked enough, 5 minutes later the raisins on top were burnt. Let that be a lesson to me! Definately one to try out though, especially if you have kiddies, they'll love getting messy mixing it all together, and they're ready pretty quickly for the impatient among us. Plus, it doesn't matter about making them look pretty. They're rock cakes, the aim is to make them look like rocks. I'm starting to worry a little about the aesthetics of the whole baking business. I have no artistic flair. In my head i picture a perfect sculpture, where everything is even, the roses/patterns/whatever look beautiful and perfect and the world will marvel at my cleverness and talent. Sadly my hands betray me every single time, and whatever i make looks as though its been hashed together by a slightly tired and emotional toddler who just wants to get the job finished. So to go hand in hand wth my new baking hobby, i've also signed up to a cake decorating magazine. I will be learning about icing and frosting techniques, how to create special effects and how to make things look like you've spent hours when in fact its taken mere moments. I'm a little bit sceptical that its going to work on me and my toddler hands, but we can live in hope!
This week i'm hoping to get my dressing gown off and my apron on to make victoria sponge. Everyone loves a victoria sponge! And not a lot of artsy-fartsyness is needed, just a little bit of icing sugar sprinkling. I might let Bella do it.
Add to that the smallest offspring ramping it up a gear with the crying, and you have yourself a nice little recipe for mummy thinking it may be best if she gives up on this parenting thing! I mean, only a mere 14 years ago I was well known for managing to kill 2 tamagotchi pets within 20 minutes of having them. Now all of a sudden i'm in charge of 4 kids, a house and a husband?! There's something worrying about that. I've never been trained or interviewed, I don't remember ever having any kind of police checks, for all we know i could be a maniacal serial killer...how do we know i'm not?! This is the kind of craziness your brain spits out when you're at the end of your rope people. So yeah, my cute little baby turned in to some kind of evil being, who only ever drew breath so as to make the screams louder. I turned in to some kind of mouldable jelly-type substance, who lived in a purple winnie the pooh dressing gown and only drew breath to pray for an end to come soon. Eventually the poor wee chap was diagnosed with reflux, which is baby-speak for acid indigestion. He has medicine now. Things are improving. Huzzah!
We also celebrated the princess's third birthday this week. Ooohhh the fun i had perusing the pink aisles of toys r us, and the pleasure we got from watching her open her presents! "Oh i love it!!!" And before you ask....the cake was from asda.
So anyway, back to the task at hand. Baking. The rock cakes came out lovely and were scoffed within an hour of coming out of the oven. The only problem was that at first check i didnt think they were cooked enough, 5 minutes later the raisins on top were burnt. Let that be a lesson to me! Definately one to try out though, especially if you have kiddies, they'll love getting messy mixing it all together, and they're ready pretty quickly for the impatient among us. Plus, it doesn't matter about making them look pretty. They're rock cakes, the aim is to make them look like rocks. I'm starting to worry a little about the aesthetics of the whole baking business. I have no artistic flair. In my head i picture a perfect sculpture, where everything is even, the roses/patterns/whatever look beautiful and perfect and the world will marvel at my cleverness and talent. Sadly my hands betray me every single time, and whatever i make looks as though its been hashed together by a slightly tired and emotional toddler who just wants to get the job finished. So to go hand in hand wth my new baking hobby, i've also signed up to a cake decorating magazine. I will be learning about icing and frosting techniques, how to create special effects and how to make things look like you've spent hours when in fact its taken mere moments. I'm a little bit sceptical that its going to work on me and my toddler hands, but we can live in hope!
This week i'm hoping to get my dressing gown off and my apron on to make victoria sponge. Everyone loves a victoria sponge! And not a lot of artsy-fartsyness is needed, just a little bit of icing sugar sprinkling. I might let Bella do it.
Friday 23 March 2012
rock cakes, ebay and dreams come true...
