So it's been a while since I've written, and both recently and today especially I have been asked ALOT about our decision to Home School, how we do it, why we do it and how I'm managing.....
I've Blogged about this before. A lot 😁😁😁
Alot of people assume it's because of the children's autism, their 'additional needs' and sometimes yes I am guilty of hiding behind that as an excuse to justify our choices to the more pressingly, intrusively skeptical out there. But the truth is we would have ended up here anyway - of that I am sure.
I always wanted to be a teacher, a primary school teacher. I went to uni to study just that, and realized within weeks that it wasn't for me. Not because I don't love kids, I do, so much. But because I knew I couldn't be part of a system I would want to fight against day in day out.
When I did my early teaching practice, I was placed in the largest primary school in Britain, in reception class. In a blended class of 90 (yes 90!) 4 and 5 year olds, with 3 teachers. Wow! What a learning curve!
I knew almost immediately it wasn't going to be for me. But one thing above all made this decision crystal clear for me. One little girl. One darling little girl who took a shine to me from the first moment, latched on to me, followed me around, not talking, week on week. I think my third or fourth week in to practice she took me by the hand, she was holding a book. We sat down on a bean bag together in the reading corner and I started to read her the story. She smiled her little smiles, encouraged me on with her eyes or a hand gesture, and eventually took the book and started trying to read some of the words back to me, and pointing to the pictures and saying the words for them. This is the first time she had spoken to me, at all. This led into a full two-way conversation. I noticed, after a time, the Deputy Head teacher was watching us with keen interest. At break time, he asked me to stay behind to talk to him.
Naturally I wondered what about. I thought I would probably get 'told off' for spending too much time with just one child. But he simply asked me what we had been doing, why I was reading to her. I told him, she had come to me with the book. When I said she had spoken aloud to me for the first time, he did a sort of double take and asked me several times to clarify this. Turns out this sweet child hadn't spoken at all, to anyone, ever, from the day she started school. Not one word.
After school that day her Mum and her older sister came in to the school to meet me. There was a meeting with us & the deputy head. I was 18 years old and so far out of my depth. How, they all wanted to know, how had I got her to speak to me when no-one else could. She didn't even talk at home apparently. There were tears, and desperation. In my immaturity, I didn't know what to say. I don't know why she chose me, only that she did. Perhaps precisely because I didn't ask, I listened, to what she didn't say, and sat and played with her in her silent world. Perhaps it was this that made her want to come out of it. I don't know, I will never know, but I knew in that moment I could not do that job. I would have been too emotionally involved. I would have never switched off. I would have wanted to save, heal, help every child that passed through my class, until it broke me. Working against a system that is not geared to hear children, to see them, to allow them to find their voice. I couldn't do it.
Years later, when I had children of my own, I had huge nagging doubts about school. Huge. DD struggled hugely at nursery, to find her place, to be understood and when DS started nursery he cried almost every day and begged and begged and begged not to go, to stay with Mummy, he needed Mummy. And I listened to the professionals, that told me I had to keep bringing him, force through the separation anxiety, get him ready for school. Oh how I wish I hadn't.
As each of my children started school I watched them slowly unravel before me. I tried to throw myself into Mum-life, School-life. I'm not a natural girl's girl. I never was. I like a mix of company, a variety of subjects, I like fun and laughter but I also like deep conversations, honest conversations. I like to go about my business without being judged or compared. Any Mum will tell you, this is impossible at the school gates.
But I tried to suppress my issues. Joined the PTA, Board of Governors (at the school's request, not mine!). Helped in the classrooms with reading, drama, sewing and trips and swimming. I hated it more with every passing hour. Watching their little souls be crushed, the bullying, the behavior, the Above-All-Else-Conformity attitude. The tests, the reward systems, the rife injustice everywhere, every day. I HATED IT. But I supported it for them. Did the playdates, rolled with the punches, the cliques, the judgement of the 'It" Mums. But gradually it became obvious they both hated it as much as I did. And so we made the jump.
Initially I thought my issues were with That School (and there were sooooooo many issues with That School) so my plan was to take them out, look around at other schools and wait until we could get in to one that was better suited to their needs. Well, I quickly found there were none and that I, and they, would have the same issues where-ever we went. So we stayed with Home Educating, gradually found our groove and have settled in to this alternative way of life we have found.
And I try hard to explain it to people. No we are not on You Tube all day. Yes we see other families, the kids play with other kids - lots and lots of other kids. We do all the things you do, we just do them our way in our time. And no we don't have to follow the curriculum.
People tell me all the time they are in awe of me. That I am amazing. Brave is another one. Strong. I'm not particularly any of these things. In fact I cringe when people say them, because it kind of makes me feel a bit unapproachable, a bit off limits. As if I don't need or want anything else, and that's not the case at all.
I am in a good place in my life. I would say I am certainly the happiest I've been in a decade. I frequently don't recognize the person I was. Inside and out. And I'm not the only one.
Today I had a funeral to go to. A friend's dear old Dad, whom I have so many fond memories of. And a friend to my Dad. I remember the whole family turning out for his funeral, my Pa's, 15 years ago to support me. So of course I wouldn't have been anywhere else today but there.
And it was a difficult thing to go to, not only because it was the same chapel, the same songs, the same faces. But because it meant revisiting more of the past - many people, old friends, some of whom I haven't seen for 10 or 15 years, almost all of whom were at my wedding once upon a time. So firstly there was that to explain, that no I'm no longer married. Well I say first but actually if was after a number of them had walked past me, not recognizing me now that I am literally half the person I was when they knew me. It was a stark reminder to me of how far I have come and how different I am that people I spent such a portion of my life with didn't physically recognize me.
And so once we'd got over all the "Oh my God's" and some very kind "you look amazing"s then we moved on to the other inevitable catching up, which of course led to everything else - the kids, the Home Schooling, oh and the couple of stitches in my face & the dressing on my neck! Gees what a day. So much explaining.....
And they all said all the same things that people always say, but I really am not very amazing at all. I'm only me. Just me 😊
I'm just the same as everyone else.
After all, aren't we all just playing the hand we were dealt?
My life is no harder or easier than anyone else's. It is what it is.
We have days I would rather not repeat, and days that my heart just wants to burst from it's chest with love and happiness and pride.
But isn't that just life? All of our lives? Now that we are adults.
I joined Twitter originally because of Autism and because of Home Education. To help others - both the seek & gain diagnosis and support, and to dip their toes into the Home Ed pond if they were thinking of it. I'm happy to say I have helped a number of people do both. Just as a number of people helped us find out way.
And I'm so thankful for that. I love that we are able to do this. That we have found something that works for us. That we have this great life where we are super close and we get to spend all this wonderful time together.
And I love the Twitter community. The support & encouragement. And I love all my real life friends, and the Home Ed community. I love people, I really do.
