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Barely maintaining the chaos

Some days it feels like I’m barely maintaining the chaos.

When I’m trying to write, Isaac is playing with his toys, Amy is causing destruction and Maisy is pitching in, like any good puppy, to cause as much mess as possible.

Amy’s a tricky one, because she waits until I’m not watching, before disappearing into the kitchen to make a rice cake and cheese/pour some milk/get out the eggs/look in the fridge/make a godawful mess.

And I’m watching her, I truly am, except for in the 5 seconds when she causes absolute havoc.

So I break off what I’m doing, clean up, kick her out of the kitchen, put the dog outside, make everyone something to eat, before sitting back down again.

Then it all happens again.

We’re put combination locks on all the cupboards and the fridge, which helps. So long as we (meaning Nathan) remember to CLOSE them. I mean, surely it wasn’t Amy’s fault she ate an entire block of chocolate yesterday, silently, so she didn’t wake me. Although, that one, not helped by the combo lock so much, she used a chair to get to the very top (unlocked) cupboard. Sigh.

Mornings are my time to write. By the time bedtime knocks around, I am too tired, and too sore to sit down and type, so I don’t bother.

Unfortunately, Nathan is taking advantage of these last few months before Amy starts school to sleep in as much as possible, leaving me ‘working’ and dealing with children and tidying up and it’s just exhausting.

And yes, I could break off my writing and pay full and absolute attention to my children. Surely they wouldn’t get into mischief then?

Well no. Actually, you’d be wrong.

Even if I’m paying FULL attention to the children, which generally involves having them both hanging off my body, leaving aside the fact that not writing when I need to sends me a little bit batty, Amy still gets into mischief. She just waits until I’m changing Isaac’s bum, putting a load of washing on, turned around or in the toilet. Which you could argue wasn’t me paying FULL attention to her, but shit, I’ve got to do something other that let them sit on me and pull my hair.

She’s such an overwhelming child sometimes, I can’t even begin to explain.

It’s just frustrating to feel like I’m spending the day running three steps behind everyone else. To have dislocatey bits and still be making sure Amy stays in the small yard, keeping Isaac entertained, and keeping the house as least semi-livable.

But then we have moments where the house is mostly tidy, Isaac is napping (a rare experience) and Amy is curled up on the couch next to me, snuggled into my lap while I read a book.

And that’s when I think I’m doing something right, instead of barely holding on.

Posted in Amy, Headfuck, Isaac.


Online shopping and planning for a birthday.

It’s Amy’s birthday in a few days and I’ve been slowly buying her presents online.

Of course, that isn’t going to stop the mad dash the day before, braving Father’s Day sales and actual people to pick up the last few bits and pieces, plus food.

It’s insanity, I swear.

The problem with online buying is despite knowing when things are meant to ship, you’re never really certain when they’re going to show up. So it’s a bit of a lucky dip.

Not to mention the excitement when the postman shows up and then the heartbreak when I won’t let her open the parcels RIGHT THEN.

Anyway, online shopping. I think it’s saving my sanity.

I am no good with shopping centres, with crowds, with one child tugging me in one direction while the other wails that we’re not going towards that THING. What thing? THAT THING ARRGGGGGHHHHHH.

Plus, my lovely EDSy issues mean I’m easily exhausted. And really, I’d prefer to use my precious energy on fun things, like the park, not stressful things like hunting down presents.

So, online shopping.

The only problem seems to be, department stores that do online ordering seem to have a teensy weensy selection.

Sigh.

It doesn’t really matter, as this birthday I’m operating on a less-is-more principle. Less presents, better quality, good food and people who love her.

Surely I can’t go wrong with that?

Excuse me while I go write a hundred more lists and work out what food we’re eating.

Posted in Amy, EDS.


The reality of having your own poultry. Plus cute chickens.

The things with having chooks, is those chooks (if you’ve got a rooster) eventually have babies.

And baby chickens, as tough as they are, sometimes they don’t do so well.

A week ago, one of my hens hatched some chickens. Once I braved her attacks (she’s fucking vicious! I ended up with bruises everywhere) and took her off the nest to count chicks, I found a dead chicken in the bottom of the nest. Perfectly formed, hatched and squashed. Another chicken didn’t make it all the way out of it’s shell, dying at the finish post.

However, we had 5 live chickens, even if one was a bit iffy. I figured I’d keep an eye on it, and left the mother to her angry clucking.

An hour later, I scooted her off the nest and found the iffy chicken was doing even worse. Younger by almost a full day to it’s siblings, it kept getting squashed and left behind and frankly, the poor thing was half dead and exhausted.

So into my pocket it came and inside for a few hours.

I dripped some sugar water into it’s beak for energy and then tucked it into a nest of tissues with a hot water bottle underneath it for warmth.

It slept for a few hours – after hatching, chickens are exhausted. This little one because it was younger than the rest, wasn’t getting a chance to sleep because it’s siblings wanted to peck and move about. It wasn’t able to walk yet and needed a break. The sugar water and time inside gave it some strength and the warmth and peace enabled it to recuperate.

And while I was hopeful it would survive, nothing is ever certain.

A few hours later, right on dark, I put the chicken back with it’s mother – okay, so I practically threw the chicken at it’s mother, while she tried to attack my hand – and I hoped it would make it through the night.

It did and a week later, we still have the five chicks we had the first day.

