Do you remember my friend Mrs Jones?( We met again recently for coffee. Truth be told both of us could have done with a large gin followed by a prosecco chaser but it’s generally frowned upon…
Source: Eyes WIDE Shut…..
Do you remember my friend Mrs Jones?( We met again recently for coffee. Truth be told both of us could have done with a large gin followed by a prosecco chaser but it’s generally frowned upon…
Source: Eyes WIDE Shut…..
Do you remember my friend Mrs Jones?(https://definitelynotthewaltons.com/2016/05/10/once-upon-a-time
We met again recently for coffee. Truth be told both of us could have done with a large gin followed by a prosecco chaser but it’s generally frowned upon at 9 O’clock in the morning and however much we tried to pretend it was 5 O’clock somewhere, I think even for us that was reaching.
Mrs Jones has had a tough summer. She’s not really felt up to chatting about things much and it gets a bit boring, painful, not to mention shameful to divulge too much. When the online food delivery arrives, you can bet your bottom dollar that the driver doesn’t really want your life story in response to “and how are you this morning?”
Mrs Jones knows too that once you open the floodgates, you risk breaching the dam so most of the time she keeps it inside, stiff upper lip and all that. After all isn’t it what we quintessentially British people do best? (And perhaps explains at least part of the reasoning behind the UK’s rising mental health crisis?)
Mrs Jones has learned not to trust, not to expect too much and most of all not to hope. The various agencies that assured her they would spring into action in response to James’s increasing anxiety and therefore violent outbursts against himself and the rest of the family have all gone suspiciously quiet. False promises, empty words.
The teams that told her she and her family needed urgent support over the summer holidays and how concerned they were for everyone’s well being in a time of increased family contact went awol, or possibly at least to France; who can say? They have largely so far failed to return.
Even though Mrs Jones has had to contact the police on several occasions, disarm James who had located a hammer and used it to bash holes in the wall, break chunks of wood off his bed and threatened the family with said hammer; despite Mr J having installed locks on various cupboards to store sharp objects, medications and chemicals and having purchased a safe with a combination lock, (not to store immense valuables – no matter how much she’s hinted to Mr Jones about the diamond earrings she’s rather partial too) but to keep all the different keys to cupboards, the wine chiller, the garage, for James’s own safety as well as the wider family.
Reporting these numerous incidents to the authorities and those intricately, intimately part of the Jones’s life, those who Mrs J thought had the power to do SOMETHING has elicited nothing more than a raft of paperwork that could deforest the Amazon (she and I both hope they are using recyclable paper) and a pitying head tilt with a promise to follow up and report back…at some point….Good job Mrs Jones hasn’t held her breath; she’d have expired a long time ago but each time she has to go through this rigmarole, in the vain hope it might generate some actual support, a little more of her crumbles away inside.
James meanwhile is no longer able to attend full time school and is doing the core subjects of English, Maths and Science only. This has been the case since the summer term and Mrs J spent much of the time before school broke up for the summer driving James between school, CAMHS and the hospital as needed; this is hard enough when you have one child with issues, add in others, it becomes ever more problematic.
As the school year progressed, James’s anxiety meant he couldn’t take the school bus even at times of the day when he had to be in first thing or last lesson before coming home. Mrs Jones tells me she is seriously considering a crowd funding venture into cloning for the regular parent….I’m sure she’s on to something there.
Now that the Autumn term has resumed, James has again only been able to return to school in a limited capacity and scarily, the Jones family are as yet, no closer yet to having obtained an Education Health Care Plan (EHCP – https://www.ipsea.org.uk/what-you-need-to-know/ehc-needs-assessments)
The Local Authority have 6 weeks from the date of application to decide whether they will assess a pupil for a plan then a further 20 weeks to discuss putting some kind of plan in to place and if that is agreed a further 26 weeks to hammer it out and implement whatever has been decided. A year then to plot a way forward at time of desperate need. The Jones family may still be waiting for something to be done this time next year!!