Well it's been a hectic few days here! I think I may be mere moments away from some kind of mental breakdown, due to lack of sleep and crying baby. Has anyone ever died of tiredness? I think i'm at that point. And Roman has so much stamina when it comes to crying that i dont think it will be getting better any time soon. Now, just a little advice for partners of mummies who are breastfeeding. Make the woman drinks!!! I cannot stress enough, breastfeeding makes you thirsty. I mean like you've swallowed a tonne of sand kind of thirst. Sometimes i get so thirsty that my mouth feels glued together and my eyes feel gritty. And usually i have a small person attached to me, so even simple tasks like making drinks are difficult. If when you're about you ensure she always has a drink to hand, this will make her life easier, which in turn will make your life easier. And for the love of God make sure you take one up to bed for her, I guarantee you if you don't she will not be happy! Such a simple yet effective way of showing her that you do appreciate her for doing something so important for your offsprings health and intelligence.
Now, I believe we have discussed my need for baking accessories. Well I did a bad bad thing, and ebay'd "home baking" Oh. My. God. I spent a rather happy hour looking at cake tins, pie tins, loaf tins, icing, cookie cutters, moulds, edible decorations, stencils, you name it, you can find something to bake it with. I did refrain from ordering a job lot of assorted tins from Hong Kong. I wasnt sure if they would be free from poisonous materials, and heaven forbid if I was to inadvertantly murder someone with my cheap foreign bought equipment. I did manage to find some lovely little cookie cutters that I am quite excited about, and limited myself to just those for now, and I will order things as I need them so as not to bankrupt myself.
I've made the decision to work through the book in order, I feel that the author obviously wrote the book in that order for a reason, so there will be some kind of methodical therapy involved in following the book properly. Recipe 1; Rock cakes. I can't say that it would be my ordinary cake of choice, but then maybe that's where I'm going wrong, I always try to make something elaborate and fancy (I would tell you the story about my marble cake but I fear reliving the anguish is best left for the therapists couch) and it always goes spectacularly wrong. So rock cakes right now seem refreshingly simple.
I could actually liken myself to a rock cake. People regard it as solid and rock hard, and think that it would take an awful lot to damage it, however up close it's got lots of cracks, and crumbles under not an awful lot of pressure. This is me to a tee. It would seem most people are of the opinion that I am hard faced and that couldn't be further than the truth. I get hurt very easily and constantly worry that people don't like me. Often I convince myself that people only speak to me because they feel they have to, rather than that they actually want to. One day I hope i'll be able to compare myself to something light and airy and cheerful. Maybe a fondant fancy. Until then, I shall embrace the rock.
Baking will commence this evening once the big 3 have gone to bed and wee one is in his sling (a Godsend) and Husband has been settled with chocolate and stuff. I'm quite excited!
P.s...Regarding dreams come true. We bought Bella a cheap blue plastic seat to go on the toilet (nothing more traumatising for a 2 year old than falling through the toilet seat) and when we showed her it, her response was... "Oh I love it, it's wonderful, it's a dream come true!" Just wow. I wish everyone in the world was so easily pleased.
Now, I believe we have discussed my need for baking accessories. Well I did a bad bad thing, and ebay'd "home baking" Oh. My. God. I spent a rather happy hour looking at cake tins, pie tins, loaf tins, icing, cookie cutters, moulds, edible decorations, stencils, you name it, you can find something to bake it with. I did refrain from ordering a job lot of assorted tins from Hong Kong. I wasnt sure if they would be free from poisonous materials, and heaven forbid if I was to inadvertantly murder someone with my cheap foreign bought equipment. I did manage to find some lovely little cookie cutters that I am quite excited about, and limited myself to just those for now, and I will order things as I need them so as not to bankrupt myself.
I've made the decision to work through the book in order, I feel that the author obviously wrote the book in that order for a reason, so there will be some kind of methodical therapy involved in following the book properly. Recipe 1; Rock cakes. I can't say that it would be my ordinary cake of choice, but then maybe that's where I'm going wrong, I always try to make something elaborate and fancy (I would tell you the story about my marble cake but I fear reliving the anguish is best left for the therapists couch) and it always goes spectacularly wrong. So rock cakes right now seem refreshingly simple.
