90 Days Dry: Dreaming of Pimms

October half term. A week without school. A time where many fly away to top up on sunshine before the cold, hard winter really sets in. For those who stay at home, there are meet-ups with other families or friends, day-trips out and sneaky glasses of wine for the Mums who are co-ordinating the whole thing. Luckily there's not much sun at this time of year, so the 'yard arm' does not apply. I'm only on Day 52 though, so there's no drinking my way through this one. So what will we do this half term? The Cat will recover from the stresses of school by wearing as few clothes as possible - only underpants are obligatory around here, and even that takes some persuasion. Many autistic children are also diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder, and in The Cat's case, his skin is so sensitive that just wearing clothing can make a day harder than it should be. Noise and smells are similarly problematic. So at the beginning of the holidays, and on Saturdays, we have

So, I know I was going to write about ADHD, and I will definitely do that, but today was one of those days where it hurt to be Mum, and in particular it hurt to be a SEN Mum, and to be The Cat's Mum. The Cat absolutely hated school in Year 1, and had to be carried through the door each morning and held, struggling, while I shoved the door closed and someone inside locked it.  I would walk away to a soundtrack of loud growling (his angry noise) and bangs on the door, telling myself it would all be okay, because it had to be. The teachers tried hard, but he just wasn't having any of this learning nonsense. By the end of the year, I was pretty sure I'd need to look for specialist provision for Junior School, if not before. Then a miracle happened: the children of the three-form entry were mixed into new class groups for Year 2, The Cat found a friend ('The Friend'), the teacher and TA moved heaven and earth to accommodate him, and suddenly he liked school enough to g

Okay, so let's just pause and reflect on one thing for a moment: 46 Days!!! I'm over half-way through my 90 days without alcohol. How did that happen? I have to say that I think I've got this. (Don't worry, I've paused to touch wood.) I've made it through a wildly decadent Golden Wedding Anniversary party, a sunny lunch with friends in our garden (i.e. no need to drive home, or even to be able to stand by the end of it all, and carefully selected wines that I knew I'd love) and a catch-up with a Kiwi friend for the first time in about seven or eight years. Last night the shower fell apart and landed on my head, before spraying the entire room and then going cold, and I didn't even drink for that. And, in fact, our car is dead, and the most I did there was have a biscuit or ten with my tea. Honestly, I've flicked that 'no drinking' switch in my brain and it's currently (touch wood again) fine. I'm sure pregnancy and breast-feedin

Well, it's suddenly Mental Health Awareness Week. Because it's MHAW, I'm not going to write about the awesome week I've just had, catching up with the kind of besties you know you'll have forever, even if you haven't seen them for 8 years and you've never met their kids. (But if you're depressed, could I suggest Old Friend Therapy as a step forward? Whatever your wearied mind tells you, they don't care that you're fat and grey and slightly broken.) Nope, the fragile part of me wants to tell you about The Blurt Foundation. I know I'm writing for - and occasionally about - The ADD-vance ADHD and Autism Trust in this 90-day blog, but in Mental Health Awareness Week I want to highlight the fact that we SEN types need to know about help wherever it exists.  Why? Because mental health is an ongoing concern and often a major issue for both parents and children when a family member has ADHD or autism. (The statistics on mental illness and suicide r

Today I have made a noble attempt to look after myself by exercising. Last time I 'started again', I injured myself by attempting to run like a fit person while hugely unfit and overweight. (Although the thing that really stopped me in my tracks was a foot injury related to the blimming kids leaving blimming Lego on the blimming carpet.) So, feeling wise, smug and slightly Zen, I decided to take baby steps and begin with an exercise DVD. Also, I was going to do one of the workout sessions on the DVD, not all of them, taking me into a whole new world of moderation. We're talking 20 minutes of Davina here, not Nell McAndrew or 30 Day Shred or even kettlebells. An hour and a half after my planned start time, not much has happened. Well, I did hoover and clear Lego off the carpet, put on my work-out clothes, warn the neighbour that there might be crashing noises, prepare a water bottle and change my shoes twice, but no actual exercise has been done. Why? Because I can't w

Is 'bite you on the bum' a thing people say in England? As a Kiwi in the UK I'm constantly trotting out phrases that either perplex or offend people, but say exactly what I mean. (Rough as guts, anyone? Or guts for garters? Piece of piss? Rushing round like a blue-arsed fly?) Anyway, when something bites you on the bum, it means that you've been tootling along quite happily or even borderline smugly, and then you get a shock out of nowhere, or get your comeuppance. Usually it's something coming back to bite you on the bum. So, for example, if you've written smugly in a blog that 'calm comes more easily now', that statement might just come back to bite you on the bum by delivering a humungous dose of anxiety when you least expect it, and laughing in the face of your coping strategies. (Kiwi culture is pretty big on laughing in the face of cockiness. Pride cometh before a fall, and all that. Another Kiwi phrase to google is Tall Poppy Syndrome.) (As far a