If your car was broke how would you try to fix it?

I wrote this post two years ago. As my son was going through Graded Exercise Therapy and Cognitive behavioural Therapy. Angus was deteriorating and was left bedbound. Having never being listened to I got quite cross with the medical profession, but that was no help to anyone. Two Years on we have learnt a lot, it is a shame NICE and the medical profession, NHS chose not to!

Yesterday I was taken by my family to the seaside; you cannot begin to imagine how this felt. I do not have the words to express the 101 emotions and joy. My twelve year old boy wanted me to hear the sea; I love the sound of the sea in summer. He wanted me to trust him. He wanted me to listen to him.

I took my own advice and I did listen to him, I did and do trust him. We ate fish and chips, we had ice-cream and we played on the amusements.

He took his own Heart Rate and Blood pressure readings, and I did not say a word. I have an amazing young man who is my hero, who is unique, my prize possession along with his sister who took me out for a Sunday jaunt to Felixstow.

How things could have been different/should have been different if they had only listened back then at the beginning. They seem to think that if the wheels move then don't look under the bonnet but: 

If your car was broke how would you try to fix it?

Say you had this car, I'm not talking about any car but a unique, your prize possession of a car. You had this car from new and lovingly looked after it.

It is a glorious and beautiful sunny day, a good day to go to the beach. You know the sort of day I mean; the one you have been waiting for after a long hard winter. There is a crisp joyful tingle to the air, the blackbirds are singing. The sky for the first time, has that watery blue that makes you want to bath in the light of the warming sun. You really need to get out of the house and the idea of fish and chips along the sea front, with an ice-cream as you watch the sun slowly sink in the sky. Those sort of days that warm the cockles of your heart and soul. The days that make life worth while.

You go to the little car that is your pride and joy and marvel at the paintwork gleaming in the morning sun. You check everything is as it should be and you turn the key. The little engine splutters into life and although your a little puzzled to the haphazard running of the engine, you can't wait to get started, so brush it off as one of those things. Gently you start your journey but the buzz of the engine makes you just want to go with the flow, and as the engine fires into action and everything looks and sounds OK, you put your foot down and the little cars revs with joy.

The top is down the wind is blowing the cobwebs away and the simple pleasure of the beach starts to sing to you as the salty air fills you with memories and dreams. You hear the little engine misfire, and you start to loose speed. You are still moving, so not to worry, we will get there, we are in no hurry. You pat your pride and joy with reassurance and confidence, that when you get home you will be able to sort the problem out.

On the way back home, after just managing to get the fish and chips, you say not to worry we will come back when we have sorted the issue out and have an ice-cream next time. Your little car slows to a stop and you call the breakdown services out.

But they have no idea what the problem is and as you both stand there and scratch and look for problems it starts to rain. The emergency services advise you to fill the tank up with fuel and try again. many times you try to get the little car to the garage until finally you decide to go and get the fuel and fill the little car up where it stands at home.

While you check everything you know to clear the unseen problem out you dream and plan. Glorious days at the seaside getting that ice-cream you never had. going to summer shows, visiting friends and being with family. The little car keeps trying but even if you get to where you had planed to be the little car can barely make it home afterwards. For days and days you try to get the engine fired up again but it just wont turn over.

On the days you have it booked in to the mechanics for an overhaul, it runs - perhaps not perfect and not as it should be, but the engine ticks over. They say to you, just take it out for a good run, and it will be fine, it will clear out of all the gloopy stuff and will be better after that.

Each time you do this your pride and joy's engine keeps misfiring, and the paintwork somehow dulls no matter how hard you try to polish it. Other days it fires into action and you have a hard time catching up with it and fill your heart with hope, but this never seems to last very long. You sit with the little car, dreaming of past outings, the fun with family and friends you could be having. You plan.

My question is what would you do?

Try to keep starting the engine?

Run it flat out to try and clear the problem?

Trust the mechanics with their spanners and wrenches?

Try to look closely at the fuel?

Check the battery?

Look at the alternator?

Everything is just very slightly damaged in Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME)

In Dr Myhills Second Edition of Diagnosis and Treatment of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Myalgic Encephalitis it's mitochondria, not hypochondria 2017 she has the same sort of analogy

Think of the body as a car:

Engine = mitochondria
Fuel = diet and gut function
Oxygen = lungs
Fuel and oxygen delivery = heat and circulation
Accelerator pedal = thyroid glan
Gear box = adrenal glands
Service and repair = sleep
Toolkit  = methylation cycle
Cleaning - oil = antioxidants
Catalytic converter = detoxification
A driver = the brain in a fit state

Every thing on this list has been effected by ME

Learning to Dance in the Rain

Angus has slowly slipped down, yesterday (2^nd April 2015) was a difficult day (his friend were off to see a film and he was desperate to go to; we talked through how we could do this; but he even needed help with getting dressed, so we kept busy with other things. This morning he seems brighter with none of the awful tummy cramps that he suffered most of yesterday. So I’m hopeful that by allowing him to find his own way of recovery, he has got himself back to his low baseline of activity. This baseline causes no extra symptoms and many rest periods of just talking to friends and watching YouTube. He wanders around trying to keep as active as ME/CFS will let him.

Listening to others who have to control activity etc. like people with diabetes and thyroid, they seem to understand their bodies, but can’t necessarily tell you how. This whole controlling, because we know thing is not working for us/Angus, it feels as if we are constantly putting a round peg in a square hole.

It is very hard to make or talk about plans for the future, and therefore almost impossible to stay upbeat and look forward. It is more crushing to make a plan for the future and not be able to set a date to do it.

