Quantcast
Channel: dderbydave – Dave's Daily Drivel
Viewing all 164 articles
Browse latest View live

beckham boots and boy bands

0
0

Time slips by and once again I haven’t been on here for a while.

The Problem is, well, life does tend to get in the way a bit.

My oldest daughter has managed to break her ankle … or rather rip the tendons from her ankle, one of which took a bit of bone from her lower fibula. Crutches and a Beckham Boot have appeared as have copious Dadtaxi duties.

  
Ashley’s early onset puberty has  been temporarily controlled by a Gonadatropin implant in his leg which has the side effect of healing his psoriasis. Well, not entirely healing but his face is almost clear. His scalp is still scabby and dry and the blotches on his legs are actually increasing.

He remains a jolly little chap and cracks on with life with a smile.

I’ve actually sat down meaning to write a post for some time now but other things keep coming up. 

Final arrangements for Heathers proms have mixed nicely with her all important GCSE exam timetable which peters out on 12 June. She’ll be home then for twelve weeks until, hopefully, her sixth form course (16-18) starts.

Jo is lined up for a walkabout art course in Wales so we’ve been sorting her out with kit for that too.

Take That were never a favourite of mine but a friend of ours and Gill are both mad keen fans so I’ve bought them tickets and Tshirts for tomorrow night. They’re down to three now, well Gary and a couple of backing singers but the evening should be good.

 

 
Huge apologies once again for neglecting this blog.

Must try harder.


IMG_1001

Dad (again)

0
0

It’s Fathers Day in the UK a week on Sunday.

Another commercial time when my store displays cards and unwanted paraphernalia.

This time we’re just going with cards as the cups and whatnot didn’t go down well last year.

We do tend to overdo things in our house. I usually get a cup (I now have several), a new razor and clothes. Gill says the girls love to shop for me despite the banter that goes on for the rest of the year.

Until last year we’d get my Dad something train-related: a video or a book of vintage engines. He worked on a station in Oz for a year or so before he took over a Salvation Army Corps.

This year I’ll get him some fresh flowers for his rose tree. He never liked them and he wasn’t one for maudlin grave visits so I know he would admonish me for “wasting” time and good money on him. It’s more for me, I think.

We aimed to go and visit last week but a talkative shopkeeper slowed us down and we missed it. It actually saddened me as we headed home and I realised then that I’m still mourning him.

Effectively losing him as a Father in 1973 after a car crash severely disabled him has always made our relationship difficult. I know it has affected my character and the way I relate to authority figures.

I don’t think we ever properly mourned this loss and his passing in November has allowed a release for the family.

There has been a resentment from all of us that the father figure other kids have was missing. Constantly explaining to other kids when they talked what their Dads did was hard. You’re heart would sink a little as you would reply ” He’s disabled. He was in a car accident.” knowing the awkward silence would follow as they wouldn’t know what to say.

He learned to walk and talk again and he overcame the alternating seizures and zombie-state as Mum helped control his badly prescribed drug regime.

His temper and overall mindset wasn’t good. He preyed on my younger brother often turning him into a tearful mess, picking on his every move as he ate his tea. Even now Mum feels guilt for actually feeling a little happiness from this release.

She has her ups and downs. She misses the work of looking after my Dad and is struggling to fill the empty hours.

Being a Dad is part learned and part made up as you go along. His Father died when he was a boy so, like me, he did the best with what little he could remember and what he worked out along the way.

I would credit him with doing what he could in my first ten years, bearing in mind he was working all hours and dealing with a wilful young wife and a resident and very dominant mother. (this would make a good novel)

There’s the same gap between me and him as there is between me and my older daughters so it’s we probably would have related to our kids in similar ways. It is odd how life repeats itself.

People often write about the contribution their parents made to their lives, be it positive or negative. I often feel quite neutral about his input. He was the softer parent when I was a child with discipline being left to Mum. Then he was gone to be replaced by an invalid who needed our care.

But now he’s gone and we I have to find a way to move on. You can’t spend your life mourning what wasn’t. I should be spending it celebrating what is  what will be.


Punctuations

0
0

Time flies when you’re having fun and our largish family presents us with all sorts of milestones at different times of the year.

As the English school year come to a close our eldest has already finished her last year at High School (11-16). She did her last exam on Friday and came home and collapsed on the sofa. Then she announced she might have a job.

It’s a good thing because

a. her summer is going to be about 10 weeks long and

ii. she is becoming a drain on the wallet – clothes, cinema, itunes ……

She went for an interview on Saturday and will do a trial three days from Monday.

It was tainted a little by a hideous little girl in her year hearing about the job and weedling her way in for a trial. We know her well though and it will be a struggle for her to keep good time and turn up so (we think) she won’t last long.

It’s only serving in a takeaway that’s opening soon but every penny counts.

