How hot is 43 degrees celcius?
So hot our tomatoes cooked on the vine.
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
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
When in Rome
….bring me back the tackiest papal souvenir you can find. But be warned competition for most tasteless memento on my shelf of tat is fierce. The contenders are:
• The dual A-side medallion featuring both Popes in glorious living colour. Reminiscent of the photographs one sometimes sees embedded in grave markers in modern lawn cemeteries this piece is positively tasteful compared to-
• The clear acrylic paperweight featuring not one, not two, but three church fathers etched within; rotating stand with multi-coloured up lighting optional. Nothing says piety like a ‘batteries not included’ sticker on the box. This, however, is stylish and sophisticated when compared to-
• The Pope Snow Globe. Formerly a front runner in the can-it-get-any-tackier-than-that stakes I feel its innate crassitude has been out shone by-
• The Plaster Pieta. This plaster replica of Michelangelo’s Pieta fulfils the Artist’s Ultimate Vision. I am certain that if temperature sensitive paint had been available in1499 he would have splashed it indiscriminately all over his bland marble sculpture. The addition of glitter to this timeless piece is nothing short of genius. I am so glad the manufacturers spared no expense in production.
A big thank-you to Alex for her ongoing contributions to this phenomenal collection. No really, thanks, thanks a lot.
• The dual A-side medallion featuring both Popes in glorious living colour. Reminiscent of the photographs one sometimes sees embedded in grave markers in modern lawn cemeteries this piece is positively tasteful compared to-
• The clear acrylic paperweight featuring not one, not two, but three church fathers etched within; rotating stand with multi-coloured up lighting optional. Nothing says piety like a ‘batteries not included’ sticker on the box. This, however, is stylish and sophisticated when compared to-
• The Pope Snow Globe. Formerly a front runner in the can-it-get-any-tackier-than-that stakes I feel its innate crassitude has been out shone by-
• The Plaster Pieta. This plaster replica of Michelangelo’s Pieta fulfils the Artist’s Ultimate Vision. I am certain that if temperature sensitive paint had been available in1499 he would have splashed it indiscriminately all over his bland marble sculpture. The addition of glitter to this timeless piece is nothing short of genius. I am so glad the manufacturers spared no expense in production.
A big thank-you to Alex for her ongoing contributions to this phenomenal collection. No really, thanks, thanks a lot.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
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