Who's your Mamma!

With Mothers day fast approaching I decided to spare the men and inadvertently all the mothers out there, a hell of a lot of fake smiling and guilt-ridden disappointment! Gift giving is hard, with all the pretending that we do...trying not to come across as materialistic or superficial, we end up smiling at the hand painted spoon holder your 4 year old made, wishing it was a voucher for a day-spa.

Pay attention guys, this is for you:  First of all, it's not really "mothers day" now is it? Little Johny has no clue that this is the day that mom should be lavished with gifts, love and spoilt till her toes curl. This is a burden totally bestowed upon YOU! Unfair as it may be, if you play your cards right, you could be forgiven for basically any chauvinistic slip-up for the remainder of the year.

Your wife thinks she was the first woman to EVER bear a child. Her pregnancy was a nightmare and labour...lets not even go there. Then there is the constant reminders of how she loves Little Johny more than life itself and wouldn't swap motherhood for anything in the world BUT how much she misses her figure, job, girlfriends and all the wonderful Cosmopolitan approved girl stuff she's missing out on. If the kids are still under 3 years old, you might still have to contend with sleepless nights, hormones and according to the cover of this weeks Time Magazine...breastfeeding. Seriously, if your kid can read and write its time to stop sucking mommy's tittie!

Alright, here it is:
1) Do your recon! Gather information in advance. About a month should do. Despite woman SAYING they love surprises, they DON'T! Start making a list of things your wife loves....NOT like or need!
2) Get the specifics right. If she loves a blue scarf from Queenspark, for gods sake, don't buy the red one from Edgars.
3) Learn to read body language and facial expressions! "wow" said in a low tone with mouth still agape after 3 seconds after the sound came out, eyes widened....not a good sign!
4) Phone a friend:  Ask her friends, sister, even the domestic worker knows your wife better than you! There's no shame in asking for help! The focus is to get it RIGHT!
5) Steer clear of gift certificates! Woman hate men that cannot make an effort!
6) For those of you that are still dazed and confused: here's a list of top ten favourites
6.1 Expensive Perfume, but only buy what you know she loves! Ref to point 1
6.2 Framed photographs of the kids (this one will even get u laid)
6.3 Earrings (jewellery is too vague...you will never get it right)
6.4 Roses! Not a selection of blooms, lilies or a pot plant! ROSES!
6.5 A day at the spa! Calm down, this does not classify as a voucher!
6.6 Scarfs. This is for your more advanced husband. At least 8 years of marriage required. Refer to point 4...phone a friend
6.7 Crabtree & Evelyn. If you don't know what it is, neither will your wife...so just never mind!
6.8 Sunday lunch at a wine estate that caters for kids. Unimaginative, but still appreciated.
6.9 Anything that starts with an i ... iPhone, iPad, iPod
6.10 A weekend away with-out the kids and you! The greatest Mothers-Day gift is to "not being a mother" for a day or two. It seems contradictory, but it really is about your wife remembering that she is also a woman, not just a wife and mom.

Now remember what I said: this day can make or break you. I suggest you get off the Internet and get cracking! Personal note: I would like to distance myself from any spelling errors. This was typed on my iPad and I couldn't find the spell check! Hey... Nobody's perfect! Happy Wife Day !

What's wrong with Jack?

April being World Autism Awareness Month, I decided to organise a few initiatives at the local schools and community. On the 17th April we will host an "Autism for Dummies" information evening at the local Primary School hall. I have written a children's book to help explain Autism to smaller children. My 7 year old daughter still struggles to come to terms with her brothers being on the Autism Spectrum. What's wrong with Jack? tries to explain that you cannot see Autism and that tolerance is key to understanding and dealing with it.

 

 

Beach house

Having a demanding family makes simple things like going on holiday together, complicated. The last time I was on holiday with all three my kids were 4 years ago, when Ben was still a baby.

It was the worst two weeks of my life and when I got home, I broke down in tears and vowed to never take all three kids on holiday again.

A few months ago an incredible opportunity presented itself to buy a little home by the sea. It's a two hour drive from our home and it is perfect. Our family has a threshold for long distance driving, which peaks at about two hours. Anything longer than that and you are risking family murder. I think I referred to the situation in more detail in an earlier post regarding "roadtrips".

The house is simple and on a quiet cul de sac, overlooking an estuary. It's fenced and gated, an absolute must for my little 4 year old that often gets Forrest Gump urges and just wants to take off and run! It's close to the beach and very low maintanance. It has a neighbour with a fabulous black labrador, named Max. Max is awesome, he lives and eats next door, but he always greets us with a wagging tail when we get home. The kids play with him like he belongs to them and he even barks at stangers passing our perimeter. It's like having a holiday pet without all the responsibility. My kinda dog.