The hawks are hanging around and I’ve seen more kookaburras in the last week than I have in the last year, but they haven’t stolen a chicken yet. The mother hen is doing a good job and hasn’t taken the babies out into the open much, staying near cover amongst the stables, chook pen and blackberry bush.

They’re pretty cute though.

These chicks are our next generation. The hens will be kept for eggs and any roosters will eaten (like the egg eating chook from a while back).

I love that at a week old, they’re already getting their feathers. I’m hoping the little stripy one is a hen, because isn’t the patterning gorgeous?

Third from the left is the little chicken that would have died. It hasn’t gotten any adult feathers yet.

They’re pretty cute. Amy is a big fan. So are the cats – although the way the mother hen attacked our tom cat this morning, I don’t think he’ll be contemplating a chicken dinner any time soon.

Posted in Animals.


Internet Safety, the things that scare me.

I received Amy’s enrollment forms for school recently and as I was looking them over, I noticed a new part.

I give permission for my child’s photo and full name to be used on the school website:  YES/NO.

Immediately alarm bells began to ring and I circled NO.

Because, and here is my reasoning:

I am Amy’s mother and I write about her on the Internet. I don’t use her surname, nor do I mention where we live, or what school she’ll be attending. These are safety things.

But, even though I write about Amy – I don’t want her full name and photo used by the school on their website, EVER. It’s only a small step from someone finding out which school she is at and her full name, to being able to track her down and I don’t want that.

Am I being paranoid? Maybe a little, but look, I earn my money on the ‘nets and I know how insane some people can be here. I don’t want anyone being able to track us down at home, or being able to find Amy at school.

And I’m a little pissed actually, because you’d think that the school would think of that and not use full names and photos of students. That said, I applaud the fact that I can refuse permission for Amy’s photo and work to be available online and I’m glad we have that option. I’ll certainly make full use of that.

I recently found out that you could find my home address online, thanks to a find people for free website. You can bet your arse I was on the phone to my phone provider that day, getting my number delisted. I’m pissed to find that while I’m delisted from the phone book, the website still has my details available.

And god knows, when Amy starts school and I do the obligitory OMG my baby! in uniform! going off to school! post, you can bet money on the fact that the photos will be in black and white and that the school logo will be blurred beyond repair. I’m paranoid enough to not even want the school uniform colours known.

So, my questions:

Do you think I’m being oversensitive?

How does your school handle their online presence and your child’s photos? Did you get a chance to opt out of having photos and work available online?

Have you ever thought about this before – or do you think that, as bloggers, privacy issues and this kind of thing are naturally at the front of our minds?

Posted in Amy, Blogging, Headfuck.


How am I not insane? I don’t know.

‘How are you not insane?’ asks the Occupational Therapise after we’ve just finished discussing all of Amy’s issues, a list about the length of my arm.

‘I don’t know? I guess, I’ve got no choice?’

And the reality is, I don’t know. Nathan and I get to the end of some days and look at each other, wondering where we’re going wrong.

Only the thing is, we’re not doing anything wrong.

After discussing Amy today for over an hour and a half, the OT looked at me: ‘So, what do you think is up?’

‘To be honest? I think it might be Aspergers. I think there is something more here.’

Of course, the OT can’t make a diagnosis – we need a Paediatrician and a Psychologist to do that. But she works with autistic children every day and knows what they’re like.

‘Look, I know you can’t diagnose anything, but is it aspergers do you think?’

She looked at me.

‘Well, what we’re seeing is in line with an aspergers diagnosis. It’s all very typical behaviours.’

So that’s that.

***

Amy has some amazing strengths:

She is intelligent, oh so intelligent. She speaks well above her age level and she can problem solve with the best of them.

But, her auditory and visual sensory processing issues are pretty major and we’re not sure just how much of what we’re saying is reaching her. She prefers the dark, she can’t concentrate with background noise around and she melts down often.

She needs to reaffirm everyone’s relationship to her, every single day. ‘You are my Mum. Your name is Veronica. Daddy is my Daddy. His name is Nathan.’ She can’t answer some questions and she walks off in the middle of conversations, because they’re too much for her. She doesn’t understand strangers; everyone is her friend.

She has a lot of social problems and while eye contact wasn’t an issue when she was a baby, it’s getting too much for her now. And the OT suspects that Amy isn’t processing pain signals properly.

On top of so many other things that are aspergers related.

On top of the Ehlers Danlos.

On top of the Coeliacs.

She is beautiful and heartbreakingly difficult.

***

I knew it was coming. I knew.

It doesn’t make it any easier and while I know it changes nothing, except the services we can access, I’m a bit shell shocked today.

The OT (who is lovely btw) is astounded that no one has picked this up sooner. Amy has never been an easy child, she screamed for her first 12 months and things never got any easier. Not really.

And it’s getting harder as she gets older.

Everyone missed this – even when we told the Paeds that Amy was incredibly difficult, that she doesn’t listen, that she does what she likes regardless of what we say or do. They all missed it, even when the desperation must have been audible in our voices.

***

We have a lot of work and a lot of appointments and therapy ahead of us. Amy starts kindergarten in February and it is flying closer, faster than I’d like.

And all I can think is that I miss my grandmother an awful lot today, with an ache that hurts.

Posted in Amy, Aspergers, Grief, Headfuck.




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