What the Jones’s would like and what James craves in terms of education AND respite is an education in a school that deals specifically with children who have high functioning autism, ADHD and PDA – Pathological Demand Avoidance – http://www.pdasociety.org.uk/what-is-PDA/about-pda
The Jones’s have managed to locate such a school. The school offers both day attendance and Monday to Friday boarding. James upon visiting the school, despite his initial trepidation and fear of something new, quickly blossomed before their eyes. His excitement after they met the headmaster, other teachers and pupils, viewed the grounds and the activities and support available was palpable. James had found his niche, his happy place, his square hole to fit his square peg.
James was for the first time in a very long while, enthusiastic about the possibilities that education could bring him in such surroundings and perhaps of most importance, the head teacher (who had initially promised 30 mins of his time, but ultimately chatted to James for an hour and half, gave the family a personal guided tour and invited them to stay for lunch) recognised something in James that could be honed; something that could be worked on, to help James become a productive, well balanced, well educated and happy member of society over the longer term.
Ultimately the Jones’s, the headmaster and James himself felt this school would enable James to achieve what he is truly capable of academically and personally. It would promote his self esteem, life skills and education both in the short term and over the years ahead to ensure James could contribute economically, personally and professionally to the system of life.
However, although Mrs J has been assured by one department that James will definitely qualify for an EHCP, ultimately of course it, all comes down to that mother of all evils: CASH. Pure, hard
dirty money and therein lies the crux. Who will pay for this? How can funds be found? As Mrs J was advised by a source, the local authority have a duty to provide your child with an education; that however doesn’t mean the best education for your child, what meets their needs best; what best supports the family as a whole.
Such was the desperation of the Jones family to secure a place at this beacon of hope, they enquired about the possibility of self funding if they could somehow find a way. But this is not an option for this particular school and only with an EHCP and funding from the local authority can James attend the school. So what will become of this family?
James’s siblings spend large parts of their time terrified of their brother’s volatility, creeping around, never knowing what can or will set him off. James’s siblings have witnessed and been subjected to his violent outbursts.
Recently his little sister was so scared of him she chose to stay on her bed and wet herself than venture into the bathroom. James’s brothers have been put in head-locks, kicked, punched, jumped on. One refuses to sleep in his own bedroom and another wants a lock for their bedroom door having heard James during a rage say he will kill him in his sleep.
They have seen James lay into their mother, using her as a punch bag in moments of sheer fury and frustration. Other adults have had to intervene on more than one occasion and the humiliation, burning shame of that, can never be under-estimated. James is hugely remorseful after such an outburst and for days after but it doesn’t stop it happening again.
The family live on tenterhooks, tip-toeing round trying to keep the peace. Family outings have become more problematic since James’s sensory processing issues have become more pronounced (he finds crowded places, busy places, noises of a certain pitch very difficult to manage and whilst the rest of the family enjoy heading off to explore and do things together, this is increasingly difficult and stressful to do en masse.
All the while, it’s clear to me and probably those around them, that the Jones’s family are barely holding it together; living in some kind of waking nightmare and sleep walking through life. But will those who hold the purse strings, those who have the power to provide some form of respite to this family see the bigger picture? Will they see past a balance sheet for one child and view the family holistically so that it doesn’t end with the rest of the children needing input from a mental health professional, from the police, from god-forbid, A&E or potentially worse still….
I am not overly given to mawkishness or sentimentality on the whole; those who know me well and especially those on my personal FB page are more inclined to find me tongue in cheek ironic about my own offspring’s “accomplishments” (0ften used in the loosest sense of the word) than lauding the joys and wonderment of parenthood.
I am not one for hashtags #blessed# or #perfectmoment# (no offence meant to those who do: your wall, your choice) on every picture of my child or their offerings. Truth be told I only signed up to Instagram yesterday (and that was only to keep up with one of the teenagers) so I have a lot to learn about the supposed art of
deluded smug parenting and a picture showing perfect days out whilst I’ve stood the other side of the lens muttering “what the actual fu#k you little dip-shi#s?? Why can’t you stand still for 5 seconds without poking/disemboweling each other?!” so I can snap a moment of proud parenting.
However today, sadly once again, my SWAN UK family grieves for one of our own and it’s hit us all very, very hard. I had the joy and the privilege to know this precious boy, his wonderful family and his gorgeous little sister in person. They were one of the first families I met when moving to Yorkshire who welcomed me, invited us to a meal and generally made such an effort to make my family and I welcome.
