Take a walk on the wild side

I don’t know about you but at this time of year I like to kick back a try a little escapism in my summer reading. So I’d like to challenge you to step into someone else’s shoes, just for a couple of hundred and sixty three pages. Generally speaking my first choice would be a whodunit, preferably one I can solve myself well before the end but not too soon after the first few chapters. That’s my kind of escapism from what I am apt to call ‘my miserable existence.’ Although I call it that, it’s because I love a good moan and I am so exceptionally good at it too. I could take up grumbling professionally, a second career and then rub my mucky hands on the glass ceiling when I bump my head on it. That said, every once in a while you come across a life changing story, like Vicki Forman’s ‘A Lovely Life, a memoir of premature motherhood.’ If you should happen to come across such a story it can be sobering to realize that it’s not a story, it’s true. If you read a true account of someone else’s life, even if you are an expert moaner, it may just be that you might gain a different perspective on your plight. I did. Will you?

If you would like the chance to win a free copy of Vicki’s book, signed by the author herself, all you have to do is read the “review” over “here” and leave a comment there, or here as the linky thing is bust. I’ll send them all along to her together with the winner’s name to be announced on Tuesday 1st September. You could invite your chum to join in too, you know the one, the misery guts who never has a good word to say about anything.

Wouldn’t that be subtle?

This might be a good one to stumble or tweet to help spread the word, should anyone feel so inclined?

Tissue box mood control – try tackling it Tuesday

As with most tips and tricks around here, this has been scientifically, nay, exhaustingly tested for your benefit. I can assure you that it is 100% effective for one typical and one atypical child. Conversely, it is completely ineffective for another typical and atypical child. Thusly, an overall 50% success rate is worth a bash in my book.

Follow the basic principles in “tissue box.” Choose the fabric with care to cause minimum offense, remain gender neutral and avoid tickly, scratchy, itchy textures. Fleeces usually fit the bill, are cheap and easy to work with since they don’t fray.

White is usually a poor choice when filthy snotty children are involved but the sheep-like woolly texture was a definite favourite.

Select a decorative trim that could resemble hair and stitch to the inside top seam so that when it falls open, the fringe appears on the outside.

Tie the ‘neck’ with chord or some easily un-doable yarn.

Sew googley eyes in place with a pompom for the nose.

Knit four tubes in stocking stitch and insert pipe-cleaners inside. Take care to fold over the top sharp edges so that it doesn’t poke through the knitting and hurt small fingers. Stitch one pompom to one end of each of the four tubes. Stitch the other end to the tissue box cover to form legs and arms, which should now be ‘poseable.’

Take a small piece of recycled stiff plastic and cut into a moon shape for the mouth. Glue fractionally larger pieces of felt to each side of the plastic form, black on one side and a contrasting colour on the other. Leave to dry.

Once fully dry roughen up a little patch in the centre of each side. Attach hook Velcro to the tissue box cover in the ‘mouth’ position. Make sure that there is enough space so that the ‘mouth’ can fit upside down and right way up to form a ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ face. Try to avoid putting Velcro on the mouth itself as this may mean it is untouchable for some children.



Broadly speaking this is only effective for the sniffly kind of hurt feelings or ruffled feathers. It is certainly ineffective where genuine pain and the Emergency Room is required.





Usage guidance:-

Await an attack of the sniffles. This usually doesn’t take very long. Ensure that the tissue box is in the ‘sad’ position, mouth and limbs turned downward. Take box to child. Cuddle sniffly child with box close to hand and within sight line of the child.

Listen carefully to the complainant's woes. Offer solicitation, comfort and solace as needed. When sniffling is on the decline, suggest use of a tissue to mop up streaky cheeks and slimed nostrils. Encourage child to pull a tissue from the box. Encourage child to spread mucus over face with tissue. On completion remove offensive, germ filled tissue before it hits the floor.

