Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 98 Comments

Oh come on…

Stood watching the sunset. Two thoughts crossed my mind.

One… what a stunning sunset. Developed without warning and only lasted a few minutes. It’s the sort of sunset that would have made my partner so happy.

Two… bloody hell my fingers hurt.

You get towards the end of the school year with the once extensive school uniform reserves drained to drought levels. Down to one of each item and they have seen much better days. Sizing is probably about two sizes to small and really they are just a collections of holes held together by a few resilient fibres. Just got to make them last two more weeks. That reminds me – I had better start saving for next terms uniform replenishment. Bet that’s cheap!!!

It maybe only two weeks but you can almost see what’s left of the clothes disintegrating in the air. It’s time for drastic action. It’s time for emergency patching. Unfortunately sewing comes as naturally to me as veganism comes to Donald Trump. I am useless. Always have been, always will be. Up to two years ago that wasn’t a problem. My partner loved darning and out would come the sewing box with such glee. My mum was also an expert in the dark sewing arts. Those days have gone now.

So now it’s down to me. Houston we have a problem. So out came my partners sewing box. A result a couple of useable patches ready to go. How hard can this really be. So a fine looking needle was selected. Several different types of thread to go for. Helpfully each has a number 60, 70, 75, 80 – what the hell does that mean – is it size, age, weight, tensile strength. Let’s go for 60 as it’s black. We then start to put the thread through the needle eye. T***, f***, s***, b******, buggerations. I might as well of been trying to give a cheesed off Honey Badger a haircut. One hour it took me, one hour of my life wasted on that instrument of torture.

Then I started to attach the patch to the trouser knee hole. The sodding thread falls out of the needle. So we start again. Two coffees later we have a needle and thread ready to go again. Now the needle won’t go through the patch. What is it made of – bullet proof armour. Eventually I punch through but with so much force that the needle eye has embedded into my finger. Blood everywhere. After a plaster has been applied I continue. Not once, not twice maybe six times the needle struggles to get through the patch but once through it passes through my finger skin with such ease. In the end my fingers resembles Spongebob Squarepants’s backside. Holes everywhere.

But finally the job is done. The patch is secured and doesn’t look too bad. Quite pleased with that. THEN. Oh for f*** sake, oh come on!!!!

In hindsight it might not have been a great idea to push the needle not only through the front of the trousers but then through the back of the trousers as well. Great work. Now the left trouser leg is completely sewn tight at the knee. What’s the kid supposed to do – hop to school, pirate style.

Don’t think badly of me. After I unpicked the stitching I decided to stick the patch on with superglue. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.

So yes it’s a wonderful sunset but my fingers are so much more redder…

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 50 Comments

Sherlock’s Yorkshire Canon

Last night we sat down to watch a couple of episodes from the wonderful Sherlock TV series. One of which was the Hound of The Baskervilles. Or as my helpful word checker wants to autocorrect to – the Hound of the Basketballs – that would be a slam dunker of a book. It is the episode where Holmes and Aspergers are specifically referenced. When Lestrade talks about the great detectives awful people skills Watson specifically mentions Aspergers. I could see no apparent reaction from our son.

However later the following was said

“I know it helps explain Sherlock’s character and his abruptness with others. And it’s kinda nice that the we get a hero with autism. But people will start to think that we are all brilliant, unfeeling and very very odd. Definitely psychotic. One day we will get a character who is just in the middle.”

He is so right. It’s called a spectrum for a reason. Labels just don’t fit. The media focus on the extreme ends but hardly ever look at the middle. But that’s the media and entertainment for you. It’s like when we crashed into the world of single parenting, single father parenting. I remember having a similar conversation

Why do so many movies and TV shows depict the single dad as a suicidal drinker obsessed with dating sites and clearly unable to cope with at least one wild child who has gone bad and needs saving.

Currently sat here with a herbal tea and listening to classical music. That’s not going to make for an interesting movie. Anyway back to Sherlock. We sat enjoying the episode when two thoughts struck me.

ONE: Sherlock was one of my partners favourite TV shows. We are watching her DVDs. She should be sat next to our son enjoying the experience. Life is not fair.

