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 · 80 Comments

Exploding kettle

You know it’s going to be a long day when you wake up as a zombie. You stumble into the kitchen. You switch on the kettle. Then you get a bright flash and a deafening bang. The kettle joins the long line of broken appliances. A nice cup of cold water doesn’t quite cure zombieism as well as a dark brooding cup of coffee sludge. So we struggle on in a permanent haze.

Simple work tasks suddenly became modern day Rubik cube tortures.

Attaching a new belt to the hoover – a five minute job usually turned out to be as difficult as splitting an atom.

Trying to organise a few appointments for our son – might as well have been trying to schedule the next Guns and Roses World Tour.

Trying to activate my new Bank Card over the phone was equivalent of trying to authenticate nuclear launch codes.

A simple freeze wrap food parcel took on the same properties as Adamantium. My lunch wasn’t going to get consumed today.

Unbelievably the sun made an appearance for two hours this afternoon. Just enough time to take the dog for a reasonably dry walk and cut the the grass. Only just enough time. Sat looking at a unresponsive lawnmower for thirty minutes. The last ten of those minutes involved a carefully selected fault finding approach involving a hammer and my boot. Eventually the penny dropped and I realised that it would actually help if I inserted the 36v battery into the cordless mower. As I get older I become more like Daddy Pig from Peppa Pig. Luckily I just about finished the lawn before the weather closed in. The next rain event has now arrived. Looking at the forecast the next lawn cutting window is probably well into 2020.

So today was a bit of a write off. Strangely microwaved coffee doesn’t seem to taste so good. Boiling water on the oven just takes too long – sorry mum and dad. So tomorrow will start with another cup of cold water. Then it’s an urgent trip to the shops for a non exploding kettle.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 93 Comments

Fathers Day

It was Fathers Day in the UK yesterday. Even in Yorkshire. Let’s give a shout out to the Dads. Yes we are in most cases crap at multitasking, dammed annoying, often in the way but we are sometimes useful….. In my case I am still waiting.

So Sunday’s Dad List in this case was

  • Make breakfast – burnt and milk out of date
  • Housework – managed to get the sofa throw stuck in the hoover and snapped the last hoover belt
  • Clothes washing – washing machine stuck on the 10 minute pre wash cycle so not exactly clean so needed to run the cycle 5 times
  • Make lunch – criminally couldn’t get the Yorkshire Puddings to rise
  • Take dog for walk – dog rolled in sheep poo so he stinks
  • Bath dog – then spend an hour trying to dry out the house after the dog started shaking himself down. Aquaman has nothing on him.
  • Pack School Bag – went without incident but will only find its success when he gets back home
  • Time for some me time – made a coffee to sit outside as it’s unbelievably stopped raining, but find a large bird has crapped over the garden chair. Clean chair then find it’s started to rain again. Cold coffee looking out at a monsoon.
  • Change bedding – ok apart from a brutal wrestling match with duvet cover
  • Cook Tea – salad is pretty much Dad proof
  • Wash up – managed to smash one cup
  • Iron school uniform – find that I forgot about the wash in the washing machine. So set off a quick Tumble Dryer run
  • Revise for school end of year tests – another opportunity to show the processing power differences between a young vibrant mind and a knackered old one
  • Run bath – find someone forgot to wash the towels
  • Iron school uniform – presentable but managed to burn my hand
  • Lock doors – not easy when you can’t find the keys
  • Catch up on Work – not easy when laptop decides it needs yet another update
  • Go to bed – can’t sleep

That’s a pretty typical Sunday. So yes Dads can be crap but we also can be busy. Ok that in my case is busy being crap – but it’s still busy. As it’s Fathers Day I will give myself a pat on the back for that. I survived another day.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 89 Comments

Crop Circles

You can’t beat a good crop circle. Such intricate geometric patterns. These aliens are clearly very artistic with boundless amounts of patience. It’s kinda reassuring to know that the earth is clearly the preferred canvas of choice for alien art.

Unfortunately something is a clearly amiss with the Yorkshire Crop Circles.

Have the aliens that visit Yorkshire been indulging in too much Newcastle Nuclear Brown Ale or Black Sheep Holy Grail Ale.

Or are the Yorkshire Aliens the Galaxy’s avant-garde pioneers. No intricate geometric patterns here. Or maybe it’s the weather. You can imagine an alien more at home in fertile hospitable climes saying something like this as he is starting his Yorkshire Crop Circle in the pouring rain

“Bugger this for a lark let’s get it done as quick as possible then we are out of here”

When I told this story to our son he just looked at me with that look… thought for a few seconds then said.

“Dad why on earth would an alien fly all those billions of light years to do a bit of art then fly back again. You need to look for the rational explanation. Clearly we have some mighty big field mice these days”

Clearly the all too common stereotype that autistic people do not have a sense of humour is clearly true which thus means we need a much bigger cat….

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 74 Comments

Seasons

Same view – different season.

I never asked my partner which view she preferred. One of thousands of questions I never asked. Oh for those 17 years again…. I suspect she would not have gone for the snow version. She didn’t like being cold. To be honest she didn’t like it too hot as well. She was a Spring and Autumn person.