But if I could ask for anything it would be for people not to be in awe of us, please. Especially not me 😌 Not to think we have it all together or that we don't need anyone. Because we definitely don't, and we definitely do 😁😁
We chose a different path to the one we expected, and we did choose it together the kids & I. We are not asking for anyone's approval or permission, but we are also not here to judge or compare ourselves with anyone else. We're just doing our thing, finding our way and sharing that journey for anyone who is interested in it 💗
Thursday, 19 October 2017
Monday, 11 September 2017
Let's Talk Inclusivity
Deviating again this morning, somewhat, from my usual subjects - but I have seen two things on Twitter in the last 24 hours which I felt the need to address.
Firstly, someone I follow yesterday happened to Tweet that there was an open Baptism at the church he attends, and some of the attendees were sniggering and making fun of members of the congregation who were enjoying the hymns and worship.
Secondly, a lovely couple that I follow and admire SO much were mocked this morning for being openly affectionate with each other because they are a same sex couple.
Both of these things are not ok.
I am not a religious person, that's a whole other post for another time, so why do I feel outraged at the first incident? Because it is disrespectful and there is no need for it. There is no value to it. It is not a case of a contrary opinion or belief voicing opinion, it is just nasty and unnecessary.
Secondly, I am not a lesbian. Does that mean I should care or consider LGBT rights any differently or less than my own? A world of no. Again, there is no need for this incident to have taken place. It is the same - nasty, disrespectful and unnecessary.
So this draws me back to my wonderful kids and another of the plethora of reasons why I Home Educate them. I am often asked if I am shielding them from the world, being over-protective. Far from it. My kids see the world in all it's glory and all it's horror. We talk about terrorism, racism, the atomic bomb. We talk about the clouds, rainbows, birds, beauty and what we like about other people.
And two incidents stick out in my mind this morning.
Firstly, with regards to religion. We do not attend church. The children go to a fortnightly social club at a church local to us, where they do learn Bible stories and so forth, and they go voluntarily because they enjoy it. My son has a steadfast, unshakeable, absolute faith in God. My daughter is more questioning and wants to know the answers to the universe - to learn about all different religions and cultures and science. We do both, because both approaches are fine by me. Because what I want is to raise respectful, inquisitive, inclusive, accepting children who will become the same as adults.
There is often a lady that preaches alone in our town. She stands and sings and talks about God and forgiveness and love. She stands alone. And we are frequently shocked at how openly people mock and abuse her for doing so. But week after week she returns. And my children always say hello to her. My daughter tells her she is brave and lovely for singing. And they respect the fact that she is sharing her views. My son is upset when he sees people abusing her. And I am thankful for that. That he has a fire in his soul and a passion against injustice.
Secondly, with regards to diversity. When my daughter was in school, she came home one afternoon, aged 6 and pointed her second finger at me. "Is this swearing Mum?" she asked. I presumed what had happened was that someone had flipped her the bird, and she was trying to communicate this to me. So we sat and had a chat about what had happened.
Apparently, a girl in her class (who I knew all-too-well by then!) had been copying her spellings. This time my daughter refused to let her. Her response, at SIX YEARS OLD, was to flip my daughter the bird and call her "gay".
For a moment I had no words - the anger just surged inside me.
I was angry about the swearing, but so much more I was angry about the use of the word "Gay" as an insult. So firstly, I rang the school - and went bat sh*t crazy! A six year old child, using the word gay as an insult?? This needed to be recorded, and dealt with asap I said. There will be children in that class who are gay, who already know they are gay, and will have heard that prejudice from a child so young. The teacher defended the child, surely she didn't know or understand what she was saying. That's as may be, but she understood that from somewhere she has learnt that it is an insult, a slur, to call someone gay. And that's not ok. And she needs to be told that's not ok.
Then I sat and talked with my daughter. She did not understand what the word gay meant - because I had never felt the need to address it. So I explained that it meant you love people of the same sex as you, boys and boys, girls and girls.
"Oh" she shrugged. "Like Uncle H and Uncle A and Auntie E and Auntie J and......." and proceeded to reel of a list of gay and lesbian friends of mine, of ours.
Yes hun. Exactly that.
"I don't get it Mum" she said "why's that an insult?"
That's the point baby, it's not. But from ignorance some people think it is. Simply because there are less gay people than straight people, therefore some people think because it is different to them it is in some way less.
"That's stupid" she said.
Yes baby, it is. And you are six. And you already knew this. And you already accepted all people in love, as they have been presented to you.
And had I taught her this?
Not specifically. We had never sat down with "I have two Daddys" books or "Mum & Mummy & Me" but just because our lives reflect inclusivity. And naively I was shocked that some other people's don't - still.
So how exactly, I wonder, am I shielding her from the world? From bigotry, racism, bullying, hate - yes I am happy to shield her from those things, for as long as I am able to do so. And to teach her to be steadfast in her beliefs, in her acceptance and in her love. So that she is ready to stand against them as she encounters them. And she is, and she does, frequently!
So we continue to go in to the world, open hearted and accepting. Do people hurt us? Yes. The world can be a sh*tty place, there's no denying that. There's plenty of wolves at the door who are waiting to take advantage of kindness. But should we let it change us? Stop being kind? Withold our acceptance?
No. Because Mummy teaches them also to be strong. That we will walk the same streets regardless of whether we are looking at the gutter or up at the sun. So best to hold our heads high, keep our gaze straight and smile. And be kind. I really don't get what's so difficult about that?
xxx
Firstly, someone I follow yesterday happened to Tweet that there was an open Baptism at the church he attends, and some of the attendees were sniggering and making fun of members of the congregation who were enjoying the hymns and worship.
Secondly, a lovely couple that I follow and admire SO much were mocked this morning for being openly affectionate with each other because they are a same sex couple.
Both of these things are not ok.
I am not a religious person, that's a whole other post for another time, so why do I feel outraged at the first incident? Because it is disrespectful and there is no need for it. There is no value to it. It is not a case of a contrary opinion or belief voicing opinion, it is just nasty and unnecessary.
Secondly, I am not a lesbian. Does that mean I should care or consider LGBT rights any differently or less than my own? A world of no. Again, there is no need for this incident to have taken place. It is the same - nasty, disrespectful and unnecessary.
So this draws me back to my wonderful kids and another of the plethora of reasons why I Home Educate them. I am often asked if I am shielding them from the world, being over-protective. Far from it. My kids see the world in all it's glory and all it's horror. We talk about terrorism, racism, the atomic bomb. We talk about the clouds, rainbows, birds, beauty and what we like about other people.
And two incidents stick out in my mind this morning.
Firstly, with regards to religion. We do not attend church. The children go to a fortnightly social club at a church local to us, where they do learn Bible stories and so forth, and they go voluntarily because they enjoy it. My son has a steadfast, unshakeable, absolute faith in God. My daughter is more questioning and wants to know the answers to the universe - to learn about all different religions and cultures and science. We do both, because both approaches are fine by me. Because what I want is to raise respectful, inquisitive, inclusive, accepting children who will become the same as adults.