Another punctuation mark is school trips. Or it usually is, anyway. We’ve had only one to pay for this year, an art trip to North Wales which started yesterday. Jo’s coach left to a flurry of multicoloured bags, crates of drinks and dropped hoodies to drive straight into a big traffic jam of the A55. They got there safely (eventually) She’s phoned a few times and seems happy – oh, apart from having to brush her teeth before breakfast which made her corn flakes taste like toothpaste! ** Update** they’ve been walking for two hours after being sent the wrong way to the High Ropes course.

I always arrange a weekend away for Gill and one of the kids too. At the end of July little Cerys will go away to Blackpool for a lightning tour of the funfair, a circus and maybe the sealife centre as well. She’ll love it.

The last of the brood, Ashley, who isn’t going anywhere this year by the way is a bit of a concern. His Thyroid levels are low and they’ve boosted his meds twice this year. The psoriasis keeps flaring up and getting infected.

School seems to have forgotten him a little too. He hasn’t had his picture in the weekly newsletter for months and once again he isn’t taking part in Prize giving which sees over 60 of the 110 kids get something. It doesn’t bother him but it does us.

He’s in the right environment but being a parent of a kid with his challenges does tend to turn you into a bit of a Rottweiller and our advocacy of him includes his feelings.

Visited Mum in the week and she’s coping now. Plans for paring down furniture in her living room and her kitchen sound sensible. Worried a bit about the letter she got indicating she’d applied for but never used a store credit card. She claimed no memory of it so I phoned for her and cancelled.

She’s visiting today and there’s pizza for tea. Life is good.

And you?


Mobile heads-up

0
0

It was Ashley’s school sports day yesterday so I walked to work and back again.

It’s only a mile and a half and I enjoy it, though most of it is beside busy roads.

Something which disheartened me a little was the amount of mobile (cell) phone use by pedestrians.

A few were talking briefly to tell folk where they were or what suchabody had said but most were tapping away in a standard two thumb heads down stance.

It is nice to talk but sometimes the peace and quiet of reflection is nice too. I felt like I was the only one with my head up.

Social networking has its uses but it seems it can be addictive too.

For fear of repeating myself, I clearly remember there only being dial up phone boxes, often smelling of toilet which we mostly didn’t use. When I walked out the door, no-one knew where I was, nor did they care – to the degree that we seem to now, anyway.

I could, if I was a little sadder than I am, fix my daughter’s locations to within twenty feet or so by the GPS on their phones. – we have actually used this when they’ve been travelling home from school trips.

For my part, I keep my phone in my pocket in case Gill needs to message me. Our texts are often more like sticky post it notes on a notice board than actual conversations. We are often too busy to “chat” by text. This means the “allowance” my phone plan gives me never gets used.

I’ve also learned that using your phone as a phone is seen as hugely un-cool by my teenagers. They talk in  muffled hurried tones and tell me off when they get home. “OMG Dad, I mean … OMG!”

How do use yours?


Update required

0
0

A (probable) letter from my teen daughters……

Dear sirs,

We wish to complain about our two Parent 1997 XLs. Despite all of our efforts there seems to be no way to update these old-fashioned models.

For example, the Music interface is dodgy to say the least with sub standard sound production and no obvious source adjustment – all tunes seem to be from the last century. Efforts to play modern music seem to result in ancient versions of the tune with the unit displaying “Ee, that sounds just like that one from U2.”

Also, we were led to believe that their Service Mode would include limitless supplies of cash, automatic clean up and chauffeuring facilities. This is nowhere near the truth!

Any request for money or a ride is met with a strange sound like a sharp intake of breath and long monologues about 15 mile paper rounds.

The units are becoming a nuisance as we can no longer relax in our own home. They seem to be programmed to constantly request that WE move laundry, plates and crisp packets from where we drop them.

This is not what the units are for! As loyal customers we expect better service than this and would appreciate immediate replacement, onsite service or radical software updates.

We look forward to your reply.

The Teens


Happy Blogaversary to me

0
0

It’s my Blogaversary.

Virtual cakes and bubbly are on that virtual trestle table over there.

11 years and counting!!!

======================

It’s been a busy few weeks.

Heather’s finished school now and is working occasional evenings in a takeaway. This is to provide a bit of cash to tide her over the summer hols.

She goes out a lot more on her own now which is a bit of a shock to the system. We told her a while ago to start telling us rather than asking us when she had plans. Lord knows, my Mum had no idea what I was up to at 16.

She was in last night, fortunately as we had a massive thunderstorm. Quite a few of the folk on our street turned out to watch the show, all being washed in as the downpour arrived.

It was welcome after a two day “mini” heat wave has had all feeling a bit drained.

Jodie is behaving herself at the moment. She’s talking about healthy eating and sorting her room out and we’re not going to get in her way! Her good humour and wit are very welcome as now we hear laughter rolling around the house. She still bickers with her sister but is mostly better minded than she has been.

Mum is a bit more shaky though. We speak to her through the week and Ashley and I pop in on odd days. She loves the visits and still comes to ours on Saturdays. She’s not going to Dad’s rose bush in the crem much. Maybe she’s trying to move on. Someone’s been though, as there were flowers all dried up in the pot by his plaque. I took them out and emptied the rancid water onto the soil. It still tickles me to think that even this low level of maintenance would have annoyed him. Fuss!