I would definitely opt for the snow version. I have always liked the cold. Maybe it was all those years of sitting watching the most northerly English Premier Football Team. Sat in a black and white shirt in the middle of winter. In summer I would melt. That’s a Yorkshire summer. Lord knows what I would do if I lived in Arizona or The Mediterranean or The Middle East.

Switzerland can get hot in the summer. I remember one really hot day. It was too hot for my partner. After a quick visit to the zoo she stayed in the hotel with our son while I went for a run along the lake. Never been so hot. After 40 minutes it was too much and I just jumped into the lake. Oh the sweet cool glacial waters. And I can’t swim… When I emerged from the lake a sweet old man was walking past shading the sun out with an umbrella. In almost perfect English he said

“Grüezi. You must be English. Only someone from England would be mad enough to run in this.”

But I digress. This is Swiss Sunday and it’s not supposed to be about me. That’s wrecked any chance of a free Toblerone from the Swiss Tourist Board.

Switzerland is a special place. A place for special memories. A place where you can visit a valley one trip and it’s deep snow perfect for skiing. The next trip it’s scorching hot and it’s beach soccer.

Unlike the UK these days it still gets distinct seasons. Stunning colours in Spring. Heat in the Summer. Moody Autumns. Proper winters. That is how it should be. Something we need to try and preserve.

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 · 98 Comments

    Confession time

    I need to come clean about something. A secret I have hidden from all but my closest family, friends and postman. Darkness personified. Please don’t be too upset with me.

    I have a beard.

    There you go I’ve admitted it now.

    It’s a recent thing. Not as if I was born with it. I was born with a mass of black curly hair. Was almost called Jimmy after rock guitarist Jimmy Hendrix. Yes born with his hairstyle. A few years later I would have been named Brian after another rock guitarist. In the end I was named after an actor who played in many cowboy movies without a beard.

    When the beard started our son never mentioned it. Well not until he told someone working at a ticket office that his dad was trying to get a job with ZZTOP.

    Trust me it’s not that long….

    I understand the technical term is a short beard. A number 1. Rather aptly I had to re-type short as my first attempt replaced the or with an i.

    It’s funny in the 17 years I was with my partner the subject of beards only came up once. That was on a French TGV speed train. So I don’t know if the beard would be fondly stroked or would produce a Paddington Bear like stare followed by the words “shave it now”.

    Is it time for the beard to go. I’ve decided that I am now even less likely to be mistaken for George Clooney.

    It’s never going to happen. Take George’s beard and transplant it on the back end of a Honey Badger. That’s what we are dealing with.

    So maybe it’s time to say goodbye.

    But our son is now not keen to say goodbye to it. This is an amazing turnaround as a few years back on a French train the guard had a beard. As he walked down the packed carriage our young son stood up, pointed at the beard and shouted “he’s got rabies”. By the look on the guards face that was three words of English he fully understood.

    Now as part of his strategy to save the beard he has named it. As everyone knows if you name something it suddenly gets protected status. So what do I do now.

    By the way the beard is now name Mr Crimble….

    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 65 Comments

    Alone

    Complete white out. Zero vision. Your boots constantly struggling to find grip on the sheet ice. All you can hear is the wind howl and your rasping breathe. Somewhere to your right are bone breaking crags, to your left a 200 feet sheer drop. Holding the ice axe waiting for the inevitable fall. The trail has disappeared. The map is useless. The compass won’t give an accurate reading. Alone. Are you too far right or god help you …. too far left. Too late to turn back. Your only guide is to follow the sharp slope upwards to the summit.

    The delights of winter mountaineering. Or is a metaphor for life. Disorientation, lost, no idea where your going, unattainable goals, alone, no plan, fear and panic.

    Then hope. A kind word. A caring hand in the dark. Brief enlightenment.

    The clouds briefly part. The beautiful mountain summit reveals itself. You survived that crisis. Panic subsides. Your pounding heart starts to ease. The break in the clouds is short lived. But you have a path. You have a direction. You have hope. The climb continues.

    Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 45 Comments

    Parent Evening

    Sometimes school does make me laugh. On his return from school today I found a severely scrunched up piece of paper. It’s the invite to the annual parent/teacher consultation. I’ve got to decide which teachers I want to see. Tick the appropriate boxes then get ‘your son or daughter to arrange times with the teachers’.

    I just looked at our son and said that’s not going to happen is it really. Son smiled and said

    “Never in a million years”

    Then we both burst into fits of laughter when we read the next bit of the letter.

    We are happy for students to attend with their parents. School uniform is not required but we do ask that students do not chew gum or wear hats whilst inside the school building.

    WHAT

    “Dad isn’t that Hatist …”

    Yes son it’s very anti hat and it’s also very anti kiddie as well. So apparently it’s ok for an adult to chew gum and wear a hat but not a child.

    “Dad does that mean that I’m ok going in nude or wearing a satanic cross as long as I’m not wearing a hat..”

    Apparently so.

    So we probably won’t get any teacher appointments booked but we are still turning up so I can wear the biggest and silliest hat I can find at the charity shop.