OK, I’ve procrastinated enough this week. Every day I have sat down with the full intention of writing something only to suffer from an attack of ADOS – ‘Attention Defici…Oooooh, shiny’ and before I have had a chance to drag myself back on course it has been time to retreat to the bedroom with some diabolical reality TV and a bottle of Co-Op’s finest Vino Collapso.
The wonderful, hilarious and annoyingly talented @betamother suggested (via Twitter, because we are dahn wiv deh kidz and all that), with her usual brilliance, that I blog about the five reasons why I have not written my blog this week. OK, she said ten. She’s wordier than I am. And not half so lazy. I have officially ‘misread’ her tweet as five reasons. That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it. I highly expect this to become a recurrent theme.
(Speaking of themes, this most definitely needs accompaniment, click here for the perfect soundtrack.)
Crafting. Yes, you read that right. ‘Crafting’. I’ve gone all Kirstie Allsopp again in an attempt to save a bit of money this Christmas, and have lovingly botched presents for my sister, my mum and my dad. Obviously, I can’t show you pictures of my divine creations as my crafting skills would leave you so jealous of my talents that you’d never read my blog again, and also because I don’t want to shatter their belief in Father Christmas.
Panicking about Christmas.
This is self explanatory. I’ve done it every year since I became an adult. It started off as a mild wibble around mid November which was quickly calmed with an afternoon of grabbing random items off shelves in John Lewis. Since having the children, however, the panic starts to rise around the first week of July, at roughly the same time as I realise we’re not going to have a summer again. It means that I have plenty of rainy summer days to browse Amazon and buy gifts in a thoughtful and financially sensible manner. You know, like a rational person. OK, a rational person who is allergic to real shops.
This year, somehow, I woke up in the middle of October and realised that it was no longer July, nor had it been July for quite a few months. A quick check of the bank balance then had me trying to work out how to split £2.73 twelve ways. Believe me, it’s not easy.
It’s getting there. I completed a ten minute smash-and-grab for the children last Saturday whilst I tried to block out the terrible knowledge that their dad had taken them to McDonalds (as it was cheaper than Sainsburys cafe, AND THEY GET A TOY). Needs must when the devil drives, and all that.
Trying to knock some form of education into Captain Calamity
At least this has been great fun. All things considered, we’ve had an excellent week, despite an intial frustrating setback when I discovered that his speech and language therapy will stop next week (after just five sessions), and he will get added to another list for another block, with a different therapist as his adored Kelly is leaving the clinic. Add to this the fact that his keyworker at nursery is on sick-leave for the foreseeable future and he currently has two part-time temporary keyworkers; and you will see why I have really decided to take things into my own hands as far as some of the things he struggles with are concerned.
We are concentrating primarily on ‘maths’ (which he is great at, but I’m including it as a way of helping him gain confidence), literacy, communication and fine motor skills. This involves copious amounts of plasticine, glue, scrap paper, magazines, board games, flour and patience.
This week we have been talking about Winter, and Christmas. We have been on a squirrel-spotting nature walk, trips to the shops on the bus, and to the library. We have baked biscuits and washed up. We have fed, and watched, the birds. We have danced and sung songs. We have done mazes, and dot-to-dots, and counting, and made our family from plasticine. We have collected and stuck things (or photos of things) beginning with F (for Fin, of course) onto cardboard. We have been Gruffalo children, and aliens, and fish in the sea, and dogs, and Dr Finlay and his patient. For a while, my right leg was the door to Fin’s fire engine.
We’ve had fun.
Masterchef: The Professionals, and I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.
There is no excuse for this. At all. None whatsoever. But it does give me the perfect excuse to post this.
Wine. (Deserved. Really. No…really…)