We’ve just sat through an important review in Ashley’s school. The Statement, which until now has covered his educational needs is being expanded to include his health and social care. The lass who is masterminding this change seemed quite enthusiastic and even stopped to chat afterwards. Unfortunately his stand in teacher, who finishes in a fortnight, was found a bit wanting. She doesn’t read the hand-over book and tried wriggling out of my politely put questions. She even raised her spectacles and placed them on her noticeable nose in order to peer at me as she spoke. I remained my charming self as I pointed out that her proclaimed diligence didn’t include the note we put in the diary the previous day. She humphed and settled back as the Chair, a great friend of ours, although hugely amused by this, continued singing the wee man’s praises. All is in hand as the school has agreed to work with us toward his increased independence and his transition to Special High School (11-19) in September.

Occasional humps in the road are there to be stood on, I think.


Mobility

0
0

As my son Ashley has grown, so have the challenges presented by his mobility.

When he was a tot I could easily lift him, take him upstairs, pop him in the bath and seat him in the car.

However, my back isn’t up to doing this to a 100 pound nine year old.

So we have a variety of aids to help us.

A hoist in the bathroom lifts him in and out.

A motorised car seat swivels and deposits him on the pavement.

A rise and fall bed helps with changing.

He has walked with a frame but can now get about without it on large flat surfaces.

This challenge is compounded with his limited vision. Anything below half way is blurry at best. Imagine walking around with a giant ruff around your neck which makes the meal on your plate disappear and turns the world into an invisible obstacle course.

As he gets bigger and his abilities develop and change his needs change too. What worked a few years ago requires adapting and tweaking today.

So we have just visited a chap in Salford who adapts cars for disabled people. Three years ago, he installed the swivel seat we use for Ashley and was very helpful chatting with us about the possibility of moving the seat into the back. You see, Ashley is inquisitive and he is becoming more of a presence in the front of the car.

These contraptions are a tight squeeze at best and it looks like we may have to change to a sliding door car to fit it in.

We’re hoping that he will develop enough to get in and out without one but that’s for the future.

I can see us getting a minibus at this rate!


Hospitals

0
0

I detest the things.

My earliest memories were of strict Ward Sisters putting a stop to our fun (she called noise) and having to sit for hours waiting til Mum could visit.

My youth was spent visiting Mum or Dad in various wards of our local hospital, never with my brothers you’ll note.

This continued long into my adulthood as angina, slipped discs, strokes and cancer affected Mum and Gran’s health failed.

And then Ashley came along and the wards were all revisited, some had even changed their uses and some were new.

It shocked Gill a little that I walked straight through the maze of corridors straight to a nominated ward, so sure was I of the layout.

Today it was Ashley’s turn again.

Just as his confidence is at a peak with his new walking skills too.

His right hip, or knee (we’re not sure yet) has begun to fail. He limps and cries.

An examination by physio followed by an x-ray and blood tests revealed nothing.

They are guessing that it’s an injury he’s picked up that no-one spotted.

It’s an easy guess. His legs and feet are malformed so strains are likely.

Seems wrong for the little man to have something else to challenge him.

Painkillers and such and a light regime of walking til it heals.

Poor bugger.



Inclusion

0
0

I’ll probably annoy some folk with this post…

If you are involved with disability in any way, be it as a friend or a parent, inclusion does come up a lot in conversation. I do believe that every member of society should have the opportunity and support to participate fully in all aspects of life.

My entirely personal view is that although inclusion is something to be strived for, there should also be a healthy dollop of common sense used.

Let me explain that with Ashley we have never drawn lines. We don’t cap his potential. This isn’t us being clever. It’s just something we have never done with our other three kids so it was natural to do it with him. (That’s “inclusive” of us isn’t it?)

Society doesn’t naturally include everyone. Our local high school is quite elitist with its sport. Both my older girls have walked away from extra curricular sports because the skinny girls from the local gym club were happily doing triple twisty somersaults and the closest they got to a netball match was the bench. (That’s not “inclusive” of them, is it?)

Ashley spent his first four academic years in our local primary school alongside his sisters. We arranged a statement of needs, a legal document which bound the school to provide appropriate care. He was assigned a superb carer who worked with Physio to get him walking with a k-walker. Initially this worked as his Foundation/Nursery/Kintergarden peers showed him that socialising and improved mobility were possible.

However, after three years they moved away from him both in their abilities and in classes as he was held down and then started to spend more and more time in a computer lab with his devoted carer. Readers of this blog will remember our efforts to combat this and then (remember that dollop of common sense?) to get him into a Special School.

His time at the school has been marvellous. He walks independently, has improved communication and has grown in confidence. The school itself has a policy for equality which is quite clear:

Equality does not mean treating everyone the same; it means treating people fairly, with respect, having regard for their rights, wishes and needs. Sometimes this means giving people extra help or making different arrangements so they have the same chances.