Cruelly in the space of not even 10 days, 2 beautiful SWAN boys are no longer with us and daily there are accounts shared of more whose lives hang in the balance, those who have received a devastating prognosis or forecast of what horrifically may lie ahead for their own child. In honour of those already taken too soon, those waiting for nature to take it course and any other parent going through the worst news they should ever face, some ramblings came to mind. I cannot proclaim that they are worth much, nor that they will help at all but to me at least they are poignant and a reminder of what I often take for granted, so here goes:
In this moment I can
Choose to despair of the doh-vince and play-dough that has welded itself to my carpets and been traipsed through out the house requiring a jackhammer to remove it or I can smile resignedly thinking of the giggles that accompanied the making of the mess
In this moment I can
Grit my teeth for the hundredth time this day because at least 2 of my children are fighting, one is stirring by taking sides and one has left his bedroom a tip for the thousandth time or I can celebrate that my children are strong enough, resilient enough to shout and yell and drop towels all over the place
In this moment I can
Keyboard warrior type e-mails to chase up appointments for surgery and chase up department heads for EHCP (education and health care plans) information that should have been forthcoming weeks ago or I can be thankful that my daughter’s surgery will ultimately make a huge difference to her life and well-being, know that my son will get an education that meets his needs, maybe not today or tomorrow but at some point in the future.
In this moment I can
Feel resigned to making lunch boxes for my children who will suddenly decide they no longer eat x,y or z simply on a whim or I can giggle at the fact that one who needs the most calories will probably only eat her sliced peppers and ponder if I can dip them in pot of (non nut infested) chocolate spread to boost her calorie intake.
In this moment I can
Rant about the newly bought but already misplaced school shoes, football boots and trainers ready for back to school tomorrow or I can take comfort from knowing my children are healthy enough, lucky enough to be heading into new terms and new experiences.
In this moment I can
Roll my eyes at yet another bath time that will see the bathroom looking like a typhoon has passed through with soap studs galore and toothpaste marks on the sink or I can delight in the smell of the Johnson’s baby bath and hair wash that really they are too old for but takes me back to their toddler years.
In this moment I can
Count down the seconds till the littlies are in bed and speed read begrudgingly through a bed time story or I can revel in my inner child, excitedly agreeing to just one more chapter of Harry Potter.
Parenthood is not all roses and laughter, nor fun and games but for every moment of frustration and anger, for every minute you wish, just fleetingly, that you could be elsewhere, that they were older, bigger, more self-sufficient, someone else will be wishing they could hold their child one last time, kiss the top of a soapy head, shush their baby off to sleep, to just be in the moment.
Picture of the Peanuts character, Schroeder
For the Music Man RD: Play on little Maestro
Let me tell you a story. Are you sitting comfortable? Then I’ll begin…
Once upon a time there was a (relatively) normal family. Let’s call them the Jones’s, although I don’t think may people will be aiming to “keep up with the Jones’s” once they have read this. In fact perhaps, it’s more a nightmare, horror type story rather than a settle-you-off-to-sleep bed time type of thing?
So the Jones’s live in a lovely but ordinary house in an ordinary part of the world and are distinctly unremarkable. Perhaps they break slightly away from the norm in that instead of the requisite 2.4 children per family, they have 4 (these days I hear that 3 is the new 2.4 anyway).
Not only do they have 4 children of varying ages but they in fact have 3 with special needs. In spite of some trials and tribulations along the way and more than a few bumps in the road over recent years, the Jones family are a happy bunch, very grateful for what they have and definitely appreciative of all the best things in life. They closely adhere to my own motto: the glass is half full – therefore more room for wine!
Nonetheless, at times things have been a bit sticky and the Jones family have often wondered whether they accidentally broke a lot of mirrors, spilt salt or walked under too many ladders for the gods of luck and chance to ignore. Perhaps they had poked the evil eye with a very sharp stick?!
