The Adventures of My Complicated Little Boy – Part 3

ANXB4_HelpingYourAnxiousChild_ParentBookLast time I left you, with my complicated boys academic life sorted but still in an emotional mess (The Adventures of My Complicated Little Boy – Part 2).

My boy would cry at the sight of cucumbers and spiders – even pictures.  This was a very gradual thing and sort of became part of our life. It was just part of him and I think we were thinking that he would grow out of it and it was a phase.  So I ashamedly say we didn’t really focus on it as much as his academic life.

But it came to a head when we visited a lovely friend. She innocently placed a plate of cucumber on the lunch table.  Now normally my boy would leave the room and go and hide in his bed until the coast was clear, but he couldn’t do that, as he wasn’t in his home, so he ended up in a sobbing heap in the corner.  I realised then that I had to tackle this, as it had escalated beyond “a phase.”

The next day I went and saw our doctor. She listened kindly and asked me to bring my boy in.  On that visit, my boy was obviously visible distressed, but she felt that it was just “a phase” and he would grow out of it.  I wasn’t pleased, but didn’t really know what else to do.  The next day my boy came home upset and he explained that some boys had come out of the lunch room to the library, where he was eating his lunch alone, and chased him with cucumber.

Oh my word – I had no idea he was eating his lunch alone in the library – how long had this been going on and why hadn’t I been told!!!!!  I was horrified with myself and made another appointment with the doctor.  This time I demanded and stamped my feet (well not literally, but you get the idea).  I explained to her that my boy’s problems were seriously affecting his life and is definitely escalating to become a serious concern and she needed to refer us to someone that could help.  I stated that he was isolating himself from his peers both at school, in play (he wouldn’t go to parties, because there was always cucumber batons – on a side note, why do mothers do that, no one ever eats them!) and he wouldn’t read books or watch movies that I hadn’t read or seen in case there were spiders in them.

Well, she finally agreed and referred us to Child and Adolescent Mental Health (CAMHS).  They contacted me straight away and said that they were really inundated, but please could we come in and see them in a month.  Thank goodness.

Our appointment with the lovely psychiatrists at CAMHS was a balm on both of our battered souls.  They agreed strongly that something was wrong and that we needed to do something.  They put forward that my boy was an Anxious Child and his general anxiousness was expressed in his phobias.

So in simple terms my boy was generally wary and anxious of life, he couldn’t explain or express to me what was up – because he didn’t know and there is no real explanation, so his brain focused on certain things to be upset about.  We found out that he had never liked cucumber (which I knew and had never made him eat), and some little boys very early on had found that out and had chased him with some.  My boy had escalated this over the years in his very creative and out of the box thinking head, until it had become a huge thing.  The spiders, he thinks, was a girl that had been visiting our house had done a girly scream at the sight of a spider and run around in a panic and my boy had taken that and expanded on it.

The psychiatrists suggested we follow a program called “Cool Kids” and booked us into group therapy.  We would have to wait for that, as it was fully booked, but we could start on our own at home with the program.  So we went home with the book, with determination and with hope.

Together we started our journey and oh my it was an interesting and intense slog. For over a year and a half we would spend 30 minutes every afternoon after school and up to an hour on the weekends working step by step, religiously through the book.  One of the not surprising things was that my boy was the way he is because of me.  Whether you go the nature route or the nurture route, he was like me.  I did feel guilty for a while, but in reality I couldn’t of changed any of it and the characteristics that we both have make us who we are. So by me sharing my “foibles” and my coping mechanisms for them, he was able to open up about his feelings and focus on how to manage them too.

The course involves looking at your fears, recognising them, putting them into reality e.g. is cucumber ever really going to hurt me in any way?  Then it focuses on managing your emotions by breathing and relaxing techniques and finally you go for the immersion therapy – or stepladders.  You create situations little by little that gradually reduce your fears and teach you to manage your reactions and emotions.

