Looking for Blue Sky

Silent Sunday 19.5.13

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sun, 19 May 2013 07:06:00 +0000

Meltdowns, watch-whers and reasons to be cheerful

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 16 May 2013 15:24:00 +0000

It's been a stormy week in this house, and everyone except Smiley was affected by the fallout from aspie boy's meltdowns: both parents, staff and pupils at his school, and his big sister too. He cannot even tell me why, though I suspect his return to school after two weeks off due to sickness and a mid term break was probably the reason.

We have two types of meltdowns in this house now:

Emotional meltdowns - with lots of tears - are exhausting and upsetting for both of us, but they bring out my protective mothering instincts, and I cope with them reasonably well. And afterwards we can hug and it's all okay again.

Angry meltdowns - a different matter. They touch a nerve deep inside, my response to them is something primal: I want to stop the meltdown. Or shout and scream, or run away. None of which are recommended.

I remind myself of the watch-wher in my other favourite book, Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey, as we both attempt to do the complete reverse of what comes naturally. Because, as well as his Mum, I have to be his friend, the one person he can trust, the one who will never let him down.

Unlike the watch-wher the effort involved in trying to achieve does not kill me! But at some point later, the tidal wave of feelings and emotions that are dammed up as I cope with the meltdown cannot be held back any longer and I go to pieces.... Anger scares me. And my son tells me that he doesn't want to be angry either. So why can't we prevent it? Why does it keep happening?

But then this morning at 6, I pulled back the curtains to see a clear blue sky, and when my son got up at 8, it seemed that the storm was easing. He left this morning clean, fed and on time, and had a good day in school. I can't think of a better reason to be cheerful!

Dear Mr Brewer

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Mon, 13 May 2013 21:06:00 +0000

Please take a close look at my daughter. She's one of those disabled kids. The kind you allegedly said should only be allowed to live after the cost has been evaluated. She has cost A LOT since she was born.

(Dear reader, of you want to know the full horror of what he said, just google Collin Brewer Daily Mail)

But you only deal with cold hard economics, Mr Brewer? Then let me tell you that my daughter keeps a whole army of people in employment:

Doctors, nurses, consultants, therapists.

Teachers, special needs assistants, social workers, care staff.

Whole companies that manufacture and service wheelchairs, hoists, therapeutic beds, walkers, special shoes, equipment and medication.

The cost of all this?

Massive.

But take another look at those pictures, Mr Brewer. Look into those beautiful innocent eyes and tell me that your heart is not lifted. You would be the first.

You see I look at it another way.

I look at the joy that she brings to everybody's lives. And the value of that?

Priceless.

Sincerely yours,

Smiley's Mum

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I'm adding this post to a linky to protest about Collin Brewer's appalling views over at Downs Side Up, where Hayley blogs about her beautiful daughter Natty, a child model with Down's Syndrome.

The p*nis dress. The road trip. And the book.

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sat, 11 May 2013 19:43:00 +0000

I must be the only middle aged women who could buy a dress, wear it to an important function, and only realise afterwards that it has actual w*llies on it. Seriously. And I bought it in a proper grown up lady boutique. I suppose I should have wondered why the sale price was so low...

(apologies for all the asterisks, I'm trying to fool the spammers)

I only discovered the w*llies when I got out the dress to wear on a rerun of a rather special women's night in. But I wore it anyway, as I don't own any other posh frocks, and the other guests seemed to find it entertaining. Phew!

The third outing for the p*nis dress was last night, at a very special book launch.

Special because the author is one of the friends I made some twenty years ago in Dublin when I began my journey as a Mum, and it's about therapeutic writing, so I'm interested to find out if that is similar to blogging. Special because it was being launched on a Friday night in Galway and I would have to be back to put my son to bed and couldn't leave Dublin until I'd toileted my daughter. And special because the other two mums in our group said they would come too. So you know what that means?

A road trip.

Romantic notions swirled around my head of sunshine, and tousled hair, elbows out the windows and singing along to Sheryl Crow. Or something. Instead it was a very frazzled fifty-something Mum who collected her friends at 4pm on a Friday evening as the clouds started to pile up in the west, where we were headed.

But I needn't have felt anxious. With friends you've known so long, that you don't see so often, the conversation just happens. The music was switched off after the second song, and the five hours of driving just flew by. Helped by lots of coffee and chocolate of course.

The book was launched with readings by some of the contributors, and we listened and watched as the sun went down over Lough Corrib, and felt so proud of our friend and so happy that we'd made it. Then there were photos to be taken, and promises made to meet again soon, and suddenly it was a time for a farewell hug and back to the car for the long journey home.

I often have to say no, I shouldn't wear this, I can't do that, I can't go there. So it was really life affirming to be able to say "yes".

Yes, I can wear this, I can do that, I can go there.

And I did.

Finally I just have to say thanks to my wonderful babysitters, especially my daughter Angel, without whom this trip would not have been possible.

What do kids want from their parents?

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Tue, 07 May 2013 08:41:00 +0000

Another bank holiday stretched ahead full of possibilities for cooking and cleaning. But what about the kids? What do they want to do? What do they want from me? Almost every day off would involve an outing when my girls were younger - that's what my parents did, and that's what I thought family life was all about. My memory tells me that I loved clambering on castle walls and building sand castles on the beach, but would I have been just as happy at home? Sometimes I didn't cooperate with family outings: I remember one trip to Bristol Zoo when I spent the whole time sitting on a bench reading 'Charlotte Sometimes'*. I wonder did my parents think that I was being difficult?

Having a son with aspergers has made me question everything.

He mostly wants to stay at home, and outings stopped being fun because he obviously found many of them uncomfortable or stressful. Or is he just more honest?

At home, mostly my children want my presence, my attention, and the quiet, smooth running of the house, so that the food arrives on time, the clothes are clean when they need them and the toilet roll doesn' t run out. Oh and they need to feel safe, so they're quite happy with my OCD tendencies when it comes to pulling out plugs at night and double-checking that every door is locked.

But chores are not something they see as important. I've explained many many times, that if they help me, I'll have more time for them. It does not compute. Getting them to do chores requires logic: explaining they they will need these skills as adults, and they also need to practice them! So that's about them then, not about housework avoidance for me.

Because aspergers has made me reassess what mothering is about. I had kids because I wanted them, and I enjoyed being a mother. I had a vision of the family life that I wanted and tried very hard to create it, even after it was clear that Smiley was going to be severely disabled.

