last week

And so.... Daughter and Son were crazy bonkers because of SATs and assessments at school, Husband worked extra long hours at work and was knackered, I had a eyeball watering tension headache and then.... my Gran died.

She was 97 years old and she really didn't want to go. She was angry, very angry, hitting and swearing at people in between morphine induced sleeps. I really felt for my Dad and his two Sisters having to endure seeing their Mother like that. My Dad has Parkinsons, feels unwell every day and tires easily, but he never, ever missed his thrice weekly visits to his Mum, not in all these years. He was as good a Son as anyone could wish for. I feel a poor imitation of a good child next to him.

Dad's Sisters and their Husbands, Me, my Mum and my two Brothers and one cousin, joined Dad at Gran's care home. Dad was with her when she died, but he was alone. Then we were all there, around Gran's bed. Talking, weeping, hugging. It took a while for the Doctor to come and certify the death, so we hung around in the home's 'quiet room' and managed, quite remarkably, to enjoy each others company. Then the Doctor came and went and we had to say goodbye. I don't think I can bare to write about that.

She didn't have a very exciting life, my Gran, she was born at the start of The Great War, married, had three kids, worked for most of her life as a playground supervisor at a local school. Other than the trials of her generation - losing male relatives in the First and Second World War and dodging Hitler's bombs as he tried to take-out Midland factories - nothing much happened to her. She didn't have hobbies, although she had been a talented artist when she was young and had gone to art school for a short time. She didn't have any friends, just her Sisters, and she never joined a club or went to Bingo. I don't think she ever had a holiday that wasn't in a caravan, other than the trip to Dublin me and my brothers once took her on. Her whole life was her family. If I have one legacy though from her, passed through my Dad to me, it is a love of animals, particularly dogs. She loved dogs more than she loved life itself, I think. And as her ending showed, she loved life pretty hard.

When I got the phone call from Mum, I told the kids their great grandmother had passed. They met her just twice, and we have a photo of her with them. I showed them the photo to remind them of who she was, but they already knew. I asked for hugs before I went to be with my Dad and I got them. Apparently after I had gone Son had a 20 minute crying fit over some toast, but I suspect that the upset of death in the family destabalised him a little. Destabalises us all, doesn't it?

Rest In Peace, Gran. I know we weren't always close, but you did say some kind things to me, we shared some lovely moments and I have a handful of terrific memories of you. I'll take care of Dad for you now.

eureka!

I asked Daughter again this week, all casual like, why she takes the food. Stock answer: I don't know.

Then, a bit later, when I was doing some washing-up, she pottered into the kitchen and we chatted a little, then she said that she thought she knew why she took food, she did it when worried and she's worried about SATs next week.

Doh!

How thick am I?

Daughter's been displaying certain behaviours recently and I connected them to her impending SATS no problem and diffused things quickly. But the food? It all started weeks ago and so I didn't make the connect, even though I know the SATs pressure has been on at school since Christmas.

As soon as she said it, I knew it was right. The last time she drove me bonkers with this sort of stuff was when she went on a residential last Autumn, and that was of course a big thing for her. It died down as soon as it was over.

Wahoo!

Daughter got a big hug with that one and we've agreed to start introducing confectionery back into the house after her SATs next week, see how she goes.

Can't believe I didn't think it myself!

the dream

I've been having some wondrous dreams lately, mostly about aliens invading planet earth and the human race scrambling for survival.

Last night I had this dream that I was in the city and aliens started throwing silver balls about the size of tennis balls at us from their shiny silver ships high in the sky. These balls, when they landed, radiated out cool waves of air that washed over everybody and made them serene and emotionless. I ran for my life away from these waves of air. I ended up hiding down an alley, exhausted. Me and this random bloke watched from behind a garbage bin as the aliens, dressed up in black and silver metal armour suits like something out of a super-hero comic book, walked among the population and zapped with great big metal swords anyone who showed any emotion.

When I woke up and thought over the dream it really didn't take much to figure out what it was all about. The alien silver balls came from the silver ball cake sprinkles my daughter took, and the demand to be serene, calm and emotionless at all times comes from having to live with two kids who scan you constantly for your emotions.

I don't feel like I'm allowed emotions in this house. If I slip and allow myself a moment of complete exasperation or even small annoyance the kids pounce on it. Daughter loves to see me lose control, makes her feel superior. In fact, I think some of her crazy making is to make me lose control, so she can relax. Son however ups his game. He has to make his emotions bigger than mine, and it can quickly get out of control if I don't immediately stamp down my own feelings.

It sucks. It's why I liked the anti-depressants so much, because I didn't have to work so hard at being emotionless.

