I know, I know, it’s been quite a while since my last post. I wish I could say I’ve been busy with Important Things but the truth is that I’ve been preoccupied with a whole lot of nothing much. That is, after all, what life in the suburbs amounts to: a string of mundane, repetitive tasks occasionally punctuated by an Event. And my life, of late, has been blessedly devoid of Events.
However, time ticks away and even in my inconsequential household history is being written, albeit a rather dull history, though no less noble for its insignificance. But please, judge for yourself.
My Hero had some recession induced holidays during which time I finally got him to paint the lounge room ceiling-a job he’s been promising to do for quite a while. Cough-2 years-cough.
The girls introduced him to the joys of you tube. They quickly realised their mistake when he spent the next three hours getting drunk while singing along with video clips of the Dubliners. (I know what you’re thinking and it’s too late: we’ve already bred.) Fortunately for all concerned he’s computer illiterate and can’t remember how to access the site making an encore performance unlikely.
The Professor of Pedantics turned 14. She opted for a low key event. We were joined by four giggling girls at a local Mexican restaurant, where cheese allergies were accommodated and a good time was had by all.
The Master of the Bleeding Obvious has started high school and is coping well in spite of the fact that all the teachers hate her, the uniform blazer has shoulder pads and her best friend isn’t in her class. Truly her bravery knows no bounds.
Both are very excited about their upcoming trip to Ireland and quite taken with the idea that they have cousins. Cousins being exotic personages that other people talk about but of which my girls have little personal experience to speak of.
Boy Genius continues to improve slowly but surely. We’ve been experimenting with medication regimes and have finally struck upon something that seems to work for him. He’s still not quite back to normal but is much closer than he was a few months ago. Violence and aggression are practically a thing of the past. Though he still requires a lot of behavioural management, which can be exhausting, I am cautiously optimistic.
So optimistic in fact that in the last couple of weeks I’ve actually begun to believe that he and I will be able to accompany the rest of the family over to the UK in June. Something I really didn’t believe would be the case back in March. Fingers crossed.
As for myself to those of you who have noticed my absence and were concerned enough for my well being to get in touch, thank you. When I’m at my lowest and loneliest (and I have been living there of late) it’s always nice to be reminded that I do have friends. (And in the back of my mind I sigh in relief to think that should I die somebody would notice me missing before I was completely consumed by a ravenous cat.) From now on I promise to make more of an effort to post regularly. Whether I have anything to say, or not.
Yes, I will.
Stop laughing.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
A square inch of truth
The woman in the picture is not smiling.
Nor is she wearing any make-up to soften the sharp lines of her face.
She may have been pretty once. In the way that anyone young and slender is. But she is no longer young or slender. Her face is wrinkled and has the unmistakable roundness of somebody carrying more than a few extra pounds.
Her hair is unstyled and just a bit frizzy.
Her eyes are blank.
At first glance this is a woman with nothing to lose. I’d not want to meet her in a dark alley, that’s for sure.
But on closer inspection she just looks tired.
Passport photos, there’s no hiding from the truth.
I really do look like that.
Nor is she wearing any make-up to soften the sharp lines of her face.
She may have been pretty once. In the way that anyone young and slender is. But she is no longer young or slender. Her face is wrinkled and has the unmistakable roundness of somebody carrying more than a few extra pounds.
Her hair is unstyled and just a bit frizzy.
Her eyes are blank.
At first glance this is a woman with nothing to lose. I’d not want to meet her in a dark alley, that’s for sure.
But on closer inspection she just looks tired.
Passport photos, there’s no hiding from the truth.
I really do look like that.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Burnt out
Disaster, catastrophe, calamity-the English language doesn’t seem to have a word adequate to describe the devastation caused by the bushfires.
“Worse than Ash Wednesday” is not a phrase I ever expected to hear in my lifetime but at 173 dead (as of this morning, the number is expected to climb) and entire towns burned completely off the map, there are no other words that come close to encapsulating the tragedy that’s unfolding here.
What makes it all the more incomprehensible was that the fires were expected-it is after all, summer, the temp had been above 40 degrees every day and we have been in drought for 12yrs-and prepared for but they came on with such speed and ferocity that there was no hope for those caught in their path.
I am overwhelmed with relief to be able to report that my brother, his family and their home are all safe. I fervently hope that you can say the same for your loved ones.
There was a sad nostalgia when I saw the news last night. My grandmother’s previous home (she moved in with my mother late last year after suffering from a stroke) no longer exists. It, along with many of the surrounding houses and the local shop, were reduced to ashes. I could barely believe the news crew were standing on what would have been her driveway.
