Respite

Playscheme this morning. And I only had to remortgage half the house to pay for it. Still, I'm not sure there is a price too high for the seven uninterrupted, child-free hours.

We'll make that six and a half, as I got the timing wrong and turned up half an hour late. Oops.

Still, home to an empty and relatively tidy house. No chatter, no need to answer three hundred "Mumma?"s, no need to pick up the crayons and remove the water and flatten the playdough and repair the books and well, you get the picture.

A van parked up outside our house, blocking our driveway. I watched it for a while, wondering whether I should go out and mention the fact they were blocking the driveway. And then I decided that as I can't park there anyway, and that I wasn't expecting visitors, I could in fact just sit down and not have to do anything.

And then the doorbell went - "can we have some water, please, Missus?" Hmmm. I am naturally delighted they've come to fix our driveway so we can actually access it at last. But surely it might have made more sense (or even been common courtesy) to let me know first? I know I'm not the one paying for the work, but I like to think I have some kind of a say in things.

No matter; they're here, and my peaceful day doing nothing is now replaced with a productive, but less peaceful day watching (and hearing) men with angle grindersflatten and smooth (sort of; I'd not say it was the best job ever) the lumps and bumps, add a couple of food extra concrete, and dig spades into my phone cables. They still sort of work; forgive me if I don't get back to you, my connection now appears to be intermittent. And the cable's embedded into two foot of concrete.

They packed up about an hour before I needed to go and fetch the girls, leaving a bit of a botched repair job but a very very beautifully tidy and smooth new lot of concrete, joined and blended and polished and clearly going to be virtually indistinguishable from the original once it had gone off.

And then the neighbours knocked to point out the chap delivering the "any scrap metals?" leaflet had walked right through the new concrete - not just one step but three - and then walked up the ramp, knocking the concrete off his boots as he walked.

So, out with the trowel and footprints smoothed into lumpy pudding, the best finish I could get. And then the cat decided to walk across the very smoothest part of the pudding, at which point I gave up. It's still a little soggy - anyone want to come and write slogans in it for me?

Mad day tomorrow with appointments at two different hospitals and interestingly complex childcare arrangements. But for now, one child asleep, one being hoisted into bed (by someone else!) as I type this; there might be some kind of peace on its way shortly.

It's very quiet in the house - too quiet; the boiler's gone out for the second time today, third time this week. This could be interesting; it isn't repairable or serviceable and neither does anyone want to come and replace it for us as it contains asbestos. Does anyone else feel as though they tick one job off their list only for it to be replaced by two or three, each bigger than the last?

Picture unrelated but apparently she loves him acos he is her favourite and her best.

Tia

Good News, Bad News...

The good news is, Mog's CT scan was today.
The bad news is, the hospital forgot to tell us.

More bad news; the van failed its MOT yesterday.
More good news; only on brake pads and the garage will fix them tomorrow.

Little Fish is having driving lessons this week. There's a worrying concept. Whizz Kidz are running a three day course for wheelchair users, and she's getting to join in. Getting there with her various chairs and Mog is interesting without our van.

We called a taxi this morning; just as it arrived the phone rang. A neurologist wishing to discuss sedation for the CT scan we didn't know Mog was having. Frustrating. But, more good news, they can rearrange it for next week, and have found a day when our only other appointment is at 9.20. So now all I need to do is find a way of keeping Little Fish entertained whilst we photograph the inside of Mog's head.

One hugely tiring day. Lots of concentrating for Little Fish, lots of waiting around and cheering loudly for Mog and myself. New friends, always nice. And old acquaintances; bittersweet as I had to break the news of Goldie's death to one of her old classmates.Huge giggles for Mog who chose the most inappropriate time possible to create a noxious code brown cloud; not the time to discover I'd forgotten the wet wipes. And who on earth puts just one changing bench into a building designed for people with physical disabilities, and who then puts that changing bench into a giant room without a loo or sink?

Home via taxi again, making the decision to leave Little Fish's powerchair there overnight. Rethinking that decision when the taxi was forty minutes late; my arms may never recover from the wait.

One small child very tired, one medium child equally tired; two girls into bed and then a builder here to come and look at finishing the many many jobs our other various builders have not completed.

A Little Fish-ism - "Mummy, I wear my shrink wrap tonight?" Shrink wrap? Shrink wrap? Ah yes; chin strap!

Tia

Making progress

We have a wall again
A folding wall, which some people might think of as a door I suppose. Still needing floor, handles, latches and paint, but Mog has her bed and her privacy again.