Perhaps my whole plan to make memories with my kids was more about me than about them. Maybe it's because I want them to have memories of me, when we are all older. When I signed my kids up for after school activities is it partly because I wanted to be proud of them, I wanted to be able to boast about my daughter the gymnast, which I do... Perhaps good mothering is actually invisible and unmemorable, happening in the background, below the radar, and keeping the wheels of family life oiled, but no-one notices unless it goes wrong.

Ever read a meaty childhood memoir that featured a good' mother? I don't think I have. So it's a tough call, be amazing, and be forgotten. And at the end of the 18 year marathon, no-one hands you a goody bag and a medal.

The current buzz word in parenting - especially autism parenting - is 'acceptance', and I can see why it would be so important to children, but what does it mean in practice? I certainly don't know. You might accept that your son wants to be a gardener rather than a doctor, but what about a child who only wants to eat junk food, and takes no exercise? When does accepting his preferences become neglecting his health?

I think that I've 'accepted' Smiley just the way she is. But then I'm trying to stop her grinding her teeth all day, as I'm worried that this awful habit will end up giving her a lot of pain. AND because it's very annoying.

Accepting the way my life has changed since my son's diagnosis of aspergers is harder. I thought I'd organised the perfect childhood for my kids: term times in the city and holidays spent by the sea, with sunny days spent on the beach, the company of other children, running free around the countryside, riding bikes, It turns out that this was not the perfect childhood for my son. I think I've accepted that, but I still find it heart-breaking. Again I guess it was all about me, about my idea of a perfect childhood, the perfect life I wanted to share with my children. But it shouldn't be about me, I guess, aren't mothers supposed to leave their egos behind them in the delivery room?

There is one little word I haven't mentioned though, the one thing that all children want from their parents. The one thing they give back to us. Sometimes unspoken. Love.

*Brilliant, brilliant book, does anyone else remember it?

The house of sick

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Fri, 03 May 2013 15:19:00 +0000

I'd forgotten what it was like. Real illness. Once all the tonsils were removed from this household we have been a very healthy bunch. Until last week that is.

It began on a Monday when Smiley came home from school with a slightly raised temperature. So far so like a head cold. But she was flushed and sweating when I went to wake her on Tuesday morning, so I kept her off school. You'd feel so sorry for her, she's really stoical, she just sits in her chair, dozing and watching music videos by turn, too uncomfortable to eat or drink much, but my fear of dehydration meant I was giving her fluids 5ml at a time by medicine spoon. She can't even tell me what is wrong, you just know that something is. You can see her sad eyes, dull for days, the sparkle gone, her cheeks an unhealthy red.

The next day her wheelchair was scheduled for an urgent repair, so she had to come too. And threw up. The first #badmum moment.

Day 4 and the violent coughing began, so it was off to the GP for antibiotics, but by Friday she seemed better and I let her go back to school.

Maybe the worst was over?

Ha! Ha! Ha!

On Friday evening I began to feel a bit wonky. Then I went to bed and couldn't sleep. I began to shiver and sweat, but I was so tired and confused it was a while before I realise that some paracetamol might help! It did, but not with the sleep. And so began my night time tweeting. It's amazing the activities that seem a good idea at 3am. Like using the GHD: if I was going to be sick too, at least it would be with straight shiny hair.

So Smiley and I took it easy over the weekend. She slept a lot and I actually sat down. With a book, in the day time!

By Monday morning I was coughing, so back to the GP I trekked. Smiley went back to school, and had a relapse. Aspie boy said he was feeling 'so unwell' but I thought he just wanted to join the sick club, so I sent him in to school. That was another #badmum moment. He started sweating on Monday night and my eldest daughter began coughing. And as Day 9 dawned I was tied up in knots: I had been frantically cancelling and rearranging appointments, but this time I was out of ideas.

So I left the eldest and youngest in a cafe while I went to one appointment, which was straight after another visit to the GP to get antibiotics for them. So criticise me. There was No Other Way to organise it. At least not one that my germ-laden brain could work out. Afterwards my son puked on the pavement outside.

#badmum moment 3.

Meantime the amount spent on GP visits and medicines would have paid for a week's holiday in the sun. And we might have got better faster too!

I needed a spreadsheet to keep track of all the medications we were on - I haven't had to do that since Smiley was a baby. We had a temperature chart...with a Leader Board, just to keep things entertaining.

A selection of the meds

The symptoms just kept piling on too, snot, tummy upsets and nose bleeds were added to the mix. Everything tasted horrible, even coffee! My son lost the ability to swallow the antibiotics on Day 11 - he insisted that I buy them in tablet form as he didn't like the taste of the liquids. So began the spoon dance, with the powder mixed up with honey, and my boy mentally preparing himself to swallow:

"Wait, back a bit, down a bit, waaaaait!"

I could happily have poked my eye out...

Then Day 12 dawned. Smiley woke up smiling. I woke up after a full night's sleep feeling like a new born colt, but with a clear head. Perhaps the worst is over.

Of course there were good bits too: I got to spend lots of time with the kids, especially my "sick buddy" boy, we did things together, synchronised sneezing, sniggering at Sheldon, and stuff like that. No dieting will be needed for the summer: the extra Christmas inches have melted away. And it was a good reminder that your world will not come apart if you have to cancel appointments. Most things can wait.

But it did occur to me that looking after sick children for a couple of weeks has put me firmly back in my box. Really it was tempting fate to start organising to have a life again wasn't it? I won't be doing it again in a hurry.

And yet.

There is chance now that our planned visit to the cinema this weekend may actually happen...

Bye bye #thehouseofsick. Hopefully.

"A hug in a mug" Higher Living Herbal Tea: A REVIEW

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 20:00:00 +0000

So what's a coffeeholic doing reviewing Higher Living Herbal Tea you might ask? Well I didn't get the boxes of tea for me. You may remember that I have a very health conscious 20 year old. She's been drinking tea for years, I think the habit began on the weekly visits we used to make to see the Irish grandparents. At first the tea was laced with sugar, but she gave that up for Lent one year, and then about 10 months ago she began drinking herbal tea, persisting even though she didn't like it much at first. Now she is a huge fan. "A hug in a mug", she calls it..

I have drunk herbal teas before: some years ago I went on a diet that involved replacing coffee with peppermint tea. That lasted about 6 hours! More recently I have started drinking the odd cup of chamomile tea. For calming purposes you understand.