That is key thing, my boy will never like cucumber or spiders, but his ability to understand and control his reactions, his worry and his emotions are the most important part.  And what an amazing thing for a kid to learn – this is something that will be so useful and has become so useful in his life.  I am kind of jealous of him, I wish I had these skills to deal with the crap that was thrown my way.  I think it’s so important that I have also included it in my little girl’s life.  They will both be capable of handling ANYTHING – well I hope anyway.

CAMHS invited us in again, during this process for one on one sessions, whilst we were waiting for the group therapy.  They were so happy with the progress we were making on our own and felt it would not be any benefit for us to do group therapy, they would just keep an eye on us in one on one sessions.  But if we would like to come and talk to the group therapy group and show how well we had done, they would be grateful – ha ha – no thanks.

So how has he done???  Well you will have to wait for the final instalment and learn all about my boy’s big steps both with his anxiety and his move up to Senior school……….


The Adventures of My Complicated Little Boy – Part 2

0132bSo I left you last time (The Adventures of My Complicated Little Boy – Part One )with an illiterate, slightly slow, underweight, timid, crying boy.  And me putting my boxing gloves on.

First thing we did was put my boy into Kung Fu classes.  A bit of manning up as Hubby would say.  But it was more for male peers, male mentors, self-defence, and to help concentration, confidence etc.  Kung Fu is supposedly the most lethal form of martial arts – but the class that my boy does, has no contact.  He learns all the moves in the form of a dance called The Form.  He has to get The Form right to move up to the next level.  They are taught what each move means and how it is used in self-defence.  Sort of like “wax on, wax off” in Karate Kid – the move becomes so ingrained that when he does have to defend himself, it becomes instinctive.  Well, he has been going for over 6 years now and has upped his lessons to 2 a week, because he loves it.  He is now learning weapons and when his sister has pushed him to breaking point, he can floor her in one gentle move!

Secondly we chose his Junior School very carefully.  We found a cracker!  Totally outside the box of a school – just like our boy.  No uniform, open plan and just a happy place.  Best decision ever.  And I went in straight away to discuss my boy’s needs and to make sure that I would be involved every step of the way.  Well, his first teacher was a gem, after a few weeks he realised that my boy wasn’t below average, but was actually quite clever in an unusual way. PHEW, Mr D realised that my boy was thinking too quickly to write down what was in his head, and that he found the writing down bit deathly boring and frustrating.  So we did do the normal extra writing at home and he had extra writing lessons in class, but Mr D gave him a Dictaphone and my boy’s world and grades exploded!!

Giving someone a way to express what is going on in their head is a wonderful, wonderful thing and one of the reasons I love writing my blog.  My boy was coming home with his Dictaphone and I would type up his ramblings every evening.  Going from a couple of illegible sentences to 3 or 4 typed pages of the most complex and intertwined story.  My boy’s confidence blossomed and he wanted to try hard at school again.

After Mr D, we had Miss P.  She decided that we needed to make this official, so sent us off to the Occupational Therapists.  Miss P, wanted to ensure that my boy could get the extra time, computer access and scribes in his exams, so we had to have confirmation from someone official.  The Therapist was great, she wrote off dyslexia and dyspraxia, which I knew, but was pleased to hear officially.  And the therapist agreed with Mr D, my boy just thinks too fast, but added that it was exacerbated by his anxiety (crying fits), so my boy got his official permission to get help.  Miss P, was pleased and also understood that my boy thought outside the normal boxes.  She even said that when she asked the class a question, she would wait till my boy put his hand up, because she knew that he would take the class in a direction that she herself had not even thought of.

Finally we had Miss T, who got him through the final exams.  She loved my boy and would often turn to him to answer specific science questions that she didn’t know the answer too – because she knew he would.  She would get him up in front of class and make him answer and he would get cheered.  Talk about confidence booster. (Although I did want to question why she as the teacher, didn’t know the answer, but I think she was just being kind!)