As a parent at the school and having had the chance to visit his senior school too, I’ve been fortunate to see the full spectrum of the physical and mental impairments catered for. It is huge. Problem behaviours, complete lack of mobility, blindness, various complicated syndromes which cause the staff to adapt and be creative to include everyone in all areas of school life.

But I can’t honestly see this happening in non-special schools. To do this would force the local authorities to create larger inclusive buildings and infrastructures to accommodate the massive range of impairment found in any special school.

There just isn’t the money. 

The High School my girls attend has been allowed to slowly fall apart over the years until now it is just too costly to repair. A new school has to be built. This building will include consideration for disabilities like slopes and wider doors but nothing like what would be needed for full inclusion.

There are 100 kids in Ashley’s school. The High a School has 2000.

His school still has a family feel to it with classes of six and three adult present. High School has classes of 20+ with all the normal out of class rowdiness.

Okay, in an ideal world it would happen. But the world isn’t “ideal” is it? We strive toward ideals. That’s what they’re there for. They guide us like a light to see a path which we can choose to walk. Idealism is like full inclusion. Great idea, but we’ll never actually get there, will we?


Daily Gripe

0
0

There are a few things which really press my buttons, they rankle, they tick me off:

Lists in adverts is one. Stabbed out at us until our ears throb and that little vein starts pulsing in my temple.

The Navy do one. 

Repitively rattling away until we want to “elvis” the TV.

Fortunately, with modern media, we don’t watch a lot of live TV now so the fast forward button is our friend.

Lack of Manners is another. I’m not talking holding chairs for fragile ladies or using the right fork. More the day to  day things we do which show that we recognise that there’s not just us in the universe. Tooting goodbye to your friends may be jolly (and legal at 10:30) but it shows no thought for little local kids who have been asleep for a few hours. And terraced houses, like apartments, have people juuuust the other side of that party wall – which isn’t named so that you can shout, sing and hump against it until the wee small hours.

Teen resistance to picking up and putting back is understandable because you know, one day, it will change or the horrors will move out and mess their own place up. At work though it just annoys. The canteen is constantly littered with the debris of the Care-Nots. It’s “self clear” which does not mean a wonder of automation or something Hogwart, it means pick it up and sort it out. It’s totally unfair to leave it to the cooking colleagues. Coffee is spilt on the stairs by folk who don’t give a thought to the potential danger to others. Come on people.

And now the modern techno age has brought us the mobile (cell) phone. “Text walking” is a thing and has actually moved beyond annoying and inconsiderate because it’s harming and killing people due to lack of attention to holes and large heavy vehicles. Phones have graduated from the Dad World of leather pouches hanging from belts and are now in 80% of our pockets. Conversations are louder than ever and hey, don’t get me started on the absurdity of blue tooth ear pieces. 

The other day we witnessed someone Facetiming as they were driving. Now that’s scary.

These aren’t life changers. I’m not getting high blood pressure over them. But they do prickle like little needles and on a more than daily basis.

Thought for our fellow man doesn’t entail giving out flowers and hugs. 

It just means look up and use some of the dust covered 90% of your brain to work out the implications of what you do. 

It’s not difficult. It’s just good manners.


A Bigot

0
0

Disclaimer: I am an Englishman, born and bred and as such choose to use the English spellings and meanings of words. I an fully aware of the American language and the differences that have evolved over there. This is not my fault and any misunderstanding or confusion caused by this is not deliberate.

Websters defines a Bigot as someone who has an intolerance towards those who hold different opinions from oneself.

It is this intolerance that I have been dealing with recently.

The person in question is a Communist, posing as a Socialist and paying his dues into the Labour Party: which is neither. 

What sparked his outburst was the article run by England’s gutter press about the Queen performing a Nazi salute in a stolen cine film from 80 years ago. Her Uncle, seen in the film encouraging the little girl, was a Nazi sympathiser who, after abdicating, took his partner to socialise with the Hitlers. Her mother, soon to be Queen consort, saluted too.

My Bigot poured forth about the royal family’s German ancestry and how the Queen and all the royal family were sympathisers.

Not knowing his close mindedness, I tried to join in conversation with him to point out:

– This was 80 years ago and in no way is evidenced by the standing and viewpoint of our current monarch or her family;

– the gutter press only wish to sell papers and have no moral or social compass;

– the Queen’s mother was at the time the King’s Daughter In Law and her husband was second in line to the throne, much like Sophie Rhys Jones, Countess of Wessex, is now (or would be if William had no children). As such she would have no access to briefs about the Nazi rise to power.

My Bigot’s habit of shouting down everyone who tries to express an opposing opinion does him no favours. In fact it is the thing that defines him. You are wrong and he is right. There is no half way ground.

I don’t begrudge him his beliefs. Many of us cling to a doctrine to help us try to understand life. It helps order the chaos and inconsistencies around us. I respect this and won’t try to impose my thoughts and “theories” on how life works. His is Communism but he has backed it up with political history from the last few centuries, cherry picking the points that support his view.