I could actually liken myself to a rock cake. People regard it as solid and rock hard, and think that it would take an awful lot to damage it, however up close it's got lots of cracks, and crumbles under not an awful lot of pressure. This is me to a tee. It would seem most people are of the opinion that I am hard faced and that couldn't be further than the truth. I get hurt very easily and constantly worry that people don't like me. Often I convince myself that people only speak to me because they feel they have to, rather than that they actually want to. One day I hope i'll be able to compare myself to something light and airy and cheerful. Maybe a fondant fancy. Until then, I shall embrace the rock.
Baking will commence this evening once the big 3 have gone to bed and wee one is in his sling (a Godsend) and Husband has been settled with chocolate and stuff. I'm quite excited!
P.s...Regarding dreams come true. We bought Bella a cheap blue plastic seat to go on the toilet (nothing more traumatising for a 2 year old than falling through the toilet seat) and when we showed her it, her response was... "Oh I love it, it's wonderful, it's a dream come true!" Just wow. I wish everyone in the world was so easily pleased.
Monday 19 March 2012
monday madness, quotes of the day, and some preparation
Aaahhh Monday. A day of relief, 2 of the 4 are at school for the day, yet also a day of stress and panic, because i've got to get them there and back!! Let me walk you through it.
Luca; goes to a special needs school 20 minutes away. He has transport, they pick him up at 8.40am.
Jack; goes to the local primary school 5-10 minute drive away. He needs to be there at 8.40am, 9.50 at the very latest.
Can you see where the problem lies? Now, in theory, I have Luca at the front door with shoes and coat on, bags at the ready. Jack and Bella are at the back door, shoes and coats on, bags at the ready. Roman is sleeping in his rocker wth his coat on, ready to be grabbed as we walk out the door, the second Luca is handed to his transport chaperone.
Now for the reality: It's 8.35, i'm chasing Luca around upstairs, retrieving his freshly removed clothes from the bath, under the bed, and wherever else he sees fit to chuck them. Isabella is on the floor in a frenzied rage because i've told her that a skull and crossbones t-shirt, tutu and wellies is not really suitable attire for public. Jack is mooning about in his room, ignoring my pleas to brush his teeth, and Roman is screaming in his rocker (a loose translation would be "HELP, HEEEELP, the mammy lady has PUT ME DOWN, and now i'm gonna be carried off by predators, PREDATORS, and i hadn't finished with that BOOOOOBYYYYY!!!!!") Then the poor chaperone has a wrinkled untidy child (the clothes have been in the bath, under the bed, etc etc, remember??) thrown at her, the screaming baby is scooped from the rocker, the screaming toddler is scooped from the floor, the mooning pre-teen is dragged from his bedroom, and we make a dash for the car, strap in, and then i spend a few minutes morphing in to a fishwife, yelling at every old lady who dares put her car in front of mine, and every parent at the drop off turning circle, who feel the need to GET OUT OF THE CAR!!! to see their child in....It's called a DROP OFF circle for a reason, dopey, if you wanna get out and see your child in, leave earlier, park up and WALK!!! Jack is then ejected from the car with a swift "go, go, go, love ya, bye!!"
2 mornings a week, Bella then needs to be dropped at pre-school. Usually in a skull t-shirt, tutu and wellies.
Then its just a day of trying to repair the carnage from the morning (milk and cereal dripping from every surface of the kitchen, pyjamas scattered to the 4 winds, a wii game tower in the middle of the front room thanks to Luca, you get the drift) and spending time with Bella if she's there, and Roman. All is then kinda calm, til pick up time. Jack comes out at 3.10 pm. Luca finishes at 3pm, and his taxi arrives home between 3.15 and 3.20. Commence mad dash to be there for them both! Jack's school are worse than useless, knowing how much i struggle they said he could come out at 3.05, and that i could pull in to the car park to collect him so that i dont have to haul ass from whichever street i can find a parking space, drag 2 kids up the hill, get jack and get back to the car. They never do it, and i'm questioned like a terrorist every day about WHY they need to open the security gate to let me in, rather than me just park on the street. Some days it leaves me in tears. All this is done with a grumpy Bella who is about ready for a nap, and a screaming Roman, who regards his carseat with the same noisy indignation as he does the rocker. And the Dr's wonder why my blood pressure is high! Today was particularly bad, and resulted in miserable school receptionist being re-named "nob muncher" on facebook. I so hope she sees.
