Perspective

Yesterday afternoon, I felt the need for biscuits. I walked into our kitchen, took down a mixing bowl, grabbed flour, sugar, ground rice and butter, mixed them up, flattened the mixture down onto a baking tray and shoved it into an oven. Cleared up, burped Mog, changed Mog, put the kettle on and brewed coffee. Took my plate of shortbread out of the oven, and risked my fingers breaking it up whilst still too hot, sat down in the sitting room and ate it as the whole house steamed gently of warm sugar and cosiness.

"That smells good," commented my cleaner, arriving at that moment, "I"m much too lazy to cook, I just buy things from the shop."

And I thought, hmmm. I'm sitting in my slippers, I haven't left the house all day, it took me five minutes to mix the dough and five to clean up, and in return I have hot, fresh, shortbread to go with my perfectly brewed coffee, and the house smells fabulous. I'm much too lazy to find my boots, find my coat, find Mog's blankets, walk all the way to the shops and then traipse around them hunting for biscuits, then queue for twenty minutes dodging the insanely long queue for the post office before walking home again. If either of us is lazy, I don't think it's her.

And then I started thinking about other stuff too. We have a breadmaker, I use it to bake the majority of the bread we eat. Not because it tastes better (although, mostly, it does), not because it's cheaper (it isn't), but because I can store more flour and yeast than I can store loaves of bread, and because, again, it's easier to tip a pile of ingredients into the machine and press "bake" than it is to drag myself over to the shops and back. And I get to stay inside, stay warm, and smell the bread baking. Yet others seem to think that's too much work. It feels like a lot less work to me, especially when I get the flour delivered.

Moving away from food (although it is a struggle, especially at this time of year), I have two girls. Apparently, simply for loving my daughters, I am some kind of a saint. This life is all I have ever wanted it to be; I have everything I have ever hoped for, I am doing the things I planned to do when I was twelve. And yet, some people can't share in my joy, don't celebrate with me, but instead offer pity and sympathy. There are, undoubtedly, trials and tribulations involved. I'm not going to pretend life is perfect and easy and constant sunshine and daffodils. For every freshly baked loaf of bread there's a poo explosion, and for every giggle a tantrum. Balance. I have friends, family, and a network of support around me. You have to leave your warm house every day and drive miles to work at a job you dislike. And yet you pity me?* I have it easy.

Tia
*If you're reading this, I probably don't mean you, personally.

Emmanuel

The glory and the majesty, the mighty come to worship

The humble, the lowly, setting aside their work to come and find Him. The son of God, born not in a palace but in the squalor of a stable
Emmanuel, God With Us
God With us, in the midst of us, at the centre of all this daily life
A baby no more, still at the centre of it all.
Tia

Party season

Tuesday, Ladies' night out.
Friday, Christmas Lunch.
Saturday, Christmas Party.
Sunday, Carol Service, pre-Christmas Lunch, mini school reunion.
Monday, today, the Guides Christmas Party.

Mog was poorly last week. Made it into school for nearly a whole day before being banished once more, but had an excellent extended weekend of parties. Yesterday, she was fine; last night she was very not fine, and today she seems absolutely fine except for one smallish issue - she keeps forgetting to breathe. I don't mind her obstructive apnoeas; at least I can usually hear her struggling. These ones though the only warning is the beep of the monitor as her sats drop into the 70s. A gentle nudge and she breathes again, laughing at my concerned face.

So, plenty on my mind, and a few days where we've only been at home in order to sleep. Which is my attempt at an excuse for having forgotten until this morning that I was supposed to make a piñata for the Guide Christmas party. Thankfully, two things we're not short of in this house are old paper and flour. Resurrecting a flattish balloon from Friday's party, I made a start. Having coated the kitchen in a fine layer of drips, I stood, holding one very soggy balloon, and wondered what to do with it next.

Hurrah for ceiling track hoists!
And hurrah again for baby baths to catch the drips.

Two hours under the fan heater, and we were ready for the second layer. Second layer taking significantly longer to dry, I had a prolonged and eloquent debate on facebook researched the possibility of using the microwave to speed things along.
Before realising that the gold paper probably wouldn't make the microwave very happy.

Beautiful!

But very soggy. No problem, shorten the ribbon, bring it closer to the fan heater.
Did you know, warm air makes balloons expand? And that an expanding balloon will push apart soggy Papier-mâché turning your beautiful giant bauble into something more closely resembling an elderly daffodil bulb post flowering?