Initially I was angry at his shouting me down (he actually called me a f£&@ing child). However the more I’ve reflected on his passion, the more I’ve started to pity him. He has a poorly paid job in a back room of his works. It’s dirty and unappreciated and career wise he’s going nowhere. When I talked to friends of his mutual acquaintances about his outburst not one sympathised with him. He sits alone at lunch. Previously he has held positions of responsibility in other firms but left each one citing conspiracy and coercion.

I’m not a huge supporter of Liberalism but can see the sense in the acceptance of people’s views. It doesn’t mean you condone them. Just that you accept that they have them. It’s not for us to say “you’re wrong, I’m right” because that infers that “I am better than you” (and it’s highly likely I’m not!)


Wednesday Hodge Podge

0
0

I don’t do many memes but reading back on my last few posts they do seem to be getting a bit intense. I don’t apologise for this as my posts reflect my life and wysiwyg.

So, ruthlessly pinched from good friend Mushy Cloud, here goes:

1. Is your home air conditioned? If it’s not air conditioned, is that by choice? Did you grow up with air conditioning? If not how did you cope with the heat? Share about a time or place you remember as being too hot-the temperature kind of hot, lest anyone be confused.

No,if you don’t count my kids constantly leaving doors open. Manchester doesn’t tend to get too hot for most of the year. When it does we keep the curtains closed and get a fan going. Later in the evening we leave the front door open which tends to attract kids, neighbours and flies, most of which are welcome.
2. What’s something in your life right now that falls under the heading ‘up in the air’?

My Mums mental health after Dads passing in November. She seems stable but is looking for focus in her life after 40 years as a carer.

3. Your favourite light and airy dessert?

Doesn’t have to be light and airy just a dessert for me to eat it. Tiramisu, suet puddings, cakes, ice cream, any things fine.
4. When did you last feel like you were ‘floating on air’?

Cannot recall. I have moments of happiness but most of my life is about dealing with crises and the down time in between. As I get older I see more clearly that the cosmic balance is all about a neutrality over time. We are not joyful creatures nor are we miserable. Gam Yeh Zaavor

5. Airport, airmail, airtight, airhead…which have you most recently encountered? Explain.

Airhead. Several recently. I loathe speaking to people who can’t see a bigger picture. Indoctrination is a mind killer. Sometimes you do have to fly by the seat of your pants and accept that Life really doesn’t make sense.

6. Have you ever been to the Alps? If so where did you go? If not, is this a destination on your must-see list? If you were headed that direction this summer, which of the following would be your preferred activity…a gentle walk, a serious walk, a bike ride, a boat ride around one of the lakes, or summer snow skiing?

Flew over it on the way to Australia in 1971. Astounded as a child to see the tops peaking through the clouds and accordion all glimpses of the ranges.

7. What is one saying or phrase that was considered ‘cool’ when you were growing up?

Cool. Hm. I was a teen in the 70’s which meant flairs, long hair and loud music. One phrase? Nothing that springs to mind. We were as clueless as today’s teens.

8. Insert your own random thought here.

Tolerance is something we should all seek to develop as we mature. Judging folk is a pastime best left for wiser heads. Seeing people as human beings without the shells of age, sex, sexuality, beliefs, race, disability etc is so very hard but so very rewarding.


Life, don’t talk to me about life.

0
0

Ah, life.

Currently enjoying a few days off.

Oldest daughter has just completed the first week of her NCS Challenge. It’s for 15 to 17 year olds and involves “Outward Bound”, “College Life” and “Community Projects”. She’s loving it. And its Government subsidised so was cheap as chips.

So life was relaxed and apart from a few long waits to get her on and off coaches, this week has been serene.

Until yesterday.

Youngest (7) just keeled over and started seizing.

It lasted about 30 seconds which was long enough for Gill to phone for an ambulance.

I called her name without response then hugged her as she came to.

She felt sick so I helped her to the kitchen where she collapsed in my arms.

Ambulance folk arrived and tested her and chatted to get details then whisked her off to a non-too-close A&E.

I joined Gill to play the waiting game where after much probing and scanning they came up with nothing.

Brought her home with a letter for our doctor and hugely increased vigilance on our part.

There were no clues. She wasn’t ill, hot, hungry, thirsty, hyper tense …..

So now it’s a matter of waiting to see if or when she collapses again. This will merit her an MRI scan and hopefully more answers.

Mum was here so sat with our worried kids for a few hours.

Life eh? Lets you think everything is just settling down then, boomf, kicks you in the doodads and runs away laughing.

=============================

On other fronts:

Helped eldest (16) to set up a current account and online access, she now feels very grown up and technofunky.

Giving support to a friend whose Dad is passing. They’re like family and are just waiting.

Heard a colleague has had to deal with throat cancer but is getting through the treatment and bearing up well.