Anyway this tea is supposed to be rather special, and it looks pretty on the shelf too! We got three flavours to try:

Liquorice

I was afraid to try this as I don't like aniseed, but my reviewer tells me that you can't taste that - apparently this is the tea for someone with a sweet tooth.

Green Chai

Having had a bad experience with green tea in the past, I let my daughter review this one too.

"A nice twist on green tea," is how she describes it: sweet and spicy.

Sweet Chilli Tea

So this is the one that I tried. It was like nothing that I've ever drunk before, the chilli is not hot, it just gives flavouring, and I could taste a bit of sweetness in it too. Also it goes down rather nicely with dark chocolate, and thanks to that discovery I was able to finish it :)

Our verdict: sophisticated, sweet and delicate, great for lovers of herbal tea who are looking for new flavours.

The info bit

Higher Living is one of the last remaining tea producers in Britain and often described as ‘the Rolls-Royce of tea’. They specialise in herbal tea and have over 45 years blending experience. The teas are 100% natural and organic, plus they have over 20 different infusions ranging from the traditional Earl Grey and Green Tea, all the way through to contemporary blends such as Sweet Chilli and Ginger Kick.

The Pity Party

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 08:34:00 +0000

Now that really put you off reading didn't it?

I try to be positive, I really do, but occasionally you get a reminder of why having children with special needs means that your life will always be different to that of other people. That they will always need minding, always be dependent, always need to be put first, whether they are 16 or 60. And sometimes that doesn't seem fair.

So please excuse me. I'm not going to take part in Reasons to be Cheerful this week, even though I know it's good for me. I'm going to wallow in self pity instead. For half an hour or so anyway.

You see I'm not a saint.

The Meningitis scare

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 06:48:00 +0000

It started like any other school morning with young children.

A mad scramble to organise clothes and cereal and school bags and teeth cleaning...

But I noticed that my son was looking a bit peaky. Pale, droopy and not his usually noisy self at all. He was six then, and still an early riser, and as the minutes passed he got slower and slower until he just flopped on the sofa.

I whipped out the thermometer. And yes he had a sky high temperature. Then he told me that his head hurt and complained about the brightness in the room. When I asked him to look at me he said it made his neck hurt.

There was an explosion of alarm bells going off in my head by now...

You see thanks to vaccinations, there were only two things that I really feared while my children were young. One was cot death**, and I spent many semi sleepness nights when Angel was little, checking her breathing every few minutes. Or so it seemed, but over time I relaxed, and Smiley had a breathing monitor for several years, which was a great comfort.

The other medical problem I feared? Meningitis. And my son's symptoms were starting to look horribly like the symptoms of this scary disease.

Instant rearrangement of all plans. Messages left on the office answer phone. A taxi was called: I was thinking about the morning gridlock and the empty bus lanes. Bags were packed and we sat down to wait. And we waited. Time ticked by. Just how long could it take to get a taxi to the house?

I rang again. No taxi. They had lied. No taxis were free, and none would be coming. Even though I had explained about the possibility of meningitis. And I posted before about what they said!

My reply is unprintable here.

So I did what any Mum of a disabled child would do. I cancelled Smiley's bus, and bundled both children into the car. Parking is at a premium by the children's hospital: expensive and difficult to find, apart from the disabled spaces. So off we went. As usual the staff were fantastic, and my son was seen promptly, checked and kept under observation. Of course he started to feel better once we'd arrived at the hospital! He was lucky. It turned out to be just another mysterious childhood infection, but I will never forget that sense of blind panic and fear at the thought of meningitis and the helplessness of trying to do the right thing, trying to get him to the hospital and hoping that we would make it in time.

Time.

The one thing that is in short supply if your child has meningitis.

What scares you most as a parent?

Written in support of World Meningitis Day 2013 and the ‘Meningitis: Keep Watching Ireland’ campaign launched by Meningitis Research Foundation Ireland with support from Novartis Vaccines and Diagnostics Limited, which encourages parents to remain vigilant for the signs and symptoms of the disease. No payment of any kind was received for this post.

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**I can't mention cot death without remembering beautiful Matilda Mae, and the heart-rending posts about her written by her mum Jennie Edspire, after her daughter sadly passed away earlier this year. RIP little angel.

Reasons to be Cheerful 18.4.13

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 18:58:00 +0000

Did you ever sign up for something in a moment of blind faith and enthusiasm and afterwards wonder what you've done and can you get out of it? Did I really want to cross the city during the rush hour to do exercises outdoors with a bunch of women who were bound to be younger and fitter than me? Especially when I've no free time to spare and I ought to spend the money on the kids anyway? Would there be toilets? What if my hair got wrecked? Seriously, because it's just been blow dried for a very important occasion this week. Of which more later...

Do you want to know what happened?

Park life

I was only 3 minutes late, and the welcome was warm from the rest of the group. The session is like sharing a personal trainer - the lovely @runwithtina - with the whole park as your training ground. There's just five of us and today was about putting us through our paces to see what we could do. The morning was cold and fresh but the rain stayed away, and I got stuck in and forgot about special needs and my mile-long 'to do' list, and just enjoyed the challenge. And you know what? I kept up, even if my lungs were in shock, and I realised that I'm not getting old and doddery yet! So it's a treat, but I'm now working again, I'm paying my taxes, I deserve this. Actually I need it! And I 'm very glad that I didn't find an excuse to stay away.

After that great start to the day I realised that I've got lots of reasons to be cheerful, even though it's been another up and down week, so here's the rest of them:

A date with the bishop

It's my son's confirmation this week - the last big family event for a while. Not that big though, as he wants it to be fairly low key. We're going back to the same restaurant where we celebrated his first holy communion, and he's asked me not to wear 'fancy clothes'. Fine, I thought, that saves me the hassle and expense of a shopping trip. I won't be looking as glamorous as my pal Jazzygal did on her son's big day, even with the new scarf I bought to brighten up my outfit! As for him, he's got his first set of grown up clothes, and no tears were involved in the buying of them.

Even the shoe shopping went well this time. It's a little bittersweet though. My boy is leaving childhood behind. Teenagerdom and secondary school is only months away.

My friend, the author

After years of talking about it, one of the first friends I ever made in Ireland has finally got her book published. She and I were part of a foursome who met as neighbours through our babies in the early 90s. And we're reforming the group for the launch, especially as she's hinted that the book reflects her memories of those days! I can't wait to read it.

