Something sweet for the weekend

My pal at “Life with Joey” drew my attention to an interesting “video.” If you have a mo, nip over to “Joey’s Mum” and read “her” words before you watch it.

Do not be alarmed that your computer has broken, the sound track has been disabled which I might just have noticed if I’d cleaned my bifocals first.

Don’t forget to add your name to the “list” and help spread the word. I have a terrible feeling that I’ll miss the opportunity to test USPS by sending it abroad. I need more foreigners. Know any foreigners? I wonder if it’s because I’m using the wrong word? Do foreigners know what a giveaway is? Foreigners! Foreigners! Calling all foreigners! It’s a freebie!

Cheers dears

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Down Tools

Slurping Life
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Work paused temporarily due to bad tools.

It should be like this….

But sadly it’s like this.

Yes I know, a bad workman always blames his tools

Don’t forget to add your name to the “list.” if you’ve not done so already.

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Vicarious Story telling

One of the many advantages of two generations of children is that family stories are re-hashed and regurgitated. There are obstacles to be overcome with such story telling. If one generation of children grew up in England and the newer generation grow up in the States then there are a great many discrepancies between the two factions. Their experiences differ greatly.

This becomes all too apparent one night at the dinner table when rowdiness rules the roost. She turns to me and rolls her eyes over the din. She slumps back in her chair to observe her younger siblings raucous, unbridled and ever so ever so loud shenanigans. “Hey!” she bellows with large accompanying arm movements.
“I want to tell you something.”
“When I was little……about your age,” she adds as she glares at each one of them in turn, “I used to be loud too.” None of them says a word, either because they find it hard to imagine that their big sister was ever their age or because they are all different ages or because they cannot imagine her being loud or all three.
“One day mum went to meet her friend at a pub for lunch and I went too.”
“Pub! Pub? Wot is it being ‘a pub’?”
“A pub is where you go to drink.”
They look at her in confusion so I nudge and whisper “that probably wasn’t terribly helpful.”
“Right. A pub is where you go to eat, and drink alcohol, a bit like a restaurant or a diner.” Three pairs of eyes widen at the trigger word ‘alcohol.’
“You are drink alcohol when you was being a kid?”
“No I drank orange juice but that’s not the point. The point….” Her tale is cut short as the conversation is now stuck firmly in the mire of ‘just say no.’ They would only be slightly more shocked to hear that she drank rat poison. The din grows louder as they perseverate over the evils of drink but she reins them in to pursue her tale.
They pause and return their attention to their big sister. “Anyway, as I was saying……we were in the pub……eating…….and I was being very naughty.”
“Naughty?” they chorus.
“Yes… mum’s friend told me a secret.”
“A secret?”
“Yes…….mum’s friend told me that she used to have noisy naughty children too, just like me…….” She pauses to brilliant effect.
“So what do you think happened to her children, those noisy naughty children?” I am suddenly more than a little worried where this is going as I am the one who will have to deal with the fall out, probably for some considerable period of time, but she’s on a roll and there’s no stopping her now.
“Well……mum’s friend told me that her children were so naughty and noisy that she left them in the pub, went home and she never saw them again.”
“She losted her children?”
“Yes she did.”
“Yur kidding right?”
“Dat is way bad.”
“England” is evil!”
They scatter to the four winds before she has the chance to finish.
“Great! Did you have to tell them that?”
“They didn’t give me a chance to finish.”
“You know we’re going to “England” in less than two months?”
“Well I was looking forward to the odd pub lunch here and there, maybe.”
“Do you think that’s going to be a problem? Just from what I said?”
“Believe you me, that little nugget of information is boring a hole into their brains to lodge there quite firmly until hell freezes over.”
“Better get some take out menus “then.”

Don’t forget to add your name to the “list.”

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More Rare than Gold

Special education teachers often get a bad rap although that’s not my personal experience. There are some real gems out there, underpaid and undervalued but nonetheless still giving of their best.