A number of my cousins were evacuated. They are all fine but are yet to discover whether or not they have homes to go back to.
We are truly blessed to have lost nobody.
And though I never thought to say it I’m damned proud of the government response. Both local and federal. No bullshit, no hesitation, just send in the army to back the CFA and hand over cash to those who don’t even own the blankets they’re wrapped in (even the liberals have shut up for a minute about deficits and payouts).
“Worse than Ash Wednesday” is not a phrase I ever expected to hear in my lifetime but at 173 dead (as of this morning, the number is expected to climb) and entire towns burned completely off the map, there are no other words that come close to encapsulating the tragedy that’s unfolding here.
What makes it all the more incomprehensible was that the fires were expected-it is after all, summer, the temp had been above 40 degrees every day and we have been in drought for 12yrs-and prepared for but they came on with such speed and ferocity that there was no hope for those caught in their path.
I am overwhelmed with relief to be able to report that my brother, his family and their home are all safe. I fervently hope that you can say the same for your loved ones.
There was a sad nostalgia when I saw the news last night. My grandmother’s previous home (she moved in with my mother late last year after suffering from a stroke) no longer exists. It, along with many of the surrounding houses and the local shop, were reduced to ashes. I could barely believe the news crew were standing on what would have been her driveway.
A number of my cousins were evacuated. They are all fine but are yet to discover whether or not they have homes to go back to.
We are truly blessed to have lost nobody.
And though I never thought to say it I’m damned proud of the government response. Both local and federal. No bullshit, no hesitation, just send in the army to back the CFA and hand over cash to those who don’t even own the blankets they’re wrapped in (even the liberals have shut up for a minute about deficits and payouts).
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I can't take much more of this
Tonight he punched the printer-twice.
He then reached out for a fistful of the jagged broken glass.
I screamed no.
For a second he stopped.
He looked me directly in the eye.
Then quick as a flash grabbed the glass and threw it.
There is no way anyone will convince me that in that moment he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
How he wasn’t cut I don’t know. (He was at this stage naked having removed all of his clothes and thrown them, he’d run out of other missiles and had already up-ended the bins.)
He then reached out for a fistful of the jagged broken glass.
I screamed no.
For a second he stopped.
He looked me directly in the eye.
Then quick as a flash grabbed the glass and threw it.
There is no way anyone will convince me that in that moment he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
How he wasn’t cut I don’t know. (He was at this stage naked having removed all of his clothes and thrown them, he’d run out of other missiles and had already up-ended the bins.)
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Happy New Year?
Ever been to the circus and seen a juggler balance a set of spinning plates on top of a row of staves? Each plate needs to be kept spinning at just the right speed to maintain its balance. The juggler runs back and forth twisting and twirling the staves to keep everything from crashing to the ground.
That’s pretty much been my life this last month with boy genius’s moods the plates and me a singularly inept juggler.
Since weaning boy genius from his medication all has been going well. At least it was for six or seven months but that’s all changed in a sudden and massive way. Every waking moment for the last month I’ve been haunted by a sense of dread while I wait for the inevitable crash. I don’t know when, I don’t know where and I don’t know how hard but I know for sure the crash is coming-boy genius is going to lose his temper at some point.
Picture a 2yr old in full tantrum mode then replace the child with a 16 yr old, 6ft tall man.
The triggers for the tantrums remain uncertain, as does the level and direction of their violence. His sisters have taken to spending their days at friends’ houses or shutting themselves away in their rooms. We’ve had to restrict ourselves to essential outings only (snatch and grab from Safeway) and remove any object small enough to be launched missile style during a blind rage. The worrying tendency to self harm is manifesting even in his calmer moments. He has begun to bite his fingers down until he exposes the nail beds. Keeping him constantly occupied or distracted as a means of circumventing the tantrums is no longer effective.
Presented with the events of December our GP has conceded that perhaps the neurologist was a bit premature in weaning boy genius from his medication. Faced with the spectacular failure of this drug-free trial he has given us a script and referral to an adult specialist.
We will hopefully see improvements in things soon.
That’s pretty much been my life this last month with boy genius’s moods the plates and me a singularly inept juggler.
Since weaning boy genius from his medication all has been going well. At least it was for six or seven months but that’s all changed in a sudden and massive way. Every waking moment for the last month I’ve been haunted by a sense of dread while I wait for the inevitable crash. I don’t know when, I don’t know where and I don’t know how hard but I know for sure the crash is coming-boy genius is going to lose his temper at some point.