When you have one child with a medical/phsyical or cognitive difficulties it can be tricky for the whole family. Add in 3, top that with children who don’t fit nicely into a tick box, one size fits all diagnosis, it becomes like doing a rubix cube – & Mrs Jones would freely admit that the only way she ever successfully completed one of those was by peeling the stickers off and rearranging them to fit the colour order…
However, the Jones’s have an extra dirty little secret; it shouldn’t be such a stigma but it still is, even in this day and age: one of their children has a significant mental health issue triggered by his diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder (ASD) – aspergers with sensory processing disorder.
Since Christmas last year, the Jones have witnessed a steady decline in their son’s mental health. He has become increasingly unhappy, rebellious, not eating or sleeping well, absenting from class, leaving home, even jumping off the first floor roof in the middle of the night and self harming frequently. The Jones’s have had to call the police on more than one occasion to enlist their help in finding their son and getting him safely home.
The Jones’s suspect that the combination of puberty, hormones and aspergers plus main stream secondary school education is over-whelming for their son. School, to their credit, have been on board and supportive, despite what must be a very frustrating and difficult time for them too, especially considering the sheer volume of pupils in the school. The Jones boy – we’ll call him James – has a cracking sense of humour when on top form but can be exhausting in the extreme, demanding of time, attention and support, and exhibit behaviour not dissimilar to that of a tantrum-ing toddler, only with a much more inventive vocabulary!!
One of the problems with a main stream school is that unless the teachers themselves decide to read up in their “free” time on subjects like autism, they will have had the very bare minimum input and training for special needs children. In spite of the huge rise in cases of autism being diagnosed, trainee teachers are given a mere glance at the SEN world and may encounter their first autistic child when he/she presents in the classroom as disruptive, disobedient, likely in their mind set, a right little sh*t, a product of questionable parenting. You might want to take a look at the vey interesting article: http://www.autism.org.uk/get-involved/media-centre/news/2016-03-21-teacher-training.aspx
Anyone who has dealt with a high functioning autistic adult or child will be familiar with the rigidity of mind set and literal thinking that encapsulates ASD. Over the years Mrs J has been on the brunt of many a sharply retorted, brusk response that wasn’t quite in keeping with her expectations. She has learned not to use phrases such as “Would you like to help me unload the dishwasher/tidy your room etc?” She will be met with a re-sounding “NO!!”
To neuro-typical persons, (as those with aspergers or aspies like to call us) this response is cheeky, rude and impudent in the extreme; que explosion from Mrs J, meltdown from James and all hell breaking loose Chez Jones. In the world of ASD however, Mrs J has merely worded the question wrongly and it’s taken quite a long time for her and the rest of the family to adjust their ways and rethink what they are ultimately trying to achieve.
If Mrs J was to turn to her son and phrase her request in a far less excruciatingly polite British fashion “Please can you help me unload the dishwasher,” she might have been met with a grumble or two but ultimately, James’s reply would generally have been far more acquiescent. You see, those with ASD hear the word “LIKE” in the request and assume it literally and therefore that they have an option in the matter. When you are cognisant of how important your phrasing is, you will realise those with ASD are merely being honest in telling you, no they would NOT LIKE to do the aforementioned chores.
It is perhaps something James’s maths teacher could have done well to remember. James came home from school only recently telling his parents he no longer needed to attend maths classes and what great news this was! Suspecting that somewhere along the lines, things might have been lost in translation, Mr and Mrs Jones quizzed him further.
It turns out that James’s maths teacher had told him, he didn’t care whether or not James attended his lesson since it was ultimately wasting his own time and the teacher would teach the rest of the class come what may. Not quite the you don’t need to come any more that James interpreted.
Similarly, the cookery teacher having told James to bring in ingredients to make a sandwich that he would eat. Since James doesn’t eat sandwiches in any shape or form, he was not to be persuaded that he needed to take in balanced portions of protein, carbs, etc etc. In his view, he didn’t need to take in anything and it didn’t apply to him. Mrs Jones tried to reason with him and explain what the teacher had really meant but James had clearly heard the teachers instruction and was not to be dissuaded. James’s sense of injustice at the detention that followed was magnitude and I can’t say I blame him really.