TWO: Looking round at the room. It’s a mess. She would kill me.

So this morning before the dog walk into the strangely blue skied Yorkshire countryside I had a major cleanup. Even put the Sherlock DVDs neatly back in the box. Then on the walk I almost could here her voice saying ‘stop taking so many photos’ so I only took the one this morning. Rather than snap away I looked at the view, imagined a demon hound stalking Dartmoor and I wondered what a Yorkshire themed Sherlock would sound like.

Ferret of the Baskervilles

A study in rhubarb

A scandal in Barnsley

The adventure of the missing Yorkshire Pudding

The adventures of the crooked Lancashire man

The adventures of the Yorkshire Terriers Main.

As much as I love Yorkshire thank god Sherlock was based in London.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 91 Comments

Grounded

Getting older is great for your body. I wish I could have my body from when I was 30. Hang on it was buggered then, just dislocated my shoulder playing football. I wish I had my body from when I was 25. Hang on I had just dented my rib cage playing cricket. I wish I had my body from when I was 20. Hang on I had just cracked my skull open playing rugby. I wish I had Thor’s body from before the Endgame.

Playing contact sport is basically bad for you.

Since the world changed I have focused on our son. But that is not completely sustainable. You do need to find time for yourself. If only to help manage stress levels. My anchor has been fitness and home workouts. Thirty minutes a day as a minimum. It worked until I realised I needed to stop myself becoming completely housebound. Couldn’t afford a gym so it was running. Again it worked well. But then the buggered body caught up with me again. So until a physiotherapist can have a look at me I am banned from running and weightlifting.

So the two things which have kept me sane over the last couple of years have suddenly become unavailable. Hopefully temporarily but you never know.

So I need to find something – a new anchor. But what? Climbing but that is far too risky and we are short of mountains round here. Cycling and walking would be good options but time constraints limit their appeal. Maybe not a sport then. Shockingly it might have to be a hobby.

  • Yoga – good for stress but I have the balance of a drunk three legged mountain goat
  • Dedicate time for reading – that could work, keep moaning about not reading enough
  • Write a book – possibly a cook or baking book….
  • Astronomy – time at night is a premium plus this is Yorkshire otherwise known as Cloudsville.
  • Birdwatching – another possible option and might meet others (even if they have feathers and a beak)
  • Learn another language – the nearest classes are many miles away and learning languages other than English will probably be outlawed after Brexit
  • Photography – only available camera is on my battered many years old iPhone
  • Gardening – who am I kidding, I am a plant mass murderer
  • Gaming – certainly not stress relieving
  • Painting – even messed up a paint by numbers Mona Lisa
  • Learn to play an instrument – would find a use for that keyboard I bought our son as a present, the one he asked for which apparently was supposed to be a gaming keyboard
  • Knitting – my knitting skills are only matched by my baking skills
  • Tree Shaping – we only have two small trees
  • Extreme Ironing – far too dangerous for me

So many options to ponder over. I will find a hobby. I have to if I’m going to pull this single parenting gig off. Asked our son and he helpfully suggested

“Does sleeping count as a hobby”

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 119 Comments

Tell me why

In my voice – Tell me why

  • My partner was taken from us when she was so young.
  • The system continually fails our son.
  • The Government can find billions to bribe other parties to keep it in power but can’t find the money to fund education support for the kids who need it.
  • I don’t sleep anymore.
  • They say the world is getting smaller yet I feel so isolated.
  • Chocolate has so many blooming calories.
  • Hair doesn’t like growing on my head yet it sprouts like an Amazonian Forest on the back of the my hands.
  • The cat continually finds a way into the wardrobe.
  • I can’t find any socks in this house.
  • They never made a Captain Scarlet movie.

