Maybe I can call our little part of the world a Rose Garden. Makes a change from Jungle or Weedville.
Well so far we have survived the boiler service. The chap turned up and to be fair to him, he did use a mask and gloves. He did confirm that it wasn’t me being a muppet. It had fuel. It was turned ON. He explained that it was the oldest boiler he had seen in ages. Possibly over 40 years old. It’s poor motor had finally died. Unbelievably he found a replacement motor in the van that just about fitted. So with a hefty bill winging my way he departed. Apparently after all those years it is still working at 90% efficiency. Wish I was that good at 40.
The thought of an outsider entering the house sent son into an anxiety meltdown. Unplanned visitors is not easy at the best of times for someone with Aspergers. But during a pandemic…..
To try and keep a lid on his anxiety we agreed a decontamination protocol. Thankfully this was carried out to the letter.
- The service person wore masks and gloves,
- He only entered the house via the back door,
- He only ventured into one room,
- After he finished I quickly disinfected the room and the door he used,
- That room and that side of the house was then closed off for 3 days,
- As was the path which the serviceman walked across,
- I than had a shower and completely changed clothes.
It might seem OTT but to our son this was the bare minimum which was acceptable to him. His way of protecting his safe place. He will be much less stressed out when that part of the house comes out of lockdown. Later we had a chat about all things pandemic and his anxieties. Clearly we won’t be dropping our local procedures for a considerable time. Putting aside the merits of homeschooling debate, I just can’t see how he cope function in a public environment any time soon. Certainly not in a crowded school at the start of September. Thankfully the concerts we were due to see have been cancelled. (The Who, Whitesnake, Foreigner, Europe, Aerosmith, Hollywood Vampires). We are down to just two in October now. Deep Purple and Ozzy. But I just can’t see them happening as well.
So maybe we start to adopt a mindset that actually our enforced house and garden lockdown will last into 2021. Will need to think about that. What additional things do we have to put in place to ensure that we both can continue to enjoy life for all those months. Maybe that industrial sized ice cream and slush puppy machine is not such a far fetched idea……
Another hot one. One more day then proper weather sweeps back in.
Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s overthinking. Maybe it’s these crazy times. Maybe it’s lack of sleep. Maybe it’s feeling just a little bit alone in this fight. Maybe it’s just one of those days. But today has been on off day. A down day. A misfiring day. A depressed day. I get these days. Not as many as I used to but it doesn’t really help when they strike. These days it definitely feels like good weeks and bad days. So it’s a bit of a surprise when the bad days sneak up on you. All the more frustrating because there is not a definite cause. No warning. Just wake up feeling this way.
A day when
- The mojo has gone on holiday.
- Life feels hard and unremittingly uphill.
- Just feeling yucky.
- Everything is an effort.
- The daily workout was completed but never got out of 1st gear.
- You just want to sit and slouch.
- That smile is an effort.
- Routine things become annoying.
- Those various body injuries just hurt that little bit more.
- An old photo which made you smile yesterday today brings a tear.
- That inner demon is just a bit stronger today. The negative voice is just that bit louder.
- Definitely a little snappy and quick tempered.
Basically low and deflated. It will pass but until it does then it’s no fun. I was going to swear but I won’t. Let’s get through the day and see what tomorrow brings. If it’s the same feeling then maybe a bit of shock therapy is required. I think I will ask son to fill a huge bucket with cold water then fill it with ice cubes and whatever else he fancies. Then he can dump it over me. It worked last time I was like this, maybe it will work again. Only one way to find out….
The Yorkshire version of Wembley Stadium. Can you spot the pet trying to once again sneak into the photo.
Even comes with a discerning crowd.
If Aspergers Parenting was a football game, well today feels like we have had a key player sent off….
I always naively assumed that if and when son got an official diagnosis then a support package would be out in place to help with his life chances. How silly of me. I didn’t count on year after year, having to fight the system. Trying to prize just the hints of support from a system which has been hammered into the ground by a Government which only looks after itself and it’s friends. To summarise
- A school system repeatedly fails kids who do not fit into the factory production line which is the UK school system. Two options, either fight for a place in one of the few special schools or accept your child being bracketed as ‘low attainment’ and consigned to the bottom set. The school will then forget about the child and then pat itself on the back if the child gets just one certificate.
- Letter after letter, call after call trying to find a clinician who is prepared to look at your child’s case.