So at the end of Junior School my boy excelled in his Maths, Literacy and all other subjects.  But what I am most, most proud of was that he got bang on average for Writing and Grammar!!!!  We had a party about that one, to come from illiterate to average – WOO HOOO, so proud.

But… and yes there is a big old scary but… he was still crying.  All the time.  He would be a normal, happy, confident, smiling boy and then he would be confronted by a bee or a spider or get this… cucumber and he would end up in the corner sobbing hysterically. Inconsolable.

How do you deal with that as a parent?  What do you do?  I had no idea, but I found out and you will have to wait for the next instalment to find out too……..

The Adventures of My Complicated Little Boy – Part One

DSC00128 (2)Now this is a long story, so I am going to tell it in instalments.  So make yourself a cup of tea, find somewhere comfy and settle in to hear a story of a special boy.

When my boy was born, to put it mildly, I was surprised.  I was sort of expecting a girl.  I knew nothing of little boys.  I had no experience what so ever with little boys – I had only got involved with the male side of the species when I and they were of a legal age.  🙂

It didn’t really occur to me that it would be that much different, really it couldn’t be that hard.

In the first few weeks, every time I changed his nappy and his sleepsuit, all clean and dry, he would end up soaking wet ALL OVER within half an hour.  This flummoxed me.  And I didn’t have anyone really to ask.  My mother had had 2 girls and my sister had 2 girls.  I couldn’t figure it out.  Then one day as I was changing his nappy, I noticed that wee was coming out the top, I had a little peak and noticed his willy was looking up at me.  AH the penny dropped.  So you must always ensure the willy is facing down when putting a nappy on.  Now you might think this was a pretty common sense thing, but it never crossed my mind that I would need to be involved with the position of my little boys willy.

But you will be pleased to know that he has now got that under control himself.  Thanks to his father’s generous example, he is now able to whip his hand in and re-position at any given opportunity.  Well I think that is what both of them are doing – but who am I to question, it a mysterious world, the world of the willy.

Next thing that happened with my boy was that he wasn’t very good at putting on weight.  He was always below the lowest percentile line.  And being a very, very new mother, every weekly visit to the Health Clinic for weighing, became more and more traumatic.  After 6 months, the midwives asked me to stop breastfeeding and to put him on a bottle. OH MY GOODNESS GOLLY GOSH, that was horrendously stressful.  And do you know what, it didn’t make a slight bit of difference and he is still considered below the percentile and it is still brought up by the doctors.  He does look like a skeleton with skin, but he eats meals three times as big as what I eat in the whole day.  And both me and Hubby are not known for our heaviness.  So when baby number 2 came along, the doctor at her 1 year check was surprised I had never got her weighed.  I just knew I wasn’t going down that route again.

So as you have read in my previous posts, I am not a fan of lots of noise and like being quiet on my own.  Well my boy and I had a quiet existence, and he and I didn’t really have much to say to each other in the first couple of years.  So much so, he started talking late – but the first word was a doozie!! Not mummy, no nothing like that. It was Helicopter.  Should have known I was in for an interesting journey from then on.

My boy hit Infant School, enthusiastically.  He was happy to go and was muddling along just fine, then it all started going downhill.  He was so quiet and timid and a good boy, that he sort of just got missed.  He didn’t like colouring, drawing, painting or writing, but he could read and read and read and could construct amazing things out of anything and talk to you about the most bizarre and interesting things.  But his writing was so poor, that it reflected on his grades and he never really made an impact in the class.  He had also started to cry at the most silly things, all the time– bees, spiders and cucumber of all things. And not just little tears, curl up in the corner sobbing tears.

So after 3 years of infant school, I had an illiterate, slightly slow, underweight, timid, crying boy.