Sadly what I was hoping to be terrible smelling screed was in fact very stale kitten poo; Mog's bedroom is now sparkling inside and her under-the-bed-storage-hole is now gleamingly clean. Why is it always the afternoon after the binmen have been I find I need to do a major clearout?
At least outside is messy enough that a couple of foul smelling bin bags sitting there for a while won't exactly be the first thing the rest of the world notices.

Progress though;
my very pretty driveway which should be set enough for me to start using from Monday. Provided, that is, that the builders can sort out some kind of concrete access pad so I can drive across the rubble on the right to reach the driveway on the left.

More progress of a rather different kind; the kittens managed to rid themselves of large furballs this morning; I'm hoping this may have been the cause of their problems and that they'll now be very happy. Meanwhile the scent of stale kitten poo has been replaced with that of freshly ground pepper as I attempt once again to tempt them into using the litter trays rather than the floor/laundry pile/bathtub.

And a rather nicer progress; more reports from visiting professionals delighted by the welcome they are receiving at Little Fish's new school and really pleased with her progress so far. Sadly she's still wiped out; and having been awake since eight o'clock this morning it's now five minutes past five and she's begging for me to come and put her to bed. But hey, progress, she ate her tea rather faster than usual so did actually manage quarter of an hour playing this afternoon. Always good.

Tia

Day twiddly-umpty

Because although it's only been less than a fortnight I'm losing track of how long it's been. Outside, each new paving slab takes an entire load of concrete to set in place. I'm told this is unusual and will mean I could park a small house on the driveway when it is done. Not having any grand desire to do so, I half wish they'd find a quicker and cheaper way of doing things, but these things will take the time they take.

No builders outside yesterday as it was raining until 9am. I'm not entirely sure why they couldn't come once the rain had stopped, but meanwhile Mog's new doorway has been cut, giving her bedroom that "hey, others have ensuite bathrooms but I have an entire ensuite house" look, and filling her bed with boxes and dust so she's camping out in the cot in my room. This is not entirely successful, hence I'm posting at 3am having evicted her to a more upright position back in her wheelchair. Obstructo-gal is entirely too noisy for me. She's now living it up in the large gap by her bed, projector on, music playing, and if her singing isn't necessarily any quieter than her squeak hiss judder mode of breathing, it is at least easier on my ear, and I'm sure more comfortable for her too.

In answer to a a few questions, yes, Bob is and was a real builder, not a mate doing me a favour. No, he hasn't finished yet and I don't suppose he ever will. This isn't the last bit of work we need doing to the house but I think I'll recover from this one before going for the next. And yes, I do know what time it is.

Tia

Interlude

A random scene from our walk to school this morning. I'd love to know the story behind it.

We had a simple day planned today. Cardboard to the recyclers, cats to the cattery, us to the hospice. I was shouted at by another woman at the cardboard bank for having too much cardboard not adequately folded. Goway ran away, so only two kittens have been posted safely. Checking the girls into the hospice was simple enough, but getting to the point where I could leave them asleep and come over to do my own thing took a ridiculously long time, and was complicated by a certain lack of equipment. And then my parents phoned to say they had seen the result of today's building work and didn't think my van would fit onto the new drive. Joy.

But, Goway has returned, and is safely coralled in the sunroom. I'll pick him up tomorrow and check the drive again at the same time. And, several hours later than planned, I am here, watching a DVD and knitting a new top. It all comes together in the end.

Meanwhile, cuteness from Little Fish. This morning I put a new dressing on her exceptionally sore gastrostomy. "You doing my dressing, Mummy? Ah look at me, I all dressed up now."

And, on the way to school, "Mummy? I need to ask you. Sometimes, sometimes people fall down. And then they cry. Why is that?" Why indeed.

Tia

Day 3

Scary stuff today. I took the van to be serviced, and drove home in a courtesy vehicle. 4 months driving an automatic and I have forgotten how to change gear. Stalling it three times before leaving the garage did so much to help challenge the mechanics' views of women drivers. Little Fish was delighted to be sitting up in the front, and encouraged me by telling me repeatedly "You a good driver, Mummy, well done another stall is funny for me." Marvellous.

I hesitate to whisper it, but the kittens appear to have entirely overcome their reluctance to use the litter tray. And, cutely, they now follow me around all day, nuzzling my hands for more fussings. I'm reasonably certain they're doing it on purpose to make me feel guilty about putting them in the cattery from tomorrow. Note to self: buy bigger cat basket first thing; there's no way all three will fit in the one we have.

Is this the boringest post on my blog? Probably.
Tia

Day 2

Slightly less quiet, but happily I've been out all day so haven't had to listen to the noise. Apologies in order for my neighbours though.
A slight panic when the hospice rang to say they had no place for me to sleep; tricky this as we are planning to stay there from Thursday whilst they pour a new concrete ramp/ I had visions of being improsoned in the house or else forced to sleep in the car. Happily they've come up with a flat after all, so I can breathe again.
And meanwhile our little supervisor is on hand to make sure everything is being done properly
whilst eating the all important chocolate spread and ham sandwich, naturally.