But anyway, enough of the Monday bashing, I actually did a little baking myself happy prep today! I read the list of what i need. May not seem like much, but it's a step, and sometimes baby steps are about all you can muster. Thats fine. The only unacceptable step, is a step backwards. even stepping on the spot is ok sometimes. You can only do what you can do at the end of the day.
So I realise that i need a few things. Some are more "wants" actually. Like I now "need" a kitchen aid. (mate? aid? something like that.) It looks AMAZING in the picture. I dont really know what it does, but obviously something really magical and important. It's going on my wedding anniversary present list. I also need a purple spatula. I have a mint green one, but the author specifies purple. she says she supposes another colour would do, but i'm not willing to take that risk. So purple it shall be. I also need basic ingredients, cookie cutters, a piping bag, y'know, general baking stuff. Tomorrow, in between taking Bella to playschool, and taking Maude and Cynthia (guinea pigs) to get their claws clipped, I will be going out to get as much of the much needed stuff as i can. I'll let you know how I get on.
PS, quote of the day...."Luca, we have to wear clothes on the trampoline..." I'm beyond the point of worrying about what my neighbours think...
Luca; goes to a special needs school 20 minutes away. He has transport, they pick him up at 8.40am.
Jack; goes to the local primary school 5-10 minute drive away. He needs to be there at 8.40am, 9.50 at the very latest.
Can you see where the problem lies? Now, in theory, I have Luca at the front door with shoes and coat on, bags at the ready. Jack and Bella are at the back door, shoes and coats on, bags at the ready. Roman is sleeping in his rocker wth his coat on, ready to be grabbed as we walk out the door, the second Luca is handed to his transport chaperone.
Now for the reality: It's 8.35, i'm chasing Luca around upstairs, retrieving his freshly removed clothes from the bath, under the bed, and wherever else he sees fit to chuck them. Isabella is on the floor in a frenzied rage because i've told her that a skull and crossbones t-shirt, tutu and wellies is not really suitable attire for public. Jack is mooning about in his room, ignoring my pleas to brush his teeth, and Roman is screaming in his rocker (a loose translation would be "HELP, HEEEELP, the mammy lady has PUT ME DOWN, and now i'm gonna be carried off by predators, PREDATORS, and i hadn't finished with that BOOOOOBYYYYY!!!!!") Then the poor chaperone has a wrinkled untidy child (the clothes have been in the bath, under the bed, etc etc, remember??) thrown at her, the screaming baby is scooped from the rocker, the screaming toddler is scooped from the floor, the mooning pre-teen is dragged from his bedroom, and we make a dash for the car, strap in, and then i spend a few minutes morphing in to a fishwife, yelling at every old lady who dares put her car in front of mine, and every parent at the drop off turning circle, who feel the need to GET OUT OF THE CAR!!! to see their child in....It's called a DROP OFF circle for a reason, dopey, if you wanna get out and see your child in, leave earlier, park up and WALK!!! Jack is then ejected from the car with a swift "go, go, go, love ya, bye!!"
2 mornings a week, Bella then needs to be dropped at pre-school. Usually in a skull t-shirt, tutu and wellies.
