Pancake Days
We all have
them. Pancake days. The ones where you wake up in the morning bleary eyed and
begrudging your alarm, look in the mirror and wonder why a raggedy old troll
has inhabited your body, get even more irritated than usual at the damp towel
in a nice neat pile on the floor, and envy the fresh cheery faces of your
offspring who, incidentally, have no troll or towel related concerns. I’m
talking about the flat days. And when I say pancake I don’t mean those fluffy
American monstrosities, I’m relating to our skinny modest Brit versions. The
days where everything seems tainted with just a tinge of doom. Not quite
sufficient to tip you over the edge into a black hole of despair, but just
enough of a sprinkling to shower your day in grumpiness.
I’ve had a
few of those days recently. A pancake week, shall we say. I’m currently on a
counselling course (as in learning how to be a counsellor) which requires
constant self analysis and awareness and is, quite frankly, exhausting.
Dredging up past events and linking them to my current patterns of thought and
behaviour is hugely useful in some respects, and utterly useless in others. In
a phrase so well-coined by this brilliant lady- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFEoMO0pc7k
‘Ain’t nobody got time for that.’ I’m realising how much I treat myself to the
indulgence that is denial. I mean, acknowledging stuff and filing it away
should work right? Apparently not. It’s like that irritating bill that comes
through the door- you acknowledge it and file it away in your orderly system,
also known as the drawer of disarray. It’s dealt with. Until the time another
one arrives; this time screaming in big red letters ‘DEAL WITH ME!’ You repeat
the same process; acknowledge, file, sorted, but that bill just keeps
reappearing through your door, increasingly commanding your attention. A good
analogy for the shitty stuff that crops up in life. We all have our own
personal pancake issues, and I’m still constantly getting lost on the route to
enlightenment with mine. But one thing I am learning- denial, with all its inviting
cosiness, isn’t a workable long term option. Damn you counselling course, damn
you!
So the
reason for my pancake days? At the moment it’s an ongoing battle with the
inefficient services and cash strapped local authority to adequately provide
for the needs of our family. Those of you that know me personally know I am
fiercely independent; survival instinct kicking in I guess, and I don’t expect
anyone else to take responsibility for the family I chose to have, including
the local government. But what I would like to see is support to give my family
the same shot as other typical families. People will often say to me that all
parenting is hard, no matter what, as though throwing in a few life changing
issues has little actual effect. While that may have been true in the early
days-we all remember the mammoth effort involved to extract small wailing
unpredictable humans from the house and relocate to the nearest toddler group
for an hour’s worth of adult time, punctuated by shitty nappies and two year
old tantrums- we’re still in that stage. All our friends who have kids the same
age can now leave the house with relative ease. They can sit and watch their
kids play from a safe distance. They can drink a hot cup of tea and put said
hot cup of tea down with minimal chance of spillage and/or A and E trip. They
can pee in peace. They have outgrown the migraine-inducing hellhole that is
soft play and moved on to outside unfenced
parks and bike rides along the beach.
I’ll let
you in on a secret, in case it wasn’t utterly clear from my caustic tone; I’m
kinda jealous. There, I said it. As Joey Essex would say, I’m weljel. I’m done
with this eternal baby phase. And I am done with jumping through every hoop the
government decide I need to jump through just to survive. I love my kids. I
love my boy, but the littlest crack continues to develop into the biggest
schism right through the middle of our family. We split the parenting out of
necessity; one of us with B, one of us with the others, meaning S and I rarely
see each other. Getting out and about with B is getting harder and harder- his
latest proclivity is running full pelt into people, and burying his face in clothes
of an unusual texture. Problem is he happens to be crotch/butt height for most
regular-sized adults, and let’s face it, it’s a little socially inappropriate
for a child to nuzzle into a complete stranger’s genital region. Awkward. He’ll
sometimes bite too, his way of feeling the fabric, which doesn’t bode well for
Joe Public. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Not to mention he’s a flight risk.
We’ve tried reins, but he hangs off them for the sensory experience. He’s only
happy in the buggy for a limited time, and walking with him holding your hand
is about as hopeful as rain in the desert.
My other
kids have to quickly decipher what mood he is in on approaching them; a wrong
judgement on their part leads to scram marks and bruises on any bare flesh that
happens to be visible. The worst thing about it all is I hold no magic key to
unlock what’s going on in his head. Is he in pain? Is he frustrated at his
inability to effectively communicate? Does he actually understand every word
that we say? Your guess is as good as mine. I have a meeting coming up with
school to ensure we are consistent in our approach regarding communication
strategies, and another meeting with the team of medical professionals to
review his behaviour and meds. Mr Restless Roamer on speed does not equal safe,
and we’ve had to resort to medicating for the best chance of him learning above
everything else. Not to mention the ongoing battle for respite in the summer.
When my kid is statemented as needing constant
1:1 support in school (a relatively safe environment) and occasionally
2:1 when out in the community, I think it’s slightly naïve to presume I am
super-parent and can manage all four kiddos alone for the summer holidays while
S works. Even making food for them becomes impossible.
So this
past week and beyond has been a pancake week. Flat, and not in the calm sense. Maybe next week will be a muffin week.
Everyone needs a muffin week now and then.
Oh Luce, I hear you!!! You do have a challenging life. I hope and pray you get your muffin week next week!!!
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