A very special thank you

I asked for old mobile phones to get an iPad to help a small boy called AJ who has autism. And lots of you responded.

Blogging surprise

No, blogging isn't a competition, and I write about what I want, when I want. No regular schedule, no plan. My blog does not sit easily into any category, and while I love reading funny posts, I'm not good at writing them. I'm more likely to be feeling depressed and down, and blogging it as therapy. Yet I do check some of the blog rankings, including the Tots 100 UK Parents Blog Index, which lists and ranks some 5000 blogs from the UK and Ireland. Their latest rankings came out this morning and I could not believe my eyes!

So thank to everyone who reads, comments and shares my stuff, it's all down to you :D

How Billy Bragg got me through the Thatcher years

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 18:41:00 +0000

I've listened to music a lot more than usual over the last couple of weeks. Every time Mrs Thatcher's name was mentioned on the radio, I changed station. Even though she has now died, her name still has the power to upset me, to evoke strong feelings and bad memories of the way she overshadowed life in Britain in the 1980s.

I still remember how I felt when the commentators said the 1983 election contest was over as a young David Amess was declared the winner for the Tories in Basildon, and vowing that I would leave the country if Mrs Thatcher won another election. She did, and I did too.

Yet the 1980s were my decade. I partied like the world was about to end, I travelled, I had a great job, I worked hard, I fell in love - several times - got engaged, got married, bought a house and discovered the joy of running. But at the same time, I watched with disgust at what was going on around me, at what it was doing to people, as the health and education services that I had been brought up to rely on and respect were whittled away, bit by bit, and service by service. At the despair of those left behind by Thatcherism and crushed and denied: "There's no poverty in this country," said one Tory County Councillor when I was working for the local Council.

Then there was the smugness of those who did well under Thatcherism. I never worked out quite who they were. Thatcherism didn't help me to get a job in 1983 when graduate unemployment was at a record high, nor did it help me to sell my house in 1989 after the property crash caused by the Tories which left many of my friends stuck in negative equity for years. I do remember a big tax cut one year in the late 1980s which left me feeling rich for about three months. I celebrated by buying the same jumper in three different colours. Then interest rates started to rise and wiped it all out.

Thatcher's brand of triumphalist Toryism just turned my stomach. Where was the interest in people? In families, in communities? Where was the sincerity, the compassion?

It was all about winning and being right. At any cost it seemed. If you didn't win, you didn't matter. She personified this with her triumphal 'victories' over the miners, the Argentinians, the unions. But worse, the same attitude was adopted by many of her supporters, for whom all that mattered was having the best house, the fastest car, the biggest pay packet, the most amazing life. Everyone else wasn't working hard enough, wasn't clever enough.

If life got in the way of success, well it was your fault, just as it is now under the current UK Government with all their talk of 'strivers and shirkers'. Mrs Thatcher championed self reliance, which is all good when you are young and healthy, not so great when you get older and bad things start to happen. But there was one person who said it differently:

At twenty one you're on top of the scrapheap
At sixteen you were top of the class
All they taught you at school
Was how to be a good worker
The system has failed you, don't fail yourself

Just because you're better than me
Doesn't mean I'm lazy
Just because you're going forwards
Doesn't mean I'm going backwards

That Billy Bragg song got me through many difficult days.

So personally I'll just be glad when she's buried and then perhaps I can forgot about her. But sadly her legacy of greed and selfishness lives on.

- Boris Johnson, Mayor of London said it all today:

"But I tell you what, my little left-wing friends, and all you who think it amusing to break out the Champagne at the death of an 87-year-old woman: There is one thing that is alive and well - and that is Thatcherism."

And that's my problem with her. She's not really gone at all.

Reasons to be cheerful 11.4.13

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 19:04:00 +0000

The clocks have gone forward, the chocolate eggs are only recalled by tighter waistbands, and the children have crept unwillingly back to school. The plan to live life in the slow lane continued throughout the Easter holidays, and that kept the kids pretty happy. Me, I wobbled a couple of times, but almost no-one noticed. And it wasn't all Terraria and One Direction videos, oh no! We actually left the house, not once, but several times.

...There were cycle rides with my son on sunny days.

...He made me lunch on Easter Monday. While I went for a run. It was tuna, lettuce and mayo on brown bread, since you asked :)

...He and Smiley came with me to the World Autism Awareness Day event at the National Conference Hall in Dublin. They were both on their best behaviour, and with a little encouragement my son shared the game he was playing with another child, while the adults relaxed with tea, coffee and encouraging words from speakers such as Keith Duffy.

... Yet another outing on Friday was preceded by yet another pyjama day. But that was okay. This time we visited a farm and met up with several other families who have kids withe autism and aspergers. He seemed a little anxious, but then it was only three days until the start of the new school term. And on Sunday he backed out of the chance to try out go-karts with the Snowflakes Autism Group. But next time, he says he will join in...

...The transition back to school was a little tricky, but I had to make it work as I was due to attend a three day course. More autism stuff! But it was amazing, useful, entertaining and empowering. Oh and fun too!

This evening we were all sitting around the table after a lovely dinner, and I picked up the phone to return a call I'd missed during the day. Within a few minutes I realised that the person I was speaking to was very upset and needed my full attention, while at the same time a serious fight had suddenly broken out between my eldest and youngest, and Smiley needed the toilet. And I thought to myself, I CAN do this. The course was that good.

What I wish I'd known about Aspergers

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 23:01:00 +0000

Aspie boy is my third child, and not diagnosed until the age of 8. Getting the diagnosis was a relief, it seemed to explain his differences, and would surely mean that he would get the help and services that he needed. I bought a few books about aspergers, and it all seemed fairly straight forward. If you've read this blog, you'll know just how wrong that assumption was.

This is what I've learned since then and I'm sharing it with you as my contribution to autism awareness month. This is what I WISH I'd known about aspergers from the beginning:

Diagnosis

That getting a diagnosis is not just the end of a long process, but is also the start of a new way of living and relating, for the whole family. I thought that all I needed was some helpful information on discipline, and strategies to equip him with the social skills that other children just seem to absorb. It was a long time before I realised that I was starting from the wrong place. And all the books I bought on aspergers are gathering dust in the attic. They were of very little use. Working out how to help my son has been a process of trial and error, endless reading on-line of advice from parents - some on the autistic spectrum - and by watching and listening to my son and trying to trust that we are both aiming for the same thing: his development, happiness and well-being.