No matter. Pop the balloon, and bake the beastie until it is rock hard and only slightly scorched around the edges.
Remove from oven, allow to cool. Cool some more. And some more. And some more. And then fill with chocolates, party poppers, glitter.

Decorate. Realise you have created something which looks less Faberge and more as though your five year old brought it back from school having made every step of it herself. Debate allowing her to take credit, before deciding she'd tell everyone the truth anyway.

Sit back, wrap pass the parcel, attempting to create inclusive forfeits.

Sit down again. Stand up, visit bathroom, realise you may have more work left than you first thought.
Take a closer look at the floor, the kitchen, the playroom, the sink, the oven and the radiator.

Sigh.

Go to Guides.
Tia

The Inky Wife

Slightly smudged, but very proud (and note new ramp to access school stage behind her).

I am so tired.
They could sleep in the stable.
I wonder who that could be?

Hello Ulysses!
Tia

Recipe for a Frazzled Morning

Take one night, disturbed not by a sick child but by a small girl peeling stickers off the wall then getting upset about rubbish in her bed. Add one accidental lie in, and wake to the sounds of a child choking.

Race from bed to sick child. Look at sick child peacefully sleeping. Observe sick child begin a seizure, brought on by bumping the bed when running to rescue child from choking. Observe that sats appear to be fine. Listen, puzzled, as choking continues. Check cats, both of whom appear to be eating happily.

Realise choking is coming not from Mog, who has a cough and tends to choke anyway, but from Little Fish. Stand by Mog's bed, watching her fit for a little while, whilst more awake part of the brain jumps up and down and eventually succeeds in pointing out breathing problems trump seizure activity in order of priority.

Stand by Little Fish's bed, puzzled, whilst sleepy part of brain says "But she doesn't have breathing problems." More alert part of brain points out that needing a ventilator overnight should, probably, count as having a breathing problem. Assess choking noise and realise it is in fact simply sound effects from being ventilated through a nose full of snot. Debate waking LF, but settle for checking all settings and a very gentle repositioning to enable snot to drain through mask. Make mental note to wash mask in the morning, a note which has been forgotten until I type this.

*************
Interlude in blogging as I wash mask.
*************

Make tea, sit quietly, attempt to wake up. Find clothes, assemble on body in mostly correct order.

Open door to carer at 7AM and debate which child should be woken first. Neither girl stirs when overhead lights switched on, then both girls wake at same time, each equally unhappy at having been disturbed. Send carer Mogwards and attempt to pacify a grumpier than usual Little Fish.

Dress Little Fish and acquiesce to her request for pancakes for breakfast. Mix batter. Clean frying pan. Grease pan, pour pancake, watch as pancake frizzles and sticks to the sides. Scrape pancake off pan and scrunch onto a plate. Pour second, more respectable pancake, toss, then slide onto plate for Little Fish. Turn around. Knock remaining batter over. Watch as it pours over cupboard, trays, assorted baking dishes, and floor. Mutter. Spread chocolate spread for Little Fish, scrape together enough batter for one more pancake. Pour. Watch as pancake frizzles and sticks to sides of pan once more. Add "dedicated omelette and pancake pan" to mental Christmas wishlist. Scrape pancake off pan onto plate, splat chocolate spread over the top and share with Little Fish.

Remember this is a fluid balance record day for LF and measure precisely 220 mls water. Record. Apologise to school for requiring them to weigh and measure all input and output. Trip over cat.

Put third load of washing in machine, second out to dry, clear up pancake batter puddle and ponder what to do with now disgraceful tea towel.

Make coffee.

Drink coffee.

Begin marathon phone session. Order incontinence supplies for the holidays. Request nursing supplies. Order feed supplies. Have long and frustrating debate with automated phone system until it finally agrees to pass me over to the prescriptions line at our surgery. Wait in a queue. Realise my call is very important to them. Wish they would time this message to coincide with a break in the music rather than cutting in at random intervals, mid phrase. Decide to be thankful the music is instantly forgettable.

