90 Days Dry: Dreaming of Pimms

Dan has recently started College and was asked to write a script that expressed what an autistic person might feel. He allowed his mother to share his writing, and after the piece reduced me to tears with its insight and wisdom, I asked for (and was granted) permission to share it more widely. I hope the insight is useful. Hi. My name's Dan and I have aspergers. Aspergers is hardly a fatal condition, and in quite a few cases it can be benificial as opposed to detrimental; however it does have its dificulties. One of the main isues I find in day to day life is being social, as comunication is a common drawback to being on the autistic spectrum. Often, meeting someone for the first time and feeling the need to make meaningful conversation with them can be dificult to cope with due to not knowing what to say, doing something usualy considered rude without realising or even being afraid to say anything in fear of making those mistakes. I am fine when I know the person I am tal

When you've met one person, you've met one person. You wouldn't claim all people are the same. When you've met one woman you've met one woman; one Frenchman is one Frenchman; one blind person is one blind person. There are endless examples. So why do so many people think they can pigeon-hole every person with ADHD or autism or any other Special Need? 'Oh yes, my cousin's son is autistic, so I'm sure your child will fit in fine at my music class.' 'Oh, ADHD? He'll fail at school like my colleague's brother.' 'Dyspraxia? Teach her to type, because she'll never learn to write.' ADHD and Spectrum conditions are complex, and are manifested in different ways in different people. Add in Nature vs. Nurture: neurology is important, but so is environment. The loud, flamboyantly dressed person who shuns what some would consider social norms can have the same diagnosis as the anxious, shy, number-crunching introvert who won't le

Today is all about the feeling of total overwhelm. Since I started writing this blog I'm amazed by the things I've learned, and by my changing reaction to feeling overwhelmed a gazillion times a day. Yes, that's a lot of being overwhelmed, but let's face it, all parents are overwhelmed at some point, and especially SEN parents. (If you are never overwhelmed, please stop reading and immediately donate yourself to Medical Science. No, I'm sure it won't be painful. Or not too much. At least you won't be overwhelmed by it.) The first lesson learned is the fact that the world doesn't end if I occasionally carve out an hour to type a few thoughts. No child has suffered in the creation of this blog. In fact, they have benefited from having a calmer Mummy, who doesn't shake with suppressed (if they are lucky) rage when they say they've lost the second football sock that I handed them ten minutes ago and that they NEEEEED it RIGHT NOWWWWW. Secondly, a

As an adult, I decided that I had been the world's most anxious child. There were times I was so worried that I lost the ability to speak, especially to adults. I had nightmares most nights, involving a dark staircase with red velvet curtains, Miss Havisham and a screeching parrot. My 'good' dream recurred less frequently, but it involved me taking out my tongue so I had an excuse not to speak to scary people, then growing wings so I could fly away. (Therapists, you're welcome. SEN Mums, feel free to diagnose. Worthy parents, don't inflict Miss Havisham or in fact any Dickens on an anxious child.) Anyway, I now know a child even more anxious than I was. He's my son. And the other two sons come close on his heels. The irony, of course, is that the stresses of my adult life have allowed me to let go of much of my own anxiety. I definitely have panicky periods, mostly around a child's needs not being met, but mostly I'm satisfied if I end the day knowing

Kiwi Mums will recognise the title of this post. We grew up with the 'Girls Can Do Anything' campaign, launched in the early 1980s. To be honest, I found the whole campaign a bit odd, because it hadn't crossed my mind that I couldn't be whatever I wanted to be. At that stage I wanted to be a bus driver, in order to 'see the world'. Yes, I lived on an island. No, I hadn't thought it through. Still, my best friend wanted to be a snake, which would have challenged even the most ardent of feminists. Anyway, I have since learned a lot about glass ceilings, pay inequity, casual sexism and the slight issue of maternity vs. career, but that is not the subject of today's witterings. (I'm on calming camomile and peppermint tea this morning, so it's Mellow Mum. Watch me when I get to the Pukka Detox tea: my mind may detox along with my body and dump the most toxic thoughts on to my keyboard. And liquorice tea just makes me cross, as it's supposed to s

So, somehow four days have gone by since I last managed a blog post. My intentions were good, but time and a pressing need for tea were against me. Tea in the company of friends is definitely a satisfying way to pass the hours, but does detract from the accomplishment of missions. The truth is that I've been slightly shell-shocked and distracted by the return to school and the dreaded after-school activities. The Big Boy is slowly settling in to secondary school, but the other two have struggled with the changes to our routine. I'm not sure if I've already mentioned that kids with ASD really hate change, and like life to be predictable. Somehow I forgot to prepare them for a different morning routine, and I've been paying the price. School went back last Tuesday and that night all three kids stumbled into my bed at some point, unable to sleep and looking for comfort. The cat was already there. Yes, we have a cat (furry domestic pet) as well as The Cat (less furry, les

I am proud to announce that I am at the end of my first week without alcohol! While I'm by no means an alcoholic, it's definitely a change in habit to walk past the fridge at the end of the day instead of sitting down with a nice chilled glass of something both relaxing and not-very-good-for-me. (Actually, I'm exaggerating when I say 'sitting down'. What I mean is that I think longingly of the sofa while pouring a glass of wine and then slug back gulps between trips up and down the stairs to deal with the hollers, whines and bed-trampolining exploits of my non-sleeping offspring.)  And my shameful confession here is that I actually had a day or two of detox symptoms when I replaced the wine with water. Fuzzy head, weak limbs, nasty sweats. I keep telling myself that a glass or two a night through the summer, with the odd more 'thirsty' evening thrown in, cannot possibly set me up for withdrawal symptoms, but I can't find any other reason for the way I fe

So, I'm back. I had two days without internet, while away celebrating the in-laws' golden wedding anniversary. Hard to imagine half a century of marriage, and probably best not to try. My in-laws were, as always, the most extravagant of hosts, and the wine was flowing -- not to mention the vintage port, cellared by the family since 1963. I stuck to water on the first night, then somehow convinced myself that non-alcoholic wine was a brilliant idea. It wasn't. The Tesco Finest Chenin Blanc - non-alcoholic, but with potentially redeeming BUBBLES - was comfortably drinkable if you pretended it was very sweet fizzy pop. However, even I struggle to pretend that it is absolutely fine to drink fizzy pop with a delicately flavoured, painstakingly prepared and terribly sophisticated four-course meal provided by a private chef and served beneath the chandelier of a Victorian Rectory. On the whole, Sprite may have been a better choice. I held off on the Belvoir Shiraz Without the Ha

It has begun. Day One of Ninety. I'm using full words rather than digits to make it look as long as it feels. It's been an odd, reflective couple of days, and tonight we are with my husband's family and I would really love a drink. My own family live on the other side of the world, in New Zealand.  I boarded a plane more than twenty years ago, and broke my mother's heart by cancelling the return flight. No doubt at least one of my children will do the same to me in years to come, although I may burn all their documents and empty their bank accounts in order to keep them close. (I can say this now that they are asleep, but a few hours ago, as they threw sand at each other and on strangers on the beach, I'd have been happy to book them one-way tickets to anywhere.) I feel the distance from my family more each year, as I begin to understand exactly what I left behind. And I feel far, far away from them: my parents, my brother and his wife, and the cousins my children