Change

A lot of changes have been made in this family to try and help my son. You too may need to change the following:

...the way you talk to your child.
...his wardrobe.
...his environment.
...his daily and weekly schedule and that of the rest of the family.
...his school.

Meltdowns

The first proper meltdown may be one of the most frightening things you experience as a parent. I was not prepared. At all. And I did almost everything wrong. I also didn't know that they were very traumatic for him too: all I could see was a furious child, who was determined to hurt me or himself. And since meltdowns seem to be an inevitable feature of life with autism, perhaps every family should be given a meltdown toolkit when their child is diagnosed, to help both parents and children. This could include general guidelines on why they happen, when they happen, how to avoid them, what they look like, and how to help your child, before, during and after.

Criticism

You're going to get criticism from all over, so you need to develop a thick skin. Fast. In fact I will probably be criticised for writing this post. Even pre-diagnosis the experts may imply that your child's behaviour is the result of poor parenting and will send you on parenting courses, rather than diagnose your child. Other parents may not want your 'difficult and disruptive' child playing with theirs, or even being in the same classroom. Shoppers at the supermarket feel free to tell you that your child needs a good slap, or they may stare or whisper behind their hands. On-line you may be condemned by some for not looking for a cure for autism, and by others for not 'fully accepting' your child, his autism and everything that goes with it. I'm still working on the thick skin. Wine helps.

Clichés

Clichés are clichés because they are true:

....All behaviour is communication...

...When you met one child with autism, you've met one child with autism...

I liked the sound of them, but I didn't really think about them. I should have.

When I thought my child was being bold, he was trying to tell me that he was overwhelmed.

When I despaired because the latest behavioural strategy I was being told to implement wasn't working, it wasn't my fault, or my child's fault, it was because it was the wrong strategy for my son.

Mental health

Get this bit right for your child with aspergers, and many other things will start to fall into place. But again, I've had to rethink all my assumptions - for me good mental health involves lots of fresh air, exercise and time spent with friends, and reading books or playing music. None of these work for my son and his anxiety. He seems to need down-time, on the sofa, with his consoles, to recuperate. At first I thought it was just a ploy, but now I believe it. I'm also going along with his fears, even though even his psychologist told him he needed to grow out of them. By making his home a safe comfortable place where few demands are made of him, he is now choosing to take baby steps away from the sofa out into the big wide world, or into the kitchen to help me. Now that's a result!

I'm starting to see social anxiety now too: my son is very sociable, but gets it 'wrong' at times, and every social occasion tires him out. He makes friends, but struggles to keep them.

Sensory Stuff

Too much to cover in one paragraph. Here it began with cutting out the labels in clothes and needing to be squished, and now affects every aspect of his life.

Accommodations

Nothing to do with houses, more about making allowances for your child's differences. He may be easily 'annoyed' by other children, yet get on fine with those with aspergers and autism - so arrange play dates with them instead.

There is no magic bullet, what helps one child will be a disaster for others. Many organisations and individuals have theories or ideologies that they believe in, but if they don't work for your child, then ditch them. And keep searching.

Your child does not 'suffer' from aspergers, as the media often suggests. It is not a disease, just a different neurology. They do not suffer because they have aspergers, but because other people do not know how to accommodate their needs, or what their needs are.

If you can find out and accommodate their needs, and give them the space they require, and let them be, then the awesome side of aspergers will emerge, like a butterfly.

That's what I've learned about aspergers so far. But as he's only 11, I'm sure that I've a lot more learning to do....

Blogs that helped me in the early months and years:

Love, Life and Aspie Antics
Hammie Says (as it was known then)
Jazzygal
Planet Autism
The King and Eye

Blogs that help me now:

Emma's Hope Book (inspired this post too)
Mostly True Stuff
Life, his way

The floortime beauty salon

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 15:14:00 +0000

Before I'd ever heard of floortime as an autism therapy, I had this idea that spending time on the floor would be a good idea for kids who are stuck in wheelchairs. After all it's not natural, is it? We're designed to move, and Smiley's moulded seat means that the only part of her that she is able to move easily is her head! Unless she is given chocolate, in which case her right arm puts in the HUGE effort required to get hand to mouth...

A huge effort needed to do this!

But she needs to move every part of her body, I think, to help keep the blood flowing, and keep everything working as far as it does for her. She can't do a lot on the floor now: she lost a lot of skills after her big growth spurt started 5 years ago, but she can still 'move' and roll onto her tummy and kick her legs, and it's all good. And some day I hope to get some of those other skills back too...

So I'm always looking for things she can do at floor level, and, since I have to do all her physical care, I thought I'd turn it into a pampering session as well.

All set up for a pampering session!

Her beauty treatment began with her teeny tiny feet - is she the only 16 year old who takes shoes in toddler size 12? I cut her little nails, which she always seems to find uncomfortable, especially as they grow in different directions!

A little foot and leg massage followed, which she watched with interest in the mirror. Then I tackled her belly button with E45 and some cotton buds, how it clogs up with so much gunk I will never know!

Keeping her fingers well trimmed means less scratches for me and for her, and she seemed to know this as she happily kicked her legs as I wielded the nail scissors.

Then her neck: or rather the place where her neck should be: she really doesn't have one, just a crease which also traps stuff and is a good guide to what she's just been eating. Then her ears, and a quick tidy up of her brows - she is a teenager after all! Finally I moisturise her face, which she loves. With a little soft music in the background, it's a perfect girly half hour :D

What the NHS meant to me

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Mon, 01 Apr 2013 08:15:00 +0000

I thought it was a bad April fool, but no, apparently it's true, The Guardian says so..

"The NHS, as we know it, will effectively be abolished just short of its 65th birthday."

I grew up in Britain, and the NHS helped to give me life and keep me alive. Sickness punctuated my pre-vaccination childhood. I got it all: measles when I was little, followed by mumps and encephalitis at 5, chicken pox a little later, regular bouts of tonsillitis leading to their removal when I was 8. At 9 I had an infected finger lanced at the local cottage hospital, at 10 I broke my arm swinging off a piece of string. Glandular fever kept me in bed for a month at 15. Today my school absence record would have the truancy inspector knocking at the door, as it was usually in double figures. Every winter I lurched from one severe infection to another. These weren't your normal cough and colds, I became a germ incubator, turning insignificant little viruses into a giant scary infections with gallons of snot, sore throats, earaches, sky high temperatures, I would sit shivering and wrapped up in blankets, almost cuddling the electric fan heater to give me comfort and warmth. My Mum and the NHS got me through all this, from antibiotics and Triominic syrup (I had to take it for years) to GP visits and hospital stays.