Picture a 2yr old in full tantrum mode then replace the child with a 16 yr old, 6ft tall man.
The triggers for the tantrums remain uncertain, as does the level and direction of their violence. His sisters have taken to spending their days at friends’ houses or shutting themselves away in their rooms. We’ve had to restrict ourselves to essential outings only (snatch and grab from Safeway) and remove any object small enough to be launched missile style during a blind rage. The worrying tendency to self harm is manifesting even in his calmer moments. He has begun to bite his fingers down until he exposes the nail beds. Keeping him constantly occupied or distracted as a means of circumventing the tantrums is no longer effective.
Presented with the events of December our GP has conceded that perhaps the neurologist was a bit premature in weaning boy genius from his medication. Faced with the spectacular failure of this drug-free trial he has given us a script and referral to an adult specialist.
We will hopefully see improvements in things soon.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Going Global
With the world in, or on the brink of, recession and the Australian dollar on a par with the Biddelonian Jangu Nut, my hero and I have decided that this would be a great time to visit the motherland. Or at least his mother’s land, my mother lives a scenic four hour drive along the coast.
Aiming to hit UK shores in their summer (because although it would be nice to be there for Christmas I was born and bred here in the colonies and doubt I could cope with an Irish winter) means getting our act together now. Which, it will come as no surprise to anyone-except it seems my hero-is more difficult than you would anticipate.
My hero would seem to believe that taking a family of five half way around the world is no harder than dropping into the post office and picking up a zone 2 metcard. He is wrong.
We will need passports. Which means getting full birth certificates, since the statements issued when the children were born are not acceptable. I could have applied for them online. But that would mean finding appropriate identification, having it notarized by the police and posting it in to a government department, crossing my fingers that neither the application forms or my I D went missing.
So I chose instead to go into the city and wait around for half an hour in person then walk away with them in my hot little hand. A process than was not free, nor easy. I had to check the details on the certificates and there he was under previous issue of parents. Thomas Kieran. It was like a punch to the solar plexus. It did bring tears to my eyes. But my stomach soon reminded me that it had been five hours since I had eaten and I got over the shock quick enough.
Now I have to apply for the passports themselves. A process I’m sure will run smoothly and easily, restoring my faith in the system. Let’s see if there really is any power in positive thinking.
After much searching and sorting we settled on dates and I found airfares that won’t leave us completely bankrupt, though I’m not entirely convinced that we won’t have to hang our arms out the windows and flap.
Next on the list is finding accommodation. Naturally we will be spending the bulk of time with family but after sitting on a 22hr flight with 3 children I want to do some tourist stuff while I’m there and that means a couple of weeks travelling. I’m thinking self catering cottages. For a week in the Republic of Ireland and a week in Northern England. Sort of a base camp from which we can so day trips.
So for those of you in the UK any recommendations greatly appreciated. Particularly accommodation you found good or companies you’d warn against. But also places you would recommend we visit or avoid. We will be hiring a car for our time outside London so transport not an issue.
Car hire, there’s something else I need to get sorted. It never ends.
And here is where I take a break to do the Christmas shopping. Because there is nothing as relaxing as fighting crowds while piped Christmas carols worm their way into my brain.
Aiming to hit UK shores in their summer (because although it would be nice to be there for Christmas I was born and bred here in the colonies and doubt I could cope with an Irish winter) means getting our act together now. Which, it will come as no surprise to anyone-except it seems my hero-is more difficult than you would anticipate.
My hero would seem to believe that taking a family of five half way around the world is no harder than dropping into the post office and picking up a zone 2 metcard. He is wrong.
We will need passports. Which means getting full birth certificates, since the statements issued when the children were born are not acceptable. I could have applied for them online. But that would mean finding appropriate identification, having it notarized by the police and posting it in to a government department, crossing my fingers that neither the application forms or my I D went missing.
So I chose instead to go into the city and wait around for half an hour in person then walk away with them in my hot little hand. A process than was not free, nor easy. I had to check the details on the certificates and there he was under previous issue of parents. Thomas Kieran. It was like a punch to the solar plexus. It did bring tears to my eyes. But my stomach soon reminded me that it had been five hours since I had eaten and I got over the shock quick enough.
Now I have to apply for the passports themselves. A process I’m sure will run smoothly and easily, restoring my faith in the system. Let’s see if there really is any power in positive thinking.
After much searching and sorting we settled on dates and I found airfares that won’t leave us completely bankrupt, though I’m not entirely convinced that we won’t have to hang our arms out the windows and flap.
