The guilty parent!

The school summer holidays roll on & tumbleweed blows around my blog. I've been doing that 'being busy but seemingly achieving nothing' thang that parents know oh so well.

Ellie has begun to ask me for memories of the Brood as babies & toddlers, but I haven't yet dared to confess that so much time passed in a blur of nappies, feeds, washing machine loads, post-natal depression and then full blown bipolar, that my recollections are faulty & a little blurred around the edges. This feels me with guilt - it's as though the absence of memory represents a form of neglect! After all, wasn't it my intention to be a fabulous parent and to bring something fresh & vibrant to this child-rearing lark? I was going to do things differently - why I even had delusions of perfection! Well ha ha, the joke's on me - the grind got to me and I am instead a faulty, guilt-ridden parent. But they're loved, adored & cherished and I feel ever so certain that they know this even in their bones.

Of course the idea of being a perfect parent is a mirage - the only thing you can realistically hope for is to be, what John Cleese & Robin Skynner described in their excellent book, 'Families and How to Survive Them' 'a good enough parent'. So as this imperfect parent didn't manage to keep her baby books & photo albums in pristine, lucid order, the wannabe good-enough parent is going to trawl through her diaries, journals and notebooks in order to find the notes & scribbles she dashed off about her Brood.


A six month old Tom in diapers & dungarees - scribbles dashed off in between his cries and mine!

I thank Lord Dodo of Dodo Towers for his gift to the busy family of the splendid five column Dodo diary - without the help he's given us during these past years I wouldn't be able to rummage through old diaries and find the landmark dates that Ellie wants me to remember. Ah yes, Ellie's first steps. Wow, I actually remember that day!

Rosa & Co

Rosa & Co

With birthday week coming up ( Lula is ten on Wednesday, Ellie has an honourary on Thursday and Tom hits the big one six on Friday) I'm living in a flurry of wrapping paper. Having tussled with a sellotape dispenser that is refusing to dispense, yesterday I allowed myself time off for good behaviour and did a little light stringing. The result is 'Rosa & Co', a sweet little combo that would flatter any one's skin tone. I've added some blush pink Murano glass cubes & lashings of silver from Shiana to a truly delicious set of beads by the UK artist, Beverley Hicklin with the results you see before you.

Marghanita Laski's book is available from Persephone, one of my favourite bookshops. Jewellery and a good book - what more could one ask for on a Saturday afternoon? A working sellotape dispenser - that's what!!

A hair gel that's hood proof??

I've just watched an advert for hair gel that promised it was hood proof. This sends shivers down my spine - surely the hair will mould the hood?

So it's not enough that I have to wade through a swamp of discarded clothes whenever I venture into Tom's room on a plate/bowl/mug hunt. I may now have to clamber over a series of distorted head shapes too? This is either a vision from a nightmare or a future entry for the Turner Prize!

I'm so angry!

Please forgive me but I'm about to rant. It's Tom's birthday today - he's a finally a teenager & he's been dancing on air! Yesterday he went to the Star Wars exhibition in London & he was ecstatically happy.

But...

We've had to collect him home from school because Tom was accosted by four older boys wanting money. I don't let him carry anything valuable at school - fortunately they appear to have believed him. Tom doesn't want to talk about it at the moment. Later on, he will find me & talk - this is our pattern.

There is some good news - he remembered his plan of action & went to Matron who contacted his Head of Year.

He was doing so well! I loathe the little shits that mock him. He knows he is loved & adored here - he is Tom, PDD or not - but he is growing frightened of the world. He believes he is hated and that anything bad that happens is all down to some mistake he's made.

Why oh why oh why oh why! They've ruined one of his rites of passage birthdays!

So help me, at some point in the future, I'm not going to take my meds for a while & then they will feel the full force of my anger. I'm very articulate at first & anyone who stands me in my way will be mentally shredded & pulverised.

Women are tigers when it comes to their children! Even Darth Vader would flee were he confronted by an angry mother!

Smoothing out the creases

Cherry Choker

For one reason & another, I haven't had many opportunities to flex my creative muscles recently. I'm not a good person to be around when this happens - I become twitchy, impatient & unable to sleep because I get stuck in overdrive.