For example: Just before his last setback we had planed to go and see “Home” a new film that looks a lot of fun and one we would both enjoy. I was all set to book tickets for its first showing. We planed to take a few of his friends and have a pizza afterwards; this was to be his birthday treat/party. In our eyes this was most defiantly achievable. He relapsed and we had to go to the hospital that journey has had a long recovery attached to it. At the moment there is very little chance of us being able to go at any point in the near future.

You learn to cope with the setbacks, but it is very difficult to plan and therefore very hard to look forward. I keep telling myself as long as the “here and now is as comfortable as it can be, that’s the best…. I never do get to the end of that sentence.

Learning to dance in the rain x

Tilly

This year November 2016 we went to see a film for the first time in a year. His tummy cramps are part of the normal over exertion we have learnt to accept and this is slowly being recognised by the research now coming out. Soon there will be more understanding, and perhaps doctors will give our children more support and we won't have to fight so hard for the basic human needs. But for now, I'm just so grateful that with Dr Speight's understanding. His knowledge of ME, gives confidence is us and allows Angus to take control. He is in less pain than he was a year ago. 

Doctor Speight's wisdom has enabled me to allow my son to tell me how to support him. This is a wonderful gift.

It is now summer 2017

Angus is learning to live within his confines of his bodies ability to produce enough energy; cognitively and physically. It is hard to watch and support when you know how much he loves to do. 

The cruellest things are said by the doctors who just cannot accept this is a physical disease/condition, and wont support you or your child. When you sit in a room and they talk about keeping up with the social side of life you want to; well I am not quite sure? Put them in a suit of lead and tell them to dance the night away? take their oxygen away and tell them to keep a conversation going? Do they not understand how cruel it is? A young boy cramped in a cocoon, wanting to burst free?

I look across at his crestfallen face, one in which he thought doctors would be able to have some answers to the paradox world he lives in.

What do I say to this now young man, ill for four yeas with no answers, when he turns and asks 'When will it be over mum? When can I do anything but this" his arms fling out to the four wall of the hospital room, the only outing he will probably be able to have all summer. 

He is in less pain now, but we miss the sea, we miss the cinema, the shopping, coffee out for me and a hot chocolate for him, getting to see friends and taking the dogs for a walk, sand on our toes, we miss people that we will never meet again, the talking and enjoying the freedom of movement, just popping out for fun, ice-cream, the lake, Bury in Bloom, the theatre, the atmosphere, LIFE!

So please the next time you have an ME patient in your room, take a leaf out of Dr Speights book and give a little empathy. 

It is now 2018 and nothing much has changed. We haven’t been to see a film this year and it’s now the 6^th July.

He was 13 this year and we took him for a weekend away so that he may have an experience of riding a quad bike. It took a lot of planning and what I term as training to get him in a fit state to travel, and then partake in the event.

I explain in this video https://youtu.be/DNNeE6rhTm0

After that weekend he stopped talking to his friends. I am not entirely sure why. He heard a conversation when his friends thought he wasn’t listening, where they explained that they only talked to him because their mum’s make them. That he was faking his illness due to being able to go out and riding a quad bike, so he was not ill.

I would like to say this is just children talking, but sadly it is how society is made to think. If you are sick you have to show it either with the treatment you are having or being in hospital.  Chronic long-term conditions never get the publicity, they are hidden and used as a pawn in the game of politics. The undeserving sick is the way my son is seen.

Most Social Workers, Attendance Officers and teachers are there to stop the bullying, but when it comes to hidden illnesses; where you don’t die, they are just as bad. They are now actively looking for Fabricating and Inducing Illness, though there is no evidence to support that every mother with a child who has a complex illness suffers from FII. No records of wrong accusations are kept by anyone and no support given, and records wiped of the falsehoods. Who cares as long as it is not you right? No smoke without fire. Reading some court reports the lack of understanding is sickening. Some senior judges have questioned the increase. However they can only act on information they are given by the research and the medical profession.

 So, when I was questioned about this birthday event that also celebrated our 25^th wedding anniversary, I was not surprised. The fact that my son works harder than anyone just to sit up and take part in a conversation, is dismissed out of hand. Neither is his condition understood due to politics and empire building.

Foster homes are littered with children like my son, as Fabricating and Inducing Illness becomes big business and another empire to belittle the battles having a child with any form of illness, chronic condition or disability, and no one knows, because the mothers like me and their families are not heard or believed. We are silenced by constraints put on us by Governments with no accountability of wrong doing, we are easy targets. Taking away from us is lightening the burden on society?

This is not a new problem, I have met mothers who have been under this pressure for decades and as they become older, they worry about their now adult children becoming victim of the political landscape. Those who strive to make Metal Illness untreatable and unresearched unless it is in their field, makes every illness a mental priority with no support, just blame and guilt changing people’s reality through differing disorders, that a logically approach would spell out the human condition and difference.

How is it that in the year 2018 we are going back to Tarot Card reading as a way to diagnose conditions. Mix this with science, to make it believable and sell it to the public as a treatment and then only offer that treatment if you pay privately. These types of trials and treatments have been ripped apart for decades. Why then are they still around, I can think of 101 reasons none of which are ethical.

We read books and watch films in the comfort that they are nonfiction, but very often those books are based on observations and I for one feel very much like the Handmaids Tale

Password security on the internet?

I am a forty something mother of three and one of your constituents. I use facebook and so do my kids. We look at each others facebook and enjoy the fun side but give each other enough respect not to interfere with how it is used. I am banned from commenting on their facebooks. And although everyone tells me that kids these days know everything about the internet, I know this not to be true, no one can and you can only catch up with hackers not run in-front of them and stop their sick games.
Hackers can get onto your facebook and much more if you use the same password for everything or use a simple one. These days you need a secure place to keep your passwords but how can you be sure the sites that advertise these facilities are safe and why are our schools not teaching our children this very basic safety issue as a general piece of information, we teach our children to cross the roads to keep them safe why not the basics of internet saftey?