Needless to say, we bought it and since Jan we have spend every second weekend at our little getaway. Then our first school holiday approached...we have some renovations at our permanent home and thought it a good idea for me and the kids to go spend a week at the beach house and escape the mess and disruption. Great idea!

The week is over and we have to head home tomorrow. It was amazing. The kids were angels and we all had a really chilled holiday. We flew kites, played board games, spend hours on the beach and park and even went boating on the lagoon. Nobody fought and despite very intimate living conditions, everybody got on just fine.
We did arts and crafts, took a trip to a nearby town for some kiddies playfun and I even had a fantastic massage.

It has taken me four years to pluck up the courage to take the kids away on holiday and it was a huge success. There are of course the little silent helpers like prescription meds and a year of behavioural therapy. What I have learned this week is that we too can do things normal families do. With a little planning and a little creativity, (like buying a holiday house) we too can make some fond memories of holidays spend lazing and just kicking back!

What is Autism? Being different doesn't mean being inferior!

What's the difference?

Mom...It's me Aiden!

The blog, Dreams, was written a years ago. At the time we were still under the impression that our son has Attention Deficit Disorder. In May 2011 our then 3 year old was diagnosed with Autism. Becoming familiar with the subject we soon discovered many red flags concerning our eldest son. We had him assessed and at 17 our son was diagnosed with Aspergers.
Being diagnosed on the spectrum changed my relationship with my first born. For the first time in 17 years I understood. I could let go of all the guilt and anger towards him and just love him.  I understood all the enigmas that always surrounded him and I could start the long and slow journey of getting to know a son that was living in my care for all these years, but whom I never really saw.

Dreams…
 
All I ever wanted was for my kids were to be smart. The looks weren't that important, but
they had to be intelligent. I was young and single when my first son was born, and very
ignorant to the realities of raising a child. 
After two weeks of breastfeeding the poor child was malnourished and weighed less than at birth.
We switched to formula and he was OK. By 18 months I noticed his inability to hold his bottle and 
shrugged it off, thinking that he's probably a little spoilt. At age two his speech was delayed and 
understanding him was nearly impossible. An assessment pointed out that he had low muscle tone, 
which could be improved with occupational therapy and speech therapy. Not being able to suckle
 properly, his little hands not holding his bottle and his poor speech was all due to this muscle tone
 problem that I was now addressing. So I thought. 

In grade R an assessor at his preschool felt that he was not yet developmentally  prepared for 
school, and recommended an intense O.T. program to assist him before the completion of his 
preschool year. I wasn't concerned, because I new the origin of his problem, the low muscle tone 
was the culprit. He had poor pencil grip and poor speech, which O.T. was going to sort out. 

At the end of grade 1, his teacher requested a meeting with the headmaster. She felt that our
 son was not achieving the required goals as set out for his grade and identified symptoms of 
Attention Deficit Disorder. It was briefly explained as hyperactivity causing an inability to focus. 
The headmaster comforted us by recommending a more "technical" field, where he could 
work with his hands. He added that there are a few alternative schooling options as well. 
Tafelberg, which is a school that caters for a number of disorders, including severe mental
retardation, was suggested.  I was furious. Herman couldn't believe the audacity these people had. 
Forming an opinion based on no assessment, no specialist input and recommending "he go work 
with his hands". We were insulted and angry. 

My dream of having a smart kid that would excel at academics, receive certificates and book prizes, were shattered... And so our journey began. The first thing that struck me was the inability of
doctors and therapist to diagnose Attention Deficit Disorder. Every single person that we saw, every single assessment and test was met with the same inconclusive, wishy washy diagnosis.
The child shows signs of difficulty with concentration and focus. His reading and writing skills 
are below the required level for his age…blah blah blah. NOBODY wanted to say: Your son has ADD! It was the most frustrating obstacle we faced. The second problem that completely did my head in was the lack of knowledge teachers and educators had about a disorder, that according to statistics were  affecting 10% of   learners. That meant that in a class of 30,  roughly 3 children possibly are candidates for ADD.  

We decided to hold back on the medication for as long as possible, or at least until he was older. 
At 13 he went on prescription medication, which made a world of  difference. BUT it changed him! I 
am pro-medication, for goodness sake if you have  diabetes, you WILL  take insulin. Why would you 
not take medication that can help you?  Here’s why: 
ON MEDS: my son is better able to manage his thoughts and impulses. He is sullen and not very
talkative. He appears disinterested and not motivated by anything, he  never gets excited about 
anything. He is short tempered and very irritable. He cannot stand his sibling sister.
OFF MEDS: my son is under my feet all the time, he is chatty and funny. He cannot focus on 
anything and talks about the most irrelevant nonsense imaginable. He is silly and friendly and plays
with his siblings, without any hassles. 
The choice is not that obvious any more!