A good day today, a day spent sitting talking and eating with friends. So much stress going on in different lives, and the ability to both talk through it and put it to one side and make hideously inappropriate jokes about it; it all makes it easier and more bearable.

Little Fish managed to stay awake until ten past five tonight; progress on last night's half past four. And Mog is sitting up waiting for a carer now. Our cleaner came, and actually cleaned (I must go out when she's here more often; this would be easier if I could actually plan when she was coming), no kitten poo in inappropriate places for the last day and a half (although there's always the possibility I simply haven't found it yet), and a warmly gentle sunset reflecting over my shoulder. Tonight it might very possibly be not only not a bad life, but actually a pretty good one.

Tia

only on a Monday

Can I take Little Fish to school, and walk back to find this
Farewell my drive!

Alright; I did have warning that the builders were coming, but after our experiences with Bob I wasn't convinced they'd turn up when they did. But so far, model builders. Not only did they turn up on time, they have stripped and shovelled the garden and driveway without using any evilly loud power tool (important considering both girls were in school and no optional extras here at home today), they did not want a single cup of tea and no one came inside to use the bathroom.

Long may it last.
Tia

Bob

Back in November, I had a message from Bob the Builder, saying he would be along in a week to finish our building work. When I replied only with "fine", and not "oh that's wonderful, fantastic, really looking forwards to seeing you and I'll stock up on teabags", he told me I was being very monosyllabic and then didn't turn up.

I got in touch with him again last week, and he said that he'd be out this week to finish off. It's not the first time I have heard this, so I took it with a large pinch of salt. And made plans as usual for us. Imagine then my joy, when he did turn up, on Monday, as planned, at the same time as my cleaner. As my cleaner cleared surfaces, Bob proceeded to empty windowsills onto the clean surfaces, scatter tools across the floor, and make cheerful plans for how to finish the job he started back in 2006.Thankfully, the friend who was visiting with children, including a very busy nearly-two year old boy was able to go and do her shopping and turn up later; she didn't miss Bob but she did miss the cleaner; I think our cleaner might just have spontaneously combusted if faced with six children partying on top of Bob disorganising. Bob worked hard for a few hours, and fitted a new plinth under our cupboards. He emptied the windowsill of clutter, and measured it up for a new piece of wood, for the fourth time in my memory - he has cut at least two new sills in the past but they have then vanished before being fastened down and finished off. *And he then broke the news that he wasn't quite sure how to make the ramp to connect playroom and sunroom. Now considering that Bob was aware from the start that my girls would need to be able to get in and out of the house, and considering that he built the sunroom with their needs in mind, this is more than a little annoying. He and his mate tidied up and hoovered (a Bob praise; he always aims to leave the house cleaner than when he arrives. I'm ashamed to admit that's frequently not difficult to manage), and left, promising to return on Wednesday or Thursday.

Friend and I could now allow the children to explode into the rest of the house, where they found the ballpool and bounced in and out happily so we could get on with the real business of the day, drinking tea and chatting. The children developed a great game of fishing in the pool for various toys - we have a lot of toys which talk, giggle, vibrate or light up if you press them, squeeze them, or walk too close to them. Great for children, great for inducing heart attacks in older people. So they would run in, bringing their latest find, and half a dozen clear balls for good measure, show it off, then run off to find the next Good Thing. It was only after they'd left that I found the orange box with the pliers, set square, hammer and LARGE SAW in sitting on the side of the ball pool. Way to go, Bob! And sorry Friend, but hey, at least they thought the noisy toys were more fun, right? No photograph as I picked it up and put it somewhere safe. Too safe; I have just searched the house and can't find it.

So, friends left, we rested, had another busy day on Tuesday, and then waited for Bob on Wednesday. And Thursday. Oddly, when we came back from visiting other friends yesterday, items had been moved off the windowsills once more, but no further signs of progress. And I suspect the windowsill clearers may have been more feline than furtive sill-measurers.

It's Friday. Our cleaner will be back in an hour, we're off out for the day. Will we come home to a finally finished house?

I did just mention to Bob that we now have further building works planned and that various inspectors from the local council will be in and out to measure up and move walls, etc. I was hoping that would inspire him to finish up; I now suspect that was optimistic.

Tia
*is this the most boring photograph ever to appear on a blog? Probably.

Hotchpotch

I have my own computer again; here be photos from the last few days.