At 18 I had major surgery, and that would be a separate blog post in itself! At 21 four crowns were put on my teeth, for free, and thirty years later, two of them are still perfect.

After I left College and moved to Essex for work, my chequered sickness patterns continued. A couple of years later I got my only blue light when I collapsed at home with stomach pain and was rushed to hospital by ambulance but the cause was never found. By this time I was friendly enough with the local hospital that on other occasions their casualty department would let me go home once I'd registered and then call me in when it was nearly my turn to be seen...

Then I left.

The Irish Health System was very confusing at first. It has three tiers: private health insurance, which allows you to jump queues for elective surgery and sleep in a private room, the medical card for those on very limited incomes which gives almost free access to the public health system, and a third group, which used to include our family, who did not have private health insurance or medical cards. It was a pick 'n mix, pay-as-you-go system for us: we went private for medical tests if there were long waiting lists and used the public system, which is excellent in parts, for everything else. That was until Smiley's birth went wrong. Then I chucked my principles out of the window and signed up for insurance.

But I didn't want to. I still believe in the principles of the NHS. Remember them?

Universal health care, accessible at the time of need, from 'the Cradle to the Grave'.

I took this for granted, I thought it would be there forever. After all it worked: life expectancy increased by ten years for everyone over the life time of the NHS. For many years it was held up to the world as a shining example of what could be achieved with a bit of vision and a bit of compassion. Along with all the other appalling changes taking place in Britain on April 1st 2013, the dismantling the NHS and the Welfare State makes me afraid for the whole world. That compassion and care for fellow human beings is on the wane. If it is, we will all be poorer, and sicker.

Without the NHS I might not be here today.

Without the NHS, how many people will not be here in ten years time?

Footnote:

Just a week after I wrote this, the death was announced of the original architect of the destruction of the NHS, Margaret Thatcher. She won't be around to see her work finished, nor will she have to endure the appalling conditions that may be her legacy ...

Silent Sunday 31.3.13

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 18:07:00 +0000

Reasons to be cheerful 28.3.13

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 10:03:00 +0000

I've not been a happy bunny this week, despite the promise of lots and lots of chocolate at the weekend. I've got Easter holiday cabin fever, and the news in Ireland and overseas has been very depressing. Working women in Ireland are told they may have to go home if their childcare costs exceed their current salaries, the disabled and sick to bear the brunt of cutbacks in the UK, a rape victim in Ohio gets blamed, Gardai to be disciplined for a peaceful protest, and a website that is actually used by young people is vilified when some no-so-young people don't like some of the content.

So it's a good time to find some reasons to be cheerful:

CANCER FEARS

The lesion on my face that was removed in the same week as the colonoscopy and the smear, is not cancerous. A huge relief, just waiting on the other results now, but they were routine tests, so I'm not too worried.

CHOCOLATE AND PHONES

Another package of phones arrived from my lovely friend in Slovenia for the Phones for AJ Appeal and she sent this too:

Isn't she thoughtful?

ASPERGERS, ANXIETY AND AWESOMENESS

My son has finally got over his fear of the bogey man in the local Tesco that he thought was trying to abduct him. It's only taken a year! But at least we can now walk to the nearest shops more often. Now I just need to find a way to tackle his fear of the dark...

Like many children with Aspergers my son is fairly obsessed with gaming, and I'd never seen any advantages to this. Until now. You need to know that he really struggles with handwriting, and most of his written work is short and untidy. But earlier this week I saw what he is capable of when given a laptop and a subject of interest: he'd typed up a 1000 word guide to building a character in the on-line game, Awesomenauts. And you'd never guess it was written by an 11 year old boy - perhaps I'm finally getting to see the awesome side of Aspergers.

A SHOWER CHAIR FOR SMILEY

Finally we may have one, it's only been a year since the saga of the shower chair began, but it looks as though this one might work (and she was smiling just before I took the picture..) Of course now the chair has to be sanctioned, ordered and delivered, which could take another 6 months, but hopefully it won't.

NIGHTS OUT WITH MY DAUGHTER

I still have to pinch myself to see is it really true that my 20 year old wants to go places with her Mum! It didn't happen when I was young. But we get on, we like many of the same things, so why not? And so we went to the cinema last night and it was lovely to get out :)

Reasons to be Cheerful is being hosted by Seasider in the City for a few weeks, so head on over if you want to read more positive stories...

March is Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 10:01:00 +0000

And today is National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day in the US. I don't think that cerebral palsy gets as much attention as other disorders and I was unaware of these campaigns until today. So I feel I have to do something to change that!

One of my all-time favourite photos of her x

My special girl has quadriplegic cerebral palsy and some other undiagnosed disorder, which together cause her significant physical and intellectual difficulties, which I plan to detail on the disability page on this blog - when I finally get it finished....

More about cerebral palsy here:

http://www.patient.co.uk/health/Cerebral-Palsy.htm

Would a savings tax be better than a property tax?

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sat, 23 Mar 2013 11:40:00 +0000

"Where is the compassion?" That was the question from a caller to a radio show yesterday about the new property tax in Ireland. Where indeed.

We've all heard the cold hard intimidating voices of Revenue, telling us that they will take our money, they will get tax, there is no-where to hide.

And other voices are joining in: another caller yesterday advised people to sell their houses if they could not afford the property tax. Did he mean everyone who becomes unemployed? Separated? Old? Disabled? Poor? Do they all have to sell the homes they have worked all their lives for? Leave the communities where they have roots, help, support? And there's the so-called 'hard' cases, like families who have adapted their homes for their disabled dependents? Should they just sell up, and if they do, what will happen to their dependents?

Even if he doesn't care about people's feelings, what about cold hard costs? Breaking up communities and forcing people or whole families to move may not be cost-free.

As I wrote before:

"Is the property tax the final insult to people who have worked all their lives to buy a house where they assumed they could live out their days? Up until now you could have the electrics switched off and the bins uncollected, but you would still have a roof over your head. One you chose, one you paid for. Now even this is under threat. For most people getting the electricity switched back on again is achievable, but if you lose your home there is a good chance that you will never own another one, and could become dependent on the State - and how is this going to help?"