Gill’s back on the happy pills after I noticed her moods becoming more unstable. As ever we discussed it, the things I’d seen and heard, and agreed amicably that intervention was needed.

Jo (14) is still excelling at school, still struggling with friendships and still maintaining mountain of clothes, crockery and make-up in her “bedroom”. (parentheses were required because my definition of a bedroom includes easy access, a visible bed and a modicum of order)

Hey, if you’re bored pop over. We have plenty of life to spare. Care for a crisis?


Long Time Update

0
0

It’s 25 days since the youngest keeled over. Seems it was just a faint but worrying nonetheless. We’ve told just to monitor it but will pop into school to let them know what happened.

The eldest has finished her NCS course apart from Sunday’s through September when she’s planning and carrying out an activity day in an Inner City Nursery. It’s left her wildly enthused about life, jobs and the future. Which is nice. To a point. She’s produced and distributed a pile of CV’s but doesn’t seem overly concerned about the lack of replies.

As yet she isn’t enthused about housework, cooking or shopping, mores the pity.

Her GCSE results came out today (16yo) and, yes, they were what she wanted. Tomorrow she’s going into the local college to sign up for a level 3 child care course (16-18) which will see her getting a job as a teaching assistant in two years time. She has a pile of paperwork to do before she goes in including police check forms and we will have to dig out her passport too.

Jo (14) is busy making a popular nail varnish website. She has a thousand followers and receives samples from an American company which she applies and posts pictures of. I’ve told her she should find a way to make it profitable as well as popular. Could be a good little earner.

Ashley is now taking Acetretin which is doing a great job of easing his Psoriasis. At its worst it was caked on his face.

 

Thankfully, much of this has gone now and he may be clear for his return to school in September.

Mum is a worry. She’s convinced her roof is leaking and affecting the electrics. In reality she hasn’t got used to the new Eco bulbs which flicker at first and are slow to get lighter. Also, her TV has gone wrong so many times we are convinced she’s pulling the wires out to get us to come visit.
Last week we were let down by an odd job man who said he’d clear our back yard. We got it all near the back gate and then he didn’t show! So now it looks like a scrap yard out there. Maybe he’ll turn up this week….

Only three days to work then I have a two week break around Ashley’s birthday, big 10, and Back To School.

What fun, eh?


K12

0
0

I’ve been reading up a bit on Education around the world and am struck by its diversity.

The K term in the title is one I hit pretty early and apparently refers to the twelve years after Kindergarten.

The math didn’t work out until I discovered that education in many countries starts at different times.

In England children attend Nursery classes in the year they turn 4. 

However compulsory education doesn’t begin until the start of the term following the child’s fifth birthday. It’s rare that this is used however with the majority taking advantage of the extra year to be gained in school.

At Y6 (the year they turn 11) they complete Primary Education and move on to High Schools for five years. The last two years are dedicated to GCSE’s which are usually tailored to career preferences. The grades for these national exams decide which course can be taken in a local “sixth form” college. 

Now that these two years, when young people are 17 and 18 are also compulsory, many are forced to resit failed GCSE’s sometimes unsuccessfully before being churned out into a very limited work place.

My Heather has just gained good grades which will see her starting a Level 3 qualification in September  (good enough to get a job at 18). Many of her peers didn’t fare as well as her.

My older friends tell of times when many children would leave school at 14 and became apprenticed to local tradesmen or went straight into factories.

There was a short time after this when transfer at 16 went three ways:

– leaving school to start employment

– going to a technical college to learn a vocation based set of skills, closely tied to local companies (the preferred route of many)

– going to pursue academic qualifications with a view to going on to university

The “Tech” produced most of the tradesmen I know and use.

I’m very much a Horses for Courses type of thinker and really don’t see the point of enforcing education on unwilling minds. At 16 some kids just want to walk away from school for good, not be forced to resit hated subjects with the potential for more failure.

The proliferation of “universities” and “degrees” only reflect the snobbery connected to this level of qualification (I have an Honours degree btw) and the political gain made from pretending everyone is well qualified. 

The dumbing down of age 16 qualifications is a fine example of this. In my day 40% of us gained pass grades, now it’s 70%. My girls say this is due to better education but I don’t see it. I’ve done their maths problems and see it as well below our education, somewhere between the old Ordinary Level and the now defunct (and at the time largely useless) CSE’s.

All I can do as a parent is guide my kids the best I can. Jos next and Lord only knows what she will do with herself.



Sometimes it’s the little things ….

0
0

A couple of things helped wake me up a little this week.

First it was the passing of a little boy who lives near us. He’d been ill in February: hallucinating and vomiting. The doctor sent him home with a cream. His Mum (appalled) took him straight to A&E where after her pushing they scanned him and found a tumour. The story went to the local press. My involvement was to inform a friend who runs a charity which benefits kids with brain tumours and post op problems. She supported the family over these months, making their journey a little easier. He slipped away on the 20th aged 10.

Hearing this today made me look at my own brood and again feel so thankful that their health is generally good and stories like this are rare.