Getting ready to go to Helen House, this made me very happy:
A quick lunch before leaving the house, discovering this on the last bite of my sandwich made me distinctly unhappy:
Here, a reason why the parents' flats in Helen House are so relaxing:And here, another:Now you might think this site would be cause for complaint:but it kept my garden alive, and absolved me from any feeling that I really ought to saunter down Cowley Road into Oxford and DO SOMETHING with my time off. So it was welcome instead.

Lots of time cosied up with a good book, plenty of time cuddling with the girls, nice food, a choice of company or peaceful solitude. Very nice.

And we had been home about an hour when this sight met our eyes:
Bob with our new gate. Hurrah! A new edge to the platform which wasn't a ramp too. The whole not entirely finished but a distinct improvement and the promise of his return if it doesn't rain tomorrow.

A lazy afternoon with friends, a party at Rainbows for Mog, a Grannie to help put the girls to bed, and soon my very own wonderfully comfortable bed.
Tia

I apologise for eating the cake

Because it has clearly come back to haunt me.

Skipped Guides last night as too tired after our disturbed night. Into bed reasonably early, and thank goodness, as Mog started to need me at midnight. She had slipped down the bed and was coughing into the mattress. Hoiked her up the bed and left her to settle but no good - 1 AM and she was in serious need of chloral hydrate.

Sedated her and watched her calm down then staggered back to bed until she woke me again at 3. This time with a cough and a pant and a panic and a temp of 39.3c (102.7 for those who still use old money). Marvellous. More medicines and lots of comforting, and a silent prayer for temporary deafness to afflict the neighbours as I found myself playing runs of consecutive sixths on the piano to soothe her at 4AM.

It worked, she settled, and I slipped outside to admire thesein the early morning light. Should be a good crop this year.

Didn't go back to bed as she was still having a lot of seizures, so came back inside and watched her until she woke again at 6. Retook her temperature and now down to 35.5. (96f). Wrapped her up in our teddyskin rug and hoped she'd find a balance somewhere! Meanwhile noises off indicated that Little Fish was awake and ready to start the day.

Day two of Little Fish's hospital week. It's a hard life, all this assessment work
Really hard workFor part of today's assessment she even had to sit down and eat a whole cheese sandwich. Oh the inhumanity!

Had a message from Bob yesterday letting me know he'd be here today to do the gate. As we pulled in after Little Fish's assessment day, I noticed tyre marks on the lawn - signs that Bob had been and gone. I went to admire my new gate. And found thisI'm not sure what it is; it isn't a ramp, it definitely isn't a gate, it seems to be a small additional step on the deck but I'm not sure why. Its only purpose at present seems to be to make it even harder to get out of the back door than it was before. Joy.

Post this morning finally included a new date for Little Fish's op. The day after we fly to Italy for a week. Argh! So have cancelled it, making that the third cancellation, and will have to wait for the next one. Maybe by Christmas?

On a cheerier note, take a closer look at thisAnyone care to hazard a guess as to what that brown stuff is? Hint: it isn't sand or sawdust but feels a bit like both. Answers on a postcard please (or on a comment form. Although I do like postcards). I'll answer tomorrow. Or next week. Or quite possibly forget to answer at all, in which case, someone nag me.

And now I must go since although it feels like bedtime to me, Little Fish wants some serious entertaining.
Tia

A bitty day

Let me tell you a tale or two.

We'll start with the passport applications. It's easy enough; collect an application form from the post office, fill it in, get photos, find a counter signatory, take it back to the post office.
That's the theory. In practice, taking a photograph of a severely disabled photophobic child which meets the standards for a passport application is not the work of a few seconds. Click after click after click until finally something which met enough of the standards that an explanatory note might cover the rest was obtained.

And then, fill in the forms. Error number one was made by our first countersignatory, who crossed something out, resulting in the application form being rejected by the post office.

A new application form, a new error - this time by our new countersignatory, who signed with too large a flourish and went outside the lines. A teacher who can't keep inside the lines, dreadful.

A new application form (and each form is handed out singly, after queueing at the post office behind many old ladies wishing to collect pensions and impatient women wanting to post parcels to the Outer Hebrides, and small children wishing to buy a single stamp), an other new error. This time, my mistake, I have have written passport numbers instead of post codes.

This time, I get clever, I request two application forms at the same time. And today, with yet another new countersignatory, I managed to drop off a completed application form. This one was accepted by the post office so hopefully within a fortnight Mog should finally have a new passport.

A nicer task next; Mum dropped a vat of these in on her way to work this morning.
So I have been hulling them and chopping out the slug bites,and giving pots away to as many people as we can, safe in the knowledge that more vats will be arriving daily until the harvest is over. Some kind of strawberry chocolate gateau in order for Mog's birthday tomorrow I think.