When the person who sets up the facebook account has died a hacker has been going around putting unsavoury pictures and comments on. The police are unable to help and facbook needs its members to act, which is not easy to do if you have been shocked or unable to respond. This problem would not arise if all internet users were aware of the simple steps it takes to protect their social networks. Government are increasingly making us use the internet to fill out forms, Vat and passports to name a few things we are encouraged to do on line. We need a gold badge standard of safe sites that we can promote on our social network, which will remind us to do the same in every interaction with the internet. Scams are making a lot of money out of us.

A girl in our town died this week in-front of her friends and ever since her facebook has had tributes and a hacker from Canada put a picture of a girl with her face missing on facebook.  Children and parents all over the network have been affected by this as the facebook principle is to share.
I know there are sick people and the internet enables them to infiltrate our moments and space on this wonderful technology but it does not have to be this way, with careful planning and with the right knowledge. I want to teach my children and myself how to take control. The problem is who do I trust? How do I know how to trust on the internet? How can I look safely for the needle of information in the haystack of technology?

Schools use this technology but on the whole do not know how to simply protect themselves let alone be able to converse with their students about internet security. We teach our children to cross the roads safely, why do we not tech them how to take simple steps to control their space on the internet.

Slamiming in the Ham 2011

Finally the needles have been pulled out of my eyes and the cotton wool that clogged up my brain has now been replaced with their usual fluffy clouds. I did indeed miss all the fun but I was there for the cooking of the turkey; that by all accounts tasted lovely.

This slower pace of life suits me just fine though as I feel less guilty about doing nothing in particular. The only regret truly I haveis that I haven’t been able to write, I miss writing :-( So here I sit with my boys doing their best cleaning the lounge impression while fighting, my daughter is picking what to

weare and I’m enjoying writing to you all, a perfect start to the day.

I have prepared all I can for when our guests arrive in a couple of hours when the ceremony of SLAMING IN THE HAM! will take place, I love the Christmas meals. After the turkey and all the trimmings comes the bubble and squeak on boxing day; for those of you who are not familiar with this meal, you take the cold mash from the day before (if your husband has not tried to dish them all out, Kev is very partial to mash) with the brussels and sweet chestnuts that take on a whole new taste when browned to that lovely golden crunchy brown add a fried egg making it a perfect and easy meal. I make the basis of a soup too from the turkey at the same time boil the ham leaving the next day relativly free. When I do 'slam in the ham' I only have to baste the joint in what ever recipe I fancy adapting it to my liking (for any one that is remotly interested this year it consisted of brown sugar, mutard, mango chutney and honey) adding a baked potato, salad a few friends and frolics and you have the one of Tilly Days of Christmas x

What are you up too and what is the best meal for you over this festive time

Hush your speed

Hush your speed

Great march of time

Quieten down

And slow your pace a while

Come to a stop!

My babies are sleeping

And I want to watch.

The thing is the great march of time didn’t stop and in their beds; which they fill but still make me wonder how amazing life is.

            A smile in slumber is a joy to behold.

The Affair

I think I should put a warning on this one. It is a first draft but so full of fun my fairy could not wait to put this one out, naughty naughty fairy! It is definitely a Chick Lit that will bring a smile to your face with its little twist at the end.

            Let me know if you enjoyed it with the comment box at the end.

____________________X______________________

After being married for over twenty years, I can’t remember what I was thinking when I walked down the isle. I knew that life was going to be full of routine. But I did think I would see my husband from time to time. Silly me! Oh young love so innocent, it makes me laugh. 

            I have turned into that which I despise the most, a lame and dysfunctional person, thing. Mothers often are and need to be I guess. Life’s needs are, at the moment, needier than my own personal womanhood. That was until I went to a wedding a month ago. I met a man…… a gorgeous, attractive and very seductive man. He reminded me that I was all woman!! ‘Mmmmmm... ohhhh yaaaaaaa’           

            I am a big dreamer but I live in reality, mores the pity. I knew he was being kind. I’m no great looker and my body has taken a bit of a tumble after the kids and general neglect. Not that I had much to start with, buxom is what my husband calls me. I never asked whether that was good, perhaps I should. Anyhow, there I was standing admiring the beautiful setting, drinking in the atmosphere and the Champagne. When this vision walked over to me, a bubbled haze engulfed us and no other life existed before or will ever exist again, it seemed.

            That night for the first time ever, love, time, and space meant something to me other than, this is what happens in life. I understood what they meant in romantic novels when they say electrifying. Each touch or brush with this man was painfully erotic. My senses awakened once more, after their long and dormant coma they vibrated with tingly sensations that I just wanted to close my eyes to enjoy. His laugh rendered me incapable of thought or movement and I looked in ore over his ability to be himself. Just at this point of loosing myself to this dream of a man, I hear the call of ‘He’s just been sick mum!’ Realism came crashing down, my bubble was burst and off I ran to my child who had, apparently, for a dare put his head under the chocolate fountain, for 3 minuets!! 

            Well I promised my self that I would have my night back, I needed that before I became a totally wizened old hag, emotionally and physically. I just had to track that man down. My friends kept asking if anything was wrong, I just couldn’t tell them the truth. How could I explain what was plainly ridiculous? A person like me wanting, needing an affair, now that was silly! Beyond belief!

            After many attempts I did track him down and he agreed to meet me at a rather wonderful restaurant. I had left strict orders that champagne was on ice for when we arrived, I had already ordered our meal. Presumptions of me I know but I didn’t want to waste one second on the plenary of looking through the menu or wine, discussing this or that, I just wanted him, all of him! I had pre booked a room at the hotel. Childcare arranged and I had no mobile phone or contact details and I was a jabbering wreck. He was half an hour late and I was sat in a rather sumptuous lounger the staff were on stand by as though the most important guest was about to arrive. 