Well I was sure this was wrong, my little boy was funny, interesting, bright, caring and kind.  I know all mothers think that, but I am sure the doctors, teachers and powers that be had got it wrong.  So I went in to battle for him and we went to Junior School fighting our corner, which I shall tell you about in the next instalment, stay tuned for our gripping adventure…….

Dear Husband, I Am Going To Bed Early Because…..

1. I am Tired

Yes really, can barely lift my feet as I walk, gritty, stingy eyes tired.  12 years of cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, gardening, food shopping, driving people around, picking up other people’s stuff and putting away other people’s stuff, – oh and working, running your business, handling all the finances, managing the ripping apart and putting together of our house – does make me a tad tired, especially when I usually do all above every day.

But I do love you very much.

2. I have a headache

Yes really. I have a headache so bad I think my head is going to explode.  I have even been to the doctors about it.  Apparently a lady of my age can be experiencing, on any given day, 3 x the normal amount of hormones OR no hormones at all.  The no hormone bit apparently sends the body into withdrawal – similar to coming off heroin, according to the doctor.  So headaches are normal and no, paracetamol doesn’t work, because it’s a hormonal headache not a normal one, but apparently we get used to them and they go away eventually.

But I do love you and you are my soul mate.

3. I don’t feel very attractive

I haven’t had my hair done in ages, my fringe is reaching the end of my nose and the strands of glitter coming through my hair keep scaring me as I pass the mirror.  I am covered in builders’ grit and grime – even after I have had a bath.  It’s winter and our house isn’t the warmest at the moment,  so I don’t feel the sexiest in my thermal underwear.

But I do love you, you are my best friend.

4. I need to be alone

All day I have people talking and asking me things and that includes you, and the builders and the children, all day, constantly, very, very loudly.  I just need to go somewhere very quiet and very dark, all by myself and not have to do, say, answer or be anything.

But I do love you and yes, you are still very handsome.

5. I am ill

You know that man flu you get, well surprise, surprise I get it too, but I don’t have the option to go back to bed and stop doing all the stuff I do. Or when I was at the back end of the very big mattress that we carted up to the top of the house and my back just isn’t what it was. Or I’m bloated, swollen and crampy and want to yell at everyone.

But I do love you – you are my life.

6. I need to feel a bit loved

Yes, I know you are driven by the complete physical, but after all day of washing underpants, cleaning up crumbs from the sandwiches you have made or getting a chorus of complaints and whines because the dinner I cooked wasn’t to everyone’s liking, has made me feel a bit taken for granted and uncared for.

But I do love you – truly, madly and deeply

7. You have pissed me off

17 years I have asked you not to put your dirty, muddy work boots in the middle of the lounge room floor. 17 years, not an odd request either, especially not on the rug.

SO I really don’t like you and the straw has broken the camel’s back and I am going to bed – NOW, ALONE!

Mutton or Lamb?

clothesI acquired a large amount of dress fabric whilst on holiday – it was so cheap compared to the UK, I just had to.  So I am busy planning to make lots of interesting outfits.  I particularly like 1950 style dresses and scour EBay for vintage patterns. I have a very straight up and down body, with a very flat chest area and 50’s dresses make me feel lovely and curvy, but mostly I like them because they are fun and a bit mad.

So I was chatting to my sister about what to make and it suddenly crossed my mind that maybe I shouldn’t be wearing those sort of dresses anymore.  I am nearing the big “50″ after all.  Do I look ridiculous?  Would a young bright thing look at me and think “OMG what is up with that dotty old lady!!”

My sister insists that nobody should tell you what to wear and you should be yourself.  But she also admitted that she does veto her teenage daughter from the more revealing sexy outfits as she is too young (and too gorgeous! :) )

Have certain clothes got an age stamp on them in our minds? Is there an age that you should stop wearing certain things?  I once heard that it was inappropriate for a lady over a certain age to have long hair!  But I look terrible with short hair!!

