Revelations of a Slummy Mummy

I watched something on Facebook today that made my blood boil. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t the latest fake Justin Bieber marketing scam or the pop-up ads presuming that because I am female and not a size zero I clearly have suicidal tendencies induced by lack of self esteem. Although those do come a close second. It was this: http://www.wfsb.com/story/24812844/teacher-records-autistic-boy-stuck-in-chair A hideous example of everything that’s wrong with provision for additional needs children in mainstream school; in actuality, a hideous example of how NOT to teach, in my opinion. A child of eleven, stuck in a classroom chair and left for at least ten minutes is bad enough. For a significant and responsible adult in charge to then film the incident takes it to a whole other level. Add in that this child also has autism and I genuinely wonder what the world is coming to. If any one of my children (‘normal’ or otherwise) was ever treated in that way I would have serious self restr...

So today it’s been exactly one year since Mum had to go. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525600 minutes. Not one of those days has passed by without my thoughts turning to Mum, gravitating towards her like plants stretching for the sun. I used to worry about waking up one day having forgotten her face or the sound of her voice, until I realised an important truth. Part of her will never be gone; she’s embedded in me and H to the core of our beings. Her genetics, her passions, her personality, a technicolor inheritance of humanness imprinted on our hearts. She was a beautiful soul who left an enduring footprint on this earth. The people whose lives she touched were varied and many; remembered for her smile, her love, her helpful heart, her incredible creativity, her passion for those others found too difficult and her crazy sense of humour. Her fifty four year journey here took her through wintry wastelands and sparkling summers alike, but the constant d...

November Cheer So it’s nearing the end of November and we’ve been corporately bombarded with Christmas for almost a month already. Shops are decorated, celebrations are in full swing and general Christmas paraphernalia abounds everywhere. Unlike our American friends, we don’t have the hurdle of Thanksgiving to jump before we can legitimately reason that Christmas is upon us, and as such decide the season needs to last a full two months to really make it count. We must at least feel like we’re getting value for money given the amount we merrily wave off every December. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no scrooge and can generally turn any event into an excuse for an all-out party, but as a parent I resent that Santa materialises from the North Pole (or Lapland, or wherever he actually lives) a full six weeks before December 25 th . Is his heating broken? Has he employed an army of machines to replace his politically incorrect elfish helpers and finish two months ahead ...

This is a pretty deep post, hugely personal but also something I think the world needs to hear about more. In essence it speaks of abuse, and how that abuse does not affect only the victim, but spreads like a ripple effect into the lives of all those surrounding her. This is in tribute to my mum, a beautiful soul who was abused in the most horrific way imaginable. Please read if you are able, and please please, if you think for one second a child you know may be experiencing abuse, speak up. You may be the voice they just don’t have. Once Upon a Time Once upon a time there lived a beautiful Princess Child. She lived in the Land of Love; a place full of springtime joy and colourful summer. Birds sang, their magical music adding depth to the already saturated kingdom. Princess Childs’ hair shone like the moonlit night, her eyes were small sparkling oceans and her face radiated warmth and sunshine. Like all the other children, Princess Child was special and uniq...