The mom of an ADD  child told me the other day: I don’t know who my real daughter is. Is it the disorder  that makes her this care free little girl that has funny quirks and amuses us,or is it the
serious,quiet child whose disorder symptoms are calmed by medication? We all want our children to 
be the best they  can be, to find their true self. But who is the true Aiden and am I helping him to be 
who he is?  Our son is 16 this year. He has no friends, he never goes out, and he plays no sport 
and has no extramural activities that interest him long enough, to become  good at. On a Saturday 
night he went to a braai with his parents and the hostess was shocked that he wasn’t out partying 
with his friends. Other people have to constantly tell me how wonderful my son is and it saddens 
me every day that other people have to  point it out. 

He goes to mainstream school and has managed to do so without too many issues. I 
often wonder if he is happy and has asked him on many occasions. He says yes, but I’m 
never entirely convinced.       

Back to school!

I had it all planned out. Get up early and make my 6 year olds first day at “Big School” a memorable one! It will be memorable…but not in the awesome, super kinda way.

It started with the photo shoot. Little darling girl with long blonde French plat in navy and white chequered school uniform…camera battery flat! Really…Photography 101…always charge battery or have a spare! Now the Cybershot will have to do, while I try and charge a bar or two on the Nikon.

At this point I’m still getting dressed and slapping on my lipstick when I look at the clock to realise that we have 5 min before the bell rings. Luckily we live 3 min away from school, but two minutes are not enough time to for the My First Day At School Extravaganza I had planned! To add insult to injury, hubby curiously asks me in the car: “How did you loose track of time this morning?” This is where auto mom bites her lip and instead of saying: “Well Mr I’m always Late, what exactly did YOU do this morning in assisting the “machine” to work? Did you dress any kids? Did you pack any lunches? Brush and plat anybody’s hair? Make breakfast for any of your offspring? Pack schoolbags? No…I didn’t think so!” She just keeps quiet and says nothing.

So my little girl arrives late for her first day at school. I only managed to get 4 photos taken before we were told that class has started and mom and dad may leave. I feel as if I ruined her first day. It’s her first day of school for crying out loud, it’s like getting married or being kissed for the first time, it can only happen once…the first time I mean. I bloody hope you get kissed more than once in life and as for marriage…chances are it would be the first of many!

Getting home, Ben is still running around like a chicken without a head. He finally settles to eat his toast and on departure hubby notices a red blotch on his cheek. I notice the eyes twitching and then the scratching starts. Ben is allergic to something…what it is we are still not sure, we suspect nuts, but need to have the scratch test done and that is under the list of: Things we dread Ben have to do. Under the list we also have: going to the dentist, going for a haircut and getting out of night time diapers. Speaking of no. 3 on the list; Last night we forgot to put his diaper on and he saved his full bladder pee for my bed when he crawled in next to me at 2am this morning. I digress… so now we have Ben with an allergic reaction to whatever and dad is ready to take him to school. I quickly administered a dose on Celestimine and they are set to go.

Bit of background info: Hubby’s car had to go in for repairs this morning. Luckily we live in a small town and the local dealership collects the car from home. Luckily he has a weekend car (1972 mercedes convertible) which he can use as not to inconvenience anybody. The thing with old collector’s weekend novelty cars…they are not very reliable and as luck would have it…this little gem would not start this morning. I seriously kid you not. I am not making this up!

So instead of panicking I assure hubby that I can walk wherever I need to be today (living in a small town) and they must take my car. Off they set. Now I am car-less and its 33C at 9am in the morning. Not to worry, I love walking.

Walking is cool, very cool. When you have your trainers on and your iPod in your pocket, walking is pretty darn cool. Walking with day clothes and sandals and make-up is pathetic. It’s like you are to poor to afford a second car, people look at you suspiciously when you walk around not with exercise as the main aim. This is how I set off to the chemist to fill a prescription that I ran out of yesterday already. This medication forms an integral part of my sanity which should explain why I’m fucking walking to have it filled!

It is upon my return home when I walked through the front door and saw the reception table turned upside down, lamp shattered and Dusty (the cat) bewildered staring at me, that I realised I’m living in an episode of a family sitcom. I’ve watched them and thought to myself, there’s no way people can live in such chaos and disarray. They exaggerate the experiences to get laughs…I will tell you now in all honesty, the only thing in my life that is exaggerated is appearances!