I do have a couple of personal rules.  Number 1 rule – if I wore a style of clothing in its first trending moment – well then I figure it’s best not to wear it again.  For example ANYTHING from the 80′s – batwing jumpers, neon etc. etc. But that is probably because they are dreadful more than just a rule.

Number 2 rule – if it is or has become unflattering as you have aged, then not okay.  For example I don’t wear miniskirts and bare legs.  The tops of my thighs are not as taught as they once were.  But I will wear them with leggings.  I will not wear leggings on their own, the bumps and rolls and revealing personal bits are just not good on anyone over the age of 12.  I do not wear midriff tops or skin tight dresses because I have a roly poly stretched and saggy tummy.  So I wear appropriate clothes to hide my horrors.

It just happens they are unusual clothes for a middle aged, middle class, boring mummy.  And to be honest as I work from home and in a half finished drafty home, I do mostly wear very comfortable, very warm clothes, but nobody sees me so that is okay.

I have been mulling this over and then I was reminded of an old lady I used to see walking to town.  She had a fondness for hot pink and neon yellow.  She was so over the top and every time I saw her I would smile and she always looked happy.

I think I want to be like that.  If the bright young things roll their eyes at my “creative” style, well I know that someone else might be smiling.  Plus I just haven’t got the personality to be beige and boring and I know that I am getting even battier and even more un-beige as the years go by.  But I am going to celebrate that, because I realise I shouldn’t and don’t care what other people think, as long as my lovely dresses make me smile, then that’s okay.

She can’t be mine!!!!!

babygirlHas anyone lost a child?  Because I am sure this one is not mine.

She sort of looks like me – same thin, flyaway mousy brown hair and sticky out teeth.

But this child has the extraordinary ability to walk past a cupboard or set of drawers and make them explode – violently.  She can also just look at a table top or kitchen counter and it’s miraculously covered in chaos.

When I ask this child to clean up her mess, she looks at me in wonderment and says “What mess?”

I am positive this is not my child.

And she is sooo loud, all the time, from the moment her eyes open till the moment she collapses.  Not just from the decibels of her giggling, laughing, talking, screaming and yelling, but from the TV, the computer and the tablet that are all on with different things very loudly at the same time.

Definitely not my child – I prefer pure silence.  Come to think of it, maybe I prefer silence, in reaction to this loud human being, hmmm maybe.

Her dress sense is a tad eye watering. I am not known for wearing “normal” middle aged woman clothes, but at least I can colour coordinate.  I am sure it will come together one day, but at the moment I feel like putting a sign on her back saying “She dressed herself!”

She is very, very confident and independent and is very insistent that everything goes her way, all the time. I am fighting this battle, but the boys in the house seem to let her get away with murder.  Which actually might be a useful skill when she is older, hmmm maybe a good thing, but drives me nuts.

She wants stuff all the time, constantly, especially if it involves sugar or is plastic useless tat!  This I find very difficult to deal with.  If I let her she will eat garbage all day, constantly grazing and searching in cupboards.  In reaction we have very little stuff she classes as edible in the cupboards and I have set certain times she is allowed to eat.  Sometimes I see her sitting watching the clock in the kitchen waiting for the time to tick by. I am also trying to teach her the value of shopping around, secondhand and budgeting – which she finds boring, but I am insistent and will slog away.

She lies – beautifully.  It’s a bit scary.  I am able to pick the lies up, as they are just a bit too fantastic, but there will come a day when she lies to me with that perfectly straight face and I will have no idea.  I just hope that all the lessons I am hammering into her will have kicked in and that anything she lies about will not be harmful to her.  It does make her a wonderful storyteller though, which makes her more like me than I thought – although my stories are dramatised truth, hers are just fantasy.

Maybe I am a little bit jealous of this volatile child.  She is so strong and so confident and so vivacious.  I really do feel that when she figures it all out, she will be totally in charge of her life.  I don’t worry about her future as I do my complicated boy – I am sure this girl will conquer her world and giggle and laugh loudly whilst she is doing it.