Here in California when over 22,000 pink slips have been issued, I think it’s important to pay tribute to those who work in special education, the professionals we trust with the care of our children, both teachers and aides because it’s all about teamwork. Not only do they need to teach the curriculum and cater to each of the differing special needs of their charges, they also need to deal with the unexpected. I can think of no better way to illustrate the unexpected than to demonstrate the unexpected with an example.

This is of course hearsay as I wasn’t there myself at the time.

My son and his pals enjoy the addition of a new play fellow in their classroom The new chap has a lot of catching up to do because he is in a new environment. Like most ‘new kids,’ he has lots of questions that need lots of answers, ordinary questions, such as the rules. Most children want to know the rules but many children are of a very literal frame of mind, which means that the rules are taken quite literally. Hence the other children half listen to the conversation between the teacher and the new boy as they complete their worksheets.

New boy: “are pets allowed in school?”
Teacher:- “no I’m sorry to tell you that no pets are allowed in school.”
New boy: “are dogs allowed on the school grounds?”
Teacher: “no I’m afraid there’s a strict rule about allowing dogs on the premises, we have to be careful.”
New boy: “are cats allowed on the premises?”
Teacher: “sadly, cats aren’t allowed on school grounds either.” The last sentence is my son’s cue to stand up, walk to the wall to collect his backpack and head towards the exit but his teacher intervenes, “what’s up my friend?”
“Oh dear. I was forgetting. Of course! You are part cat!”

Did you remember to thank your teachers and aides today?

Don’t forget to add your name to the “list.”

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Meet Aqua

5 Minutes for Special Needs

Spring has sprung and we out hunting down new pets for free.

If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to“DJ Kirkby” over at “Chez Aspie” and test your brain power.

Don’t forget to add your name to the “list.”

p.s. someone with a jolly big brain pointed out to me that “Etsy” has an RSS feed, so if you’re really interested in the pi bowls you may wish to consider subscribing to that feed because I rarely write in real time which means if / when the pi bowls are ever ready they’ll be posted to the “Etsy site” way before I get around to mentioning it here.

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Reasonable people can agree to differ

Tackle It Tuesday Meme
Try This Tuesday

As some of you may already know, “April” is “Autism” “Awareness” month. Whilst this is a “controversial” “matter” I would like to help people understand that an autism diagnoses does not mean that my ‘real’ children were not stolen nor is it worse than cancer nor death. These perspectives are a great dis-service to people, “parents and children” who struggle with those real tragedies. Autistic people and those with special needs deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect that we offer everyone else on the planet.

As I am now on “Etsy,” I am offering this bowl, shipped for free anywhere in the World, as my small contribution.

It’s about six inches across and just over two inches high carved in forest green slip, my son’s favourite.

Some people are “autistic,” “adults,” “young people” and “teens,” some are “parents” or “single parents” of “autistic” children, there are lots of boys “as” well as “girls,” our neighbours and friends. Although you may not be directly affected I am quite certain that you already know someone who is autistic, even if you don’t know it. I would encourage you to add your name to the list either for yourself of someone you know. No matter where we are on the spectrum we all basically want the same thing, a better future for autistic people and those with special needs.

We may never achieve awareness but we may be able to encourage people to think differently.

Sorry it’s not a pi dish but the kiln at the studio is backed up and I cannot predict when they might be ready nor how many will come out in one piece.

There are lots of other giveaways available at “Melanie’s” site called

“Bloggy Giveaways,”

that may also tempt your fancy.

Best wishes

Mom Blogs

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The walking wounded

Hosted by “Tracy” at “Mother May I,” but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

red BSM Button


Nothing broken thank goodness but with a splint on the left and a sling on the right she only has two other functioning limbs.

The boys teamed up. One issued verbal instructions and the other complied, two things we don’t experience very often.

In the meantime someone fiddled with my American message:-

Although I suppose either one works:-

I wonder which one it was?

Which would you choose?


