A Time to Celebrate

It would be fair to say that of late I’ve been a bit remiss. A shocking blogger, a shlogger if you will. Except that would involve some shlog, and not to whinge, but I’ve been shlogging my ass elsewhere. In fact, whilst thinking of arses, I’ll liken my time to watching James Bond. And Daniel Craig’s buttocks, natch. Bond, James Bond the protagonist, is running, jumping and twisting wildly through a chase scene. And you’re eyes are on him, and those peaches draped in a silk hankerchief… Ahem. Well, you’re watching him, engrossed. You see the trail of devastation in his wake- car crashes, crowds screaming wildly as a discarded motorbike heads towards them, tiles slipping- well that’s going to need a roofer isn’t it?- just general mayhem. But you don’t really give two hoots as you need to make sure Mr Craig sorts out the baddies and makes it OK. Of course you know he will, but still, you can take a bit of collateral.

So my blog has been a bit of collateral of late. And Master R ‘no cheeks’ D has been keeping us busy. And his sister. In fact, we’ve just been sorting, settling and arranging the Ds, because somehow the time has expired on my maternity leave. And there have been times this year that I felt my grasp slipping on that return. Not just because D, RD has been notching up his hospital cotbed with a few more stays than I would have liked. But because I wanted him to be in the right setting before I did. And yet each way I turned, I felt that I was being told to turn around. Leave it. He’s not yet three, there’s a waiting list as long as your arms, my arms, and an orangutan put together.

You see Rufus needs structured learning. Not hot housing him with his times tables. I mean daily work with his sensory issues. His physical learning. He needs educated repetition, allowing him time to process but not flooding him with an environment that would probably be akin to someone drilling polysterene to your ears. But as I stood in line, arms outstretched to receive my silver platter as reward to accepting my child needs specialist education, I realised that actually someone was ready to pong me in the face repeatedly with it.

Now, I’m not here to make this a general rant about services, or the NHS, or education because the reality is, I was roughhoused fairly gently by the whole affair. But it wasn’t easy, and I was incredibly gifted to have the most amazing preschool special needs practitioner. Helping with a nod and a wink when told no, but also helping me see what my boy needs. And despite the apparent closed doors, he has just started school, gently but effectively. And whilst I know there’s more finetuning and sorting to come, this is, in a word, brilliant.

There’s been a touch of guilt when arranging DD’s childcare provider. I needed someone close by. I’ll leave DD to sort them into shape. First week in, the gamble has paid off. But seriously, I did blow a kiss to the heavens and to whoever is pulling the strings that this has been fairly trouble free.

But between this, and myriad appointments, and the boy coming home with a new blood testing kit. And getting his first certificate of achievement from Brainwave. And my lovely Mum having a significant birthday. Somehow it’s October. That means two birthdays and one wedding anniversary, all under one roof. But I won’t allow those to become collateral. Because at last I haven’t feared or fretted over the first birthday, RDs. Three tomorrow. It’ll just be, and you know, despite all the rubbish health bit, he’s had a cracking year. He’s really doing well. Now, in case you’re wondering whether you may have to break it to me that he’s still off the charts, I’m not delusional. In fact, I just sort of feel at peace. Age is but a number.

Micro aged 1 day

Micro aged 1 day

Macro aged nearly 3

Macro aged nearly 3

DD practicing her afternoon tea taking stance

DD practicing her afternoon tea taking stance

And we’re going to celebrate DD being one soon, because she deserves it. We all deserve it. And we’re going to have a shared shindig. Mostly because then Wolf and I plan to actually celebrate a wedding anniversary. And listen puppeteers in the sky- give us a chance this time! Time in hospital does not for romance make alright? Although I’m sure someone might like the rubber mattresses. Shudder.

To end on a less spritely note, we also lost my maternal Grandmother last week. We celebrated her life today. And everyone was open and honest about her plight with dementia. It was a beautiful au revoir, honest and touching. And I really looked to my incredible family then, not only my Grandma who was as gloriously imperfect and trailblazing as the rest of us. But also her daughters’ abilities to recognise both the light and shade of life with such love. And to my Grandma, who would take me to Florence because she knew I loved art, who tactfully explained the Red Light District to my brother and I in Amsterdam when we were but 10 and 12, we celebrate you. 5ft 1 and a half of spirit personified.

The unknown journey is known

The heart that is hurt will mend

The bird that was trapped has flown

James Robertson

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3 Comments

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3 responses to “A Time to Celebrate

  1. swanarchie07

    You bugger I am crying xxx

  2. swanarchie07

    You bugger I am crying xxx

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