Blogging Against Disablism

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Please go and check out other participants over "here" at "Diary of a Goldfish."

This is a difficult topic for me because I do not consider myself to be a political junkie. If anything my politics are more of the green
variety. That said I'm only to happy to get on my soap box when it comes to my feminist aspirations, however those opinions are not born out in reality. It's not easy to be a feminist when you're married and a stay at home parent.

I was thinking about how my feminist values had petered out recently when I listened to a snippet of a radio interview where a journalist said that her husband came first, before her children. Her point was in part that when women became mother's they switched roles from partner to obsessive women thoroughly absorbed in raising their children to the exclusion of all other aspects of life.

Whether or not this is true is debatable, but it made me think.

It made me think about how we didn't exactly plan to have four children neither did we plan to have two differently abled children, autistic boys.

Whilst I was busy perseverating about life the universe and everything else in-between updating PEC boards and snipping itchy labels out of new summer clothes, I also caught a snippet of a television programme that my daughter was watching. The programme was about autistic twins, women in the 50's. It took account of their lives following the death of their parents and then their sole supporting sister. Savants indeed, but life skills and survival in the big bad world proved to be a trial.

The word 'institution' was whispered. The equivalent of Social Services came on the case. The possibilities of respite care, supportive services and day centres for both the family and the women. Common sense made the light of day. There were positive possibilities and a willingness to make it happen.

And that's when it dawned on me, because I'm sometimes a bit slow on the uptake. Regardless of the politics, feminist or otherwise, that's my job. Whilst I have "many" "responsibilities" and "aspirations," we created these children and brought them into the world. Our job is to do the very best we can, like all other parents, to ensure that our children have the best chance at life and all it's possibilities.

Science experiment - predictions and outcomes

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

Take six identical plants and water with different kinds of liquids to determine which affects growth in what manner?

Such as Lemonade



Coffee doesn't seem to perk up everyone it appears.



Here's the control just in case you thought we might cheat.



Wine may mellow some but this looks like the worst hangover to me.



Milk for breakfast may suit some but this is a mouldy old mess.



And lastly, the winner by a mile and better than mere water by far, if you compare, is tea. British Blend of course.



This outcome was entirely predictable in my opinion.

Navigating the Social world

I have reason to believe that I am the sole arbiter of social norms.

Because I am a superior being in these matters, I have no problem advising my daughter when it comes to her birthday celebration. Our last December birthday, and then I may turn my attention to the other big holiday celebration, if I have an ounce of energy left.

“So how many are comin Mom?”
“Well I don’t really know. Definitely 5 maybe 7?” Presumably because I failed to translate R.S.V.P on the invitation? “Perhaps you could ask them to telephone me dear?”
“Sure.”
“Very good. So I’ll collect the cake after I’ve made room for it in the freezer.”
“Oh. About that.”
“About what?”
“We need a different cake.”
“A different cake from the special, made to order one, that you specifically choose as being your favourite, you mean?” Rather than the home made, artistically created with love version, from your mother? How many more 'sacrifices' do I have to make, deny my own pleasure, just so that she can be happy?
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Joanne don’t like ice-cream cake.”
“But YOU like ice-cream cake and it’s YOUR birthday.”
“Yeah but I want my friends to be happy too.” This is taking accommodation too far!
“Fair enough. How about I make another cake, a little one, that way every one will be happy?”
“Yeah and get some ice cream too.”
“What for?”
“To go with the cake that you’re gonna make.”
“But what about the ice-cream cake, made with ice-cream?”
“That’s right! Remember, you have the cake which yah have with ice-cream, unless yah don’t like ice-cream, or yah have the ice-cream coz you don't like the cake, then yah have the ice-cream cake if yah like ice-cream cake.” It’s the American way, what can I say. Take a perfectly delightful piece of cake and then make a hideously soggy disgusting mess of it with a dollop of ice-cream. Vile.
“O.k. So,..... I shall buy the pizzas today whilst you are at school.”
“Oh no. Not pizza!”
“I thought you said you wanted pizza? A special treat?”
“No coz Sara doesn’t like pizza.”
“But all Amer….um…..children like pizza!” Except my boys of course, although technically, they’re not invited to the sleepover.
“Oh. Well how about spaghetti then?”
“No. She dun like that either.”
“But all Ameri……what does she like?”
“Calamari.”
“?”
“She does, really! I like it too. Can we have Calamari? Please?”
“Leave that one with me. Do the rest of your friends like Calamari?”
“No but that’s o.k. coz Petra isn’t staying the night.”
“It’s a sleepover! Why isn’t she staying the night?”
“Coz of the boys.”
“?”
Let me die now.
I need an emergency pack of patience right this second.
"Um... why dear?"
"You know!” she says knowingly. I take a deep breath as it would be inconvenient to explode at this stage of the conversation. I need an emergency pack of tolerance right this second.
“What about the boys dear?” Pass me the ‘peace and love to all mankind’ emergency pack. What is wrong with these people! Must a little genetic variation always have such a dire impact?
“Well they’re, you know.....boys."
"So?"
"An she’s a girl and she ain’t got no brothers, soooo….”
“So what?”
“Well she ain’t gonna stay the night in a house that’s got boys sleepin there too, duh!”

It’s official, I’m 119 years old and incapable of thinking outside the coffin shaped box of my own making. Just dig a six foot hole and bury me under the weight of my prejudices.

Is she really only about to be 10?