Suggesting a candidate for British Mummy Blogger of the week is a daunting task (there are now 313 of us, did you know that?), but it gives me a reason to visit blogs that aren't on my blogroll, and highlights one of the things that I like best about blogging. Apart from the opportunity to complete a thought from beginning to end without being asked for television / sweets / a trip to the loo / to adjucate in the latest battle over who gets to play with the power ranger communicator next, that is.
One of my favourite things about blogging is the way that it offers a window onto other people's lives and experiences.
Sometimes the view through this window is Hollywood make-believe. Sometimes it's real-life but seen soft-focus, tweaked a little here and there to make things a little more interesting or entertaining (the Potty Diaries being a case in point). Sometimes it's reality tv; not in the 'car-crash I-can't-watch-but-I can't-look-away' fashion of so much on the screens today, but more in a way that illuminates a corner that you may be aware of, but which you might not usually have much cause to investigate.
Which brings me to Mighty Mother's blog.
On her BMB profile she writes:
'This blog is about the journey I have taken with my son. The journey that has taken me through a uncharted world, that has taken Jonathan from severely autistic to high functioning. Thirteen years have passed and the journey still continues. My son has taught me and many others unforgettable and wonderful lessons about life and love. If I had the choice to live without autism I can honestly say I wouldn’t change a thing.'
Mighty Mother blogs frankly, entertainingly and openly about life with her family, and offers useful tips, books and products for others that might be in similar situations. She also takes a good look at issues affecting her son and his condition, as here where she discusses the myths surrounding autism, and here where she talks about accepting her son's condition and consequently, who he is.
Take a look, it's enlightening.
To visit the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but we're not fussy. Dads can be members too)
http://mightymother.info/
Sunday, 31 May 2009
Friday, 29 May 2009
Free Ticket Offer for the Allergy Show
It’s the Allergy Show at Olympia this month. ‘Allergy’. It’s an emotive word. If you read this blog regularly you'll probably have picked up that my Boys can't eat nuts.
It wasn't supposed to be that way, of course. I’m one of the lucky ones, never affected by so much as hayfever, and for much of my life I rather arrogantly thought that was more of an act of will –‘ I’m not sissy enough to suffer from allergies! ‘- than what it actually is; a gift from the gods. And I certainly never imagined that one would affect my children.
Famous last words; at 8 months pregnant with Boy #2 I discovered that pride comes before a fall when one evening Boy #1 asked for – and was given - a brazil nut. I had been advised not to give him any nuts before his second birthday, but that had just passed so I thought, why not? He was my son; of course he wouldn’t be allergic.
He started to chew. The next moment, my smug preconceptions shattered as he spat the nut out and started to cry. Two minutes later his hands had turned bright red, white pin-pricks appearing all over them.
Trying not to panic I dropped everything, rushed him out to the car, and we made it to the paediatric emergency department of Chelsea & Westminster Hospital in 5 minutes flat. By the time we got there he was unrecognisable, the top of his face swollen like a punch-drunk boxer’s. Whilst we were ‘lucky’, and this time the puffiness stopped just below his eyes - meaning that his airways were left clear – his was a fairly serious reaction and the normal treatment (Piriton) didn’t work; he had to be admitted overnight and given steroids.
It was a chastening experience for one so blithely certain that allergies were for sissies.
Since then we have been fortunate, experiencing only one or two ‘incidents’. We carry Piriton and an epi-pen with us everywhere we go, and since nuts appear in more processed food than you might imagine, home-baking now features heavily in my culinary repertoire. (Not great for my figure, but it would be a crime to make a cake and not taste it yourself, don’t you agree?) And I have had to overcome my natural English reticence, becoming a complete pain when eating out and at children's parties, questioning lists of ingredients and carrying back-up supplies of snacks in case the answers don’t come up to scratch. Which is scarily often.
Nowadays, allergy is an inconvenience rather than something that has blighted our lives. Both Boys are matter of fact about it and understand that nuts are off-limits. There is the slight chance that they may grow out of this (only 10% of nut allergy sufferers do, however), or that modern medicine might find a cure, but right now we just tell them it is something that they will always have. They seem to accept it, for the moment at least.
Sadly, it does mean that peanut butter and satay – to which Husband and I were previously both addicted – are forbidden fruit. Which, I suppose, at least balances out some of the damage done to my waistline by all that home-baking...