Next on the list is finding accommodation. Naturally we will be spending the bulk of time with family but after sitting on a 22hr flight with 3 children I want to do some tourist stuff while I’m there and that means a couple of weeks travelling. I’m thinking self catering cottages. For a week in the Republic of Ireland and a week in Northern England. Sort of a base camp from which we can so day trips.
So for those of you in the UK any recommendations greatly appreciated. Particularly accommodation you found good or companies you’d warn against. But also places you would recommend we visit or avoid. We will be hiring a car for our time outside London so transport not an issue.
Car hire, there’s something else I need to get sorted. It never ends.
And here is where I take a break to do the Christmas shopping. Because there is nothing as relaxing as fighting crowds while piped Christmas carols worm their way into my brain.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A conversation with Boy Genius
He came running in from the school bus, giggling and waving his arms. It had obviously been a good day.
Hello, Boy Genius
Hello, mum
What did you do at school today?
Cooking.
What did you cook?
Sandwiches.
What did you put on the sandwiches?
Glad Wrap.
One of the good things about living with autism-it opens you up to seeing the simplest things in a different way.
Hello, Boy Genius
Hello, mum
What did you do at school today?
Cooking.
What did you cook?
Sandwiches.
What did you put on the sandwiches?
Glad Wrap.
One of the good things about living with autism-it opens you up to seeing the simplest things in a different way.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A smashing time
Three days in a row of over 30°C without the benefit of a warm weather preamble and we’re all feeling a bit hot, tired and emotional. Some of us have words to express our discontent, others have only action.
The action boy genius chose to best exemplify his feelings was to slam his (empty) dinner plate onto the table.
Unfortunately this resulted in the surprise breaking of the plate (I mean really, who could have seen that coming) which is, apparently, best dealt with by standing up, screaming at the top of your voice and smashing your dining chair onto the floor as hard as you possibly can over and over again.
I had to assume by the lack of blood on boy genius and the vigour of his ongoing chair smashing that the only thing damaged was the plate. I managed to remove the offending fragments and made the, I think not unreasonable, suggestion that he take a deep breath and calm down. However he seemed to believe that a more efficient method of achieving a calmer state of mind would be to pour a glass of cordial over his own head then slam the glass onto the table. (The glass was fortunately made of sterner stuff than the plate and survived.)
This necessitated a quick trip to the bathroom where clothes were violently removed and forcefully put into the laundry basket, all to the mantra “don’t hurt yourself” (said while pinching his own arm). A shower and hair wash to remove the sticky cordial residue was then in order before he could storm off to his room from whence he appeared fifteen minutes later in his pyjamas to flop onto the couch and announce “feel better”.
The frustration of being unable to express himself verbally is obviously hard to cope with. The frustration of cleaning up after his frustration is also hard to cope with (I can assure you the last thing I felt like doing was moping sticky green cordial off the floor, table, chair and walls). And if this is any indication of what to expect this summer is going to be very hard to cope with indeed. I may need to buy some plastic plates.
The action boy genius chose to best exemplify his feelings was to slam his (empty) dinner plate onto the table.
Unfortunately this resulted in the surprise breaking of the plate (I mean really, who could have seen that coming) which is, apparently, best dealt with by standing up, screaming at the top of your voice and smashing your dining chair onto the floor as hard as you possibly can over and over again.
I had to assume by the lack of blood on boy genius and the vigour of his ongoing chair smashing that the only thing damaged was the plate. I managed to remove the offending fragments and made the, I think not unreasonable, suggestion that he take a deep breath and calm down. However he seemed to believe that a more efficient method of achieving a calmer state of mind would be to pour a glass of cordial over his own head then slam the glass onto the table. (The glass was fortunately made of sterner stuff than the plate and survived.)
This necessitated a quick trip to the bathroom where clothes were violently removed and forcefully put into the laundry basket, all to the mantra “don’t hurt yourself” (said while pinching his own arm). A shower and hair wash to remove the sticky cordial residue was then in order before he could storm off to his room from whence he appeared fifteen minutes later in his pyjamas to flop onto the couch and announce “feel better”.
The frustration of being unable to express himself verbally is obviously hard to cope with. The frustration of cleaning up after his frustration is also hard to cope with (I can assure you the last thing I felt like doing was moping sticky green cordial off the floor, table, chair and walls). And if this is any indication of what to expect this summer is going to be very hard to cope with indeed. I may need to buy some plastic plates.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
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