Then its just a day of trying to repair the carnage from the morning (milk and cereal dripping from every surface of the kitchen, pyjamas scattered to the 4 winds, a wii game tower in the middle of the front room thanks to Luca, you get the drift) and spending time with Bella if she's there, and Roman. All is then kinda calm, til pick up time. Jack comes out at 3.10 pm. Luca finishes at 3pm, and his taxi arrives home between 3.15 and 3.20. Commence mad dash to be there for them both! Jack's school are worse than useless, knowing how much i struggle they said he could come out at 3.05, and that i could pull in to the car park to collect him so that i dont have to haul ass from whichever street i can find a parking space, drag 2 kids up the hill, get jack and get back to the car. They never do it, and i'm questioned like a terrorist every day about WHY they need to open the security gate to let me in, rather than me just park on the street. Some days it leaves me in tears. All this is done with a grumpy Bella who is about ready for a nap, and a screaming Roman, who regards his carseat with the same noisy indignation as he does the rocker. And the Dr's wonder why my blood pressure is high! Today was particularly bad, and resulted in miserable school receptionist being re-named "nob muncher" on facebook. I so hope she sees.
But anyway, enough of the Monday bashing, I actually did a little baking myself happy prep today! I read the list of what i need. May not seem like much, but it's a step, and sometimes baby steps are about all you can muster. Thats fine. The only unacceptable step, is a step backwards. even stepping on the spot is ok sometimes. You can only do what you can do at the end of the day.
So I realise that i need a few things. Some are more "wants" actually. Like I now "need" a kitchen aid. (mate? aid? something like that.) It looks AMAZING in the picture. I dont really know what it does, but obviously something really magical and important. It's going on my wedding anniversary present list. I also need a purple spatula. I have a mint green one, but the author specifies purple. she says she supposes another colour would do, but i'm not willing to take that risk. So purple it shall be. I also need basic ingredients, cookie cutters, a piping bag, y'know, general baking stuff. Tomorrow, in between taking Bella to playschool, and taking Maude and Cynthia (guinea pigs) to get their claws clipped, I will be going out to get as much of the much needed stuff as i can. I'll let you know how I get on.
PS, quote of the day...."Luca, we have to wear clothes on the trampoline..." I'm beyond the point of worrying about what my neighbours think...
Sunday 18 March 2012
my new book
So people keep telling me (based on my facebook statuses no less) that I should write a book. I guess you could say my life is quite hectic. Mum of four at the tender age of 21. ok 25...Oh ok ok, 30, but that's still young! Just because I feel 100, and my fashion item of choice these days is fleece pyjamas from primark (it's not laziness, I'm making a statement) does not mean that I actually have to acknowledge the fact that i'm what you could describe as past it. Over the hill. Mutton not even dressed as lamb. I won't go on.
But I digress. Today is the day I decided to write it all down. It won't all be funny or witty, there may well be extra letters in words. And spelling mistakes. This is because i'll be typing one handed and one eyed. The other hand will be cradling my 9 week old nursling, who is 8 weeks old and of the opinion that a moment off the boob is a moment wasted. The other eye will be upon the other children, (not the 9 year old; he'll be happily ensconced in his room, reading lord of the rings, or quantum physics, or drawing up his plans for total world domination) who at 6 (and autistic) and amost 3, can acheive mass destruction in a matter of seconds. And when i say destruction, I mean a snowstorm of sugar in the kitchen, or every soft toy they own taking a lovely bubble bath. If you're a mum you know the drill. If you're not....well please don't let me put you off! Continue to tell yourself the same thing not-yet-parents have told themselves for millenia "My children won't be like that!!"
So today is Mothers day, my 1st one as a mum of 4. Baby was due yesterday, however my body had other ideas and after the onset of pre-eclampsia at 31 weeks, the poor boy was plucked unceremoniously from my body. So i'm the proud owner of a 6lbs almost 9 week old. feel free to say "aawwwww!" as it makes us both feel better! For mothers day, among some lovely handmade and shop bought presents of varying degrees of glitteriness (when you're a 2 year old girl, there is NO SUCH THING as too much glitter during craft projects), was a book. A cookbook. Baking to be exact. I've always been a keen cake baker. Sadly my enthusiasm doesnt quite make up for the fact that i'm rubbish at it. I follow the instructions to the letter, and all the while my creation is in the oven, I have visions of beautiful light sponge, a work of art, a cake i'd be proud to show off on facebook. The end result is usually a flat, burnt, sticky mess. I rant and rave, I blame the oven, and the lack of kitchen space (I kid you not, i have 4 cupboards. 4. to fit everything in for a family of 6) I've been known to sit on the floor and cry at my rotten luck. None of this puts me off doing it all over again! So I was pleased to receive this new book, entitled "Bake yourself happy." This struck a chord with me, and on reading further I discover that this is a book, not by an expert like Delia, but by a woman who bakes to alleviate her depression. Her introduction is honest and to the point, some days its a toss up between killing herself or making cupcakes. Thankfully, the cupcakes always win. Having suffered from depression on and off since my teens, I honestly know where she is coming from. For me, my kids always keep me going, but however rewarding it is in the long run, at times being a mother, especially to a child with additional needs, can be a thankless task, and sometimes my life feels like the film groundhog day, nothing changes (other than the growing mess) and i just want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry. So could this new book help in my quest for eternal contentment? And can this kindred spirit teach me more than the hundreds of other cookbook authors before her? We're about to find out!