            I was on my third glass of bubbly and crippled with anxiety over the cost and what will happen when my husband finds out. As soon as I saw his silhouette coming through the doorway, all other existent lives were shut out. That most beautiful sphere surrounded me again and as he entered it, my husband became my lover and our marrage came of age.

            As he held my face and kissed me as he had in-front of all those people at our wedding, I remembered what I had been thinking when I walked up the isle twenty one years ago to-day. I always needed to be a woman to him and as he sat down I could see the passion that had been suppressed. The true thrill of an affair was as my kids would say OMG, like truly awesome. It felt so good to be young free and single again!

The End

What are you waiting for go book the hotel all you married ladies? I love my fairy :-)



Old man and his pup

The day my dad came to see the pups I knew and hoped

We took Rip, one of Tink’s pups, to my dads on Sunday to start his new life. One man and his dog stood there in that back garden and I must say it was like my dad had become whole again. In that moment I had given my dad back his past and at the same time his future. As a boy he would go hunting with his dog to feed his brothers and sisters, man and dog working together to bring back something for the pot. Dogs have been a big part of his life. We had a gentle golden retriever named Prince that was as regal as his name suggests who got my dad through my brother’s illness and suicide. But it was Rip, a tan and white Jack Russell that my dad named this little fella after.

            Rip was tenacious when needed but mostly laid back and a joy to be with. As a small girl he was my best friend, living in a small village of twenty seven houses he was my only friend. I was the original Billy No Mates by destination, if not personality. He saved me from at least two situations that I will be eternally grateful for.

            The first was a certain attack by a feral Alsatian. I wanted to help the dog, he looked worst for wear and needed a good feed but he didn’t trust me, I could see that. As he slinked his way over, with his ears pricked up and eyes fixed on me, Rip was having none of it and started to growl, as I turned to tell Rip to quieten down the dog lunged forward. Rip caught him and latched on to his gonads and would not let go despite the surprised and big dogs best efforts. With every tactic he used to get Rip off, came a fresh yelp. This continued until they were out of sight. I will never forget the cry of that poor dog as he ran with Rip still latched on, both of them jumping down the road, one in pain and the other trying to hold on for all he was worth. I still am astounded at the sight of it and the way Rip just would not let go even though it must have been painful for him. He could hardly reach the big dog’s soft undercarriage and had to bounce on his back legs to keep up.

            The second time was when I was on my own in the house and there was a knock on the back door. I lived in a line of six council houses in the middle of nowhere. No one I knew came to the back door and at first I thought it was one of my brothers larking about. But there was something in Rips stance that made me wary. I tucked Rip under my arm opened the door ready to give my brothers what for, when I looked to see who it was I stood paralysed to the spot. A strange man stood there. I can’t say why I was afraid of him but I was. The man rambled on about something, while he looked at me and I recoiled from him. Rip never took his eyes off the man’s throat; I could feel every muscle in that little dog tense up. The stare went from me to Rip, who was in prim position to jump on the man. Rip never showed his teeth and I couldn’t say he was snarling but there was a low rumble, deep and menacing. The man asked me quite pleasantly to put the dog down. When I refused he said he would tell my dad about that, with which I replied ‘That’s OK mister I’ll be telling him you called at the back door’. All of a fluster the man left.

            Now I have no idea if the man meant me any harm, we weren’t taking any chances in finding that out but the man never came back. From then on I used Rip as my people barometer and learnt to trust my instincts. I shudder when I look back on that day the possibilities are endless, none of which are pleasant.

            When ever one of our dogs died, our dad would find it hard to get over the loss. We would have to wait years before we had another enter our home. This time it took my dad a decade or more to contemplate it again, with reasons of time constraints a dog can place on you, then of course was his age, he is now seventy seven, was it faire to take on a dog when you are getting on in years. I always told him that that’s exactly when you needed a dog the most. They get you out and about keeping you active. A dog walker could come in, if it ever became a problem or we could get one of those mobility scooters Angus would love that. I would be there if he needed help.

            The pull of this puppy took him back into his past and gave him a positive look to the future, with his granddaughters encouraging him to take it on (poor man didn’t stand a chance once the girls had made up their minds).

        Dad has been thinking about the walks he will be able to take Rip on; there is nothing like daily walks for your emotional and physical constitution and the nature he would see, would mean that my dad would never stops learning, he has an inquisitive mind.  What with training the little dog, showing him off and having the comfort of his company, will keep his spirits youthful and his brain active but most of all the mischief. What the old boy and dog will get up to brings a broad smile on my face and warmth in my heart. My mum (not renowned for being a dog lover) is looking forward to it all too, mostly cuddles on the sofa, just hope he leaves their shirts intact the other Rip had a thing about buttons on shirts.

Wonder what they are up to?

            Will keep you posted.

No Bacon Rolls but is he still ready for GCSE's? Oh and I sacked Tink this morning.

We decided to give the bacon rolls a miss this morning, it was cinnamon cereal that he left and I felt a little deflated. Then I had to dismiss Tink from her duties, which made me grumpy. Dogs and children know how to make you feel really mean.

            Each morning I take Tink upstairs to wake Axl and Ella up, there is nothing like a cold wet nose to get you going in the morning and they don’t tend to tell her off like they would if it was me, not that I have a cold wet nose.

            This morning when she jumped on Axl’s bed she just lay down next to him and curled up. When I asked her what she thought she was doing and that he had to get up. She looked intently at me and that look spoke volumes, leave him alone he needs his rest! She told me off. I tried to encourage her to go under the covers to give him his usual licks but she wasn’t having any of it. I called her into Ella’s room but there was no way she was leaving Axl. So I went and did the dead myself, getting the normal response from my darling daughter, which consisted of a grunt and ‘Oh for heavens sake mum’.