Encourage child to verbally acknowledge that the storm has passed and that they have survived in tact. Positively reinforce recognition of wellness by encouraging the child to physically turn the mouth into a smile and the limbs into a horray! The kinesthetic or physical interaction, by moving the pieces, confirms success. This helps the child associate self care and self calming, motivates and promotes self awareness. This is why we bother to put a line through a completed ‘to do’ item. Even though strictly speaking it is unnecessary, the task is finished, but somehow, great satisfaction derives from this teeny tiny step.







Of course if your child has tactile defensive issues such that they find the texture of paper or tissues abhorrent, then forget it.

Follow my lead or maybe hers?

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t annoy me, but other people’s habits are just as ingrained as my own.

I don’t know how you get along with your mother in law but there are some fairly standard stereotypes associated with this relationship. Personally, I am greatly in favour of RDI. Not the RDI of autism but rather the RDI of Relative:Divorce Index, for those of us in the know. It’s just another one of those challenges that we have to tackle.


Part of my weekly routine is to dead head the roses on a Sunday morning, before it’s too hot and before we go ‘out.’ What with “one" thing and "another," my routine is off and petals brown on the bushes. It happens annually around this time of year, when the house is "full" and we slip into "holiday time."

During holiday time, it is Nonna’s routine to wander the garden in the early morning dew, during the breakfast mayhem indoors. As she walks, she snaps off the dead heads with her bare hands and drops them on the ground.

Inside we tackle each tortuous stage of our morning routine but out of the corner of my eye, I see those thorny dead heads amass, all ready to snare the unwary. The garden and "outside" generally, is already, and always has been, a challenge for the boys. The de-sensitization campaign is “ongoing." Currently his list of deadly weapons includes not only all things that could be termed ‘sharp’ but also a very wide range of rough textures. I know that later I shall have to test my own visual acuity to hunt down each and every one of those prickly spars, if I ever hope to have dinner outside.

I have no time to hunt as every minute of the day is already accounted for.

Rats!

Once breakfast is over, I combine clear up with supper preparation. I know that consumption of stuffed tomatoes is overly optimistic, but the food campaign is relentless. I leave them on the counter to come up to room temperature, ready to top, de-seed and assemble. Whatever happened to 'life is too short to peel a grape' or is it 'stuff an olive'?

In the heat of the season this doesn’t take long and all cooking must be completed prior to my own "meltdown."

The loose summer routine of summer days ticks forward. In between whiles I zip into the garden to scatter slug pellets with one hand and gather thorny twigs with the other. The plan is to zip for a few minutes in every one hour. 10 hours, ten handfuls and lots of "hand washing" until dinner.

We spend a considerable amount of time in the pool to decompress, cool off, therapize and fun. Lucky, lucky us.

As usual, I find that all of them are infinitely more coherent thereafter, calm, happy and on full beam.

“Hey Mom!”
“Yes dear,” I reply, not looking as I rub down his big brother with a huge sun crisped towel.
“Hey Mom!” he persists good naturedly. I look up. He stands next to the arbor in an ‘I’m a little tea pot’ pose. At the end of his spout is a perfect pincer grip, poised mid air. Across his face is a perfect cherubic grin. He reaches in towards the branch as I watch captivated, takes careful hold and snaps off a huge, woody thorn. I cannot read my own facial expression but it’s enough to send him scampering towards me with one outstretched rigid arm. He brakes in front of me as I’m kneeling. He lifts it to my nose for closer examination. I see his eye balls cross in concentration with his hot breath wafting over my face, a thorn between two buds. “You my son are the very bravest one!” I beam and break the spell.

He skips off with his prize as I hobble inside with his brother and his jelly legs wrapped up burrito style. I park him on the hardwood floor, vertical, feet end down as he wobbles to gain his balance. I lean on the kitchen counter and wait. His gyro kicks in and the towel is kicked off as he escapes. As I look down I notice a tomatoe is missing. I look across to the table, to Nonna enjoying a diabetic snack, “they’re very good these, did you know?”

I pout.

I think.

Maybe, if I am very lucky I will be granted the chance to visit my own married son, in the future. Perhaps in a foreign land. I might have brief glimpses of him during his very busy life. I will remain at home all day, every day with my daughter in law for two months solid.

I hope she's not a pouty little Madam? That would be so annoying.