Yesterday I struck gold because my son wanted to practice drawing some Marvel superheroes ( as well as an actor, he also wants to be a comic book artist & a game designer; preferably all at the same time!!) so I shut the study door on my computer & using Dan Jurgens' book for guidance,we spent the afternoon drawing in my beloved Shack. Drawing Captain America & Cyclops might not sound exciting, but spending 'Shack Time' with Tom & all the other super heroes was cool.

We have our best conversations in the Shack! Everyone does. People wander round to see what projects I've got on the go or look at books & then - wham!! They're sat in the rocking chair & we're talking about life, the universe & everything. My Shack nestles amongst trees & shrubs & has a panoramic view across the golf course to the other side of the valley, so it feels calm, restorative & peaceful. There's no noise except bird song & no clocks to watch. 'Shack Time' is good time!

Most of the knots & needles of tension which I'd collected over the week were relieved by Daredevil & Nightcrawler. Laura Sparling swabbed my petulance today because I played with some of her beads - yeee haaa!

Cherry is quite a big girl - she's about 3½ inches across. I need to take some more photographs of her because the dull background has interfered with the colours of the leaves - they are composed of shades of fresh green & olive in reality. I'll add that to my list of things to capture the next time the sun shines for my camera.

I'm celebrating because I'm back in the groove - I want another dose of beads - I'm a full blown addict today!

how to embarrass your grandmother with William Blake.

Foxglove Necklace

My dear friend Jean has urged me to relate a story from my childhood, but before I begin, jump over to Jean's blog and have a good wallow in her wonderful words. Amongst other things, you can read about The Ruse, Paul Yates, scuba diving, divine jewellery and on 8th April, 100 things to know about Jean. Jean is very kind to me & she's encouraged me to write a list too. My brain is so tiny that it doesn't have room to think of too many things at the same time so given this limitation, I'll have to lay my facts before you a few at time.

1. I once kissed a man who told me my hair was the colour of a tawny owl's feathers. I believe that men who come up with compliments like this should be encouraged.

2. Eleanor Romy was named after Eleanor of Aquitaine ( my heroine), my step grandmother, Ella & my mother, Romy. These are sensible reasons.

3. My daughter Lula was named after a dog & my son's favourite teddy bear. Indeed 'Lula' was his first word. Loopy's real name is Georgia Alice ( which she hates) and in her case she was named after my dog, Georgie Girl. These are not sensible reasons. To avoid confusion between Georgie Baby & Georgie Dog, we decided that we would give the babe a nickname. This seemed a reasonable solution. James & I couldn't think of anything suitable but when Tom suggested Lula we cheered because it suits her perfectly. BTW Tom's intuition was spot on. I have never met anyone who is as Lulaish as Lula.

4. I embarrassed Ella with the help of William Blake. I was always allowed to rummage through my grandmother's library of books. I fell for 'Songs of Innocence & Experience' with my favourite poem being this. I knew it off by heart. When I was circa nine, I was allowed to attend one of my grandmother's afternoon tea parties. She asked me to recite a few lines of poetry to her friends. She'd been reading Walter de la Mare, John Masefield & Tennyson to me & was probably expecting a few lines from'The Lady of Shalott'. But OH NO!! Ms Dangerfield gave a perfect rendering of 'The Sick Rose' instead. I was still allowed to read any book I liked, but it was decided that I needed fresh air when my grandmother was entertaining so no more poetry recitals for me!

4. I am not ticklish.

5. I know a lot of gossip about the Pre-Raphaelites. In my opinion, a man who has his wife exhumed because he wants his poems back, is not fit for polite society. I would tell you who this was, but I fear that I have bored you so much that you're probably asleep by now. I don't want to disturb you whilst you're slumbering so I'll save my tittle-tattle for another day.

Sweet dreams!

a bad, sad day

Romy's Fork

First of all let me tell you that I did not create this wonderful bracelet. It was my mother's and is now mine & I've incorporated it into this post because my mother was besotted with my son & if she was here, I know she would be beside me on the war path.