- Passed from specialist to specialist who don’t have the time or resources to add your child onto their case load.
- Service after service cut by a Government which believes that only the rich should be able to buy access to essential healthcare. A Government that sees Mental Health as no more than an excuse to avoid work. Let’s not forget they described a child taking time off from school after a bereavement as an extended holiday.
- When you do finally get access to a service you then join the growing waiting list. Finally when your child is seen it’s virtually always by someone new, with no understanding of the back story.
- Finally your child starts to get older and the few services he has had access to are withdrawn as he is now above the age threshold. You see the Government likes to think that after 13, services are pointless and far too expensive. Adults have to sort themselves out.
We have had three brilliant exceptions to this.
- A Clinical Psychologist who worked with out son consistently for three years. She even delayed her retirement to ensure son’s diagnosis was officially approved.
- An Occupational Therapy service that worked with him every few months to help with things like coordination. A service which was cut when he reached 13.
- A wonderful Nurse Counsellor who worked with our son for 3 years helping with his anxieties and joining the fight for additional help.
We entered June 2020 with just the Nurse Counsellor left from his entire care package. And now the player is sent off.
The Nurse phoned today to let us know that she had been reassigned. She is great and some other kids are really going to really benefit from her time. We are eternally grateful for everything she has done. She is going to desperately try to find another clinician to take over from her. I know she will really try. We may get a replacement. The Nurse was the only clinician he really has connected with. Those connections are rare for him. Making a new connection is going to be tough and most certainly not guaranteed. As the Nurse said it feels like we have lost the progress made over the last few years.
Today feels like one of those tough parenting days. As a friend wrote recently we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves down and start again. We most certainly do. But it feels like it’s a much depleted team taking on the struggle. Forgive me I’ve not used a Lord of the Rings metaphor for a while. It feels like the heavens have opened. The hordes are massed outside the walls and I’m stood alone on the Battlements of Helms Deep. Just me protecting our son now. Doesn’t feel like Gandalf is riding over the horizon in the morning. I’m going to have to just find a way of doing this myself.
I’m off now to kick the ball into the net a few times. Maybe with a bit more force than usual. Then the fight starts again.
And another rose photo…. I have to say out garden is blessed with weeds and roses. Each year they appear and they always feel like the return of friends.
Last night I had another weird dream. This time it took me back to my university days. It started off by showing that my career path had been influenced by a slip of a pen. I had applied to do a degree in Economics but had been put on a Home Economics course. A degree in cooking for the worlds worst chef, OK.… But the main part of the dream was centred around friendships. All my college friends were on the course but no one recognised me. As hard as I tried, nothing. I was just blanked by them. Most unsettling.
As ever the weird dream put an end to my nighttime sleep hopes. So it was time to drink tea and think. A quick search on the internet found recent pictures of some of my old college friends. I just about recognised them. Would they remember my face which is perfect for radio – probably the same I guess. But here’s the key thing. These were really close friends. Yet when was the last time we met up in person. Our careers and life’s moved us apart. I’m not sure it was even this century. But it doesn’t stop there
- I haven’t seen my schools friends since I first left my childhood home to go to University.
- One really close school friend I did keep in contact with. We would meet up every few months. But again our life’s drifted further apart and the last time I heard she was living in Israel. That must be over 20 years ago.
- My climbing friends still keep in touch via letters. Yes letters – how old fashioned does that sound…But we haven’t been climbing together in 6 years.
- I still keep in regular text contact with a good friend who I went to football matches with. But I’ve stopped going to games now due to circumstances, so we don’t meet up in person.
- Work and parenting friendships have come and gone.
- Friends in the village have dwindled. Some have moved away, some have sadly left this world.
So in terms of actual physical friend meet-ups it’s down to one chap I normally work with. He occasionally drags me for a game of golf. There are so many stories right there – my golf career is about as good as my cooking career. But due to the pandemic I have not seen him since the start of March.
Life and my choices have sent me down this path. Living in a rural area, bereavement, single parenting and autism in the house have all contributed. But it is was it is. A huge element of personal choice comes into the mix as well.