I pledge to bake every item in the book. It may take months, but I am going to do it! And I will share my experiences (and even the end result, if you're brave and live near enough)
I will also share some of the aspects of the other areas of my life, just so you can laugh, cry, and judge at your leisure...
But I digress. Today is the day I decided to write it all down. It won't all be funny or witty, there may well be extra letters in words. And spelling mistakes. This is because i'll be typing one handed and one eyed. The other hand will be cradling my 9 week old nursling, who is 8 weeks old and of the opinion that a moment off the boob is a moment wasted. The other eye will be upon the other children, (not the 9 year old; he'll be happily ensconced in his room, reading lord of the rings, or quantum physics, or drawing up his plans for total world domination) who at 6 (and autistic) and amost 3, can acheive mass destruction in a matter of seconds. And when i say destruction, I mean a snowstorm of sugar in the kitchen, or every soft toy they own taking a lovely bubble bath. If you're a mum you know the drill. If you're not....well please don't let me put you off! Continue to tell yourself the same thing not-yet-parents have told themselves for millenia "My children won't be like that!!"
So today is Mothers day, my 1st one as a mum of 4. Baby was due yesterday, however my body had other ideas and after the onset of pre-eclampsia at 31 weeks, the poor boy was plucked unceremoniously from my body. So i'm the proud owner of a 6lbs almost 9 week old. feel free to say "aawwwww!" as it makes us both feel better! For mothers day, among some lovely handmade and shop bought presents of varying degrees of glitteriness (when you're a 2 year old girl, there is NO SUCH THING as too much glitter during craft projects), was a book. A cookbook. Baking to be exact. I've always been a keen cake baker. Sadly my enthusiasm doesnt quite make up for the fact that i'm rubbish at it. I follow the instructions to the letter, and all the while my creation is in the oven, I have visions of beautiful light sponge, a work of art, a cake i'd be proud to show off on facebook. The end result is usually a flat, burnt, sticky mess. I rant and rave, I blame the oven, and the lack of kitchen space (I kid you not, i have 4 cupboards. 4. to fit everything in for a family of 6) I've been known to sit on the floor and cry at my rotten luck. None of this puts me off doing it all over again! So I was pleased to receive this new book, entitled "Bake yourself happy." This struck a chord with me, and on reading further I discover that this is a book, not by an expert like Delia, but by a woman who bakes to alleviate her depression. Her introduction is honest and to the point, some days its a toss up between killing herself or making cupcakes. Thankfully, the cupcakes always win. Having suffered from depression on and off since my teens, I honestly know where she is coming from. For me, my kids always keep me going, but however rewarding it is in the long run, at times being a mother, especially to a child with additional needs, can be a thankless task, and sometimes my life feels like the film groundhog day, nothing changes (other than the growing mess) and i just want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry. So could this new book help in my quest for eternal contentment? And can this kindred spirit teach me more than the hundreds of other cookbook authors before her? We're about to find out!
I pledge to bake every item in the book. It may take months, but I am going to do it! And I will share my experiences (and even the end result, if you're brave and live near enough)
I will also share some of the aspects of the other areas of my life, just so you can laugh, cry, and judge at your leisure...
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