In our son’s voice – Tell me why

  • My mum had to die.
  • Both my grannies had to die.
  • My hamster had to die.
  • My girl cat who was like a sister to me had to die.
  • I can’t read.
  • Some people think I am stupid just because I am autistic and dyslexic.
  • Shops have to be so busy.
  • Hazard is leaving Chelsea.
  • Do people have to kiss in films.
  • Marvel Movies are way better than DC Movies.
  • Most kids don’t like rock music.
  • Broccoli wasn’t deemed an inedible plant.
  • My Dad can’t cook.
  • In our dogs voice – Tell me why
      • I get shouted at for pinching socks.
      I get shouted at for digging holes.
      I get shouted at for eating garden tools.
      I get shouted at for eating garden furniture,
      I get shouted at for digging up plants.
      I get shouted at for burying stuff like socks.
      I get shouted at for pulling bits of the apple tree off.
      I get shouted at for escaping.
      I get shouted at for climbing in the hedge.
      I get shouted at for eating cat poo, cow poo, sheep poo.
      I get shouted at for pinching food.
      My best friend isn’t with us anymore. I know I am a dog but she was a really cool cat.

    In our boy cats voice – Tell me why

    • My sister isn’t with us anymore.

    • My best friend, the really lovely woman has gone. I miss siting on her lap.
    • I get shouted at for missing the cat litter by several feet.
    • I get really shouted at for missing the litter by so many feet I hit the wall.
    • I get shouted at for sitting in front of the TV when a movie is on.
    • I get shouted at for sneaking into the wardrobe and getting white hairs on all the black clothes.
    • I get shouted at for falling in hot plates of food.
    • I get shouted at for always tripping people up.
    • I get shouted at for sleeping on the laptop.
    • I get shouted at for sleeping on the toaster.

    In our gerbils voice – Tell me why

    • We don’t live in a toilet roll factory.
    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 69 Comments

    Trees

    What a stunning tree.

    We took Captain Chaos for a walk this morning. Still trying to process yesterday’s school review meeting. Maybe it’s because I am tired but I just can’t get my head fully round it’s implications. It’s times like this when being a single parent sucks… No one to talk things through with. No voice of reason. So the ideas and words just keep swirling around.

    I turned up carrying my 300 pages of notes (sorry Trees…). When I opened the paper pile a must do House DIY list dropped out. Sadly nothing can be ticked off the list from the last meeting. Where does all the time go.

    The meeting lasted two hours. So many discussions. So many disagreements. So much frustration.

    I suspect the best way to summarise is to see a never ending circle.

    I ask for something. School confirm it’s not happened. Health Service says the need is real and should be met. School says they don’t have the resources to do this. School asks the Council for funds. Council says it’s not an education issue, it’s a health issue. Health Service says they don’t have the money and it’s an education issue. And on and on. If we give money to health to provide additional support then that has to come from the school and they then can’t even meet his minimum care standards. So Son has real unmet needs – everyone agrees on that but no one is prepared to provide the funds. Everybody at the meeting clearly cared about our son. Let’s be honest Health and Education have been hammered by our current Government. You can only cut things so far before things start falling apart.

    Let’s quote our Prime Minister again

    “I’m on your side….”

    Just sod off. You are not on OUR SIDE. You are just looking after yourself. You don’t give a damm about kids like our son. Get back to looking at your, your husband and your friends off shore investments….

    So the bottom line is Health are going to write to the Council and request additional funding. Council are going to write to the Health Managers and ask for additional funds. While our PM sits in Chequers and tries to find more desperate ways of staying in power. Go on May why don’t you bribe the DUP with billions of pounds of public funds again – while lecturing the rest of us that ‘money doesn’t grow on trees’. Madness.

    More positively school are going to try some minor adjustments to see if that helps our son. They are also going to formally request exceptional one-off funding to pay for an in-depth dyslexia assessment. The funding probably won’t come but at least school now recognise the impact dyslexia is having on our son’s educational performance.

    So hopefully at the next meeting we will have seen some progress and at the very least confirming that

    • Son has started getting some more tailored support,
    • I have started doing some of the DIY projects which are badly needed,
    • I will have gone paperless so more beautiful trees will be saved AND
    • our incompetent and distinctly unpleasant PM is consigned to historical ignominy…..
    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 103 Comments

    Daffodils and that pesky problem.

    It might be cold. It might be windy. It might feel nothing like Spring. But at least the daffodils are out in force.

    I couldn’t sleep last night. On a hill the wind tends to howl. And wow did it howl. It’s been like that for days. A number of the local tourist sites are closed on safety grounds.