Next, this:
A sneak preview of Little Fish's superduper new lightweight chair*. We don't actually have it yet; it's got to go back to have belt and cushions fitted. But it's looking good.

Speaking of birthdays; I'm sure I remember Bob telling me that he would be finished by Mog's birthday. I'm pretty sure I remember him saying that last year too. And yet our gate still looks like this: The wall still needs painting, the ramps still need building, the windowsill still needs replacing, and the woodwork needs finishing off.

He did come over this afternoon and finish off the fountain though - and I think it looks jolly marvellous!
Tia
*No, the stripes on her arms weren't planned to match the tigers on her chair. They just happened. I'm told (by her) that it was necessary.

Bright Sunshiney Day

Bob came back last week. He had to leave again; the weather was not good enough for him to finish the outdoor work, and apparently it wasn't worth coming back just to finish the inside bits and pieces. He's been waiting for a sunny day to fit our new gate.

It's been warm, sunny, balmy weather for the past week now. We've been in summer clothes and sun hats and I have been obeying my optician who tells me I have middle aged eyes (query: if my eyes continue to age before the rest of me, will they be able to retire early and what implications would that have for the rest of my life?), and wearing sunglasses. We've been eating outside every day, the air is buzzing all around with the sound of many lawnmowers, and the scent of many barbecues. And still there is no Bob - do you think this could possibly be the wrong kind of sun?

Little Fish and I have been digging in his absence; I have been digging up yet more ground alder and replacing it with somewhat nicer plants. She has been taking the exposed ground alder roots and carefully burying them in her own "gigging 'oles". I'm not convinced this is helpful.
Tia

Organised

I was organised yesterday (not organised enough to post this yesterday, obviously, but still, a little organised). All three of us were reasonably smartly dressed, the girls modelling some of their vast haul new clothes; I even managed to wrestle persuade Little Fish into wearing her hair in bunches. Very smart.

We left the house on time, all three of us fed and watered, and for once with emergency supplies (nappies, wipes, buccal midazolam) in my bag. Usually at least one of those items is left here when we go to church, not disastrous since I live just 2 minutes away but still, not terribly convenient if they're actually needed.

We leave early enough that Little Fish can self-propel most of the way (power chair waiting for the wheelchair repair service to fix its broken arm. No, we didn't break it in Florida; we didn't take it to Florida). The lights at the crossing are with us, we cross elegantly and without getting small wheels trapped in the kerb, we saunter along the road and are about to cross over to get to church when I notice that Mog is twitching slightly. No problem, I think, smugly remembering that I have her emergency meds with me should they be needed. And then I remember I haven't given her her morning meds.

It's like the Bear Hunt. Back down the path, oh wait, red lights, press the button, green man, back across the road onto the traffic island, oh wait, red lights, press the button, green man, back across the road, past the pub, through the garages down the slope get to the garden and phew, but oh no, now here come our church friends looking mightily puzzled as we head back to our house instead of into church.

They offer to push Little Fish back to church again for me, a kind offer but one Little Fish rejects by the simple method of clamping her hands onto her wheels and screaming. Who needed a lie-in anyway? Serves the neighbours right for not coming to church! A lovely Christian sentiment, if I do say so myself.

So, abandoning both girls in the front garden, I let myself in and grab various medications. At the moment Mog has 6 drugs in the morning, one of them (the laxative) can wait, so I grab the others, dissolve the tablets, shrink the dose of the one we're withdrawing (Vigabatrin), draw up the baclofen and then stand in the garden with the girls, shaking syringes like a mad thing in order to get the glycopyrrulate tablet to break up. It won't be the first time there have been syringes in my front garden, but they usually have a habit of making their way their mysteriously overnight and not through my hands; it's definitely the first time the neighbours have been treated to the pill melting dance - thankfully by this time the kind friends have moved on, so Little Fish has stopped screaming. Push the medicines through Mog's tube, flush them, post the slightly sticky syringes and the little bowl of water into my bag, grab both girls and hot foot it back to church.

Amazingly we're still not late. I park Mog in the carpark and take Little Fish to her Sunday School class. This is only her second session there, there is debate about whether I need to stay with her, but in the end they decide I can leave her, provided that I come back after dopping Mog at hers. Little Fish is not best pleased by this, so I melt away as inconspicuously as I can, to throw Mog at her Sunday School teacher. Mog's group has a large adult team of musicians who are all tuning up and counting down until the start of the service, speakers blaring, children running around colouring things in; she's very happy. A quick march across the carpark to Little Fish's group, where I stick my head around the door to check they are ok. Little Fish is fine, she's found another child in a wheelchair not dissimilar to Mog's, and is attempting to push her around the room. She is distracted with toy cars and boys to play with and crayons to eat draw with, and the leaders assure me they will be fine.