            I carried on with my daily ritual thinking that just the presence of Tink would be enough to get my eldest out of bed. A while later I went to check on progress. Angus was dressed, had brushed his teeth and now was having breakfast, Ella was titivating and where was Axl? Yep you guessed it, curled up around Tink.

            Tink looked up as I walked in and gave me that motherly stare of, back off he needs time. I sacked her on the spot, was she bothered, bothered, she was not. Axl flung his protective arm around her. I had to go on waking duty myself and got the same response from my ever loving son that I got from darling daughter. Did I feel mean? You bet!

            Time is so sad, don’t you think? It can give us moments of pleasure but mostly we have to walk away from those moments when we least want to. If I had time, I would have taken a picture and stood there for a while smiling at the two of them, somehow, as a reward for being a mum. But Axl needs time in the morning to de-fluster his flusterble personality and I need reassurance he has everything and set for the day. Time is of a premium in the mornings with no margin for deviation. Yep time makes ya sad.

            Our family does not run like a well oiled machine, especially in the mornings. Ours is more a kin to a knackered out old thing that somehow rumbles along, totally inefficient but gets the job done somehow. I run from one break down to another fixing the beast as best as I can. I have been working on a time travel mechanism, hoping to incorporate it into our family machine but as yet have dismally failed. Though by writing this perhaps I have captured it a little and past some on to you.

            Have a great day x

I Stayed and We Played

Some Mothers can do endless feats

Their children delivered on time

Right place clean face

Oh no! Not me

Wrong venue at a different time

Their faces covered in chocolate

Oh Hell! Now we’re really late

I’ve tried to clean the house

The garden is a bit of a state

And the dinner not yet on the plate

And it’s half past eight!

Oh! Where have I gone wrong wrong?

A super mum I ain’t

But I stayed and we played

And what fun we made

So forgive me my son and daughter

For not doing as I oughta

But we played tag

And I caught ya

And gave you lots of

Hugs and kisses too

I think this much nicer than

Me being a super mum

Don’t you?

I wrote this many years ago before GCSE’s became a reality for us but I like to read it on flustered days like this one, to remind me of the real importance of life and how time fly's.

When I wrote the poem

 then and now

Breath through the pain of motherhood, soon there will be a smile x

We live for short moments x

Add some of your 'then and now' pics on my comments or e mail them to me. They will hate us for it, but hey whats new x

Waiting for the Pups



Tink Just before the birth of her pups

Has the time come yet? I keep asking myself but I guess I will only know for sure when the puppies have arrived. So I just sat and waited, not allowed to move too far from Tink’s side as she nudges my hand to where she wants to be stroked. For days now this waiting game has been going on, ever since I had the scare. We were walking in the morning sunlight with a big teddy bear of a lab and his human, having a very pleasant time, when out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked like a sack hanging from Tink. Well I tried to encourage Tink to walk faster and in the direction of the car but she was defiantly not of the mind to do so.

            Like I said you only know for sure once it’s all over and you look back and only then can you see all the signs and forget all the ones you took heed over but never came to anything.

            I was playing the waiting game, ever ready and vigilant trying to be patient, as she paced always restless unless I was stroking her tummy or she was near my feet. This time nearly six years ago I was waiting for Angus to arrive so I marvel at what looked and felt like a bundle of rocks moving in her stretched tummy. I must say I’m very glad I only had one baby at a time.

            As the birds sang in the spring and dandelions scattered the yet to be cut lawn life bursting from every place you looked at and I must say I was missing our walks, you just can’t beat a good walk at this time of year.         

            I slept down stairs a couple of nights around her due date and contemplated taking her temperature every few hours so I could notice the change thus predicting the birth within twelve hours or so. Looking at Tink and thinking about how I felt about intervention when I was giving birth, I decided that it was best to look and listen to nature. So on the 26^th March I looked intently at a sprightly Tink before I went to bed. She took herself off to bed and went to sleep. Reassured I did the same. That Sunday morning I woke with a start, jumped out of bed and as soon as I opened the kitchen door Tink raced to her bed but didn’t get in. I took her bed to her favourite place in the living room and wheeled the little radiator (which I had got to keep the pups warm) in. She jumped in her bed, waited for my hand and then relaxed.

            I was there for the long haul, after all these things can take time. Not with Tink though within minutes she had given birth to the first pup. Her job she had looked at me and told me was done now it was my turn. I waited a while for her innate mothering instinct to kick in but nothing doing. So I broke the sack and presented the head of the pup to her and as though someone had switched on the power Tink took over. She swallowed the placenta giving the right distance between pup and where the cord should be cut. The cord was tough and as she chewed I held the pup ready to catch so it did not drop to the floor and between us we did an ok job. Tink was not happy with the jaded edges of the cord though. She looked at me and i at her and we both notted that we should do better next time. The little girl was a good size and soon found her mum’s milk.

           

 I rang Axl to get down and to wake the rest of the family up. I knew I could rely on him to have his phone by his ear even when sleeping. By the time they had got to us the second pup was on its way and with a serenity and reverence the little boy entered the world at 7.30. I was feeding Tink ice-cream not any ice-cream Oh no it was made with cornish clotted cream, that would give her strength and aid milk production. She lovingly looked on surprised and proud of her little brood. They were big strong pups but I thought there could be more so I was careful when she asked to go out side, running around with her on a load and boy did she run fast to get back to her pups!

I rang the vet to make sure I was doing the right thing in waiting and he was as excited as I was, reassuring me that everything sounded as if all was ok, just be vigilant and if she strains for any length of time or I felt in the least concerned then just ring back.