Yes this is sad but I am so lucky. The gaps left here have created space for blogging friendships. I’m doing the best job in the world – parenting. Job is the wrong word, it’s more a privilege. I have a great life. But I do so worry for others. Feeling alone can be such a dark place. Alone and yet claustrophobic. No one to reach out to. No one to interact or grow with. Some choose that option freely. But many are forced into it by circumstance. Illness, age, special needs parenting, single parenting, location, social factors, fears and yes a pandemic. It’s so easy and unfortunately very convenient to forget about those who drop off the grid. Last night was a timely reminder for me.
Take care my friends.
A few hours ago talked about a Yorkshire White Rose which has a connection with my partner. I said that it would become even more beautiful. Well here’s the proof.
This little bush produces the most stunning roses. The sadness is my partner never really got to see them. But they are such a beautiful tribute to her. That’s such a nice thought.
Take care everyone and remember to live. It’s can still be a wonderful life.
Wild strawberries get everywhere. Now they have found a way into the large tub which contains the old blueberry bush. This raises one of the great life mysteries. Wild strawberries are cropping up all over the garden. Even on the stone drive. Yet I find it impossible to grow them when and where I want them to. Nothing ever happens with my strawberry seeds. Most frustrating….
So officially no work until September at the earliest now. I guess it gives me more time to tend my strawberries. But we are SO fortunate compared to many others. We have beautiful memories. We have a nice (if slightly chaotic) garden with a lovely view. We are relatively secluded. Son can feel safe here. We can scrape by and pay the bills. We can still have fun and enjoy life. Yes another 3 months of this self contained world can at times seem a claustrophobic thought. But that thought is there only if I let it exist. In reality I’m losing a few brief encounters, some knee jarring runs and an occasional trip out. Counter to that – Son is gaining a feeling of security. For that security I can more than cope with a few inconveniences. Everyday we still have the ability to create memories and live out our dreams. Maybe not my frequent night dreams featuring talking cows and dinosaurs. But you know what I mean.
So let’s be thankful for what we have. Let’s use what we have. Let’s remember to live.
Let’s take the time to watch the wild berries grow…
The other thing about the wild strawberries is that they don’t last long. The are stripped bare by our frequent garden visitors. That’s fine with me. I guess they were the ones who brought the seeds here in the first place. So they grew them, so why not let them enjoy the rewards. And the answer to the great life mystery. I should leave the gardening to the experts. The wildlife. Having said that – they don’t seem very willing to cut the lawn.
I clearly have too much time on my hands because I’ve been counting
It’s Day 123 of our lockdown…
Normally I do a weekly post – what have we found out this week from schooling at home’. But this week in honour of the 123 day milestone let’s do a special ‘what have we done without‘ post….
- That’s 123 days without the school bus or ironing a school shirt,
- That’s 123 days without missing the school bus,
- That’s 123 days without a school bag,
- That’s 123 days of not forgetting to pack a really important school item,
- That’s 123 days without the carefully packed ingredients for food technology deciding to empty themselves over the other contents of the bag,
- That’s 123 days without the school bag zipper becoming stuck,
- That’s 123 days without having to patch up school trousers,
- That’s also 123 days of not using his new trousers – bet they won’t fit now…
- That’s 123 days without losing items of sports kit in the school changing rooms (but strangely they still find a way of going missing),
- That’s 123 days without son combing his hair (ok that’s an exaggeration but it certainly looks like it most days….),
- That’s 123 days of son not meeting another person except me,
- That’s 123 days of me not going into the work unit,
- That’s 123 days of not emptying the work unit bin or checking for out of date milk in the work fridge. As I’m the only one who does – I just dread to think what alien life maybe germinating in there,
- That’s 123 days without a run (not counting the garden runs as they are more akin to a game of twister than actual running),
- That’s 123 days of my mountain bike being sat unloved in the garage,
- That’s 123 days without a trip to the ice cream parlour or a food takeaway,
- That’s 123 days of not popping into a coffee or cake shop,
- That’s 123 days without an excursion,
- That’s 123 days without a trip to the zoo,
- That’s 123 days of not going out then worrying constantly if I did remember to lock the front door,
- That’s 123 days of living in shorts, sarongs, running leggings and tracksuit joggers (don’t panic they are getting washed) – I might have fibbed on one of those..
- That’s 123 days without having to buy a car parking ticket,
- That’s 123 days of not feeding the car petrol,
- That’s 123 days without using a cash machine,
- That’s 123 days of desperately not searching for my car keys and wallet,
- That’s 123 days in which our entire world comprised only of the house and garden.