So I make my way to the main church building and sit myself down. An epic moment - since Little Fish moved in in February last year I have spent most Sunday mornings sitting in creche with her. I came into church for a couple of weeks, but there were a lot of babies and toddlers in a very small space, and it wasn't a safe place for her to be. So with the exception of family services, I have sat in creche and revisited infant theology. It hasn't been a waste of time; I now have a very good idea of what the creche children are being taught, I have ideas for things I can do at home with the girls, I have had time to chat to other parents. I'm still not sure about the morning when the children were handed paper telephones and told they could call God at any time - yes, I understand they were trying to compare prayer to a phone line that was never engaged, but I still have a feeling that may have been above the comprehension level of the average two year old child.

Things were sorted for Little Fish last term, just in time for me to help Mog transition to her new Sunday School. Again, not wasted time - important for the teachers to know how to communicate with Mog, how to read her, and what constitutes a medical emergency as opposed to what is just normal life for Mog. And great to see the inside scoop on what's happening for the children in her group - it's a very big change from how things used to be done, an awful lot of work for the leaders but very exciting too I think. It's been running for a few years now, but it's the first time I've seen what they're doing other than what they bring over to family services. They've had to make a bit of a change to accomodate Mog (move a class group downstairs), and I'm really pleased they've managed to do it. Of course Mog has celebrated by sleeping through most of the sessions so far, but I do know that when she is awake, what she is hearing is reaching her better than what she was hearing in the younger group (mostly the noise of other children playing!). I've seen her listening and heard her joining in, even if her group leaders don't now pick up on it I know that it's the right place for her to be.

So I left both girls in their own groups, and went to sit down in church. And got to join in a grown up worship session, and got to hear a grown up, adult, sermon without having to download it from the church website. There's a lot to be said for having children in the service, but oh my there's a lot to be said for having a nice distraction-free adult service too. Of course having managed that yesterday, next weekend we have a gathering of the clans to celebrate a 60th wedding anniversary, and the weekend after that my friend's son is being Baptised, so it'll be three weeks before I have the luxury of sitting in a service at our church again; and if I'm not mistaken we've a couple of family services after that over half term, but still, it happened once and I'm confident that it'll happen again some time this year. Very nice.

After all that lack of organisation, we were tired, so we headed back home again. More kind friends pushed one of the girls for me, Little Fish raced the "boy boy" to push the button at the traffic lights, we fished someone else's empty vodka bottle out of the front lawn, and went inside for lunch.

All attempts at organisation fell apart after that. There's still a huge amount of joy involved in watching Little Fish eat a sandwich; she can eat a banana without it needing mashing too now, and even had a go at some melon. This was apparently the worst possible thing I could have tried to give her, it was very scary even to look at. I'm clearly an evil mother. Once safely hidden in the 'fridge lunch was over and we spent the next several hours sitting in the garden. Mog got to laugh at the light coming through the blossom on the apple tree, and Little Fish burned off some energy doing wheelies down the ramps and slogging her way back up again.I meanwhile got to sit back in a rocking chair and read a book, perfect.

It's a shame I forgot about the St George's Day Parade we were supposed to be attending in town.

The girls were nicely tired out anyway, and settled well to sleep. Until 4 this morning, when Mog woke with a fit and a jump and a spasm and a twitch and a scream and a sob and a start. Her brace is broken and she does not like to sleep without it. That's not true; I'm sure she'd love to sleep without it, but without it her body twists into a pretzel, this pulls on the plates in her hips and is very painful. Painkillers given she started to relax, eventually morning medicines given a couple of hours early, and she slid back into a comfortable sleep, propped up in her wheelchair. Woke up long enough to get clothes on and eat breakfaast, and then fell back to sleep solidly enough that not even the arrival of our cleaner with hoover woke her up. So, one child not in school today.

Little Fish on the other hand slept in this morning. Still woke in plenty of time to have breakfast, get her clothes on, and sit and wait for the school bus. She likes to sit in the window and shout to me when the bus comes. Very useful; I can get on with writing in home school books, packing spare clothing, sorting out milk and lunches for Mog, and so on.

It was as the bus drove off that I realised Little Fish had not had her morning water. A quick call to one of the most flexible nursery teachers I've ever met, and problem solved, but not a great start to the week.

In other news, Bob says he now has a loan van from the insurance company (yes, the need for it was news to me too), and he will be here in the morning. I do hope so. I'd really like to be able to cook in the kitchen again. Watch this space
Tia

The Monday After the Fortnight Before

From this:
To this:
So far today:

Phonecalls to
Prescriptions
Health Visitor
Wheelchair repair
Hospital
Sitting Service

Letters to
Holiday helpers
Wheelchair suppliers
School
Niece and New Nephew

156 emails

Washing, unpacking, ironing, clean bedding, finding homes for all the girls' new clothes and our two shiny new suitcases.