Of course it goes without saying that meeting one person with autism doesn’t mean you have met them all; very far from it but there are key, recognised difficulties that cause a variety of difficulties for those with such a diagnosis. Although those of us who are neurotypical can struggle to understand and see things from the point of view of someone on the spectrum, imagine how much more difficult it must be to live in a world that favours the neurotypical? Since ASD is a social communication disorder, body language, facial expressions, tones of voice, nuances and social niceties are things that often go over the heads of those individuals with aspergers and the like.
Additionally, sensory issues are extremely common for those on the spectrum. Noise, colours, lights, the environment, textures, tastes and smells can all be much more vivid or paradoxically dimmed necessitating those experiencing difficulties to crave further or seek to repress the influx and assaults on their sense.
James needs high and intense stimulation in most areas. He has always liked to push himself to extremes. Many a time the rest of the Jones family have looked on in horror as James scuttles up the nearest tree, climbing to the highest, most unstable branch, calling triumphantly from the top.
The faster, higher more exhilarating the roller coaster, the more James wants to ride it. Which likely explains why in younger years Mrs Jones found herself riding, unaccompanied, the most vomit inducing rides known to man. James having queued only to be disappointed and turned away from the ride due to his lack of height would beg and plead a reluctant parent to go on his behalf and feed back on the ride experience. Mr Jones would sensibly plead a bad back and leave Mrs J to take one for the team as it were….
In the winter James likes to sleep with PJ’s, a onesie, fluffy slipper socks, woolly hat and cocooned in the highest tog duvet that can be found. Squished in like a sausage roll, surrounded by teddies and all things fluffy is his happy place. Little changes in the summer and it’s rare to see James without his trade mark hoody, firmly pulled over his head. Shorts are greeted with a look of disgust even if the fickle British summer busts the 30 degrees C mark (that’s 86 F my US friends.)
Noise is a problem. On his terms, James loves his music loud and pulsating. The Jones house reverberates with Back In Black and similar on a regular basis but James cannot tolerate his younger siblings playing or crying. Noises like the water heater springing to life, the background hum of a restaurant or kitchens in the distance, seem physically painful to him.
As for food. Mrs Jones will roll her eyes at you and clutch her hands to her head woebegone. It is a well known fact that children can be notoriously fussy but it is well documented that those with ASD find food particularly challenging. It presents numerous sensory issues – from texture, shape, size and smell. James can’t sit at a table with cheese, his food can’t touch any other item on a plate, his toast – plain, no topping, cannot be cut in half with a knife that has so much as touched anything else and the thing that was his most favourite thing EVER, that Mrs J bulk bought in a fit of jubilation will be consigned to the back of the cupboard only days later with rallying shrieks of disgust and a hearty “I HAVE NEVER EATEN THAT SO WHY DID YOU BUY IT!!!!” tirade. Unless of course it’s tomato ketchup, in which case, only the most expensive brand that will do, splodged liberally over everything and anything….it may be that Mrs Jones has found that a certain supermarket rhyming with ‘piddle’ do a brand that is just as good and as long as she decants it in to the pricier named brand bottle without anyone seeing, nobody knows, but that would be telling.
So where does this leave the Jones family right now? Well they remain on quite a learning curve since their son was only formally diagnosed 3 years ago despite frequent presentations from the age of 4 to the Gp, Health visitor and eventually a CAMHS (Children and adolescent mental health) referral requesting help, detailing their son’s extreme behaviours, anger, aggression, rigidity of thinking. It took from the age of 4 to almost 11 to get the diagnosis despite what in hindsight appear to be a glaringly obvious, one could say neon sign pointing to ASD.
Whilst the Jones’s would agree that labelling a child unnecessarily is never a good thing, it left them wondering in the wilderness feeling like terrible parents for far too many years. It dented their confidence and self belief and did unquestionable damage to their other children who were both witness and victim of their siblings extreme behaviours.
And yet, even now, with a diagnosis on board, the Jones family find themselves once again in a time of crisis. Where James’s self harm and suicidal tendencies, his violence, aggression and extreme mood swings are wreaking their chaos on the family as a whole. It’s devastating to see their child experience this; to watch him helpless in the grip of the disorder that causes such extreme anxiety and stress. He is convinced that he is fat, ugly, worthless and useless; that he has no redeeming qualities and is stupid, unteachable, unreachable.
