Mary

As tLP went back to school and prepared herself for the Big Event yesterday, Miss Mog had her own excitement. A reprisal of an earlier role, but then she does look rather dashing in blue, I think.

 

She was in respite the night before, and much consultation had happened between the various authorities as to the necessity of having her in school by 9.30 rather than her usual 10AM. Despite this, her transport did not turn up at respite until 9.26. The show started at 10 as planned, and those of us aware of her absence scanned the programme anxiously, willing other classes to move slowly, hoping the comperes would drop notes and slow things down.

They didn't. The school choir made a joyful noise (and will be featured on local radio on Saturday morning. The sixth form narrators read with enthusiasm, and the classes paraded on and off stage to sing and dance and play their instruments and wave to parents. Beautiful.

Despite the lack of hiccups, Mog did just squeak into the hall in time to join her class, who were singing the Calypso Carol. Phew! I think that's what they sang last time she was Mary, back in the nursery. The wise man that time has since transferred schools, as has the angel. The shepherd is no longer in Mog's class, so she had a new backing group (their parents may choose to see their roles slightly differently) this time. I made Mog's costume from a pillowcase last time; can she ever have been that small?

This time, as the grand finale, nearly all the pupils were able to crowd onto the stage to sing their final song and wave their last "Hello Mummy" waves. So nice to see everyone together, from the tiniest wobbly dot in the nursery to the very elegant and sophisticated sixth formers (who then served tea and coffee and fleeced us sold us the fruits of their labour over at the Propeller Project.

It takes a lot of work to put on a school performance. It takes even more work to put on a performance which is meaningful to all the pupils involved, including those who don't manage well with crowds, who cannot sit still, or who can do very little other than sit very still. To create a show where every single pupil's input was valued and appreciated was very very special. Some pupils had recorded their input earlier to reduce the overstimulation, some had clearly practiced very hard, and others brought some beautiful inprovisation. All clearly enjoyed themselves, as did the audience. Well done!

Tia

Growing Up

I have just dropped the Little Princess off at her Brownie Sleepover. She had a practice run back in the summer, staying until bedtime and then coming home. At 11PM, still full of joy and enthusiasm and thinking that she might want to stay next time.

So when this next sleepover came, tLP was quite excited. And then worried, and then excited again. And then we started making plans.

Our aim was to be free from overnight tubes by this point. We haven't quite managed that, but she is able to direct one of the Brownie Guiders well enough that hooking her up won't be a problem.

She didn't want the Brownies to see her on her Nippy (ventilator). And she was worried that it might be too noisy. So she spoke to the respiratory nurse herself, to ask if she could leave it off for one night. And received permission to do so.

She has gone without her gastrostomy extension tube, and so will be taking all her meds orally. Even the ones which don't taste nice. She has chosen to avoid the leg bag option, and will therefore have to take responsibility for noticing when she needs to cath. She has stripped down her morning and evening routines to the bare minimum, and is confident enough that I know she will either manage herself, or manage to direct others to help her with all the bits she really can't avoid doing.

And she has remembered her torch, her apron, her pencil case with sharpened pencils, two pints of milk, and her craft tubs.

Not bad for seven!
Tia

A knock at the door, 

a parcel for Tia

No deliveries expected, an early Christmas present?

 

 A Cadbury's box, much too tempting to be left under the tree.

Besides, there might be a note from the sender

 It really should be checked out.

  The Little Princess pounced on her favourites, 

And I found the note

And told her all the chocolates were for me.

 Six years ago, I brought a baby boy home from hospital. A tiny baby boy, wrapped in a blanket, frail and exhausted and with a range of interesting medical problems. 

He stayed with us for a little while, and I told my friend about him, and about how he was going to need a forever family. 

And he went to lovely carers, and I gained my lovely Little Princess, and we met at hospital sometimes, and I had reports about him, and thought that was the end of it. 

But then he came back. He and tLP had great fun together; gone was the fragile baby, and here was the bouncing toddler. Still with a frightening number of medical problems, but doing generally rather better than people had anticipated. 

And I told my friend about him, and how he needed a place to stay, and I told the social workers about my friend.

And it took quite a while, but now they are mother and son forever, and in the midst of their celebrations, they found time to remember the date, and to send a parcel of chocolate weighing more than that little baby did the first time I held him.

I'm not a foster carer any more; something it still feels fairly strange to tell people. And I don't know what's happened to a lot of the children I have fostered - I hear the initial endings and then life moves on and that's how it should be. I don't forget the children, but they settle into new families or back with original families, and the period of time they spent with me is filed under temporary aberration, unfortunate episode, or something more positive but still finished. That's fine; as far as I know, they have gone on to have very happy lives and I'm pleased to have played a part in it all. But it is very lovely to have been remembered, and it is lovely to know that we will stay connected. And it's always lovely to have chocolate! And yes, I did agree to share it. 

Tia

 

12:12 12/12/12

I'm sitting in the kitchen, cooking spaghetti bolognese and talking to tLP, who is off school yet again.

Nothing major, nothing terribly significant, and indeed this is only one minute, no greater or less than any other moments this day or year.

But symmetry pleases me, and I thought I'd record what I was doing at the time. Not entirely what I'd planned to be doing, but not bad either. Just your average kind of Wednesday.

Tia

Service with a ?

Love this.
Tia

Breathing Out Slowly.

After holding my breath in for far too long.

One Mog, coughing but smiling to herself this evening after a day spent mostly asleep.

One Little Princess, so much better now her caecostomy is no longer draining pus.

Two "imagination babies"; Tyler and Zak, who apparently need very careful watching. They kept her up all night because Dad was away, so it was just her. And they jumped out of bed and ran around on the floor, throwing clothes and all sorts, apparently. This earned them a severe and unaccompanied nap time as we went to church.

Sitting in a different space in church; strangely dislocating. Two rows further back and on the other side, not a huge difference, but a change in perspective. Also disconcerting, other members of the congregation who installed chairs and huddled right at the back rather than accept my tweaking of Mog to allow them through to the two empty rows beside us. Hey ho.

Decorating the tree this year, directed almost entirely by tLP and it doesn't look at all bad. Certainly no worse than I've managed in the past. Lametta hides a multitude of imperfections.

And then a late afternoon stroll to check other people's Christmas lights. Abbreviated because Tyler and Zak wouldn't hold hands to cross the road, and were running into traffic.

So home, and tea, and pyjamas and bed and now two girls sleeping, two cats washing, and the house and I can both breathe out and look forwards to some quiet time together; I think we may have both girls in school tomorrow. Hoorah.

Tia