    So today my brain has been running a bit in neutral. Processing a barrage of questions.

    “Dad why does Gordon Ramsey swear so much?”

    “How is May still Prime Minister?”

    “Has the Champions League draw taken place?”

    “When can we go to see Captain Marvel?”

    “Why do Daffodils have such a short flowering season and why is it in a time period which is notorious for poor weather?”

    “Why haven’t they made a new series of Gravity Falls?”

    “Why do we focus so much attention on the Battle of Hastings and William the Conqueror. Yet we never talk about the years proceeding the battle. They are just as important.”

    “What’s a Gravity wave?”

    “How old is Alice Cooper?”

    and on and on.

    And yet I managed to hold my own. It was that sort of day. Maybe not on top form but ticking off jobs.

    • Cleaned the Gerbil Cage without accidentally releasing the little darlings to cause havoc around the house,
    • Managed to negotiate a cheaper broadband deal,
    • Get the old laptop working again,
    • Completed this weeks work requirements,
    • Change a wiper blade on the car,
    • Repair some knee holes in jeans,
    • Sort out some problems with son’s school iPad,
    • Prepare meals for tonight,
    • Replace a hose in the hoover,
    • Finish the ironing,
    • Clean the bathroom,
    • Get all the outstanding bills pad,
    • Convince the Council to give us a free replacement wheely bin as our old one is held together with 2 rolls of tape.

    But then the success came to a grinding halt. Failure in the face of an insurmountable problem. Defeated by a super complex Riemman Hypothesis. My version of Star Treks Kobayashi Maru.

    Changing our son’s Duvet Cover.

    How difficult can it be. The cover comes off so easy. But when you try to put it back on. Suddenly it’s like trying to play a game of Twister with Ninja Octopus. Gets twisted, Rides up. Goes in the wrong way. Decides to turn inside out. Suddenly the duvet appears to be covered in the worlds stickiest Velcro. It’s just a nightmare. SIXTY PESKY MINUTES later and the only thing I had achieved was to go into full Hulk Rage.

    Come on Spring. Please arrive soon. Bring in the warmer weather so I can ditch the duvets and those demonic covers – for a wonderful couple of months. Daffodils remind you that those happy days are coming.

    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 80 Comments

    Cold

    Today we have an outbreak of manbola. Streaming cold, coughing, sneezing, sore throat …. just didn’t want to get out of bed. I have to admit I am a …….

    The dog walk must have been some sight. Gloves, 2 T-shirt’s, Fleece, Jumper, body warmer, waterproof and woolly hat. And that was just the dog.

    It’s one of the big downsides of being a single parent. Whatever the relative severity of the manbola – you don’t have the option to not get out of bed or just sit in a chair with a hot water bottle. No one to share the workload. So you just have to get on with your jobs while croaking out conversations with our son. Powered by hot ginger drinks and tea. It’s days like this you want to drop your caffeine ban.

    It also gives you plenty of worries. It emphasises that many single parents (and a number of parenting couples) often operate without having an option b in place. If something serious happens to a parent(s) what happens to the kids. It’s a sobering thought.

    I am an amateur at these things. So many parents have had much worse situations to deal with for so many more years. I have so so much respect and admiration to you heroes. So we battle on. In the scheme of things manbola isn’t that bad really.

    AND one definite plus of manbola is that you just can’t smell the cat litter when you change it….

    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 47 Comments

    Monday Monday Monday

    Monday finishes off with a visit from Santa. It’s about the only event the village has. Raising money for charity. Raising smiles with children. Sorry for the poor photo.

    However we never get a dull day.

    Nice dog walk completed. Return of the strange yellow thing. Coffee made. Laptop opened. Work commenced. PHONE RINGS.

    As Captain Jack Sparrow would say – “Bugger”

    So ten minutes after opening the laptop I’m on the way to meet our son at the hospital. Accident at school and a hurt hand. Few x-rays and it’s a visit to the fracture clinic tomorrow.

    Back home for some needed TLC for our son. Work day has turned into a marathon movie day. Can we get through the complete Pirates of the Caribbean series in one day. It’s odd watching the movies having now seen Johnny Depp live – playing guitar.