There is often a lady that preaches alone in our town. She stands and sings and talks about God and forgiveness and love. She stands alone. And we are frequently shocked at how openly people mock and abuse her for doing so. But week after week she returns. And my children always say hello to her. My daughter tells her she is brave and lovely for singing. And they respect the fact that she is sharing her views. My son is upset when he sees people abusing her. And I am thankful for that. That he has a fire in his soul and a passion against injustice.
Secondly, with regards to diversity. When my daughter was in school, she came home one afternoon, aged 6 and pointed her second finger at me. "Is this swearing Mum?" she asked. I presumed what had happened was that someone had flipped her the bird, and she was trying to communicate this to me. So we sat and had a chat about what had happened.
Apparently, a girl in her class (who I knew all-too-well by then!) had been copying her spellings. This time my daughter refused to let her. Her response, at SIX YEARS OLD, was to flip my daughter the bird and call her "gay".
For a moment I had no words - the anger just surged inside me.
I was angry about the swearing, but so much more I was angry about the use of the word "Gay" as an insult. So firstly, I rang the school - and went bat sh*t crazy! A six year old child, using the word gay as an insult?? This needed to be recorded, and dealt with asap I said. There will be children in that class who are gay, who already know they are gay, and will have heard that prejudice from a child so young. The teacher defended the child, surely she didn't know or understand what she was saying. That's as may be, but she understood that from somewhere she has learnt that it is an insult, a slur, to call someone gay. And that's not ok. And she needs to be told that's not ok.
Then I sat and talked with my daughter. She did not understand what the word gay meant - because I had never felt the need to address it. So I explained that it meant you love people of the same sex as you, boys and boys, girls and girls.
"Oh" she shrugged. "Like Uncle H and Uncle A and Auntie E and Auntie J and......." and proceeded to reel of a list of gay and lesbian friends of mine, of ours.
Yes hun. Exactly that.
"I don't get it Mum" she said "why's that an insult?"
That's the point baby, it's not. But from ignorance some people think it is. Simply because there are less gay people than straight people, therefore some people think because it is different to them it is in some way less.
"That's stupid" she said.
Yes baby, it is. And you are six. And you already knew this. And you already accepted all people in love, as they have been presented to you.
And had I taught her this?
Not specifically. We had never sat down with "I have two Daddys" books or "Mum & Mummy & Me" but just because our lives reflect inclusivity. And naively I was shocked that some other people's don't - still.
So how exactly, I wonder, am I shielding her from the world? From bigotry, racism, bullying, hate - yes I am happy to shield her from those things, for as long as I am able to do so. And to teach her to be steadfast in her beliefs, in her acceptance and in her love. So that she is ready to stand against them as she encounters them. And she is, and she does, frequently!
So we continue to go in to the world, open hearted and accepting. Do people hurt us? Yes. The world can be a sh*tty place, there's no denying that. There's plenty of wolves at the door who are waiting to take advantage of kindness. But should we let it change us? Stop being kind? Withold our acceptance?
No. Because Mummy teaches them also to be strong. That we will walk the same streets regardless of whether we are looking at the gutter or up at the sun. So best to hold our heads high, keep our gaze straight and smile. And be kind. I really don't get what's so difficult about that?
xxx
Friday, 8 September 2017
This is Me
Deviating slightly today from the Not Back to School theme, for a more personal post. Although it is, in part, brought about by the start of a new term and fielding 48,000 "Yours not back to school yet" comments - everywhere we go!
No, we aren't back to school because we don't go to school. Yes it's legal, no we don't have a curriculum, no it's not because of their autism, yes I do manage, no it's not any harder than anything else, no I don't need to justify it to you.
And breathe.
And meanwhile, I hit a bit of low personally speaking.
A friend indeed reminded me that in the past I have given my light and my power and my strength to all the wrong people. I am open, and loving, and kind and because of this I have attracted narcissists and users and a plethora of needy, negative people.
And I won't lie, this week has kicked me unceremoniously in the teeth. A lot. I have cried, more times than I would care to admit or remember, and with more ferocity. And always over people who don't deserve my thoughts, let alone my tears.
But the universe, as always, has grounded me - once I stop and listen. It has provided love and support from new places, new friends, as well as old. And my kids, my wonderful kids, are happy and thriving. And I own that. I am a kick-ass good Mum! And I am tired of apologizing for that. Hell the judgement for being a good Mum is worse than the judgement for being a poor one! Well judge on, I rock at this! Even when I am tired & broken and I feel that I don't, I look at these kids and our lives and I know I have done good.
So this morning, I woke up and realized that the power is still mine. It is my power, my light and my strength. No one gave it to me, it is self made. And as such, by choice, I have an inexhaustible supply 😊 So I don't need to fear or lament these mistakes I make, because I can repair my own cracks and build myself back up again, as I have always done.
This is my life. Our Alternative Life. Granted, it's not the life I imagined or envisaged, but it's the life MY choices have brought me to. And they were my choices and I will own them and defend them, and my right to make them. And I will live this life I chose, to the best of my ability, with all my power and all my light and all my strength. And I know a lot of you out there are hurting, fighting battles, carrying loads, healing wounds - and your strength is yours also. Know this, whatever battle you are fighting, You Will Rise.
So this is why I posted my 'This Is Me' post on Twitter this morning - because I know I am judged for the life that we live and the choices I've made but I am strong enough to take that judgement and continue anyway. Because this is my life and this is me. I believe in myself and I believe in my choices. So ride with me, or ride away. I'll carry on anyway.
(Oh & did I mention I lost over 7 stone?? 😃😍 )
No, we aren't back to school because we don't go to school. Yes it's legal, no we don't have a curriculum, no it's not because of their autism, yes I do manage, no it's not any harder than anything else, no I don't need to justify it to you.
And breathe.
And meanwhile, I hit a bit of low personally speaking.
A friend indeed reminded me that in the past I have given my light and my power and my strength to all the wrong people. I am open, and loving, and kind and because of this I have attracted narcissists and users and a plethora of needy, negative people.
And I won't lie, this week has kicked me unceremoniously in the teeth. A lot. I have cried, more times than I would care to admit or remember, and with more ferocity. And always over people who don't deserve my thoughts, let alone my tears.
But the universe, as always, has grounded me - once I stop and listen. It has provided love and support from new places, new friends, as well as old. And my kids, my wonderful kids, are happy and thriving. And I own that. I am a kick-ass good Mum! And I am tired of apologizing for that. Hell the judgement for being a good Mum is worse than the judgement for being a poor one! Well judge on, I rock at this! Even when I am tired & broken and I feel that I don't, I look at these kids and our lives and I know I have done good.
So this morning, I woke up and realized that the power is still mine. It is my power, my light and my strength. No one gave it to me, it is self made. And as such, by choice, I have an inexhaustible supply 😊 So I don't need to fear or lament these mistakes I make, because I can repair my own cracks and build myself back up again, as I have always done.