But even after 123 days, if I look hard enough I can still find something new to photograph. That’s shows how lucky we really are. Even after 123 days of lockdown.
Yes we can do blue skies…..
It didn’t last long but it was most gratefully received.
Trying to facilitate son’s return to the big bad world is not going to be easy. It’s going to take a long time and much patience. It has to be done at a pace which he is comfortable with. That’s the plan but then the real world comes a knocking.
His fears of bugs and illnesses have gone into overdrive in 2020. Can’t think why! We have established routines for accepting deliveries and post. Any trip through the front door requires what feels like full biological decontamination protocols. It’s not really about blocking out a virus, it’s about managing anxiety.
Over the last three months we have managed two very short circular car drives. But now we face our first real test. A phone call from my garage telling me that finally an essential car part has made its way from China. So it’s time to get the car’s breaking system fixed. So on Monday I have to drive 20 miles, drop off the car and pick up a garage pool car. Then later in the day return to the garage and pick up a fixed car. Normally this process would be done seamlessly. Now it’s a logistical and anxiety nightmare.
Does son stay at home while I go to the garage? On my return I can undertake full biological decontamination. Son struggles with being alone. He will be stressed out with being by himself for a couple of hours. He will be super stressed out with my exposure to the real world.
Or does he comes with me? Yes that avoids the stress of being alone BUT…. Suddenly son would be exposed to the real world. And lots of it. A garage filled with strangers. A pool car which will have had other people sat in the seats. Touching the surfaces. Another stress inducing nightmare for him….
So currently I don’t know what will happen on Monday. I’m getting stressed out trying to run through all the possible logistical permutations. But that pales into insignificance to the bucket loads of stress which will be hitting our son. Again I can’t find a helpful section on this in the How To Be Parent Book. One day someone is going to make a bucket load of money writing this. Well if they could get it published within the next few days you can count on one sale from me…..
It doesn’t look the most impressive plant but it certainly has meaning.
Something like 18 years ago we had just moved into the house. The garden was so badly overgrown. The lawn was more like a corn field. Took us three days to cut it. Having revealed the garden we found it appeared to have no flowering plants. Many weeds and one Apple tree. I guess that’s called a blank canvass.
A week or so later the village had a plant fare and we nervously ventured down to it. We knew hardly anyone there. We did meet some lovely people. Unfortunately over time those we get to know have either left or sadly passed away. Can’t remember much about the actual fare apart from my partner telling me that we needed to buy something. I randomly picked a hand full of plants. As we were late the selection of healthy plants was completely exhausted. Our new plants looked somewhere between decidedly unhealthy and dead. They didn’t survive long. All except one and here it still is. Who would of thought that the most sickly looking plant would end up outliving my partner and a number of the residents at the fare. Life is definitely bizarre and it is often so unfair. But that is life. We need to treasure it, treasure all life.
This week has been wet. Very wet.
This kind of weather really makes you appreciate the garden. When it’s too wet to venture out through the back door you realise just how small your world can seem. Extremely claustrophobic.
Yes that garden has been a blessing over these last few months. A play area. A dream area. A place of quiet. An area to breathe in. An area to exercise in. An area to work in. An area to walk in. An area to see nature. A safe area for someone with Aspergers. An area in sit, look and relax. Our area.
So in a brief lull in the weather bombardment it was time to venture out again. Just a few moments. When we returned to the house we were absolutely drenched. But it was so worth it. I remember someone once telling me that
Sun is fine but it’s a bit of a luxury in Yorkshire. What you really need to grow the best Rhubard is proper rain.
At this stage I have to put my hand up and admit that I am probably the only Yorkie who doesn’t like Rhubard. That’s probably why I’ve been called proper posh Yorkshire. Putting that to one side it is true that the Sun is a luxury in this county. Almost an afterthought. But rain does feel like a time of growth and rebirth. After the rain everything seems just a little more green, just a little more healthy. A few more seedlings will have sprouted. And in my case, I’ve become just a little more rusty. So yes rain is good. It’s an essential part of life, ours life’s. To be fair without it my blog would have a lot less words to wade through. So yes I will venture out again as soon as I have posted this. Time to feel that rain on my face again. Time to feel alive again.
But it is also nice to dry out occasionally so please can we get a guest appearance from the Sun. A bit of Sun is also nice to feel. Time to feel warm again……