I wrote this piece for a local magazine, and they've given me 2 pairs of free tickets for the Allergy & Gluten Free Show at Earls Court Olympia in June. If you're interested in going, drop me a line with your address at pottymummy(at)gmail(dot)com and I will pass them on to the first two people who do so...
It wasn't supposed to be that way, of course. I’m one of the lucky ones, never affected by so much as hayfever, and for much of my life I rather arrogantly thought that was more of an act of will –‘ I’m not sissy enough to suffer from allergies! ‘- than what it actually is; a gift from the gods. And I certainly never imagined that one would affect my children.
Famous last words; at 8 months pregnant with Boy #2 I discovered that pride comes before a fall when one evening Boy #1 asked for – and was given - a brazil nut. I had been advised not to give him any nuts before his second birthday, but that had just passed so I thought, why not? He was my son; of course he wouldn’t be allergic.
He started to chew. The next moment, my smug preconceptions shattered as he spat the nut out and started to cry. Two minutes later his hands had turned bright red, white pin-pricks appearing all over them.
Trying not to panic I dropped everything, rushed him out to the car, and we made it to the paediatric emergency department of Chelsea & Westminster Hospital in 5 minutes flat. By the time we got there he was unrecognisable, the top of his face swollen like a punch-drunk boxer’s. Whilst we were ‘lucky’, and this time the puffiness stopped just below his eyes - meaning that his airways were left clear – his was a fairly serious reaction and the normal treatment (Piriton) didn’t work; he had to be admitted overnight and given steroids.
It was a chastening experience for one so blithely certain that allergies were for sissies.
Since then we have been fortunate, experiencing only one or two ‘incidents’. We carry Piriton and an epi-pen with us everywhere we go, and since nuts appear in more processed food than you might imagine, home-baking now features heavily in my culinary repertoire. (Not great for my figure, but it would be a crime to make a cake and not taste it yourself, don’t you agree?) And I have had to overcome my natural English reticence, becoming a complete pain when eating out and at children's parties, questioning lists of ingredients and carrying back-up supplies of snacks in case the answers don’t come up to scratch. Which is scarily often.
Nowadays, allergy is an inconvenience rather than something that has blighted our lives. Both Boys are matter of fact about it and understand that nuts are off-limits. There is the slight chance that they may grow out of this (only 10% of nut allergy sufferers do, however), or that modern medicine might find a cure, but right now we just tell them it is something that they will always have. They seem to accept it, for the moment at least.
Sadly, it does mean that peanut butter and satay – to which Husband and I were previously both addicted – are forbidden fruit. Which, I suppose, at least balances out some of the damage done to my waistline by all that home-baking...
I wrote this piece for a local magazine, and they've given me 2 pairs of free tickets for the Allergy & Gluten Free Show at Earls Court Olympia in June. If you're interested in going, drop me a line with your address at pottymummy(at)gmail(dot)com and I will pass them on to the first two people who do so...
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Of Mice and Boys
A lot has happened over the last couple of days. A LOT. Where to start?
First off - the Mouse is back, dammit. After lying low for a couple of months (aka; being smart enough not to be spotted but still having free run of the place when my back was turned or I didn't have my contacts in), it declared itself this morning when I got back from the gym. Boy #2, having been left with his father for the incredibly long hour and a half that I was away, was tearing the place up with gay abandon as I walked through the front door. The Mouse, clearly having had enough of the madness, was throwing itself physically against the shut kitchen door in an attempt to make a getaway under the kitchen cabinets.
A Mummy made of sterner stuff than I would have dealt with it on the spot, but not I. Oh no. What did I do? I politely opened the door so it could dash for it's escape hatch and resolved that Husband can deal with it this evening. I hope it likes tuna. That's what the trap will be baited with...
Secondly, Boy #1 had his first school assembly. They're held every Wednesday and parents are always welcome but since his timetable precludes his attending we haven't been before now. Yesterday, however, he had an award to collect (along with most of his year), so the Potty Family pulled on their best bib and tucker (clean jeans, in my case), packed my handbag with bribes to control Boy #2, and trundled along to watch Boy #1 collect his certificate. It was a surreal experience, and made my experiences from last September seem an awfully long time ago.