This is my life. Our Alternative Life. Granted, it's not the life I imagined or envisaged, but it's the life MY choices have brought me to. And they were my choices and I will own them and defend them, and my right to make them. And I will live this life I chose, to the best of my ability, with all my power and all my light and all my strength. And I know a lot of you out there are hurting, fighting battles, carrying loads, healing wounds - and your strength is yours also. Know this, whatever battle you are fighting, You Will Rise.
So this is why I posted my 'This Is Me' post on Twitter this morning - because I know I am judged for the life that we live and the choices I've made but I am strong enough to take that judgement and continue anyway. Because this is my life and this is me. I believe in myself and I believe in my choices. So ride with me, or ride away. I'll carry on anyway.
(Oh & did I mention I lost over 7 stone?? 😃😍 )
Sunday, 3 September 2017
Not Back to School
So tomorrow is the first day of term for many people - the first day of school ever for some. And I will look forward to seeing the flood of smart & happy pictures of many of my friend's children.
For us, it is our Not Back to School day.
Yay!
In our opinion an equally important day - where we come together with friends, other Home Educating families, and celebrate our freedom, our choice, our chosen path, our ability to be and learn as we wish.
As part of this celebration, I will be posting a Not Back to School series this week, introducing you to a number of Home Educating families who have all agreed to share their stories with me and showcase the diversity of Home Education.
So before I start, I felt perhaps I should re-introduce us!
There is me, Mama B, my daughter who'll be turning 10 later this month, and my son who is 8. Both my children are autistic and utterly fabulous. This is by far not the only reason we are not in school - which anyone who has read any of my previous posts will know 😊
My children came out of main stream school at the end of Year 2 & Year 1 respectively. We started with a long, free summer 2 years ago and then hit our first September in a fairly structured way - mimicking the familiarity of school, particularly for my daughter, to aid the transition.
By Christmas the first year we were fairly well de-schooled, and settling into a pattern of learning at home & regular Home Ed activities such as gymnastics, horse riding and a monthly day at an adventure park. In the new year my daughter began a creative writing course and both kids started working independently on their Arts Award. Our schedule varies greatly - we have 'At Home' days, mostly the kids self learn - although I will lead at times, make suggestions or select topics, but it is pretty fluid both ways - we all have a say in what we do and what we learn.
We also go on lots and lots and lots of trips. We go to museums, art galleries, educational exhibitions, theatre, animal handling, historical palaces & education sessions. We've participated in workshops on pottery making & painting, Robot Wars, Archaeology, Egyptology, chocolate making, sugar craft cake decorating, recorder lessons, book groups, languages, a PGL holiday & so much more.
We read, a lot, all the time. We frequently visit many different libraries and the kids read independently every day, as well as me reading aloud to them every day. We read for pleasure but we also have Listening Time where I will read aloud, fiction or non, while they do quite play and then we discuss and/ or write up what we've learned.
We also run two groups. A small Learning Group at our home, with three other Home Educating families where the parents take it in turns to lead the group and we agree subjects between us. The kids work together and record their work in Scrap Books. We also run a monthly Geography Club with a country of the month, show & tell table, food tasting & activities.
And of course there are the countless picnics, parks meets and play dates we go on. All in addition to living, learning, loving, listening & life skills.
This is our Home Ed 💙💚💛
For us, it is our Not Back to School day.
Yay!
In our opinion an equally important day - where we come together with friends, other Home Educating families, and celebrate our freedom, our choice, our chosen path, our ability to be and learn as we wish.
As part of this celebration, I will be posting a Not Back to School series this week, introducing you to a number of Home Educating families who have all agreed to share their stories with me and showcase the diversity of Home Education.
So before I start, I felt perhaps I should re-introduce us!
There is me, Mama B, my daughter who'll be turning 10 later this month, and my son who is 8. Both my children are autistic and utterly fabulous. This is by far not the only reason we are not in school - which anyone who has read any of my previous posts will know 😊
My children came out of main stream school at the end of Year 2 & Year 1 respectively. We started with a long, free summer 2 years ago and then hit our first September in a fairly structured way - mimicking the familiarity of school, particularly for my daughter, to aid the transition.
By Christmas the first year we were fairly well de-schooled, and settling into a pattern of learning at home & regular Home Ed activities such as gymnastics, horse riding and a monthly day at an adventure park. In the new year my daughter began a creative writing course and both kids started working independently on their Arts Award. Our schedule varies greatly - we have 'At Home' days, mostly the kids self learn - although I will lead at times, make suggestions or select topics, but it is pretty fluid both ways - we all have a say in what we do and what we learn.
We also go on lots and lots and lots of trips. We go to museums, art galleries, educational exhibitions, theatre, animal handling, historical palaces & education sessions. We've participated in workshops on pottery making & painting, Robot Wars, Archaeology, Egyptology, chocolate making, sugar craft cake decorating, recorder lessons, book groups, languages, a PGL holiday & so much more.
We read, a lot, all the time. We frequently visit many different libraries and the kids read independently every day, as well as me reading aloud to them every day. We read for pleasure but we also have Listening Time where I will read aloud, fiction or non, while they do quite play and then we discuss and/ or write up what we've learned.
We also run two groups. A small Learning Group at our home, with three other Home Educating families where the parents take it in turns to lead the group and we agree subjects between us. The kids work together and record their work in Scrap Books. We also run a monthly Geography Club with a country of the month, show & tell table, food tasting & activities.
And of course there are the countless picnics, parks meets and play dates we go on. All in addition to living, learning, loving, listening & life skills.
This is our Home Ed 💙💚💛
Friday, 1 September 2017
My True Blessings
I was intending to Blog about something else this morning, Home Education related. I will get on to that a bit later, but as I sat down with my laptop, with the kids colouring around me & chatting about life, they kind of usurped me.
Now, in case I haven't mentioned in the last 32 seconds, I flipping LOVE my kids! They AMAZE, delight & exhaust me every day. I wouldn't change anything, I really wouldn't. Everything is worth it (despite the fact my Mother constantly tells me it isn't!) It is. The beauty in their souls, their wisdom, the way they see things and watching them unfold and grow before me is worth everything. Every gauge out of the wall, every challenging meltdown or accommodation we have to make. I take it all, gladly & freely.
And I am blessed. Because I have moments like this.
This morning could have brought us an entirely different day to the one we are having.
The kids had a bad night - again. My daughter is working herself into a pre-Birthday frenzy. Every night is nosebleeds and no sleep, and every day she is increasingly emotional and on edge. All we can do is ride the storm. I have asked her does she want her birthday presents today? I am quite happy to do whatever it is she needs, but she wants to wait. So we wait, hug it out when she is able, and just keep her safe when she's not. It will pass.
My son is struggling with the change in routine. This has been his first summer without his Dad living with us. Although it's not a new thing, it is the first huge expanse of time when we are not in our regular term-time routine of classes and where there would previously have been trips and family holidays etc. The fact that, as a now 'Single Mum', we have been unceremoniously dropped from a lot of the Mum meet-ups this summer has smarted a bit I have to say, but we have soldiered on with the true friends who remained & rallied. But he is struggling and this morning the sensory overload was just too much.