He is none of these things but cannot see other. He cannot find a way through. In his darker moments, he really does want to end it all and terrifyingly in the moment is unable to see any other way out. His parents want to simultaneously hug him so tight they will never let go and yet shake him to wake up and fight. They also feel guilt that they sometimes intensely dislike the havoc that is being wreaked on them, their other children, their home. It was bad enough when unidentified numbers only meant calls from hospitals or consultants, now seeing No Caller ID flash up on their mobiles often heralds a phone call from school detailing that James has gone awol, insulted a teacher or got into a fight.
The Jones’s were forced to admit their son to hospital recently following a profound escalation in his risky behaviours and concerns that they were unable to keep him or their other children safe. Multiple agencies are involved in trying to support the Jones family and CAMHS wanted to help, they really did. But the family had presented at 10am on a Thursday night to A&E and CAMHS work 9-5 Monday to Friday.
At the mercy of numerous professionals the Jones prepare to keep fighting the good fight. Surely with a diagnosis on board, accessing support will be so much easier than dealing with their other conundrum children who remain undiagnosed? And there’s the rub – government funding and cut backs to mental health services in the UK are well known and so the whole process is just as daunting, just as lacking in cohesion and perhaps even just as time consuming from a co-ordinated care approach?
Mental health services for children and young people in England were cut by £35million last year, whilst mental health beds have been reduced by 8 per cent since 2010. (Source: The Independent, January 2016)
34 out of 51 (Two-thirds) of local authorities in England have reduced their CAMHS budget since 2010. One council reported to YoungMinds a drop of 41% in their CAMHS budget from 2010.
YoungMinds are the UK’s leading charity committed to improving the emotional wellbeing and mental health of children and young people. They campaign, research and influence policy and practice as well as providing expert knowledge to professionals, parents and young people. For more info: http://www.youngminds.org.uk/about/what_we_do
So where are the Jones family now? Despite James stating quite clearly that he fully intended to try and take his life again, that he could see no reason for living, Mrs James was told that the paediatric ward was not the right place for him, that there were no inpatient beds unless to quote “he was dying of an eating disorder or in the hold of a psychotic episode”.
School have been crying out for more advice, more planning, more assistance going forward. They too have to examine the purse strings, magic up funds and resources to keep James safe and in statutory education until the lengthy process of an Education & Health Care plan, which there are no guarantee James will qualify for, have been decided.
The Children’s Prevention Team want to help but they need more information from CAMHS who need more information from school who need more information from CAMHS who need input from Children’s Services and Social Services. And then there’s the paperwork. This family in time of dire need and desperate help: well they can’t get that till the paperworks done so round and round it goes. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so serious. Will the Jones family story end with “and they all lived happily ever after?” I really don’t know….
I’m on a train down to London. By myself! Sans enfant!!! I’m practically fizzing with excitement (which likely explains why despite quite a busy train, nobody has ventured to sit next to me! 😊)
Those of you who have to commute regularly are probably perplexed by my merriment, & wondering if I am a little ‘touched’ as the saying quaintly goes. Well perhaps I am but not by grubby little fingers, no one bugging me for the window seat or because he/she is taking up too much space/breathing too loud or heaven forbid LOOKING at them. Added bonus, I haven’t had to share my Kit-Kat with anyone & my coffee is still hot. Result!
This dear reader is actual TIME OFF… & I get to converse with grown ups later in the day too! I’m giddy with it I tell you! (I’ll apologise now, especially to all the English teachers for my prolific use of exclamation marks)
So, what did I do to deserve this parole? This time off for good behaviour? Well there is the *slightly* minor matter of speaking to MP’s later this afternoon at an all party parliamentary group (basically a meeting that is not political party specific, affects the wider community & therefore theoretically is something all MP’s regardless of their political party or leanings should be interested in since it is likely to affect all their constituents.) I did email my local MP last week & tweeted him at 3:46 this morning. Funnily enough he didn’t tweet me back… Can’t think why. Although I haven’t heard back in response to my email either, I’m hoping he will take the time to attend & gain some understanding of why I feel so passionately about raising the profile of SWAN UK – a support group for parents/Carers of undiagnosed medically, physically and/or cognitively complex children.