Along with the rest of his class he trotted happily up onto the stage and was applauded by the whole school and various parents. He seemed so grown up - and yet not. He's still small enough for me to gather close (it's getting harder and more uncomfortable, but I do it whenever I get the chance, remembering countless pieces of advice to make the most of these moments because they won't last), but I'm starting to get flashes of what he might become - given fair weather and a following wind.
Yesterday evening I went into my sons' room and watched them for while as they slept. As a parent, it's such a priviledge to be able to do that; to watch their features in repose. I often find myself thinking that if I could curl up on a mattress on their bedroom floor then that would be true luxury. Forget fancy holidays and jewellery; sleeping next to my children would be enough.
Never going to happen though. Because then, before I get carried away, I remember the Mouse. And immediately, the prospect of sleeping on the floor becomes impossible.
Drat that rodent.
I was also going to post about our fun and games at the hospital this afternoon when both boys had scratch tests to check on their allergies, and follow that up with a review of the Disney movie that we watched subsequently to calm one of them down (no prizes for guessing which), but I'm out of time. It's the last episode ever EVER of ER this evening.
The phone is coming off the hook.
First off - the Mouse is back, dammit. After lying low for a couple of months (aka; being smart enough not to be spotted but still having free run of the place when my back was turned or I didn't have my contacts in), it declared itself this morning when I got back from the gym. Boy #2, having been left with his father for the incredibly long hour and a half that I was away, was tearing the place up with gay abandon as I walked through the front door. The Mouse, clearly having had enough of the madness, was throwing itself physically against the shut kitchen door in an attempt to make a getaway under the kitchen cabinets.
A Mummy made of sterner stuff than I would have dealt with it on the spot, but not I. Oh no. What did I do? I politely opened the door so it could dash for it's escape hatch and resolved that Husband can deal with it this evening. I hope it likes tuna. That's what the trap will be baited with...
Secondly, Boy #1 had his first school assembly. They're held every Wednesday and parents are always welcome but since his timetable precludes his attending we haven't been before now. Yesterday, however, he had an award to collect (along with most of his year), so the Potty Family pulled on their best bib and tucker (clean jeans, in my case), packed my handbag with bribes to control Boy #2, and trundled along to watch Boy #1 collect his certificate. It was a surreal experience, and made my experiences from last September seem an awfully long time ago.
Along with the rest of his class he trotted happily up onto the stage and was applauded by the whole school and various parents. He seemed so grown up - and yet not. He's still small enough for me to gather close (it's getting harder and more uncomfortable, but I do it whenever I get the chance, remembering countless pieces of advice to make the most of these moments because they won't last), but I'm starting to get flashes of what he might become - given fair weather and a following wind.
Yesterday evening I went into my sons' room and watched them for while as they slept. As a parent, it's such a priviledge to be able to do that; to watch their features in repose. I often find myself thinking that if I could curl up on a mattress on their bedroom floor then that would be true luxury. Forget fancy holidays and jewellery; sleeping next to my children would be enough.
Never going to happen though. Because then, before I get carried away, I remember the Mouse. And immediately, the prospect of sleeping on the floor becomes impossible.
Drat that rodent.
I was also going to post about our fun and games at the hospital this afternoon when both boys had scratch tests to check on their allergies, and follow that up with a review of the Disney movie that we watched subsequently to calm one of them down (no prizes for guessing which), but I'm out of time. It's the last episode ever EVER of ER this evening.
The phone is coming off the hook.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
In which I am fading fast...
Can someone tell me, please, why we decided to send Boy #1 to his current school? Oh, it's a good one, yes. He loves it, that's true. They are doing an excellent job with him, undoubtedly.
But their half term is next week, not this. And Boy #2's nursery is, like every other nursery in existence, taking it's half term this week. Not next.
So I have not one but two weeks of small boys at home, bored, without their brother.
And it's only Day 3. And raining.
Heeeeeeeeelllllllpppppp meeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
But their half term is next week, not this. And Boy #2's nursery is, like every other nursery in existence, taking it's half term this week. Not next.
So I have not one but two weeks of small boys at home, bored, without their brother.
And it's only Day 3. And raining.
Heeeeeeeeelllllllpppppp meeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
Monday, 25 May 2009
Normal service temporarily suspended
If you live outside the UK you may not have heard about the latest scandal to come out of the Houses of Parliament. At least, I suppose that I'm hoping you haven't. It's all just so... embarrassing. What on earth will people think?