Eventually reach woman on other end of prescriptions line. Realise it is not the usual prescriptions lady when she requires me to spell out the girls' names. Realise this will matter when she is unable to find the medications we require. I say it's on the repeats, she says it isn't. I say we've had it since she was a baby, she says it isn't on the list. I say we need it. She says it isn't there. I repeat that we need it. Silence. She agrees to write a note for the doctor. I ask her which doctor, since our GP has just retired. She gives the name of a different Dr. I hope for the best.

I ask for the next drug. She says it is a controlled medication and that we can't have it. I say we need it. She says it is controlled. I point out it is on the repeats list. She writes another note for the Dr. I ask if someone has been editing the prescriptions list. She gets very huffy. I ask for another drug. She asks me if it has a different name. I spell the name for her. She finds it. I ask for the next drug. It too has vanished from the list, despite being prescribed monthly since Mog was two years old. I forget to check whether she has listed all the ones she can't find on her note to the new GP. I go through the rest of our repeats. Repeat above conversation. And again. And again. I lose track of what has and has not been ordered. She remains adamant we cannot have certain medications at all. I move to second child's list. She finds one medication which we could not find on first child's list. And tries to insist we can only have it for this child. I point out both children have painkillers and request the larger bottle we used to get. She insists 100mls is plenty (100mls is ten doses, at 3 doses per child per day one bottle will last less than two days). I consider beating my head against the worksurface, but realise it is still sticky with batter. I consider beating her head against the wall, but realise this would involve leaving the house, something I have successfully avoided doing for most of the past week.

Twenty minutes later we complete the phone call, a call which usually lasts two minutes. I have no idea whether she has recorded all our medications or not, I have no idea whether she will send the amended list to the Dr, and I have a feeling I am now supposed to be making an appointment to see the Dr - who may or may not be our replacement Dr - in order to request that the supply of one medication is increased. Since I have no intention of taking healthy children to sit in a waiting room crowded full of ill people, I decide to wait a couple of days and hope our regular prescriptions lady is back on the job instead.

I hang up the phone and find a message waiting. Phone my mother to discuss the relative benefits of coconut, almond, rice and soya milks. Debate the finer points of dairy free cooking, and point out that one of her tried and tested recipes is dairy free anyway. Discuss one hundred and one things to do with an overcooked plum cake (mainly; insert into Dad's lunchbox and test the theory that he never notices what he eats at lunchtime anyway).

Make coffee. Drink coffee. Breathe. Blog.
Tia

A different kind of normal

Nikki over at Blogs for a Cause is trying to raise money for Sarah's Covenant Homes. She interviewed me a few days ago, and here's her post, take a look. We can't all do what Sarah does, but if lots of people helped a little, what difference would that make?

Excuse my lack of wordiness here; I haven't left the house since Tuesday (Mog's been a little unwell), and apparently, when I don't leave the house, I lose all desire to communicate with the outside world.
Tia

December memos

Dear hoist engineer,

You are a hoist engineer working for a company supplying hoists to people living in the community. It's safe to assume that the majority of your clients will either have a disability of some kind themselves or else be caring for someone with a disability. "I've met some Disabled who have more between their ears than normal people" is therefore a sentence you may wish to consider striking from your vocabulary sooner rather than later. Oh, and whilst pruning vocab, could you perhaps understand that children attending special school have not been "Sectioned"?
Thank you for your kind attention in this matter.


Dear Weather Man,

Snow. Snow, snow snow! Everywhere in the country, snow. And what do we get? less than 3/8ths of an inch, not even enough to sew a seam with, which falls in the night and fades away during the day. This is almost worse than none at all. Could you please send us a nice pretty fat snow blanket so we are no longer the only green spot in the country or else turn the rest of the country's snow into grey slush so we can laugh at them ?


Dear Mog,

I know you don't like having dental treatment. And I know you can't swallow. But they really were suctioning you just as fiercely as I would have been. Aspirating the water and tartar really wasn't necessary. If I've misjudged you and this chest thing is totally unrelated, I apologise. But either way, could you just calm down and breathe a little please? I don't want to call out the little green men just yet. Or at all, really.


Dear Little Fish,

Yes, the kitchen light is on. I'm mixing meds, washing nebs, making cups of tea, feeding the cat. You want total darkness in your bed, allow me to close the door. Once you are in bed, you don't get to control the light switches in other rooms. Deal with it. I love you dearly, but you aren't the one in charge here and we both seem to be forgetting that a little again.

Dear Feet,

The eczema is itchy. And optional. Desist.

That's all for now.
Tia