So although I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say (after all I’m not sure what I might be asked!) I do know it’s a subject that I can speak with first hand experience thereof. The feelings of isolation, worry, fear; the struggles of co-ordinating care between multi-disciplinary teams, departments & hospitals; the impact having an undiagnosed child/ren on the wider family both financially, emotionally, mentally & physically and so on & so forth.
To be honest since I was asked if I would be willing to attend, I’ve been more preoccupied with a wardrobe crisis. After all, I live, sleep, eat & breath the undiagnosed bit every day but it’s not everyday I get to play with the grown ups in the wider community is it? Since I still hadn’t settled on an outfit de jour until 10:20 this morning, I have been fretting slightly. Serious, efficient, business like are not particularly words that fit my current couture.
My last paid employment was carried out from home & frankly clients had no idea if I was in my PJ’s,ball gown or even in the ‘altogether’ so my daily wardrobe is much more based around comfy, practical & what can be sponge cleaned with a baby wipe… My clothing predicament has also been challenged by the good old fashioned British weather; renowned for its ability to encompass an entire gamut of metreological conditions in the space of a day; especially when factoring the travelling from ‘oop north” to “daaan saff” factor… Not to mention the dilemma of whether I travel in my posh attire or change on arrival (creases being a factor either way). Decisions decisions 😬
I did suggest to hubby that the tax-payer should foot the bill for a new outfit for this opportunity. He looked somewhat perplexed & asked how I expected to float that one past HMRC, even with receipts. Witheringly I pointed out that since HE was A tax payer, I had in fact meant him. From his snort of derision and eye rolling, I took it as meaning a new frock was a no no. Sigh.
Still, I’m sure you will be pleased to know that as in previous posts, I had already decided on my shoes quite some time ago. Not red ones this time but pink.
So I’m now going to use my remaining train time to read on my kindle uninterrupted by small folk squabbling & enjoy the rest of my biccie!
Until the next time….. Wish me luck!! 😳
I’m guessing the about bit is to give you an insight into my blogging style…..truth be told I’m finding my feet inner writer at this point and I hope I can entertain you along the…
Ah yes Beans. I’ve ‘bean’ meaning to post a little more about this for a while but that thing called every day life seems to have gotten in the way recently and between hospital appointments, ironing, food shops, medical supply requirements (
arguing discussions with pharmacists) and my eldest turning 16 (how?!) I have ‘bean’ more than a little distracted (I promise I’ll stop with the awful puns in a bit but let let me milk it a little longer – I spend far too much time in a house dominated by the male species where any conversations that involves even the remote possibility of ‘popping off’, wind, botty-burps or farting depending on the age bracket the smut-team fall into is de rigeur and of course beans and there veritable delights promote such delicious wind related humour so I may as well join in; I long ago gave up fighting the system!!)
Anyway, yesterday saw the start of Undiagnosed Children’s Day events kicking off in my home town of Knaresborough for the Yorkshire Massssiiiiiiivvvveeee. Us Yorkshire lot, are known throughout the SWAN UK community for our love of events and celebrating. Hard. I hate to brag but it’s true, we know how to party ‘oop north!”
Last year we had a fun packed adventure day in Flamingo Land which was enjoyed by many families. This year however, we wanted to promote a hugely inclusive, family based event and also give our SWAN UK coordinator, the opportunity to fulfil a childhood ambition – sitting in a bath of baked beans!!
Frankly, why she ever dared share this little nugget of information on a Facebook post within our SWAN UK support group, I think many of us are still wondering – and I am pretty sure after yesterday’s shenanigans, she has made a mental note NEVER EVER to join in any of the light-hearted banter that often trickles through the more serious and support related queries that SWAN UK members post every day!
Last summer, group members were discussing ways we could raise much needed funds for SWAN UK, to support our ever growing members, to sign post more people, more promptly to the group and to continue putting smiles on faces by sending balloons to children in hospital, funding outings, coffee mornings, raise professional awareness and such like. This was especially important bearing in mind that our big lottery grant was coming to an end. In fact, its timely posting with UNDIAGNOSED AWARENESS DAY http://undiagnosed.org.uk/undiagnosed-childrens-day-2016-get-involved-online being on us imminently (29th April 2016) to let you know that the grant just ended this April.