Still to do
Disability Living Allowance Form (yuck)
Tax return (double yuck)
Passport photos for the girls for the holiday forms
Passport application form for Mog (2nd attempt)
Clean out the fish tank.

Meanwhile, in our absence, Bob has been. Hurrah? Well not quite; he has arrived, he has rearranged items in the sunroom so his tools are in the front and my clothes horse is at the back and inaccessible, he has moved the fishtank from its alcove to the only free bit of worksurface, ensuring I now have nowhere to chop veg or cook or stack the dirty dishes before washing them up, he has filled the alcove with packs of tiles, and he has disappeared again. No progress in the garden or anywhere else, and reverse progress in the kitchen.

Take me back here again please!


Tia

A new twist in the Bob tales

I caved. I wasn't going to contact him, I was just going to wait it out. But I needed to know how much his bill was likely to be, so that I knew how much we'd Mog would have to spend when we go on holiday. So, I asked.

Which, inevitably, led to a request for the money to be paid. So, Wednesday morning I collected money from the bank. Bob said he'd be here on Thursday, around lunchtime, to pick it up. Not really believing it, I made arrangements to stay in, and he did indeed turn up at 1PM. A good start. Even more hopeful signs; he brought a worker with him - this is clearly a man not just turning up to collect money but also willing to work for it. Great. They then spent 2 hours gardening. Not building, not finishing the many little tasks which need to be finished, but mowing the lawn, strimming the edges, and picking up the rubbish. Lovely - but not, strictly speaking, a building-related task. Thirty minutes at the end of the day was spent doing a little tiny bit of actual building work.

They then left, without taking the money. Bob asked me again if I would pay him, I told him the money was here and he said he'd be back today for it. Little Fish and I have been here all day, with the exception of a 20 minute dash to the post office to collect our currency. It's been an absolutely beautiful day, perfect outdoor building work weather. So, has Bob been? Or has he yes again vanished?

It's not that I mind not paying him - I would far rather not give him any more money until he's actually finished. But I do object to having spent today waiting for him, rather than heading into town to do last minute pre-holiday shopping stuff. Now I'll have to do that tomorrow, with both girls in tow. This gives me the choice of pushing both girls around town in manual chairs (doable but stressful) or pushing Mog and letting Little Fish drive herself around in her power chair (easier but means we can't get into some of the shops we need to visit). I suppose there's a third choice, do without the things I was hoping to get; this is looking to be the most likely option, but I was hoping to pick up some little "keep a three year old quiet on a plane trip" bits and pieces. It's also odd - who fails to turn up to collect money? Failing to turn up to work I can understand, but failing to turn up to collect money?

I wonder if he'll come in when we're away, if I will come back and find it all finished? Anyone want to come and put a twist in his tail?

Banker Management.

Grump.

My bank card hates me. Remember this? Another new card, and it's still doing the same thing. Now there have been times in the past where this could possibly be caused by a lack of funds. But since Bob has still not finished, he has still not been paid; there is therefore several months worth of Bob fees sitting in my account. Enough that whenever I walk into the branch, the cashiers try to sell me new and interesting ways to tie up the money. Certainly enough to pay for the odd little luxury like a week's shopping. Or, as today, a year's car tax. The card has developed a new and irritating quirk; it will work as a chip and PIN card but not for "card not present" transactions. So no internet payments, no telephone purchases. This is not helpful. It's not disastrous, since my credit card will work for these transactions (although, sadly, not for the chip and PIN ones), but it is frustrating. I don't want to be paying for things with credit, I want to be paying for things out of my bank balance. I especially don't want to be paying for car tax with a credit card; it's more expensive that way.

If this were a problem caused by lack of funds, I would not be as cross. If this were the more common problem I have with the credit cards (I don't ever use them to buy things in shops, so whenever I try to they get flagged as "unusual activity" and turned down), I'd be annoyed, but vaguely understanding (depending how apologetic the person trying to call me to authorise it was being at the time). But this is my card which I use daily, for everything. It's the card the bank wants me to use instead of writing cheques. The card I use to withdraw money, to check my balance, to make payments.

So, I phoned the bank again. Last time I did this, I was on hold for 45 minutes. When the person answered, I accidentally shut off the telephone, and had to start the whole thing again. Despite this, I remained polite, even as I was told I had dialed the wrong number and would need to start again with a different one. Apologetic member of staff, new card issued, problems solved. Until today.