So even before 7.30am - the children who can, on 'Good Days' boil a kettle and make a cup of tea, couldn't walk straight down the hall way, crashed into the wall, the stairs, the banister, stubbed toes, banged elbows, heads, gashed a shoulder, more nosebleeds. A few minor house casualties too.
But we take these days in our stride. They are not something to be 'fixed'. You cannot harness a wave. You just have to learn to ride it, and how to swim back up to the surface again.
So we rolled on the sensory ball, covered ourselves with beans bags, played with lots of sensory toys, cuddled, built a cardboard box fort, rolled on the wet grass. And gradually the waves have calmed a little. Enough for them to come & sit and colour and talk. To tell me how they feel and what they want. And I find that magical and amazing, every time.
And they were talking about someone, and my daughter was saying she could not think of a single thing that particular person liked or enjoyed. I thought this was a really interesting observation. So I thought I would chance my arm. Can you think of anything Mummy likes? I asked, half ducking and running for cover.
She smiled from ear to ear and animatedly declared - I can think of LOADS of things!!
And this is the list her and her brother came up with -
Writing
Blogging
Them!
Hugging
Kissing
Films
Shopping (I really don't lol but I guess we go shopping a lot!)
Gardening
Holidays
Knitting
Sewing
Flowers
Pancakes
My friends
Colouring
Christmas
Collecting Portmeirion
Family photos
Butterflies
Shells
Paddling at the beach
Giving presents
Liking things
Wine
Stroking animals
Taking pictures
Playing games
Songs & music
Patterns & colour
I will take that All Day! What an amazing list. I am delighted this is how they see me, that there is so much in our lives that they notice and enjoy. That drudgery is nowhere on the list lol x
And I will keep it forever, because it has educated me. It has shown me that, not only can I absolutely do this, but that I am not only one thing to them. I am not a Mum-servant, there is no 'taking for granted' in our house (any more lol x). We are a happy unit, and they see that their Mum loves them with all that she has and that she is a person too. I am a single Mum to two Awesome Autistic children & I Am Blessed ❤❤❤
Now, in case I haven't mentioned in the last 32 seconds, I flipping LOVE my kids! They AMAZE, delight & exhaust me every day. I wouldn't change anything, I really wouldn't. Everything is worth it (despite the fact my Mother constantly tells me it isn't!) It is. The beauty in their souls, their wisdom, the way they see things and watching them unfold and grow before me is worth everything. Every gauge out of the wall, every challenging meltdown or accommodation we have to make. I take it all, gladly & freely.
And I am blessed. Because I have moments like this.
This morning could have brought us an entirely different day to the one we are having.
The kids had a bad night - again. My daughter is working herself into a pre-Birthday frenzy. Every night is nosebleeds and no sleep, and every day she is increasingly emotional and on edge. All we can do is ride the storm. I have asked her does she want her birthday presents today? I am quite happy to do whatever it is she needs, but she wants to wait. So we wait, hug it out when she is able, and just keep her safe when she's not. It will pass.
My son is struggling with the change in routine. This has been his first summer without his Dad living with us. Although it's not a new thing, it is the first huge expanse of time when we are not in our regular term-time routine of classes and where there would previously have been trips and family holidays etc. The fact that, as a now 'Single Mum', we have been unceremoniously dropped from a lot of the Mum meet-ups this summer has smarted a bit I have to say, but we have soldiered on with the true friends who remained & rallied. But he is struggling and this morning the sensory overload was just too much.
So even before 7.30am - the children who can, on 'Good Days' boil a kettle and make a cup of tea, couldn't walk straight down the hall way, crashed into the wall, the stairs, the banister, stubbed toes, banged elbows, heads, gashed a shoulder, more nosebleeds. A few minor house casualties too.
But we take these days in our stride. They are not something to be 'fixed'. You cannot harness a wave. You just have to learn to ride it, and how to swim back up to the surface again.
So we rolled on the sensory ball, covered ourselves with beans bags, played with lots of sensory toys, cuddled, built a cardboard box fort, rolled on the wet grass. And gradually the waves have calmed a little. Enough for them to come & sit and colour and talk. To tell me how they feel and what they want. And I find that magical and amazing, every time.
And they were talking about someone, and my daughter was saying she could not think of a single thing that particular person liked or enjoyed. I thought this was a really interesting observation. So I thought I would chance my arm. Can you think of anything Mummy likes? I asked, half ducking and running for cover.
She smiled from ear to ear and animatedly declared - I can think of LOADS of things!!
And this is the list her and her brother came up with -
Writing
Blogging
Them!
Hugging
Kissing
Films
Shopping (I really don't lol but I guess we go shopping a lot!)
Gardening
Holidays
Knitting
Sewing
Flowers
Pancakes
My friends
Colouring
Christmas
Collecting Portmeirion
Family photos
Butterflies
Shells
Paddling at the beach
Giving presents
Liking things
Wine
Stroking animals
Taking pictures
Playing games
Songs & music
Patterns & colour
I will take that All Day! What an amazing list. I am delighted this is how they see me, that there is so much in our lives that they notice and enjoy. That drudgery is nowhere on the list lol x
And I will keep it forever, because it has educated me. It has shown me that, not only can I absolutely do this, but that I am not only one thing to them. I am not a Mum-servant, there is no 'taking for granted' in our house (any more lol x). We are a happy unit, and they see that their Mum loves them with all that she has and that she is a person too. I am a single Mum to two Awesome Autistic children & I Am Blessed ❤❤❤
Thursday, 17 August 2017
On this day
Time for another very personal post.... What can I say, I've got my reflective head on this week lol x
Tomorrow is my least favourite day of the year. On that day, 15 years ago (how it's 15 years - my goodness, the time does fly!) we lost my Pa. My dear, too young, Dad. And my life changed overnight.
I was very close to my Dad. We were the same. He was big, strong, with a laugh that filled more than the room. It seemed to fill the world. He wasn't afraid to cry. He wasn't afraid to admit he was afraid. But he got on and did things anyway.
He accepted people - all people, from all walks of life. He placed no expectations or demands on anyone. You were welcome at his table. That's just how it was. And it really is how it was.
Our house was full of a constant stream of people. There was laughter. There were friends who had fallen on hard times. Even our milkman would come for drinks on Christmas Day! My Dad showed love to everyone. And he kept people, he forgave and accepted and there was always a place for you.
I miss his laugh. I miss his presence. I miss the one person I could talk to about any and everything. I miss the bigness of his hugs - he was 6 foot 6! It's impossible not to feel like a little girl when your Dad is a giant 😃
He had a quick temper (ho hum - I wonder who inherited that 😁😁) but was also incredibly quick to forgive. He apologized. He was humble when he got it wrong. I hope I inherited those qualities from him also.
He was very practical. He taught me to climb trees, wade in streams, stand against the current. To hold my head high, shoulders back and face the world.