            All of us had a wonderful day just mesmerised by the wonder of it all and we still are, although now the pups have teeth, Tink has lost some of the wonder. The day after the birth I took her to the vets as I was expecting a lot more yucky stuff, she was given an x-ray to make sure she was clear (this is the only time Tink cried or got upset but as soon as she was back with the pups she was a happy mum again) and the pup’s the once over by a very excited vet. The vet and Tink cooed and kissed the pups making sure they were ok. I looked on with a huge smile on my face.

                       

I know Tink, you do the hard work and they just sleep on!

we all have puppy love in our house

Contemplating marriage and bring up children do I have a right to be grumpy?

Contemplating marriage and bring up children after being told I was just full of frills on my puffed up fairy life and that I had no understanding of reality (I took this as a compliment I have to say) I watched the Richard Dimbleby Lectures given by Michael Morpugo (my hero of gentle thought) and was inspired. His ‘The Butterfly Lion’ gave me faith in how I look at things and as soon as I can I’m going to buy ‘The Kites are Flying’ that he based his lecture around. His books are written for children but defiantly have adults in mind.

I woke up grumpy one morning this week and by hook or by crook I want to stay grumpy. I deserved at least that, don’t I? I have a right to be how I feel, don’t I??  I feel surly and cantankerous, wizened and old and life-just don’t ever play fair!! My children are always saying this when they can’t get what they want and what is good for them is also good enough for me, so there!!! All I want is five minutes peace.

But my fairy just won’t let me be she fly’s around my thoughts and always lands at some point as a smile upon my face. You might say this is a good thing, that being grumpy is a bad thing to be but sometimes you need to vent and people definitely need to know you also have limits but The Fairy just don’t see it that way. My fairy is a beautiful flight of fancy with frills and a puffed up attitude to life, you just have to read some of my poems and stories to see that. She sees life in such a fanciful way with no basis in reality or that’s what I was told the other day. Is this true? Or is there a large dose of reality in her fluff and frills? So what was making me grumpy and why on earth did I want to stay in that state? Do you know, I can’t remember, so lost was I in another flight of fancy of Michael Morpurgo.

There are people right now starving, hiding from danger watching as others suffer so the rich can thrive. There will be many; who will be given bad news about a disease, that fighting will not cure. Some will be harmed through another’s hand. All these things have touched me and may others, indirectly or directly. For all of you out there that face these issues I pay homage to your tenacity to smile and your ability to hope.

I have no right to be grumpy, do I?

Tink an up-date.

I’m no expert and I don’t want to go rummaging around to find out but if being off her food, not wanting to walk too far and her pacing me to the sofa at every given opportunity so that she can get herself comfortable on me is anything to go by, then yes, I think she is in pup!!

When I make a coffee at lunch time she wines at the living room door and when I open it so that she can go in, she stands at the door and looks deep within me and waits for me to understand. She considers it my duty to come and spend some time with her; after all it’s my fault she is in this predicament! I feel this vibe very strongly! Not normally stopping for lunch, it took me a couple of days to get the message but with her perseverance I have gained the enlightenment and I must say it has been a wonderful and therapeutic time for me.

I knew it was my duty to make sure that I have good homes for the pups, that I take every precaution to breed a healthy brood and I have. Meticulously going through every piece of advice ensuring that I understand it and when I’m given conflicting advice that I, think it through and do the best I can. What I had not anticipated was this strong feeling of empathy.

I hated being pregnant, it neither felt natural or comfortable and the sickness was not just in the mornings but 24/7. Tink is not just off her food but not eating at all!!!! I understand her reluctance to eat, I remember it well. I had this desperate craving for chocolate mouse, knowing it was going to resurface was none to pleasant either but the need to eat them was so strong I could not deny it. A few moments of pleasure for an hour or two of hell never seemed worth it but there, such is life. I have found a few ingenious ways to get her to eat a little and am hoping that soon her need to feed her growing pups, will take over and that her sickness will soon subside.

Then there is her effort to get up and bearing in mind the pups aren’t even showing yet and things are going to get worse is playing on my mind. I remember feeling my body had been taking over by an alien when I was first pregnant and the looks she gives me with those deep toffee eyes, I can see she feels the same, though much stronger as she has five/six little aliens growing inside her.

Taking time out of my day to fulfil her needs, looking at her changing ways and body, does give me a sense of wonder. Just by eye contact, looking at her demeanour, feeling the energy that pass between us and observing, it is surprising how much you can understand and communicate without words. This for me is the reason I love dogs so much, not the unconditional love they can give me but the way they make me look at life.

I feel this understanding would work with teenagers and toddlers alike. If we stopped looking at them as pre-programmable adults and just took time to breath deeply, observe and feel the energy that passes through us and them, perhaps our communication skills would be greatly improved along with our lives. It’s just a pity it doesn’t work with husbands, I have tried. Oh I can understand him and his needs but there is only one look he understands/takes notice of . I only have two types of energy apparently; angry or happy and nothing in-between gets noticed. Our communication is fine he would say, I understand him, what more do I want?

Someone to visit me in my goldfish bowl for a change?

The Battle of the Coat Hangers and Odd Socks

The fight between Clothes Hangers and Odd Socks Broke out this Morning

Yet Another Flight of Fancy

 by Tilly Moments for you to smile at J

The battle of the coat hangers, still persist in our house. I have come up with several cunning plans to draw up a cease-fire but the children, clothes hangers and odd socks always carry on the assault. Angus has now taken his big brothers habit of shoving socks down, behind and sometimes into cushions, behind chairs and in DVD cases…. mine is not to reason why, just do or die trying to pair up socks.

            For anyone who lives with more than one person in their house this is a constant battle – odd socks and coat hangers. In the time in which it takes me to wash, dry and sometimes iron the clothes I have to put the empty clothes hangers somewhere! But no matter how organised I try to be or which place I put them in, they escape or are released.