Yesterday Daughter was really rude about something and I snapped at her. A few minutes later she came and apologised for annoying me. She had totally picked up on my expression of emotion and was addressing that rather than her being rude. So I put the ball back in her court and said that the issue was her rudeness, and then just for good measure I had another go at her about it. She remained slightly cocky and defiant for the rest of the night.

So afterwards, of course, I kept picking over how I had handled it and how I could have done it better. By 'better' I realised I meant how I could have sucked down my emotions and addressed the underlining emotions with Daughter that lead her to be rude in the first place. That, in a nutshell, is what you are supposed to do as a therapeutic parent.

As a 'normal' parent, I'd have felt completely within my rights to call my 10 year old Daughter on her rudeness. As an adoptive parent I know I'm supposed to put the relationship before my own feelings about their behaviour. That's harder than it seems, when you're doing it day in day put, year after year. Sometimes, God forgive me, I wish I was a normal parent who can just say it like it is. Sometimes I really wish my home didn't have aliens in it and I could just express myself without getting zapped.
 

big raspberry in my face

So, after Fruit-Flakes-gate, I dug deep. Very deep. Parenting these children pushes you to find things inside you that you never knew you had. I made repair with Daughter. Even though I didn't want to. Even though I was still really pissed with her. As soon as she came out of school, I offered the olive branch and she, as always, readily accepted. And the relief I felt was immense. I don't like not feeling friends with her.

Later we talked about trust, and how we needed to be able to trust each other. She had to trust that I would give her everything she needed, and I had to trust that she wouldn't take things she knew she wasn't supposed to. People who love each other, must trust each other, I said. I felt we'd connected. That night I left a loving note for her to find in the morning, because she had written me one the day before. All was well.

Then we went to Husband's parents on the Saturday, and whilst there my Son told me that Daughter was keeping some of the cake sprinklers she had stolen in her handbag and they were eating in the car on the drive over. The £4 worth of cake sprinkles she had taken before the Fruit Flakes, that she hadn't yet admitted to me that she had taken. I got straight up off the table, where we'd all just eaten a lunch, and went to where Daughter had left her bag. Sure enough. sprinkles. And I recalled all the whispering and giggling in the car on the way over and I knew now what that was.

I acted with restraint. I didn't go into my parents-in-law dining room and throw her bag at her whilst screaming obscenities, like I wanted to. I swallowed my rage and carried on with the afternoon - apart from one comment I made to her when she was eating pudding I'm surprised you've got room for that lemon meringue after all the silver ball sprinkles you ate on the drive over. The look on her face told me I'd got it spot on.

I kept wondering why I was so angry. I mean. I'm getting pissed over cake sprinkles, really? But I've realised this. It's not about the cake sprinkles. It's about trust. Trust and the fact that she doesn't trust me and I don't trust her, and that's dangerous.

I know this but she doesn't.

I'm the one who knows all about attachment theory and the importance of building bonds. I'm the one who works my arse off trying to forge the sort of trust that is the bedrock of the parent-child relations. I'm the one who's read all the book, been to the seminars, and knows all the theory. I'm the one who knows how important attachement is to her recovery and her future, and has in mind all day every day that the health of the relationship between us is of vital importance to her.

And she's the one who couldn't give a stuff about any of that.

She still thinks it's all about getting what you can, when you can, because selfishness served her best in the past.

We're operating from completely different priorities. She's not trying to attach to me, she's still trying to survive.

But I know her future doesn't look bright if she can't form a normal, trusting relationship with someone and continues to think that other people are for manipulating and getting one over on.

And the fact that she could be giggling about the cake sprinkles in her handbag after the major blow-out over the Fruit Flakes, after the talks we had had about trust and honesty, after the loving notes we had swapped, was just one big raspberry blown in my face. She wasn't really sorry, she was only sorry she had been caught  I took the Fruit Flakes because I wanted them and she would take them again tomorrow.

So, natural consequences. She got about 10 small cake sprinkles rattling around in a bowl, which I had taken from her handbag, instead of the large scoops of delicious icecream Son got for afters. No more fruit flakes for the lunch box. No more chocolate bars for after school snack, or mousse for pudding. Nothing like that in the house at all. I'll be fagged if I'm going to spend any more of my time hiding confectionery. No money for snacks at school. All because I don't trust her

Perhaps if she can see that breaking someone's trust is a bad choice, that you get less if you take what you shouldn't, maybe I can rewrite the script in her head that says that low cunning benefits more than being trustworthy and honest.

it's all gone a bit Pete Tong

Having enjoyed a hiatus from being spat at, hit and told I was going to be killed, my Daughter has now stepped forward to put a block on any hope that things could approach normal around here.

Her paranoid sensitivity has returned along with her issues around food. It's amazing how quickly you can grow weary of a child who wails every time you don't do exactly and immediately what she wants. As for the food, I'd a;ready stopped buying the chocolate we used to keep around here for snacks and treats. I was sick and tired of having to hide it in different places because Daughter would just take it and sneak off and stuff her face with it all. The final straw was when she ate the contents of all four pots of cake decorations. No more sweets things in this house, I told everyone!