Ideas were bandied about left, right and centre and having reminisced about some of the mad-cap idea of the past that the ‘elf n safety police’ would have nightmares about people doing today, our co-ordinator lamented the fact that her Mum had never allowed her to sit in a bath of baked beans to raise money for charity. Personally speaking, I think her Mum was on to something there but never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I can’t remember exactly who suggested it but the idea gathered momentum (hurtled really) and soon our would be bather found herself agreeing to take a dip, providing we could raise a significant amount of funds for SWAN UK. Supermodels of the late 80’s/90’s famously said they didn’t get out of bed for less than £10,000, well our very own Lauren was prepared to dunk for a more moderate sum and we aimed to reach a target of £4,000 or thereabouts. Aim high, reach for the stars!
Of course these things don’t just happen overnight. There was the not so small matter of organisation, location, the bath itself and Lauren’s own commitments (she doesn’t seem to need sleep or maybe it’s not factored into her job description?) Anyway, I can speak from personal experience when I tell you that the woman is a one women power house who travels the length and breadth of the country on a mission to spread the word of SWAN UK far and wide, especially since our project to recruit SWAN UK parent reps http://undiagnosed.org.uk/parentrepresentatives (coming soon to a town near YOU!) has really taken off and she personally oversees training, administration, queries and hand holding for initial presentations to the wider public, plus the myriad of other jobs that fall under her professional capacity.
It was on one her visits to myself in Yorkshire when we went to a meeting with a local organisation (https://www.henshaws.org.uk) to discuss how we could raise our profile and mutually assist one another that the idea of holding our very own Undiagnosed Children’s Day at their fabulous centre arose. Even more fittingly and I’m still not quite sure how this conversation evolved but it matters not, it turned out that Henshaws just happened to have a disused bath lying around which was perfect for our requirements.
Little did Lauren imagine on that cold, dank and foggy morning that a mere 4 months later, she would be sat in a bath of congealing orange sludge which could probably be smelled for miles around. To her eternal credit, she stuck it out for a solid 30 minutes whilst people (mainly small children but a hefty dose of evilly cackling adults too) poured yet more beans over her, paying extra for the privilege. Not only did Lauren undertake this herculean task (having chatted it over with her, it would seem this was worse in her eyes than her skydive a few year previously!!) but one of our younger SWANS was brave enough to jump in with her which was very entertaining too. We were able to live stream footage of the frivolity into the group and I have no doubt that in the week of Undiagnosed Celebrations that are due to follow, there will be plenty of opportunity for the wider public to view. In the meantime, I’ll add this little gem below:
You will note she was even in SWAN UK colours in the old-fashioned bathing style suit that her Mum made especially for her! I bet her Mum was having the last laugh really!!
If you would like to donate and help us continue our fund raising mission, you can do so by clicking: http://www.justgiving.com/BeanGate When I last checked we had raised an incredible £2376 but any more donations, big or small, are gratefully received!
Suffice to say it was a day of fun and laughter. Whilst personally for me, the bean bath was the absolute highlight, there was plenty more great stuff to partake in. We had a local organisation turn up with all sorts of weird and wonderful animals that could be petted/stroked/taken for walks (seeing an iguana in a fetching purple coat on a lead being paraded on the lawn, well more of a sun bathe really was entertaining!) There was a face painter, music, craft/modelling workshop, lawn games, some very lovely ladies doing make up demonstrations and hand massage and a general opportunity for parents, SWANs and just as importantly siblings to get together, chat and form strong bonds of friendship. My own children are already asking when their newly made friends can come and visit us again.
On a personal level I felt like a whirling dervish much of the day and didn’t get the opportunity to talk to everyone I would liked to have done but I hope that all those who attended felt part of something wonderful. After all SWAN UK gives those of us without a label, without a diagnosis or a recognised condition, a place to call home!
With hugely grateful thanks to everyone who supported and helped in anyway possible both on the day itself and the run up there too. Please keep sharing, donating and signposting.