What price social cohesion, mental health?

Internationally the Irish people have been praised for not taking to the streets in any numbers and protesting. Perhaps it's partly because they still feel some security and comfort living in a community that supports and understands them. Perhaps it's because most people are still living in their own homes.

If people have to leave their homes due to this tax - or due to to repossessions- how will they feel then? Perhaps they will feel that they have nothing left to lose? Then you might see real marches in the streets, real social unrest. People who have nothing left may not hold back.

The pain of this recession has not been shared evenly at all. It has left some people virtually untouched, and shredded the lives of others, as I predicted back in 2009.

The Irish property tax will just make this worse..

1. Geographical unfairness

Since the property tax is based on a notional market value of your home, a family coping with unemployment and negative equity living in Dublin may well pay substantially more property tax than a millionaire living on an estate elsewhere in the country.

2. Only the first acre counts

That will obviously provide further help to millionaires living on estates in the country.

3. Means are not taken into account

This is where I see red. In theory I am not opposed to a tax to support local services, so long as we all get the chance to see where the money goes and can express our opinions in local elections. But no tax should be levied on people who cannot afford to pay.

Means-testing everyone would be a nightmare, but there must be other ways to ensure that people can afford to pay this tax?

Could it be capped at as agreed percentage of net pay, say after the mortgage has been paid? It's a self-assessment tax so why can't we just send in details of our income and tell Revenue how much we can pay them?

If we have to pay all this extra tax, then what is needed is FAIRNESS, and that means everyone contributing what they can afford. Which is why I'm wondering why the proposed savings tax has been condemned and voted down by the Cypriot Parliament? They say that it will 'punish' people who money into savings. Um. So isn't that just like the way the property tax 'punishes' people who put their money into houses?

Commentators are appalled that money is to be taken out of people's bank accounts. But that is exactly what will happen here, if people can't or don't pay their property tax. Apparently. Their bank accounts will be raided by Revenue, whether the money is there or not.

It seems that everyone calls for fairness, for a sharing of the burden. Until it affects them. Is that why politicians are so against a savings tax? Surely if you have savings then you can afford to make a contribution, or am I missing something?

Disclosure: I still do have some savings left...

All of the day and all of the night

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 09:27:00 +0000

No-one tells you the truth about parenting, do they?

BB (before baby) most of us hear the rumours about the sleepless nights with small babies, but we don't realise that it doesn't end there....

Before I tell you this story, you should know that I am feeling much happier this morning after a mixed weekend.

Saturday was great fun, thanks to Jazzygal.

Sunday was never going to measure up. I had it all planned. For the first time in several years I was going to take Smiley to the St Patrick's Day Parade. I'd organised for aspie boy to be minded, and tickets for the disabled viewing area, following assurances that it was much better than the pen we were squashed into last time.

Then we woke up to this:

No way could I make Smiley watch the Parade in that, even with her ski clothes she would not be warm for long. So we stayed in the house all day and I tried to entertain myself by messing around with my blog - hope you like the new look!

Obviously the weather doesn't have the same effect on the young, so Angel headed out early with her friends and off to an all-night party.

"See you tomorrow!" I said, as she headed out the door, all swishy hair and black leggings.

It began soon after midnight, with an 'urgent' text request from Angel at 12.30. That was followed by unsettled dreams about people on twitter trying to contact me. So much so that when I next woke at around three, I checked my phone. Just in case.

At 4.30 I woke to hear rustling and banging downstairs. My heart jumped. Could that be a burglar filling a bag with loot? Downstairs, near my special girl?

I slipped silently out of bed, donned slippers and glasses, and armed with my GHD, crept down the stairs trying to force my face into a fierce look.

"Who's there?"

Trying to keep my voice steady.

"Mum! I'm just having a snack, sorry I woke you."

"The party finished early then.."

Red faces all round.

Up the stairs I went again. And at precisely 6.02 am I heard Smiley chattering on the baby monitor. There was just time for a quick coffee - essential so that I can get her up safely - and then another day began...

Respite, giggles and more messy medical stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 19:30:00 +0000

It's been a long time since Smiley was in respite, and the last overnight ended in tears, lots of them. But my social worker did not give up and by Christmas she had another plan. A small respite house in a country village where just a handful of children stay over together with a few who live there, and no agency workers, so Smiley could get to know the staff. This sounded good and the first meeting left me feeling confident. Smiley was relaxed and interested, so I booked her in for two sessions of afternoon respite to familiarise her. The first time I went to collect her she was looking a bit worried and then gave a big smile when she saw me. The second time she looked as though she wanted to stay. And last night, she did.

The day before I wobbled, especially at bedtime when she just looked so happy!

There was lots of preparation, including a special social story with pictures, which the school and I used to prepare her for her 'sleepover'. On the morning there was no time for anything except packing and list checking. And then she was gone.

My day was very productive, starting with a visit to the surgery to get a stitch taken out. But while I was there the nurse took a look at my chart and said:

"You're due a smear, will I do it now?"

What?

Panic time...

Brain went through rapid checklist:

Shower: yes
Clean undies: yes
Wax/shave: no

Eeek!

But after a week of embarrassing and awkward medical procedures, surely I could cope with one more?

So I let her. And hopefully there will no more poking and prodding and scraping and cutting this side of Christmas.

Rather stupidly I filled the rest of the day with shopping - the boring kind - administration and work. I did rent a DVD for the evening, but my son kept asking me to turn it down and the soft Scottish accents of the characters meant I couldn't hear half the story! I missed Smiley, especially in the quiet of the kitchen, so perhaps staying home and doing chores is not the best use of free time.

Memo to self: next time Smiley is in Respite DO SOMETHING FUN.

The highlight of the day was a call at about 8pm from the Respite House. Nothing was wrong, they were just ringing to tell me how she was getting on! A second call in the morning confirmed that all went pretty well. No tears, just lots of excited giggling, which was non-stop from 4.30am in the morning!

She arrived back to school happy, and there was more laughter this afternoon when we went for a walk, after a treat of mashed up banana muffins and custard. So I'm almost afraid to jinx it but it looks like this new respite house is a complete success :D

My son also benefited. I slept in till almost 7. My son got up at the same time. By choice. And only made me wait for about 5 minutes while he did his 'stretches'.