The second event was becoming involved with a movement that is actively pressing to instal decent sized and equipped changing rooms for people with disabled kids in as many places in towns as possible. The normal baby tables that you may have used with your babies only work for us up to a certain age and after that it’s all about changing our kids on towels on the floor. Changing tables, hoists, plenty of room and paper towels all paid for by the big companies. Changing Places btw.

In between contacting a few big companies, I once again noticed the pictures submitted to the movement’s websites. They show children far more affected by their conditions than my son is.

Disability is a sliding scale. Although Ashley will need support for the rest of his life he can communicate, he can move around. His body functions normally, in fact he’s stronger than most kids his age.

So, things could be harder. But reading the posts of the parents involved I can also see a common thread amongst us of living with and loving the children we have. Their challenges impact on us but “thems the cards we’ve been dealt”. It puts into perspective the day to day problems we have when we see the extremes of support that some parents provide for their little ones.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Ashley is ten on Monday. We’re going low key this year with a buffet, a Minion cake, a watch and a box of Stickle Bricks. We bank some money for him too for rainy days. His psoriasis is again clearing up, hopefully for some time to come.

Heather starts college on Thursday. Easing herself into adult life seems to be coming naturally as she delights in getting college post, has agreed to house sit for a few days and has even gone on the Electoral Register for two years time.

I’m off work for a few weeks now so hope to fix up the back yard. We cleared it last week so now we can start to make it more habitable.

“May the road rise with you and may the wind be ever at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall soft upon your field.”


BTS and a bit of “how’s your father”

0
0

Infidelity and Back To School have dominated the week.

The former was amongst neighbours and, as ever, I find this sort of behaviour baffling.

It seems like having a loving partner and beautiful kids isn’t enough for some folk.

Meanwhile back in the world of the Non Soap Opera, we’ve been finalising things for our four munchkins to go back to school.

Today.

Uniform was bought some time ago as was stationery.

Heather is starting college (16-18) where she’s studying Level 3 childcare with a view to going into Special Schools.

Jo is in Year 10 preparing for her GCSE’s which they take at 16. She’s a bright kid but needs to put a wiggle on.

Ashley is starting his last year of primary school. He is the youngest pupil probably in the country with a birthday on the last day of August. He has thrived in Special School and should continue to do so. His psoriasis is finally under control with a drug called Aci.tre.tin which we started some weeks ago.

Cerys is finally away from the most useless teacher we’ve encountered and is in the hands of a newby, straight from college. Should be fun. She hasn’t fainted again so fingers crossed it was a “one off”.

Took Gill to lunch and chatted with Heather as she enjoyed an Induction Day and lunch with friends (we love and use social media). She has no qualms about messaging her ‘old man’ and simply ignores me if she’s busy.

It’s 3 o’clock so the hoards will soon be bursting back in ending our peace and quiet.

Wouldn’t have it any other way.


Cheers!

0
0

Some decisions are easy to make.

A neighbour has had some huge problems recently which have resulted in a husband being booted out and a wife leaning heavily on friends for support. 

Unfortunately she has also leaned heavily on vodka.

Mostly this is done out of sight of her 5 and 6 year old but last night… Not so much.

We hold a key for her and her teen son so evening knocks are expected.

Last night she spent with a mate and at ten we had a rat a tat tat on the door. Jo jumped up to answer it and said neighbour all but fell in on her. The kids were in tow too (it’s a school night). 

“I’m so shorry, I’m a dishgrace” she slurred. We didn’t disagree, just gave her the keys. Gill watched the children into the house. 

When our kids had gone to bed we discussed what to do next.

Gill went over to peer into the house and saw her asleep on the sofa and no sign of the little ones.

If it continues it will mean a call to Children’s Services. We can’t avoid that. 

Hopefully the kids will make it into school today but if they don’t the school will react as their punctuality and attendance is dreadful.

It would easy to pontificate on this situation, even in the light of her husband’s dalliance. I’ll try not to.

The way I read it is that, as parents, we have ALL made decisions in the past which were wrong for our kids. Most of us see them, feel the guilt and try to learn from our mistakes. 

(You’re nodding, aren’t you?)

We’re human and producing kids doesn’t suddenly elevate us to sainthood. Hopefully, the mistakes we make aren’t so large and bloody stupid that we scar our young’ns for life.

However, how a parent handles drink isn’t a hard decision to make.

Gill and I are very casual drinkers: I have a couple of bottles of ale at the weekend (just 2) and she goes to a friends and has a few drinks over the course of the evening and comes home relaxed but not drunk.

We never drink in front of the children unless it’s festive wine at the table.

It was an easy obvious, decision to make when they were tiny. (We weren’t heavy drinkers anyway)

On the one hand I feel for the woman. I think she’s turned a blind eye to what he gets up to for years now. Now it’s come to a head (not a pun, you witty people) it’s all come crashing down on her.

But on the other, how you deal with the shitty grotty bits of life is the measure of your character. 

Life happens and then it goes on. Two tinies need a strong Mum to look out for them, not a lush.