Let's pretend you haven't heard about it. Amazingly enough, it turns out that a large number of our MP's have been fiddling their expenses, some of them in quite a grand and impressive way. Who would have thought it? Politicians? Untrustworthy? Oh dear me, surely not...
But yes. It seems that items like home cinema's have been found to be essential for certain Honourable Members to do their jobs properly, and have been charged back to the tax payer. As have massage chairs, custom-built wooden homes for ducks, renovated moats around manor houses, swimming pool boilers, hanging baskets and pot-plants, £87,000 worth of furniture for one gentleman's London residence, and - oh, the list is endless. And sickening.
Needless to say this has resulted in a great deal of media coverage, and great deal of 'outraged from Purley' type comments from the general public. It has also led to a general air of depression in the House of Commons (poor diddums...), and a vast amount of denial, wispy prevarication, and an increasing amount of blood-letting by the esteemed heads of our major political parties, all of which are equally implicated in this mess.
But really.
Isn't it time that this all got sorted out and we moved on? I mean, it's not as if claiming expenses is a practice peculiar to our Parliament; every business in the land has a structure to deal with it, and there are computer programmes out there that are more or less fool-proof. Bin the antiquated system currently in place, prosecute those guilty of fraud, slap the wrists of those Honourable Members who were in fact anything but, remove any chance of their being re-elected, and let's stop all this (self)righteous outrage.
I'm not for a moment suggesting that we should let those guilty beggars off the hook, but whilst all this white noise is going on isn't it distracting us from the fact there are so many other things to get heated about? And for far better reason?
Let's see, just for starters, close to home we have the imbalance in men & women's pay scales as so interestingly discussed by Amity on her Noble Savage blog recently. We have the parlous state of our National Health Service. We have the fact that there are three million children living in poverty in Great Britain. THREE MILLION! And we like to think we're a first world country.
Further afield girls are being murdered in Afghanistan for having the temerity to go to school. Women who have the courage to stand up to rapists in Pakistan are prevented from speaking out about their experiences if their attackers are - in extremely rare cases - convicted. In China parents have been sold formula milk so polluted that their babies are disfigured and handicapped for life. Children orphaned or separated from the parents in war zones across the world are prey to all sorts of horrific predators. And so on...
So yes, be cross. Be angry about what's happened in parliament. Get it changed. But let's not forget that whilst our MP's bleat about their poor level of renumeration (which, by they way, they may have a point about - but which doesn't mean claiming for a bathplug is acceptable) there are things going on in the world that are far more deserving of being the subject of our outrage.
Rant over.
Fluffy bunnies and potty training will return tomorrow...
Let's pretend you haven't heard about it. Amazingly enough, it turns out that a large number of our MP's have been fiddling their expenses, some of them in quite a grand and impressive way. Who would have thought it? Politicians? Untrustworthy? Oh dear me, surely not...
But yes. It seems that items like home cinema's have been found to be essential for certain Honourable Members to do their jobs properly, and have been charged back to the tax payer. As have massage chairs, custom-built wooden homes for ducks, renovated moats around manor houses, swimming pool boilers, hanging baskets and pot-plants, £87,000 worth of furniture for one gentleman's London residence, and - oh, the list is endless. And sickening.
Needless to say this has resulted in a great deal of media coverage, and great deal of 'outraged from Purley' type comments from the general public. It has also led to a general air of depression in the House of Commons (poor diddums...), and a vast amount of denial, wispy prevarication, and an increasing amount of blood-letting by the esteemed heads of our major political parties, all of which are equally implicated in this mess.
But really.
Isn't it time that this all got sorted out and we moved on? I mean, it's not as if claiming expenses is a practice peculiar to our Parliament; every business in the land has a structure to deal with it, and there are computer programmes out there that are more or less fool-proof. Bin the antiquated system currently in place, prosecute those guilty of fraud, slap the wrists of those Honourable Members who were in fact anything but, remove any chance of their being re-elected, and let's stop all this (self)righteous outrage.
I'm not for a moment suggesting that we should let those guilty beggars off the hook, but whilst all this white noise is going on isn't it distracting us from the fact there are so many other things to get heated about? And for far better reason?
Let's see, just for starters, close to home we have the imbalance in men & women's pay scales as so interestingly discussed by Amity on her Noble Savage blog recently. We have the parlous state of our National Health Service. We have the fact that there are three million children living in poverty in Great Britain. THREE MILLION! And we like to think we're a first world country.