I do wonder if some of his 'difficult' behaviour is due to jealousy of his sister and how much time and attention she needs from me. So perhaps more respite for Smiley could improve my relationship with him too?

Wouldn't that be wonderful.

Banana Buns for Busy Bakers!

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 20:33:00 +0000

Did you know that paper cake cases are a busy baker's best friend? You *may* have noticed that my family love cake of every kind, but a life that involves running around all day after kids, to appointments and other meetings, last minute shopping, frantic dashes to the pharmacy as someone's prescription has run out - takes deep breath - is not conducive to the slow baking of large loaves and cakes. Enter the paper cake case.

Because big things can be made small!

Due to the random eating habits of my children I often end up with too much food. But not the food that they want to eat. Obviously as their Mum I try to eat as much of it myself as possible, even when it's something I don't usually eat, like egg yolks or beetroot. Which leads to some strange meals at times and lots of sludgy coloured soup...

This week it was bananas. A bowl full of very ripe bananas. With no time to make banana bread, so I invented banana buns instead. They're very simple, because that's how my kids roll....

Banana Buns

makes 12 large ones - use muffin cases

Ingredients

285g/10oz self-raising flour
110g/4oz butter
225g/8oz soft brown sugar
2 eggs
4 ripe bananas
1 tsp vanilla extract

Method

1. Oven on at 180C/350F/Gas 4.
2. Use a food mixer/processor to thoroughly mix together the butter, sugar and bananas (saves mashing)
3. Beat in the eggs and vanilla essence.
4. Fold in the sifted flour.
5. Spoon into the paper muffin cases and ideally put them in a muffin tray.
6. Bake in the oven until well risen and golden: about 20 minutes.

Delicious when still warm...

Surviving gastroscopy

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 10:07:00 +0000

I was feeling fairly miserable this morning. No water, no coffee, very little sleep and wondering what I had forgotten to tell Angel about getting the kids to school as I left for the hospital in cold light of early morning. But most of all I was worried about what would happen in the hospital. But not the procedure you understand. The fasting. The waiting. The lack of information. Worrying that you'd be the one they forgot. Wondering when the procedures started. Yes I should have asked. Wondering if the secretary I spoke to really had the power to put me first on the list if I said no to sedation....

In the waiting room there was talk about the procedure and several people expressed shock that I was going to skip sedation. Words like 'brave' and 'mad' were mentioned. And I have been known to wish for mild sedation when life gets difficult at home. But hospital sedation? I've been there. Sure it means I don't remember anything about whatever the horrible thing is that they did to me. But I'm not allowed to go home on my own. I tried to persuade the nurses one time that a random taxi driver was there to pick me up but they were having none of it and I had to put in an emergency call to a friend: the joys of being single! And then you're doollally for the rest of the day. Not ideal when minding two kids with special needs and trying to work as well. My GP reckoned I'd cope without sedation, so I thought I'd give it a go. How hard could it be? I wasn't too worried about the results, as it was a routine check of my tummy because I've been on this medication for five years.

At the hospital I was the second to arrive and the third to be called in to the ward. But there were plenty of people behind me. I just got more and more anxious, made worse by dehydration and hospital heat. Then an hour after I arrived a nurse finally told me that I was first on the list. I could have kissed her. It just shows you that knowing what is going to happen is far more important to me than how bad the thing is. Well within reason obviously.

Things got better after that. It turned out that the nurse who was looking after me in the operating room used to look after Smiley in the children's hospital 16 years ago! So she came back to the ward with me afterwards to look at photos, and made sure that I was well looked after.

Do you want to know what a gastroscopy is like? Without sedation? Well you get this spray on your throat that burns and tastes of old bananas. Then a mouth guard is put in, you concentrate on your breathing and hold the nurse's hand. They put the camera down your throat, you retch a bit, burp a bit, cry a bit - well I did - but within a few minutes it's all over. I may have felt like I was choking, but I didn't feel like I was dying. So not as bad a childbirth then, and over much more quickly. The other benefit is that the consultant was able to tell me unofficially that all looked fine.

Then it was back to the ward for the spray to wear off, tea and toast and home, all before ten o'clock.

And the only after effect? A blinding headache due to lack of coffee.....

Silent Sunday 10.3.13

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 17:17:00 +0000

Why I don't like International Women's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Looking for Blue Sky) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 09:17:00 +0000

***Rant alert***

I always wanted to be a man.

As a girl I saw that men have more power, more money and more fun.

I saw women who were vulnerable, powerless, handicapped by hormones, periods, the menopause, endless housework, and most of all, fertility.

And I didn't change my mind when I grew up. As a young woman, I tried to be a man. I worked with them, ran with them, drank with them, drove fast cars, jumped out of aeroplanes, worked long hours. And it was (mostly) fun, and I was well paid.

Then I got married and had children. And everything changed. I did discover the one advantage of being a woman: the miraculous ability to create and nurture life. And I found out that this is a mixed blessing in so many ways. Feminism and the womens' rights movements have a achieved a huge amount. Today a woman can do almost anything she wants, so long as she doesn't have children, or other caring duties. Even though everyone expects to get good quality care when they need it.

It is still through our fertility that society exerts power and control over women. Even before birth, the pro choice people will blame you for having an abortion. Right wingers will shame you for having a child if you not married. Once your baby is born, your overwhelming urge to nurture and protect your child also becomes your weakness. It enables men to control you, employers to sideline you, society to ignore you and the education, health and social welfare systems to beat you down with paperwork, expectations, bureaucracy. You become a second class citizen in the eyes of the world, even though you are doing the most important job of all: rearing the next generation. Yet children are not valued, and nor is the job of looking after them. Homemaking has very little status and is not much fun, for most of us. Many mums put all their energy into their children, but get the blame if they they don't grow up perfect.

Why should women be expected to give up everything for their children? Is it good for women? Is it good for their children? There are lots of pictures floating around Facebook about Mothers and the sacrifices that they should make for their children. But I think that 'liking' these pictures means that society will just expect more sacrifices from mothers. And where are the equivalent pictures for fathers? I know that many of today's fathers are very involved in the lives of their children. And that is something to celebrate, but it is not expected, it is not assumed.

Don't get me wrong: I love my children more than life itself. I just don't love the way that society views me now that I am a mother. And until that changes, International Women's Day is pretty meaningless.