By Myself

bedroomThis was my bedroom and will be my bedroom.  At the moment we sleep on a mattress in the living room.

I was prepared for all the dust and rubble that the building works would create.  And I have been proud of my calmness in regards to it all. I just try and keep everything as tidy as I can, and I do a big hoover and dust every weekend.  It’s not totally clean, but it’s manageable.

The builders have tried their best to be as quick as they could, as tidy as they could and as undisruptive as they could.  They even make ME tea!!

The kids have been sharing a bedroom and they have been really, really good.  In fact I think they are enjoying it. All though their room does resemble a hoarders hovel – I hate to think what is hidden under the piles of clothes, toys and bedclothes – but I am ignoring that for now.

The fact that we haven’t had a roof for most of the winter has also been okay!  This will surprise most people, as I am notoriously always cold. But I am able to block off downstairs and at least keep that warm.  And if it gets bad I just sit at my computer in my coat and fingerless gloves.

The money side of it has been very, very, very stressful, as the bank was a bit nasty – but I will go into detail about that in another post, when I am not so traumatised. And we have come through that now, so I am calm.

The most surprising thing I have found about our house been pulled apart is….I never get to be by myself.  It never crossed my mind to worry about that and I worry about EVERYTHING.

So we all get up in the morning, the usually chaos of getting everyone ready and out the door and then the builders arrive.  All day long the builders are in and out and asking me questions and making noise.  I used to spend all day totally alone in pure silence. Then as the builders leave for the day, the kids and hubby come back home.

I think to myself, I will just go and have a warm, quiet bath. Knock, knock “Mum, where is that shirt I left crumpled up on the floors 2 days ago?” Knock, Knock “Fiona, have you seen those drawings for the new job we are doing?” Knock, Knock “Mum, I need the toilet”.

So then I go downstairs, clean but definitely not calm and at peace.  The kids are jumping up and down on my bed.  I shoo them away, brush the grit, grime and biscuit crumbs from my bedsheets and try to read my book, peacefully and calmly.

Hubby has all the lights on and the TV blaring and his choice of shows hurt my head – if the show is about silly, bad, sad people doing silly, bad and sad things and involves the police and car chases – he watches it.  Or fishing…

I panic and want to run away to a quiet place….but there is nowhere to go.

ONE MORE WEEK and the builders are leaving.  I am going up into that room.  It will have no heating, no lighting, no walls, no carpet, BUT I will be able to be ALONE!  Please let me last that long………

Too Much Information Tuesdays

As a lady that has reached a certain period in her life (old!) and whose eyesight isn’t what it was, I have noticed certain things have become a lot more complicated than they used to be.

This is not just because of the eyesight, but also because of time. Finding that little bit of time to actually do something for myself is often way down on the priority list.  But also finding a little bit of time when you won’t be interrupted is near on impossible – a normal parental problem.

I have one particular task that has become so very, very difficult. So much so that I have had to buy new equipment and also allocate my precious time wisely.

eyebrowsPlucking my eyebrows….

Such a simple thing when I was younger.  It has now become a near military operation.

Children in front of TV with popcorn – check.

Magnifying mirror – check.

Good lighting – check.

Glasses – check.

New sharp tweezers – check.

Brush and scissors – check.

When I put my glasses on and look in the magnifying mirror, I nearly faint in shock.  Have I been walking around all week looking like that?!?!!!!!  Where did all those hairs come from?!?!! Hair never used to grow there before – EEEK!!!

All I am hoping is that all my friends who see me – are also at that age when glasses have become a necessity and can’t see the random freak hairs straggling from my eyebrows.  Or love me anyway, even if I seem to have large prickly caterpillars walking across my forehead.

OMG!!! BFF!!!! :) :) :)

bffSo my drama queen of a 10 year old daughter came home from school, very distressed, saying her and her best friend forever had “Broken Up.”