But I'm such a stupid, gullible person. Daughter was always quite keen on me buying Fruit Flakes for their pack lunches. Yoghurt covered raisins. Husband approved (he's in charge of the lunches), so I did. Having got into such trouble over the cake decorations, I didn't think Daughter would be so stupid as to take the Fruit Flakes left out in full view and very easily noticed if missing because I only bought six of them. But apparently she is as stupid as me because last night I just found two packets in her doll's house. I only looked in there because she made a point of telling me she was playing in her room with her doll's house and I knew, just knew, she'd taken something and was scoffing on it.

The awful thing is that I know this is not just bad behaviour, that this is communication of trauma of inner feelings of chaos and fear but right at this moment I don't give a flying fuck. I just want to be able to put biscuits in a biscuit tin or keep mousse in the fridge like a normal person.

I've had to stop the anti-depressants because of my stomach trouble and boy can I tell the difference. I liked myself when I was on meds. I liked other people a whole lot more too. I would still get offended or pissed off, but the feelings would quickly melt away. Now I'm back to being a nasty vindictive bitch who refuses to speak to her Daughter, tells her bemused Husband to fuck off, and hangs out of the window having a fag because it's the only freaking way I can find to stop wanting to murder everyone.

Daughter wrote me a note to say she was sorry, but I know she is only sorry that she got caught. She has taken every opportunity to show she is trustworthy and chosen to steal and stuff her gob, instead. I'm struggling to get into a place where I can make repair with her because I know that given the chance to take stuff again, she would do it and not give a fig. I don't want to make repair with her, I really really don't.

I hate this. I hate being like this. So what if Daughter steals Fruit Flakes and eats those instead of the proper, healthy meals I provide for her. I probably would too if my birth parents had been as shit, self-centered and downright neglectful and cruel as her parents were. Why the hell should she trust me to feed her? And Yet! I am furious at her. Absolutely furious at her and I can't seem to do a damn thing about it.

Other than go back on the chill pills.

I took a pill last night because I just wanted to sleep and I knew it would bring me down. I'm not normally the self-loathing type, but I don't think very highly of myself today. Seems the only way I can be the decent, kind, pleasant, lovable mother and wife that I really want to be is to get chemical help. That's not something I am proud of.

hospital

Last Friday I was admitted to hospital! I had severe abdominal pain and I went through NHS Direct, my GP and finally to A&E where an injection of morphine at 2.30 in the morning finally stopped me crawling around on the floor in pain.

When I went to pick the kids up that afternoon I had an idea that the pain was getting worse and that some sort of medical intervention might be needed. I briefed the kids, told them I had tummy ache and might have to go to the Doctors, but I kept it as light and non-scary as I could. I knew this was more than the usual acid-reflux problem.

My Daughter loves taking care of people so she was quite excited by the idea of me being ill, but trying to appeal to the better nature of my Son failed miserably. He made himself as moody, attention seeking and as rude as possible until one final loud complaint about his tea saw me calmly deposit it in the bin. At which point he asked me if I wanted his tea thrown in my face. I didn't, and demonstrated this by collapsing to the floor and crying out in agony.

The kids spent Saturday afternoon with Husband's Parents, whilst Husband came to see me in my hospital ward. I was starved the whole day to have a scan that finally revealed nothing. I was also exhausted due to the chatty attention-seeking old bag in the cubicle next to mine keeping me awake all night and throughout the day. She played up for the nurses, pinching them, pretending she couldn't walk, pretending she couldn't hear them, and asking to go for a wee every 20 minutes. I had sympathy, thinking her just old and confused, until the Physio Guy turned up and she happily demonstrated being able to walk perfectly well, then her Daughter came to visit and she held a perfectly coherent conversation for an hour and a half, highlighting that she knew exactly what was going on. She displayed, in fact, the whole range of attention-seeking, controlling behaviours that my kids do, and completely spoiled any chance for me to enjoy some rest.

I was released late Saturday, weak and exhausted, and have been recovering since. The hardest thing is trying to really be there for the kids when honestly all I want to do is just rest. I'm trying to show them that although they saw me in hospital (Husband brought them to see me briefly Saturday morning) that there is nothing to worry about, and that Mummy is well and there for them. I know Son's behaviour on Friday night was caused by fear.

Medical people have determined what my stomach complaint isn't, but not what it is, so I am having further tests. I'm not very comfortable, but I am not in pain anymore.

Bummer.

ps don't you think it's good that my Son didn't actually throw his tea in my face? Nor did he swear at me, though he was clearly very angry that I was ill. Good work!