….. that’s pontificating, isn’t it? Bugger. 


Moles

0
0

Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.

George Bernard Shaw said that.

It’s never been so true now that we are in an age where Social Media plays a daily part in so many lives.

I have a few accounts beside this and am aware of the importance of reading what I write.

Our words paint a picture for whoever’s out there.

We choose them to publish a character.

How close it actually is to you can be a moot point.

Friends of mine have completely fabricated their jobs, partnerships and homes on their social networks:

  • carefully positioned photographs hide the chaos of reality
  • doctored CV’s elaborate our pasts (had a few laughs with that one)
  • holiday photos garnered from the internet

Blogs are fairly anonymous. If we are discrete our whereabouts, jobs and even our name become private.

Fac.ebook not so. It’s mindless stream of clicks and likes and follows really do facilitate an open spyhole into our worlds.

I don’t think the kids of today have any idea how much of themselves they have put on this platform,

There are others of course but being one or two years out of my teens I don’t spend time on them. I have read about children snapping naked photos of themselves though and sending them to their friends.

The internet doesn’t forget.

The title of this blog is what’s bugging me at the moment.

Many of us have SM profiles and we have been warned, at work, many times about what we write. Colleagues have lost their jobs because of angry rants about their work day.

To add to this are the Moles. These low lives take screen shots of the silly posts and give them to “Sir”.

Currying favour with the Boss is seen as the most loathsome of workforce crimes.

When we work out who they are they get blocked as the news spreads like wild fire.

I am careful about who I befriend and have Blocked many, many people.

But today I noticed a tab on my Friend page which said Followers.

There weren’t many. I’m humble enough to not be upset by this.

However, two were unknown to me and were in fact relatives of one of the said Moles.

Now, as I’ve said, I am discrete about what I write. No matter how tempted I am after a long, shitty  arduous day, I bite my lip and find embarrassing photos of the kids to publish instead.

Try it. You might be surprised.


Uni Essentials

0
0

Chuckled to myself when I received an email this morning from Ama.zon which highlighted their Off to Uni Essentials.

It made me laugh because of the vast chasm that has grown between today’s student and the scruffy young man I was nearly thirty years ago.

According to the message no well dressed student could do without a list of items which were definitely not in my rucksack. These included:

a TV; nutrition pills; music equipment; a tool set; full desk top PC set up including a printer and external hard drive.

Ah, it was like yesterday (insert dream sequence wobbly effect as I look back)

My rucksack contained mainly clothes. There was a small pack of soap powder, a saucepan, an alarm clock, a bit of cash until my grant came through and a Terry Pratchett book I picked up when I changed trains in Birmingham.

There was no lift, even to town from our house and I walked the mile or so to the station.

There was no m-ticket bought for my smart phone by a technofunky parent – in fact there were no phones until I got there and gave Mum a quick call on the payphone in the hall.

When I got off in Coventry I asked the way to the University and set off walking rather than chance the local buses. Induction was a grumpy porter who got me to sign for a key and pointed his finger at vast block of flats.

The scruffy tag told me which was mine and I dumped my rucksack and sought out the other newbies.

There were some real characters.

Rick (have to give them anonymity I suppose) was a huge long haired wacky baccy smoking sloth who acted cool but confessed to being terrified of us all. He “dealt” a bit and got caught eventually.

Douglas was a gangly Morris dancer who played folky instruments. He missed his girlfriend and but had a fling with Yvonne (who wanted to run a bookshop and rarely condescended to talk to us). They got back together when he finished Uni had a child, split up ….

The Geeks huddled together two males and two females – I believe they paired off eventually but it was hard to tell as they rarely spoke, and seemed to communicate mainly with nose snorts.

Mike was a hopeful monk who played blues guitar. I made him a bottle neck slide and showed him how to use it. We taught, erm, Hermione (face of an angel) to sing folk. I knew the words, Mike could play and she sang like a linnet. The two of them did a gig in the college bar. She was nervous and sang the whole set to me. He’s a big wig skin specialist in Manchester now and has changed little.

Maude (sorry, I’m running out of made up names now) was immensely wealthy. Some friends went back to her place for the hols and it had its own lake, woods and a herd of deer. Yet, she asked me for advice on how to spend her Gran’s inheritance. I said property (never had two pennies to rub together so thought a house was a good idea) She immediately bought a large semi detached house, moved her mates in and invested the rest in a portfolio of property in and around Coventry. She sold it all after her third year and made a huge profit. Don’t think she ever worked for a living.

The protests of the 70’s were long gone so my stay was uneventful. I actually got to see a lot of live music both classical and folky. Over indulged myself at the Beer fests and had a few flings.

In my later years I made a bit of cash tutoring rich kids to the North of the city, got a teaching job for the September after an interview in the Easter break and came back after finals to my home town enriched and a bit more educated than when I left.

And all this without so much as an external hard drive or an illuminated letter lamp.


Viewing all 164 articles
Browse latest View live




Latest Images