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Not Adorable

They lie on the floor of the waiting room whilst their sister has her second batch of x-rays. A middle aged woman like me, peers at a magazine through her bifocals with the cord dangling. Each of my boys has a Pokemon toy in each hand. The receptionist and her assistant exchange files behind their desk. The Pokemons chatter together quietly in their own language, assisted by my sons. An elderly gentleman rests his hands on his stick as he waits for his wife to return. It’s a long wait. Two high school girls wait for their father. A couple of youngsters saunter in with rucksacks straight from school with their Dad. They sit close by as their father completes paperwork, concentrates on filling the boxes. My boys continue to play, quietly. This is the first occasion that I have ever been able to manage them all without incident in a waiting room, but of course I’m not really managing them at all, they’re managing themselves. If they were between 3 and maybe six years old, no-one would turn a hair, but of course they’re so much bigger. I could actually do what other people do, things like read a book whilst they play, but I don’t as for once, ironically, even though I could, I’d rather watch instead.

It’s a diary moment, a milestone, just a little bit later than some other people. The familiar tune of a Nintendo DS game twinkles and sparks attention. My boys prop themselves up on their elbows to look across at the back of the open game console, in somebody else’s hands, “d’ya wanna play wiv us?” he offers in a thoroughly unprecedented socially appropriate manner. The gamer and his brother flash glimpse over the console, sneer and resume gaming. “Oh well,” he sighs as they continue to Pokemon, no meltdown, no reaction, no bitterness, a competent acceptance of a casual, commonplace rebuff. I think to myself, because I am biased, ‘go on, have a go, how can you resist, they’re so adorable!’ It’s just another one of those occasions that I never imagined we would ever experience, when I know that everything will be just fine.

Yes, I’m on “Etsy” now:-

If you require shipping to anywhere other than the United States you can contact me with your location so that I may provide you with the price of shipping for your consideration in advance.

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Slurping Life
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We drive home from school after a quick check of the daily school reports. These notes are invaluable to give a parent a heads up. This lets me know that my older son has exhausted his words bank and that my younger son had a frightfully good day. I encourage frightfully good day to tell us all the details and let the empty bank re-couperate. For some unknown reason there is an excessively high count of “nit wits” on the road, who unfortunately, are also driving. I need to concentrate on his words. I need to concentrate on the nit wits. We pull up to the stop light and another car with open windows. Everyone turns as one and lifts their hands to their ears to examine the occupants, drawn by the 50 decibel musak. We all observe the same thing about this possibly typical family. The driver is a woman who chats on her cell phone, loudly. The small child in the front seat plays with his Nintendo DS. The two larger children in the back seat watch a DVD of cartoons and eat. We drive off with the green light whilst they are still static. I grit my teeth for the inevitable questions:- how come other children are allowed to play electronics when it’s not 5:30, how come other children get to watch the telly any time they like, how come we have to starve in the car for the 7 minute drive home, why do we always have to talk about our day, why do we have to do chores and homework before electronics, …………….but there aren’t any, just a statement,

“I wanna go and live wiv dem.”

Cheers dears

Let me know if the new little share button below works and I think my “Etsy” is up and running, I hope.

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2 by 4 and other roadblocks

It’s a pretty ordinary kind of a day once they’ve all headed off for school. I strip two beds and start the laundry, nip out into the garden to plants a couple of packets of sunflower seeds, throw a couple of pots, bake a pair of loaves, take the dog for his customary two hour’s walk, fix two sprinkler heads, trim a couple of pots, carve one, attempt un-blurry photographs of said pots, return to supper preparations. As I peel potatoes at the sink I have the chance to listen to the radio on NPR where Michael Krasny interviews Germaine Greer about her latest fascinating book called Shakespear’s Wife, Anne Hathaway. My hands peel but by brain is back in Merry olde England, the trials of serfs, the division of labour, women’s rights and a whole slew of ancient memories of when I had a fully functioning brain when the phone rings.

The school requests collection of one ever so slightly, physically dented child.

I suspend all productivity and hare off to the school, then to the doctor, the radiologist and finally the Chemist for a sling. No permanent damage except to our finances and to her pride for apparently playing soccer with her hands!

This is why I shall never be an intellectual. Maybe I should buy the book?

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