            Angus plays with them and they can become anything from Captain Hooks hook to a big bazooka that gives him full control over all he surveys, apart from me much to his bitter disappointment. He can be very inventive – after watching “Spy Kids” he set a trap for his sister. I fell over it in spectacular fashion that he would’ve been very proud of, but he was at school at the time. Health and safety in the home would say I should have a serious talk with him, but it was so inventive and impressive I hate to quash his talent. At least I found the missing cotton I got out to do a running mend, now the cotton reel is empty!

            The older ones create a pile in different places, which changes day to day hence the disarray. I try to gather them up the best I can, near the ironing board and laundry basket preferably, and often find an odd sock or two hanging desperately to the hook.

            Ella with her ordered thinking decided we had too many clothes hangers and odd socks so she started to throwing them out. When I pointed out that was due to the pile of washing (which nearly reaches the ceiling) not being beaten into submission yet, so were eventually going to need the hangers and the odd socks will eventually meet their partners! She was free to sort the pile out, then there would be no clothes hangers to annoy her. With this she turned on her disgruntled heal and stormed off. I stared after her, as most of the clothes were hers!

            Going on strike or working to rule is hard work! But short of constantly shouting and being in an agitated state to get my family helping with the daily chores, I find I have no option. My theory is – that the more you do the less they appreciate what it takes and think less of you too. I’m working to rule with some things and on strike with other motherly duties, which doesn’t bode well for the washing pile.

            When they needed their sports kit or their favourite thing to wear, they attack the pile with the ferocity of a mole, and wear it crumpled “see look it’s fine, what is all the fuss about” bemused I look on and do you know I’m really not sure why it does matter. Somehow it’s the way I show my love, care and an outward respect of self. Nothing smells more homely than the smell of freshly ironed washing and nothing looks more cared for than crease free clothes, giving a confidence to the wearer.

            As I set the ironing board up, I ponder on what must happen when I turn my back. I know I left a nice neat pile of hangers there, and the odd socks all place together waiting patiently for their partners to find them. However when I came back  the odd socks and the coat hangers are intermingled as though a full-blown battle had ensued and the debris a strewn all over my bedroom, maybe a fairy battle? Now that would be grand. I smile to myself, perhaps there is a story there, and start to write in my head as I iron.

            The children think fairies do the washing anyhow, after all no human in their right mind puts any effort into such a mundane silliness as ironing clothes, and pairing socks? You open a draw and there are the clothes all ready for you – right? Well children and men think this. Lets face it women have to oversee the chores because men are just incapable and certainly not made for the job of nurturing or teaching, a luxury of not shouting to get things done is all theirs.

            A loud booming voice broke off my sexist thoughts and made me jump, as I didn’t recognise it. There it went again; it came from a fluffy chin that had the hint of manhood about it. As I marvelled at this sprouting wishful beard, that had so many differing colour in it that deep call came again. Low and behold it was connected to that colourful chin. I realised it was my son’s chin and his voice. How did that happen? That ever-deepening boom had replaced the teenage trill of yesterday, and I marvelled at nature. Apparently he was looking for his favourite socks but any pair would do he said. ‘I’m on strike, I’m not doing demand service today’ I reminded him, still transfixed by the multi coloured beginnings of a goatee. He, disgruntled turned on his heal and left leaving the battlefield for me.

            When I get back from taking the children to school, I put in the second load of washing for the day, pick up the scattered hangers and unruly odd socks and being to think of my flight of fancy and her idea of writing. In-between loading, unloading folding sorting the washing I write my four novels, blog and short stories. I finish just in time to prepare the evening meal, and ready to pick up the children who will come home famished and needing to be fed. I stand there taking a breather and wonder why I never get anything finished.

            We all clamber out of the car and then the race is on, can I cook the meal before they empty the contents of the cupboards? To stave of the assault of carefully planed fare I had lined up for the week, I ask them all to go and get the washing in. Irritated teenagers followed by a buoyant and mischievous seven year old, I sigh at the struggle. All sorts of hollers and yells come from the garden, which I close my eyes and ears to, though I do notice my youngest son’s foot flying in the air around my whirly gig washing line. I try not to focus on how they are folding the washing and how many extra creases have been put into the clothes, which will take me twice as long to iron.

            My daughter comes in and disappears, I sigh, but soon she reappears and helps me in the kitchen. My little one gets the drinks and by the time the meal is on the plates, my husband is home and putting the them on the table. It’s like the Walton’s on the old TV show, happy, helpful and very respectful and I’m truly humbled and take it all in, case it never happens again.

            As I run the youngest bath, I try to put the clothes away and iron them while he plays contented, and this evening I brace myself for the fight. There on my bed are neat piles of carefully folded clothes that need very little ironing and inwardly I bloom. Axl at least has appreciated the struggle to have an ordered home. The clothes hangers neatly placed in their specially designed box and paired socks all in a neat row – my daughters ordered mind has wrestled them into submission. I feel valued and appreciation spring to my eyes in water droplets of joy. I know the same struggle will continue tomorrow children, clothes hangers and socks being what they are. Perhaps they are just tiny steps in my shoes but at least they took some time to walk with me in them.

A clothes hook was patented in 1869 by O.A. North of New Britain, Connecticut but it was Albert J Parkhouse in 1903, after co workers complained of not having enough coat hooks who bent a piece of wire into the shape we recognise today. This is the fact that I find so amusing though, he worked for Timberlake wire and Novelty Company, does this mean the humble clothes hanger is a novelty?

            Ever since the struggle with this particular not so novel novelty, has and forever will rage and enrage. In conclusion then, men’s inventions may solve a problem but inevitably create a different difficulty – mostly it has to be said for women.