During the past two years, my son has had problems with being bullied at school. Tom has dyspraxia so he's an easy target. I don't want to discuss where he is on the scale, but if you google dyspraxia & PDD, you'll be able to see what I'm talking about. He has a slight handicap but no one can see it or hear it so it passes unremarked. Yet he is sufficiently different that older boys have marked him out as a target and today this culminated in a foul assault in which he was repeatedly kicked in the head having been pushed down a steep bank.

During the two years that Tom has been at this school, we have notified the staff of the problems & seen the head of year with whom we are now in regular contact.We have supported their bullying policy & have encouraged Tom to be brave - we have done everything possible to work with the school to make it a safer place to be in, not only for Tom's sake but for the other children as well. But it's not working - it's failing - and I believe the time has come for us to draw a line in the sand. Now what sort of a line should that be - that's the question.

This time, I can't see both sides of the coin - for the first time I don't care what problems the other child has. This hurts me because in my twenties I did some voluntary work with the National Children's Home so I'm aware of a wide range of problems for which I have deep compassion & I earnestly wish I could finally put an end to the mental & physical injuries that adults inflict upon children. But my feelings about the bullies are set in concrete now - I have no mercy; I'm not even sure if I can forgive.

Harsh words you might say, but I'm the one who has to physically restrain him when our cherished son tries to hurt himself. James & I are the ones who witness him tormenting himself because he feels he deserves this treatment - that he is doomed because of dyspraxia. We take him to see counsillors and doctors - all trace of his self esteem has vanished so we use all the resources that are available to us and to any other child with dyspraxia. We all work together, Tom the hardest of all & he manages to find perspective. He gets himself back on a relatively even keel but then it starts all over again.

The culprits are young men in their last year at school - they have one term left. Why not pick on a younger child? What effective punishment can the school take in the few weeks that are left? None whatsoever - it's not difficult to work out what the bullies are thinking.

If the school cannot come up with an effective solution, what can we do? If our scheduled meeting with the head mistress doesn't go to plan, where does that leave us? To ensure his safety, do I keep Tom at home & let him miss valuable hours of lessons as well as the social contact which he needs despite him finding it difficult even under normal circumstances - indeed the bullies are confirming the 'suspicions' of a child with dyspraxia! So what should I do? Should I go to the local papers? Yes. Should I go talk my MP, Mark Oaten? Frankly I think the fat lady has sung for him. Should I go to the police? If it ever happens again, you can count on it. Tom's school is gearing up to welcome a new set of students in September - they are promising parents that their bullying policy works. Surely I'm within my rights to publicise the fact that this is not the case?

And where does this leave Tom? Petrified, lonely, trust torn into shreds and another step closer to the pattern of self destructive questioning that makes him believe that he deserves this vicious treatment. We have pulled him back from the abyss before & I believe that I can do something similar this time ( years of therapy may not have helped me build any self esteem, but they're an excellent resource to draw upon in my dealings with my three children.) Once again he is missing lessons because I will keep him here with me until the school can guarantee his safety. They promised me this last time. Call me stupid but as it's a school, I actually believed them.

Please let me make one thing clear. I support teachers 100%. So much is demanded of them from so many directions including irate parents who are demanding to know what can be done about bullies. Teachers should be allowed to teach & they should also be treated with respect by their pupils - if I had spent my last term at grammar school behaving like a lout, I would have spent longer & longer periods in detention doing stultifyingly boring things such as writing lines in Latin or helping the cleaners or on litter patrol with one of the PE mistresses. The latter was a clever one because the natural inclination is to drag your feet whereas Miss So & So's pace quickly became exhausting.

One can find bullies in all areas of life - the problem is growing & not decreasing. But then we live in a culture that apparently celebrates rudeness. Only last night I caught a glimpse of a programme which documented the tantrums & lack of manners of some saddo has-been. The television schedules are peppered with examples of this rude & crude genre.

There is one final thing that I would like to know - whatever happened to treating other people as you would like to be treated yourself? When did that one get chucked out of the pram?

Photograph by Jennifer Dangerfield ©