Monday, 30 January 2012
Saturday, 28 January 2012
Friday, 27 January 2012
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
Joanna Moorhead describes herself as perhaps appearing an 'over-emotional, woolly liberal' ('Removing a Child is Terrible' Family, Saturday Guardian 14/01/12). Actually to me she came over as immature, ignorant and offensive. To ask Sallyanne Jones, a specialist in child protection, how she would feel if she had to give up her child - as she cradled her seven-month old baby - smacked of a childish 'how would you like it to happen to you then, eh?' and was downright nasty, something I suspect the writer was half-aware of considering she spent the first part of the article defending the question.
I adopted my children and am all too aware that birth parents who do not abuse or neglect their children find Social Workers, the care system and adoption frightening. The idea of someone taking away their child and losing them to a bunch of nameless people is too horrific to contemplate. But what people like Sallyanne and other people caught up in child protection and its ramifications, like Foster Carers and adopters know, is that child protection is exactly that; it is about protecting the child. Hard as it may be for Joanna Moorhead to acknowledge that some parents abuse and neglect their children, it absolutely does happen. We now know that such trauma damages the growing brain, causing the child to suffer all sorts of mental and physical dysfunctions. That cannot be allowed to happen because we might be squeamish about causing distress to the parents.
She may think that 'removing children from their mother is almost always tragedy', but she is wrong. It isn't 'almost' always a tragedy, it is always a tragedy for everyone involved, most especially - Joanna Moorhead should perhaps contemplate - for the child who needed protection from their own mother.
Monday, 16 January 2012
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Saturday, 14 January 2012
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
Monday, 9 January 2012
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Friday, 6 January 2012
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
School holidays are always a day or three too long. If they just left school on the Friday and went back on a Monday I swear it wouldn't be so bad. But there always seem to be an excuse for an early break-up and then those bloody teacher 'training days' delaying the return. Ours don't go back until tomorrow (Weds) but they were ready to go back on Monday (Yes, I know it was a Bank Holiday, but even so).
I thought this week would be easier on account of Husband being off work on holiday. I was even looking forward to it. Kids go back tomorrow giving us three days alone together.
But, of course, he's friggin ill. He's been ill nearly all holiday. It's nearly 11am as I type and he's still in bed. Great. I was up and out the house before 9am to do a business job, came back 10.30am soaked to the skin and the kids had only just got up. He might as well not be here.
Daughter's got a grazed knee and she's milking it for all it's worth at the moment. This morning she got her brother to make her breakfast for her because of it. This was happening as I got home, so I wet a tissue with warm water and came to bathe the graze to soften it up a little. Naturally, this caused Daughter to start screaming. I could understand a flinch or something, but a soft tissue, warmed with water really shouldn't equate with the pain of having finger nails pulled off with plyers. Not in my book, anyway.
I told her to stop screaming because she was scaring her brother (he was edging away down the settee away from her, his face contorted as if he was witnessing a scene of torture) but scream away she did.
She's sitting over yonder now with a glob of vaseline on it. Yesterday we went over to a friend's house and she refused to wear anything but a summer shift dress and her knickers because of her knee. No socks, trousers, long skirt, jumper, fleece, and no, not even a plaster was allowed to grace her body. No, just a summer shift dress, despite it being the middle of December. Presumably, this is lest any material on her arms rubbed against her knee, or maybe she was worried her socks would escape from her feet and crawl up her leg. Or perhaps she just wanted to draw attention to a graze on her knee and get lots and lots of attention. Who knows. I wonder what 'special conditions' her knee will continue to dictate today.
Son is in a mood with me. I got out the laptop and made it plain that I was buying some waterproof trousers for myself. Even so, he got very excited and started chatting away about the Skylander figures I could buy him online. Nope. I said. And reiterated I was buying something for me and then using the computer for my own entertainment. Radical, I know, that a mother might want to do something for herself, cruel maybe to leave her children to their own devices, wrapped in blankets, warm and well fed, watching TV, but that's the type of cowbag mother I am.
Any minute now he'll be getting out his attention-seeking cough... and there we go! Before I even finish the sentence, out comes his annoying cough.
Children, with these psychosomatic disorders you are really spoiling us!
But of course, as irritating as my children's little ways can be, the real reason I am especially irritable this morning is Husband. During school holidays 90% of the time I am effectively a single parent because his stupid Dickensian company make it very difficult for him to take time off full-stop, never mind take time off during useful times like school holidays. This was one holiday we were supposed to share. And he's in bed friggin ill. With a cold that's given him toothache, of all things. And rather than take my super-duper Syndol tablets, which, along with Ibuprofen, would zap his discomfort and make him a functional family man, he prefers to friggin take crappy paracetamol and lie around moaning in the manner of a heroin in a Victorian novel.
I just fought one of my tension headaches for 3 days and had to walk around like a zombie dosed up on morphine just so that I could get things done, but Husband? Pah! Well he can just lie in bed and leave it all to someone else. What must that be like.
Sympathy in short supply. For anybody. All day.
ps nearly 12 noon and Husband still in bed. Am. Not. Moving. From. Computer. Till. He. Gets. Up.
pps Husband now up and seems much better. He's lovely, really.