So How is the Strike Going? You Might Well Ask!

Problem is I keep forgetting I’m on strike, well as I’ve said before I’m the facilitator! (say ‘the facilitator’ in your best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice it works better) It’s a innate thing, part of me and when it’s not taken advantage of, very enjoyable. But and it’s a big but, people never know what they have until it’s taken from them and they miss it - well that’s the theory I’m working on at the moment - so if I stop doing all those little things for them, they are bound to miss them and they will appreciate them and me a little more. RIGHT?

            Going on strike or working to rule should never be taken on lightly though! Not only is it extremely difficult for mothers to undertake and let’s face it, if I did go on strike, truly, truly on strike the only person that would notice would be me, also it can be depressing as the house spirals out of control.

            When I look around the house in the mornings and see the devastation that family life produces I do wonder how it all happens. The washing basket at last is empty and I rush to go and get a cloth to wipe the bottom and when I get back it’s full again. How does that happen? That fairy is to blame I’m convinced.

            Francis Xavier; it is told, came up with the quote ‘give me a child before seven and I will give you a man’ or something along those lines. I would like to have a few moments to put him right about this one. A man who lived on his own and had never been involved with the workings of a child’s mind and tantrums can theorise all he wants and we would all love to be able to believe in this simplistic view. I know for a fact he's wrong, otherwise I would’ve stopped telling my children to say please and thank you by now; something I've been doing before they could talk so by now, according to his teaching, this should be part of them. I find that they have minds and a debating ability all of their very own and even though it matters how I bring them up this is not by anymeans the only influence that has a profound effect on them, infact surprise surprise they are indervidual people not robots you can pre-program Saint Francis Xavier!! More's the pitty.

            Then there is the Angel-Devil effect. You know when your child is so angelic and you are so full of pride they then throw a mega wobbly out of the blue (reason un-known to them or you) and just as you get your head around this and put strategies to help get through it all, they change back to that Angelic creature of two seconds ago.

            So after the struggle with unruly belongings, washing and children do you really have the energy to say ‘No I can’t do that, I’m on strike remember!! By the time all that has happened I think your doing well to remember who you are.

Just Why Did I Want to be a Mum?

Just why did I want to be a mum?
I can’t quite recall.
Was it the love of sleepless-nights?
No time to one’s self at all,
With a head full of voices
That are not your own.
I thought of the times
Of stories and teddies,
Making tents,
Snuggling up after bath times.
With long walks
While having long convoluted talks.

I dismissed from my mind
The hazard of learning
Repetitive questions
Investigations of what really happened
Or bodily pooing functions
With wee’s and farts
Demonstrations given of their manufactured burps
At the local supermarket,
On pension day!

I thought of marshmallow cheeks
To kiss softly to sleep
Sweet slumber with loving sighs
I didn’t know anything of the nightmare cries
I’m a filing cabinet, that’s all!
A computer, a machine
From the moment I open my eyes it starts
Where did my wallet go?
Open file
Put in information for quarry
Last seen in husband's hand
Who was proceeding towards
The shower-room
Quarry shows possibilities
Left in pocket of trousers on the shower room floor,
In washing basket
Or on top of the loo,
"See!" He shouts
"I told you , you moved it!"

First child down the stairs
"Is it a school day mum?"
"No, but we have to be out by ten"
"Oh no! I hate being out
On Saturdays!"
Second child down the stairs
"How many elephants can you
Get on a pin head?"
"Fifteen I think the man said.
Now remember to write the
Card for the party,
It’s at two thirty"."What are you going to wear?"
"Out, out, let’s go.
See ya love."
"When will you be back, do you know?"
"Why?"
"I need a bit of a hand"
I look straight at him
With an open glare
Perhaps I misheard
For the list of jobs I have to do
Is rather absurd

I can see by his expression I didn’t mishear
But the look I gave was enough
To strike fear
And he'll not ask again.

Alone at last
House all quiet
Even the dog had gone.
A solitary bath
Luxury

Piping hot water
Fragrant and relaxing aromas
That turns the water blue
The bubbles sparkle and shimmer
And hold rainbow colours that dance.
Slipping into the bubbles
That cling like magical oysters
To my relaxing body
Holding a glass of wine to sip
I regain my inner being
My soul comes to life
And for this moment
I become truly me

For ages I dreamily float
On a cloud of bubbled soap
And soak away the trauma
Of trying so hard to be what
Does not come naturally
A good mother.

Many lessons I have to learn
That will last my whole life long
As my Gran once said
"Your father though retired
Is a worry to me
Is he happy?
Is he fed?

A long time a mother, no turning back,
For even when they're not with you
Your heart is not your own".

I’m dry now
House still quiet
Sexy undies
To keep hold of the woman
That is part of me.

Time to pick them up,
Will he remember where they are?
Should I ring?

I miss their loud antics
The dust they make
Sounds of laughter
And in my mind’s eye
I see their smiles
The way they talk,
Hear their questions
The looks they give each other
And the ones they keep
Just for me.

I begin to understand a little
Of what my Gran once said
They will never be
Out of my heart or my head.

My innate sense of time
Rings aloud an alarm
Time they were here at home
Safe, with me!
Phone in my hand
I punch the numbers,
As methodically I go through
All the sensible and horrific Scenarios.

The door bursts open
And life breathes in
The quiet house gone again
As a home kick starts into action
Flowers thrust into my arms
Closely followed by a take-away.
Smiles and love fills
Every space of the quiet house
Making it our home

As my family sit contented
Watching the latest DVD,
Inwardly I bloom.

It’s not quite what I expected
Being a mum.
But sitting on the family sofa
Is a little like
Flying to the moon
In a beautiful sky blue
Jewel incrusted boat.
You just have to learn,
How to
Let it
All
Float!