Further afield girls are being murdered in Afghanistan for having the temerity to go to school. Women who have the courage to stand up to rapists in Pakistan are prevented from speaking out about their experiences if their attackers are - in extremely rare cases - convicted. In China parents have been sold formula milk so polluted that their babies are disfigured and handicapped for life. Children orphaned or separated from the parents in war zones across the world are prey to all sorts of horrific predators. And so on...
So yes, be cross. Be angry about what's happened in parliament. Get it changed. But let's not forget that whilst our MP's bleat about their poor level of renumeration (which, by they way, they may have a point about - but which doesn't mean claiming for a bathplug is acceptable) there are things going on in the world that are far more deserving of being the subject of our outrage.
Rant over.
Fluffy bunnies and potty training will return tomorrow...
Sunday, 24 May 2009
British Parent Blogger of the Week
It's Sunday, a beautiful day, probably the best weather we've had in the UK this year. Where else would I be but inside, blogging?
Why is this? Well, once upon a time there was a teeny tiny blogging network for mummies. Originally set up by a farsighted blogger who realised that social networking (did you know that that was what you're doing when you log onto the British Mummy Bloggers Ning? Me neither...) was a fantastic way to interact with like minds, it started small. Slowly it grew, and started to attract more and more members, until the bright spark who had volunteered to go through them and showcase a different blogger every week wondered how she had got herself into this mess...
But I digress, as ever.
As the ning grew, it began to change. It became less of a network for mummy bloggers, and more of a network for parent bloggers. And whilst I don't see any namechange in the offing for the ning - if it works, why fix it? - I'm going to take the liberty (I hope this is OK, Susanna?) of at least temporarily renaming this feature British Parent Blogger of the Week*.
*As hosted by BMB reg'd trademark no names no pack drill you ain't seen me right? etc etc...
Anyway, enough waffle. Here it is, my suggested British Parent Blogger of the Week: Single Parent Dad. Check it out, and you'll see why.
To take a look at the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but we're not fussy. As you see, Dads can be members too)
Why is this? Well, once upon a time there was a teeny tiny blogging network for mummies. Originally set up by a farsighted blogger who realised that social networking (did you know that that was what you're doing when you log onto the British Mummy Bloggers Ning? Me neither...) was a fantastic way to interact with like minds, it started small. Slowly it grew, and started to attract more and more members, until the bright spark who had volunteered to go through them and showcase a different blogger every week wondered how she had got herself into this mess...
But I digress, as ever.
As the ning grew, it began to change. It became less of a network for mummy bloggers, and more of a network for parent bloggers. And whilst I don't see any namechange in the offing for the ning - if it works, why fix it? - I'm going to take the liberty (I hope this is OK, Susanna?) of at least temporarily renaming this feature British Parent Blogger of the Week*.
*As hosted by BMB reg'd trademark no names no pack drill you ain't seen me right? etc etc...
Anyway, enough waffle. Here it is, my suggested British Parent Blogger of the Week: Single Parent Dad. Check it out, and you'll see why.
To take a look at the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but we're not fussy. As you see, Dads can be members too)
Friday, 22 May 2009
Friday felicitations
I'm in the kitchen unpacking the shopping. Boy #2 is 'helping', bustling around and depositing the dry goods in the fridge and the frozen ones in the cupboards.
Suddenly he stops, looks at me quizzically and says "Mama, can you get my book for me?" "Which book, darling?" "The one. The one from this morning. Can you get my dirty book for me?"
???
Further questioning reveals there is a dirty dog in the dirty book. I am still none the wiser...
Heaven only knows what treasures this will cause to pop up in the Google Ad box. This morning there is one for 'Tattoed girls looking to meet' and another offering 'Laser Tattoo Removal'... Because that's what I blog about, clearly; tattoos and dating...
Suddenly he stops, looks at me quizzically and says "Mama, can you get my book for me?" "Which book, darling?" "The one. The one from this morning. Can you get my dirty book for me?"
???
Further questioning reveals there is a dirty dog in the dirty book. I am still none the wiser...
Heaven only knows what treasures this will cause to pop up in the Google Ad box. This morning there is one for 'Tattoed girls looking to meet' and another offering 'Laser Tattoo Removal'... Because that's what I blog about, clearly; tattoos and dating...
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