He taught me to use a screw driver, wire a plug, build flat pack furniture, use a spirit level, put up a shelf.
He loved the garden and was so proud of everything he grew. Fond memories of shelling peas in the afternoon sun. Nothing tastes as good as food you have grown yourself, especially when you eat it at a full table full of chatter, laughter and love.
And when there was chaos he was calm. He stood in the gap in so many situations others couldn't. He did things people would never wish to do, because they needed doing and his shoulders were the broadest and could bear the weight. Though he had been on his own since the age of 15 I think, he carried his load and everyone else's along with it, without judgement or recourse.
He was wise. Though he rarely gave advice unsolicited. But now & then he would call me, or drop round with a bunch of sweetpeas and something that was on his mind. Or just to check, or say hello. And I will always recall our conversation on my wedding day. He was right. With all the love and kindness and pain it took him to say it, he was right and I was wrong. But he smiled & loved me and walked me down the aisle anyway. We live and learn.
He asked for nothing in life, and he gave with all his heart. Until his heart gave out on him. And the hole tore open in our lives and never has really been filled.
So the world changed, in that moment, in that phone call. In the unbearable silence and pain that followed. But we find we do bear it, because we have to. If not for ourselves then for them. Because it is the very last thing we can do for them, to live on as they would have wanted us to.
And that is my first August 18th. But there is also a second.
The following year, returning from a holiday abroad that we had taken my Mum on (as she had wanted to be away in the run up to the anniversary) I knew something was terribly wrong. I woke up in pain like I have never felt, I couldn't stand, I couldn't think, I was losing so much blood but all I wanted was to be home, to get back to England and sort it out there. I made it on to the ferry home before I'd lost so much blood that there was no more I could do but collapse, quite literally, and let others take over. A friend was with me, thank God, and I have hazy memories of the Captain and a doctor who had happened to be on board. I remember ambulances - they sent a bike, to get to me on board before I could be stabilized enough to be moved into the ambulance. I can't remember how much blood they had to give me, I only remember that it hurt and I was ready to go.
So I was rushed to the nearest hospital - spent the night in intensive care with them attempting to stabilize me enough to operate, which they did the following day. August 18th. I don't remember the night but I remember the morning, I remember being lucid enough to sign the consent forms. Them explaining to me what it meant and what I would lose. And having no choice but to agree. I remember I was alone. My friend had taken my Mother home the previous day, and my then-husband was nowhere to be seen. So I waited, terrified and alone and so, so, so broken. And then a peace came over me, that this was the 18th. I couldn't be so unlucky as to die on this day I felt. It would be too much. So it must be that I would be ok. Or at least that was what I felt. I had a sureness of it, as they came to wheel me down to theatre, still alone.
I'd love to say it was all ok. It wasn't. I remember being in resus. I remember coming in and out of consciousness and I remember people (nurses or doctors) buzzing around me saying "Stay with me" and using my name. But I couldn't seem to lift out of the mud. Only afterwards they told me they kept losing me, and I couldn't come round.
And it was two days before they came and told me the extent of the surgery. Of course they came and saw me, many, many doctors. And checked on the awful bloody great cut from one side of me to the other, and the drains and just everything awful, awful, awful. But I wasn't stable enough yet for the news they had.
And I can't remember how long I was there. It's all a haze. I begged and begged and begged to go home but I had to get stronger. More transfusions, morphine, blah, blah. blah.
Eventually I came home, what a dreadful journey that was. No muscles so I couldn't sit up, lying helpless and in pain for every bump and pothole, feeling like I was actually having to hold myself together to stop splitting in two. Turns out I was 😟 That night it ruptured and my whole abdomen burst open. More blood, more ambulances, more panic, more pain.
Straight back to theatre. Turns out they had nicked my bowel during the procedure, so I had subsequent infection. More transfusions, antibiotics, morphine, horrific bruising and just horrendousness. A day or two later, once I was stabilized again, they wanted to take me back in to theatre a third time but I refused. They had struggled to bring me back the first time, I was too tired, too ill, too terrified to go under again. They agreed the risk was probably too high.
So instead it was an unbelievably slow process for my body to mend itself. I couldn't sit up unaided for probably nearly 6 months, and even then not for long. I lay and a District Nurse came every day, to clean out the hideous gaping wound. She had a hook she would use to measure the depth - you felt it hit the bottom as it went inside you. She was good humoured, and we laughed together. I knitted stuff for her baby, as I could do that lying down 😁
In the November of that same year, still unable to do anything for myself, I got a call early one morning. Very early. The time of day you only get a call if it is that type of call.
It was my sister. My Gramps (my Dad's Dad) had leukemia. This I already knew. But it was the end. Come now, she said, if you are able to come at all it has to be now.
It's a haze again of how we got there. Lots of pain killers, literally holding an open abdomen together, lying down in a car, bump, bump, panic, panic. We were in time. Just. We said our goodbyes, held his hand as he relinquished his life. I have never seen anything so desperate. My Gramps was a navy man, fought in the war, served on The Victory. He can't have weighed much over 5 stone when he died, just over a year after losing his only child.
I just remember the numbness that followed. The blur of endless days until my body healed, and heal it did - all be it differently from before.
And life went on, as it does, normality returns and you put away in their boxes the pains you don't want to carry every day, along with all the others you have stored and continue to store over the course of your life.
And you smile and you live and you love and you try. And you carry on, with what you have been given, and make the best of what is left.
And this I do, each and every day, to the best of my ability. In all ways I am my Father's daughter. I know this, I shall rise. But on this day, these few days, every year, I am not strong. I will stand and I will try but I am a little more broken on these days than the others. For they are the days that changed me, more than any other. And on these days the boxes rattle, they clamor to be opened, to be free. And so I thought perhaps if I free them they will find their peace, and maybe I will find mine also.
xx
Tomorrow is my least favourite day of the year. On that day, 15 years ago (how it's 15 years - my goodness, the time does fly!) we lost my Pa. My dear, too young, Dad. And my life changed overnight.
I was very close to my Dad. We were the same. He was big, strong, with a laugh that filled more than the room. It seemed to fill the world. He wasn't afraid to cry. He wasn't afraid to admit he was afraid. But he got on and did things anyway.
He accepted people - all people, from all walks of life. He placed no expectations or demands on anyone. You were welcome at his table. That's just how it was. And it really is how it was.
Our house was full of a constant stream of people. There was laughter. There were friends who had fallen on hard times. Even our milkman would come for drinks on Christmas Day! My Dad showed love to everyone. And he kept people, he forgave and accepted and there was always a place for you.
I miss his laugh. I miss his presence. I miss the one person I could talk to about any and everything. I miss the bigness of his hugs - he was 6 foot 6! It's impossible not to feel like a little girl when your Dad is a giant 😃
He had a quick temper (ho hum - I wonder who inherited that 😁😁) but was also incredibly quick to forgive. He apologized. He was humble when he got it wrong. I hope I inherited those qualities from him also.