I phoned again. Right number first time, phone answered within 2 minutes. Not bad. I choose to view the accidental cutting me off instead of putting me on hold as unfortunate but not intensely irritating. Phone back, longer wait, but speak to a different member of staff. Who insists I must have changed my PIN. I point out it's the non-PIN related transactions having the problems. Consultation with colleague. Must be a problem with the bank balance. Nope. Then must be a problem with the card. Despite the fact the card isn't actually present for these transactions, and that there are no recorded problems with this card. They'll send me another.

I'd be pleased, except this will now be the third, possibly fourth card I have had in an attempt to find one which works reliably. And except that we are off on holiday in just under 2 weeks; there is now an even possibility that I will be flying to the US without a working bank card. The staff member just suggested I took out enough money for the whole of the holiday. Marvellous.

Hang up, after the man at the other end of the phone invited me to shout at him because he was a representative of the bank and I was therefore entitled to vent my frustration on his shoulders (query: is this a new effective anger management technique? Guilt the caller into defending the bank's practices? Or was this a man who really did genuinely feel for my situation and appreciate the difficulties of having a randomly not working bank card? Oddly disconcerting, either way).

So now I'm back to watching the post until the new card comes through, at which point I will have to yet again change various automated payment details, put the card through its paces in several different situations, and hope it works for a little longer than three weeks.

I'm struggling though - I really don't see how it can be a problem with the internal workings of the card, when the card itself isn't present for these particular transactions. I had better warn the friend we're off to Florida with that she may find herself footing the bill for our expenses out there; I wonder how she'll take that? US visitors do please tell me, do your shops take chip and PIN or signatures for card payments? I can't remember.

And now Mog's pump has beeped, her litre's gone in (taken a little under 16 hours today which seems incredibly slow), and Little Fish has not yet woken up (she's going through a bad dream patch and keeps waking up scared of creases in the bedsheet. This is not a good or helpful phase to be going through), so I am off to bed myself.

Oh, and was pointed out to me earlier today, my baby brother has a fiancee, not a fiance. Apologies to both of you!
Tia

Noah Called

see more crazy cat pics

And the rain it still raineth every day. Flooded on the way to church this morning. More rain due. Bob has therefore not been over - not that I'm devastated to have a Sunday without builders, but there are inside jobs still waiting too...

Signing off (unless inspiration hits tomorrow morning) for a while now, as tomorrow I'm away to London for a few days.

Please keep Jophie in your prayers; he's got a way to go yet before Trina can get him home.
Tia

And back to reality.

I was wrong. It wasn't new fence needed face, it was "I'm off now to watch the Rugby, might pop over tomorrow if it isn't raining". He did say he's trying to get things finished off by Easter though; should I get excited?

Tia

Well blow me down. Bob turned up this morning. A message a couple of days ago letting me know he'd be here on Friday (yesterday), so Little Fish and I hung around at home apart from our emergency nappy dash. No Bob. 4PM another message, "oops, run out of time, be with you tomorrow instead".

Fast forward to this morning. A lie-in - no one disturbed me until 7AM and even then it was birdsong, not childwrong. Great. Eased myself out of bed, made a cup of coffee in peace, gave Mog her morning meds in bed and watched her drop back off to sleep, sat and read and enjoyed the peace and quiet. And then a sudden panicked remembrance of Bob's message from the day before and a realisation that he could in fact be with us at 8AM. Leap up, dropping coffee and race to swap nightie for clothes designed for more public view. Doing so wakes Little Fish, and the day begins in earnest.

I wonder how long Little Fish might have slept if I hadn't woken her? Typically on a Saturday she either wakes at 6.30 as normal, or goes on snoozing til gone 9. Usually up early when we have nothing to do, and sleeping on when I had a busy day planned. But hey ho, at least I had one quiet cup of coffee and an uninterrupted night; either one would make for a good morning. Looking for more than that is just greedy!

So, breakfast for Little Fish, clothes and changes for both girls, and three of us ready for the day ahead. No Bob. We cook, we mop, we clean, no Bob. We consider going out - it wouldn't be the first time Bob has not turned up, and he has a key so no problems there. But we wait. Little Fish elects to sit in the window; she wants to wait for the school bus. Giving up on trying to explain it's Saturday I plonk her on the sill and wait for her to realise it herself. So it is Little Fish who first lets me know "MAN MAN" is here at last.

Hurrah!

One cup of tea and much discussion later, I have a rough idea of what he needs to do. In the garden, he needs to replace the gate, finish the decking. And then he'll come inside and sort out the few remaining jobs to be done there. All well and good.

I don't know why I was surprised to look out of the window and finding him pruning the hedges instead of the agreed work... He's just walked in with a gleam in his eye which tells me he's about to say something like "that fence is damaged; I'll fix up a new one before I do the gate". I hope I'm wrong
Tia