    Lord knows when I’m going to get some work done. Maybe a few all night sessions. But in the scheme of things it doesn’t really matter. Now back to Captain Jack and the third movie.

    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 52 Comments

    Call from school

    Friday was going to be a big work day. After that video Thursday was a write off. Friday was positive, Friday was going to be a big work catchup day. So taking no risks with unexpected grief reminders – a carefully selected range of cds was lined up. Work started.

    Then the phone rings. The phone call parents dread from school:

    “I’m sorry your son is not so good at the moment can you come and pick him up”

    As a couple you then have that urgent exchange of calls or texts to decide who is best placed to pick up. Unfortunately as a single parent all you can do is sigh, switch off the laptop and head to school. Monday is now ‘manic work Monday”.

    Luckily it was nothing too lasting. Anxiety leading to an upset stomach which is quickly remedied by Tomato Soup and the prospect of the weekend. We often forget how stressful school can be for kids. Added to that – Autism and schools are not natural bed fellows.

    Schools often forget that they don’t really do that much to relieve this anxiety. I haven’t forgotten that national budget cuts restricts what schools can do. But surely progress can be made. Large parts of the school are quite old and pretty grim. Without doubt the grimmest location tend to be the toilets. They are awful. Dark, smelly, completely unwelcoming. His last School’s facilities were awful and as a result many of the kids refused to use them. According to our son he only used them once in 5 years. At his new School the toilets are equally Victorian. With the added ingredient that they are poorly monitored and are a hive of bullying.

    IS THIS NOT 2018….

    OR IS IT A PINK FLOYD VIDEO

    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 48 Comments

    Thespian Advice

    First up apologies for yesterday’s school rant. Probably suffering from Toffee Appleitis. It was heart felt but probably did come across as a bit of a winging parent. I suspect it might not be my last moan but I will try to keep a lid on it for the post.

    The Toffee Apple update was quite positive. I did manage to find one rather sad looking specimen which apparently was quite tasty. While he was at school I moved away from the high science of Toffee to the more accessible chocolate approach. Chocolate is so much easier than Toffee – it falls within my very limited cooking range.

    Chocolate Apple – success. Then the success went to my head – chocolate dipping anything I could find. Grapes, strawberries, banana, pineapple and melon. At one stage we had chocolate spectacles – but that was just an unintentional fumble. With the exception of the glasses – all chocolate covered items happily consumed.

    After the chocolate eating fest our son brought up school and in particular drama. Apparently the class had a drama test which consisted of reading a script. No reading help was provided. When I asked how he coped his response was

    “I couldn’t read the words but I didn’t panic, I just remembered the advice you gave me about drama”

    This worried me on two counts. One I can’t remember any such advice and secondly the only thing I’m worse at than cooking is the performing arts. My only two ventures into the performing arts during my life have hardly been inspiring.

    1) At school my class was entered into a singing competition. My signing was so bad that the teacher told me to stand at the back and just mime. I remember how he put it “for gods sake don’t sing or were buggered”.

    2) A bit further down my educational journey I “performed” in the year end play. That year it was Julius Caesar. I was given the role of a centurion with one job. Stand on a podium (chair) and shout “hail Caesar”. Unfortunately on the big night I got a tad excited. I managed to let out a bellowing “Haiiiiiiiiiii” as I feel backwards off the chair, pulling most of the back curtain down.

    So with trepidation I asked my son exactly what advice I had given him.

    “You told me that if I had to do any acting and I didn’t know what to do then you should pretend to be a famous actor. Pretend to be someone like Christopher Lee playing Dracula”. ### he once watched a documentary about Christopher Lee’s career when he was appearing in Lord of the Rings and loved the Dracula bit ####

    “So I just pretended to be Dracula stalking round the stage not saying a word. I later found out that it was some romantic stuff I was supposed to read”.

    I couldn’t get the image of this vampire like figure stalking round the stage when they were expecting something more akin to Laurence Olivier or Colin Firth. Seconds later we were both in tears of laughter.

    So in summary I can’t rule out future blog moans but I can categorically rule out any form of thespian advice.