He was very practical. He taught me to climb trees, wade in streams, stand against the current. To hold my head high, shoulders back and face the world.
He taught me to use a screw driver, wire a plug, build flat pack furniture, use a spirit level, put up a shelf.
He loved the garden and was so proud of everything he grew. Fond memories of shelling peas in the afternoon sun. Nothing tastes as good as food you have grown yourself, especially when you eat it at a full table full of chatter, laughter and love.
And when there was chaos he was calm. He stood in the gap in so many situations others couldn't. He did things people would never wish to do, because they needed doing and his shoulders were the broadest and could bear the weight. Though he had been on his own since the age of 15 I think, he carried his load and everyone else's along with it, without judgement or recourse.
He was wise. Though he rarely gave advice unsolicited. But now & then he would call me, or drop round with a bunch of sweetpeas and something that was on his mind. Or just to check, or say hello. And I will always recall our conversation on my wedding day. He was right. With all the love and kindness and pain it took him to say it, he was right and I was wrong. But he smiled & loved me and walked me down the aisle anyway. We live and learn.
He asked for nothing in life, and he gave with all his heart. Until his heart gave out on him. And the hole tore open in our lives and never has really been filled.
So the world changed, in that moment, in that phone call. In the unbearable silence and pain that followed. But we find we do bear it, because we have to. If not for ourselves then for them. Because it is the very last thing we can do for them, to live on as they would have wanted us to.
And that is my first August 18th. But there is also a second.
The following year, returning from a holiday abroad that we had taken my Mum on (as she had wanted to be away in the run up to the anniversary) I knew something was terribly wrong. I woke up in pain like I have never felt, I couldn't stand, I couldn't think, I was losing so much blood but all I wanted was to be home, to get back to England and sort it out there. I made it on to the ferry home before I'd lost so much blood that there was no more I could do but collapse, quite literally, and let others take over. A friend was with me, thank God, and I have hazy memories of the Captain and a doctor who had happened to be on board. I remember ambulances - they sent a bike, to get to me on board before I could be stabilized enough to be moved into the ambulance. I can't remember how much blood they had to give me, I only remember that it hurt and I was ready to go.
So I was rushed to the nearest hospital - spent the night in intensive care with them attempting to stabilize me enough to operate, which they did the following day. August 18th. I don't remember the night but I remember the morning, I remember being lucid enough to sign the consent forms. Them explaining to me what it meant and what I would lose. And having no choice but to agree. I remember I was alone. My friend had taken my Mother home the previous day, and my then-husband was nowhere to be seen. So I waited, terrified and alone and so, so, so broken. And then a peace came over me, that this was the 18th. I couldn't be so unlucky as to die on this day I felt. It would be too much. So it must be that I would be ok. Or at least that was what I felt. I had a sureness of it, as they came to wheel me down to theatre, still alone.
I'd love to say it was all ok. It wasn't. I remember being in resus. I remember coming in and out of consciousness and I remember people (nurses or doctors) buzzing around me saying "Stay with me" and using my name. But I couldn't seem to lift out of the mud. Only afterwards they told me they kept losing me, and I couldn't come round.
And it was two days before they came and told me the extent of the surgery. Of course they came and saw me, many, many doctors. And checked on the awful bloody great cut from one side of me to the other, and the drains and just everything awful, awful, awful. But I wasn't stable enough yet for the news they had.
And I can't remember how long I was there. It's all a haze. I begged and begged and begged to go home but I had to get stronger. More transfusions, morphine, blah, blah. blah.
Eventually I came home, what a dreadful journey that was. No muscles so I couldn't sit up, lying helpless and in pain for every bump and pothole, feeling like I was actually having to hold myself together to stop splitting in two. Turns out I was 😟 That night it ruptured and my whole abdomen burst open. More blood, more ambulances, more panic, more pain.
Straight back to theatre. Turns out they had nicked my bowel during the procedure, so I had subsequent infection. More transfusions, antibiotics, morphine, horrific bruising and just horrendousness. A day or two later, once I was stabilized again, they wanted to take me back in to theatre a third time but I refused. They had struggled to bring me back the first time, I was too tired, too ill, too terrified to go under again. They agreed the risk was probably too high.
So instead it was an unbelievably slow process for my body to mend itself. I couldn't sit up unaided for probably nearly 6 months, and even then not for long. I lay and a District Nurse came every day, to clean out the hideous gaping wound. She had a hook she would use to measure the depth - you felt it hit the bottom as it went inside you. She was good humoured, and we laughed together. I knitted stuff for her baby, as I could do that lying down 😁
In the November of that same year, still unable to do anything for myself, I got a call early one morning. Very early. The time of day you only get a call if it is that type of call.
It was my sister. My Gramps (my Dad's Dad) had leukemia. This I already knew. But it was the end. Come now, she said, if you are able to come at all it has to be now.
It's a haze again of how we got there. Lots of pain killers, literally holding an open abdomen together, lying down in a car, bump, bump, panic, panic. We were in time. Just. We said our goodbyes, held his hand as he relinquished his life. I have never seen anything so desperate. My Gramps was a navy man, fought in the war, served on The Victory. He can't have weighed much over 5 stone when he died, just over a year after losing his only child.
I just remember the numbness that followed. The blur of endless days until my body healed, and heal it did - all be it differently from before.
And life went on, as it does, normality returns and you put away in their boxes the pains you don't want to carry every day, along with all the others you have stored and continue to store over the course of your life.
And you smile and you live and you love and you try. And you carry on, with what you have been given, and make the best of what is left.
And this I do, each and every day, to the best of my ability. In all ways I am my Father's daughter. I know this, I shall rise. But on this day, these few days, every year, I am not strong. I will stand and I will try but I am a little more broken on these days than the others. For they are the days that changed me, more than any other. And on these days the boxes rattle, they clamor to be opened, to be free. And so I thought perhaps if I free them they will find their peace, and maybe I will find mine also.
xx
Sunday, 13 August 2017
Letting Go
Ok, so I am going to give this a try but this is going to be a hugely personal post, so I'll see how I feel when it's written.
Yesterday was a day that overwhelmed me. But not in the ways you would think. It was a day of victories, and kindnesses, and successes. So why this morning am I crying into my cup of tea while DS is at his Granny's from a sleepover & my little starlet DD is still sleeping?
Because it's too much for me to lay down my strong. It's harder than not.
I saw a quote this morning on social media that said something along the lines of - the people who never ask for help are the ones who never had it from the earliest age. Well d'uh I thought! Of course it is. But it's a hard pattern to let go of.....
Yesterday I went to visit a dear friend, and her sweet, lovely old Dad gave me a bag of vegetables from his garden and took me out to show me his pumpkins and sweetpeas. It was so much like my old Pa I wanted to weep. The gentle kindness and simplicity and openness of this dear man just touched my heart and lifted my soul, but also made it ache for my Dad who is long gone.