I tried to get out of her what had happened, but she wasn’t really sure.  I spoke to the best friend’s mum and apparently they weren’t sure either.


So anyway they eventually got to chatting on my Facebook messenger and they were

BFF’s all over again.


They had to pretend that they weren’t friends, because the girls they had gone to play with, after they had broken up, would be upset.

Are you getting a headache yet?  Because it certainly gave me one, trying to figure it all out.

Why do they make it so complicated, why did they get into this mess in the first place?

When I get together with my friends, we are so grateful to just have the time in our hectic lives to see each other, we couldn’t even begin to play silly games.  I have friends that I see every day, every couple of months and even not for years (see you in August Oz friends :) ), but I know they all know I love them dearly and am sincerely thankful for them. And we have so many more pressing problems in our lives, that creating problems with our friends doesn’t even cross our minds.  My friends are there to share and commiserate with about the “joys” that is a busy life with children.

So it did cross my mind, that maybe if I dumped a whole load of problems on my daughter, she will be so grateful for her friends and she would stop playing silly complicated games.  But that would be bad parenting…wouldn’t it?

Anyway, I had a chat to her this evening and asked her how it was all going.  She said it was great to be back with her BFF, but the other two girls were sad.

I said why didn’t they all just play together.

I was promptly scowled at and told that it doesn’t work like that and I just didn’t understand Junior School friendships.

So I scowled back at her and said yes I did understand, but as a mother it is my duty to try and help her and teach her about grown up friendships.

She stomped off, with a flick of her hair and said she didn’t want grown up friendships, she wanted complicated, confusing Junior School friendships.

Well that told me then didn’t it.  So next time she turns up after school all upset, I will not be adding her problems to mine, she’s on her own because I have enough issues to be dealing with and hers hurt my head too much!

Thank goodness I am not a 10 year old girl at school and thank goodness for my lovely friends, what would I do without them and I know that one day my little drama queen will be the same…one day….

The sigh you give before you start yelling….

So I wasn’t going to write today, as I didn’t want to increase expectations that I would write all the time…..

But I felt the need to share…..

Yesterday I cleaned the kitchen.  I was so smug.  It positively sparkled.  Having builders here all week, working, running the kids around for school and clubs, and helping Hubby with his business, means the kitchen isn’t as always tidy as it should be.  So it was nice to give it a good scrub.

Plus I knew I wanted to start my blog and needed the more pressing things off my list of things to do, so I could enjoy plunging back in to the online world.

So this morning I went upstairs to put away the four loads of washing and ironing I had done yesterday (another smug moment). Whilst up there, of course, I rinsed the bath out that someone had forgotten to do, I picked up the bed clothes off the floor and found some more washing (ARGH!) and then I ventured back downstairs.

I had left the other 3 members of the household unsupervised. Well 5 members if you count the dog and the hamster, but the dog is too short and the hamster alibied out as she was upstairs with me.  Now I know what is crossing your mind. How could she do that, leave them alone in a clean kitchen, doesn’t she know any better, what was she thinking!!!

messYou know that deep, deep sigh that you give and the just audible “FOR **** SAKE” that you mutter before you start yelling.  It’s a universal mother sigh, to be heard in all homes, all over the world, every day. The endlessness of dealing with the same messes, the same pile of washing, etc, etc, again and again and again.

Now I am not a stupid woman, but I just don’t understand.  I had left them for 20 minutes maximum.  How can this happen in 20 minutes.  I don’t think I could even make such a disaster, in 20 minutes, if I tried.

I didn’t hear an explosion and I don’t believe in spontaneous combustion.

And the other thing I can’t understand is the look of bewilderment on the faces of the accused when you start screaming like a banshee. How can they not understand why I would be cross!!

Well thank goodness I now have my blog back, so I can rant and rave, vent and release and know that there are others out there that understand and feel my pain. And breathe…….