Then I went on to go and meet three more very dear friends who were coming to my daughter's show with me, to support and encourage her and cheer her on (in the absence of any actual family coming to do so........) One friend whom I've known virtually since birth, one I've been besties with since we were 11 years old and the third I've known via the second for probably 15 years now. I have a lot of old friends lol. We laughed about it last night - joking if it ain't broke why throw it away. And I love these guys (yes, they are all male friends - it is possible lol) and how they sat in the front row with me at a family show and cheered and hollered like proud uncles. And I felt unutterably blessed that the gaps in my life are always filled, by some other loving soul who steps up to take the place of those who should've been there. And it warms my soul. But it also awakens the sadness, reminds me that there was a gap in the first place.
And then there is the photo I shared on social media yesterday. I have a Facebook account, which is a small, private account of my real life 'tribe' and a Twitter account - which I only opened in January of this year - where I Blog, connect with amazing people, review and am followed by over 3000 people (that blows my little mind!).
The photo was of me yesterday morning, having lost almost 7 stone in weight. A fact which astounds me every day, every time I pass a mirror, or buy clothes (and have to go back out the changing room to get smaller sizes lol!), or when my son says 'Mum you are shrinking!' So I shared it - because I am proud of what I have achieved, and I know many of my followers struggle with weight/ self esteem issues so I try to encourage others that we can do this. Especially us hidden Mums, the ones who lose themselves in their children and lose sight of the way back to themselves.
And luckily for me I have had only kind, positive reactions - no nastiness. But that overwhelms me also. When you have been hidden behind so many layers, for so many years, it can make you feel very exposed to not be. I'm not a limelight kinda girl 😊 I really, really am not. I am the girl who got her name because it was the name most similar to the boy's name that had been chosen for the boy child her parents were hoping for. I am the girl who was tall, taller than her 'big' sister, taller than all the boys, with a shock of red hair when everyone else in the family was the opposite. I was the 'postman' or the 'milkman's'. I was actually born with a full head of my red hair, it claimed it's place right from the start, and I came to own the family joke that my Mother had told the midwife to 'put it back' when I was born such.
And I understand all too well how this, and so much more, has made up all my layers. But peeling them back is hard. It's glorious, and empowering but oh so absolutely terrifying. Even with my army of magnificent friends cheering from all along the side lines.
And today, I have more incredible, amazing kindness coming at me. I bought one of those garden arches, the big wooden ones, some months ago. I had one in the garden before but it had rotted over time, so I pulled it all down and bonfired it, cleared the area etc. I painted all the many pieces of wood with coats of woodstain, after lugging them to and from the garage single handedly over several weekends. But since then it has stood in the garage with me at a loss of what to do, as it is simply too big for me to be able to manage myself. So I asked my Facebookers if anyone could recommend someone who would do a small job like that, on a shoestring budget. Oh no said my tribe, some of us will do that. Even though those some of us are busy with two small non-sleeping children of our own, and full time shift work, and a million other things we are doing for everybody under the sun. We will come and do that for you.
So this morning I am laying down my strong for a while and accepting the help I asked for. Bit by bit I am letting go (or trying to at least!) and allowing myself the tears that come with doing so.
xx
Yesterday was a day that overwhelmed me. But not in the ways you would think. It was a day of victories, and kindnesses, and successes. So why this morning am I crying into my cup of tea while DS is at his Granny's from a sleepover & my little starlet DD is still sleeping?
Because it's too much for me to lay down my strong. It's harder than not.
I saw a quote this morning on social media that said something along the lines of - the people who never ask for help are the ones who never had it from the earliest age. Well d'uh I thought! Of course it is. But it's a hard pattern to let go of.....
Yesterday I went to visit a dear friend, and her sweet, lovely old Dad gave me a bag of vegetables from his garden and took me out to show me his pumpkins and sweetpeas. It was so much like my old Pa I wanted to weep. The gentle kindness and simplicity and openness of this dear man just touched my heart and lifted my soul, but also made it ache for my Dad who is long gone.
Then I went on to go and meet three more very dear friends who were coming to my daughter's show with me, to support and encourage her and cheer her on (in the absence of any actual family coming to do so........) One friend whom I've known virtually since birth, one I've been besties with since we were 11 years old and the third I've known via the second for probably 15 years now. I have a lot of old friends lol. We laughed about it last night - joking if it ain't broke why throw it away. And I love these guys (yes, they are all male friends - it is possible lol) and how they sat in the front row with me at a family show and cheered and hollered like proud uncles. And I felt unutterably blessed that the gaps in my life are always filled, by some other loving soul who steps up to take the place of those who should've been there. And it warms my soul. But it also awakens the sadness, reminds me that there was a gap in the first place.
And then there is the photo I shared on social media yesterday. I have a Facebook account, which is a small, private account of my real life 'tribe' and a Twitter account - which I only opened in January of this year - where I Blog, connect with amazing people, review and am followed by over 3000 people (that blows my little mind!).
The photo was of me yesterday morning, having lost almost 7 stone in weight. A fact which astounds me every day, every time I pass a mirror, or buy clothes (and have to go back out the changing room to get smaller sizes lol!), or when my son says 'Mum you are shrinking!' So I shared it - because I am proud of what I have achieved, and I know many of my followers struggle with weight/ self esteem issues so I try to encourage others that we can do this. Especially us hidden Mums, the ones who lose themselves in their children and lose sight of the way back to themselves.
And luckily for me I have had only kind, positive reactions - no nastiness. But that overwhelms me also. When you have been hidden behind so many layers, for so many years, it can make you feel very exposed to not be. I'm not a limelight kinda girl 😊 I really, really am not. I am the girl who got her name because it was the name most similar to the boy's name that had been chosen for the boy child her parents were hoping for. I am the girl who was tall, taller than her 'big' sister, taller than all the boys, with a shock of red hair when everyone else in the family was the opposite. I was the 'postman' or the 'milkman's'. I was actually born with a full head of my red hair, it claimed it's place right from the start, and I came to own the family joke that my Mother had told the midwife to 'put it back' when I was born such.
And I understand all too well how this, and so much more, has made up all my layers. But peeling them back is hard. It's glorious, and empowering but oh so absolutely terrifying. Even with my army of magnificent friends cheering from all along the side lines.
And today, I have more incredible, amazing kindness coming at me. I bought one of those garden arches, the big wooden ones, some months ago. I had one in the garden before but it had rotted over time, so I pulled it all down and bonfired it, cleared the area etc. I painted all the many pieces of wood with coats of woodstain, after lugging them to and from the garage single handedly over several weekends. But since then it has stood in the garage with me at a loss of what to do, as it is simply too big for me to be able to manage myself. So I asked my Facebookers if anyone could recommend someone who would do a small job like that, on a shoestring budget. Oh no said my tribe, some of us will do that. Even though those some of us are busy with two small non-sleeping children of our own, and full time shift work, and a million other things we are doing for everybody under the sun. We will come and do that for you.
So this morning I am laying down my strong for a while and accepting the help I asked for. Bit by bit I am letting go (or trying to at least!) and allowing myself the tears that come with doing so.
xx
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