13 days

Day 1: catch a cold

Day2: have dinner with friends – discover Cooneyites

Day 3: go to bed – cold horrible

Day 4: Dublin zoo with the boy – a first

Day 5: go blonde and short

Day 6: Mum and Dad arrive

Day 7: rain

Day 8: rain

Day 9: rain

Day 10: Andy Murray wins Wimbledon – hooray!!

Day 11: run very fast with the boy on the lawn at Mount Stewart

Day 12: drop off the boy at his friend’s and worry for 5 hours that everything is going ok

Day 13: play hide and seek with the boy in the ruins of Grey Abbey

 

So far, so wet and so wonderful.

 

Unmedicated days with the boy are up and down. He hides in his world of other places, found in the black hole of his tablet screen. My heart struggles between letting him be there and making him be present with us. The first option is so much easier. And so quiet. The second involves schedules, lists, bargaining, timers set, goals made, constant questions about the next screen time, arguments, chocolate, fridge raiding, movement, hyperactivity, requests for help, abandoned activities, tears and mediation.

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The summer break is always longed for by me. No rushing in the mornings, no packed lunches to make and no busy activity schedules. I love the quiet first thing in the day, the cup of tea, my garden bench (the one Katy and I sat on yesterday and it collapsed under us!), space to think and read and write. I relish and cherish these moments. They are precious. They set me up for the rest of the day, strengthen me, flood me with quiet energy and restore me. By the end of the day I feel emptied and at times struggling to find patience, but the sleepy ‘I love you’ from the boy softens my edges and reminds me that I am blessed to be his Mummy. No-one else got that job.

 

I struggle sometimes (often) to believe that I am doing that job well. I struggle sometimes (often) with the disappointment that our life isn’t screen free simplicity. I struggle sometimes (often) with how other people respond to Ethan. I struggle sometimes (often) with how I respond to Ethan.

 

But tomorrow morning, and the next, and the next, I will sit on my bench (the other one), with my tea and breathe in the stillness of the morning, the presence of Creator, ready for another day.

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Champion week

This morning began with a coffee in one hand, a pen in the other and this beautiful gerbera as my table companion. Not quite a salubrious setting (Sainsbury’s car park), but with the sunshine warming me right through to the middle, this was the best start to my day. I was definitely IN the moment.

This week off work had been eagerly anticipated (extreme understatement!) and has lived up to every expectation. I have found a place of rest, peace, achieving and sharing and I feel all the better for it. Relaxed, revitalised, re-motivated. It’s amazing what a little space in life can do – it frees you to BE and to GROW and to THINK. The rhythm of life doesn’t allow for that too often. Well, not in my experience anyway. How do YOU make space to BE and GROW and THINK? Not just the bleary-eyed, morning, quiet space, but a more prolonged time of escape (a day or two)? I’d love to hear your experiences. And try a few of them.

I think I’m marvelling a bit at this feeling because it’s happened with family in tow and particularly the last two days shared just with Ethan. A boy without medication for 5 days. Non-stop chat, non-stop movie/video dialogues, non-stop moving, spinning, jumping and climbing. Happy and FULL of fun. Without argument he’s sat and done his holiday homework with his assistant (me) by his side, redirecting his deficit attention back to the task in hand. He’s a clever boy. I wish I could work things out like he does.

His week began with a judo masterclass alongside a group of other children with similar conditions/qualities. Hooray! He didn’t feel weird, awkward or different as he does for most of the rest of his life. The adult and youth coaches at this event were amazing (big shout out to Dromore Judo Academy). Their acceptance of and encouragement to every child was a joy to watch (through the tears). Where else could a 10 year old bring down a 13st giant? (Probably even bigger than that but I’m not good at guessing weight and I don’t want to offend!).

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Headlining the event were two champions. Commonwealth, Olympic and European: Ashley McKenzie and Danny Williams. And they were much more than JUDO champions. They were ‘drawing the best out of these kids and loving them’ kind of champions. Ashley is a 25 year old with ADHD who as a boy discovered  judo as a way to channel his energy (and get his Pokemon card back!) . He has overcome his own challenges and won Commonwealth gold for team GB in 2014. He is now another of Ethan’s heroes. Move over Will.i.am. Make room on the bench!!

So it’s been a champion week in more ways than one. I am still enjoying BEING in the moment and not thinking ahead to Monday morning, relishing every moment of this ‘at home’ solace.

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The Ancient. The Simple.

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Over the past 25 years, Co. Donegal has claimed a big part of my heart. Whenever we head over the Foyle Bridge I always feel the stresses and strains of life shedding, my heart skips a beat and the words of appreciation begin. What is it about this part of the world that affects me so much? I’ve thought about it a lot these past few days and concluded that there are two main things.

The ancient and the simple.

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On Saturday morning when I stood again on Tullagh Beach I thought back to the last time I had sunk my feet into the same sand exactly a year ago. A LOT has happened for us since then, and most of it has been tough. But those giant waves have rolled onto that beach every day since and those craggy mountains haven’t moved. In fact way beyond this year, way beyond my lifetime and back into millennia that beauty has remained the same. Our life journey is bumpy and we have big things to face when we get home, but there is deep peace here in the ancient creation and the awesome presence of the ancient creator.

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Our daily walks have taken us past ancient peat ditches and land that has been farmed from way back. A mountain-ward glance and miles of dry stone walls can be seen built in times past by the weathered hands of sheep farmers. The white-washed walls of old stone cottages stand out against the green, their peat smoke trailing skywards.

There are only so many belongings that can be squeezed into our ‘ancient’ Citroen ZX, squeezed in between two children and the dog. The usual for us would be: food, clothes, books, board games, knitting, drawing/writing stuff and Whiskey. And that is very simply what makes up our days and nights. Walking, reading, writing, playing, eating and sleeping. Oh, and Whiskey-ing. Our days here are simple. All my lists are left behind. There is nothing I can do about them. There’s no internet! I am the most happy of Mummies! Facebook doesn’t whisper, ‘come check on me’ and all the things I feel the need to Google, can’t be! It’s so simple. And I realise how crowded I am by those things. They press in on me in their sneaky, cheeky ‘you need me’ kind of way, and I don’t like that. I like simple.

The kids have survived with no internet and no TV! Ethan has devoured a whole ‘adult’ dot-to-dot book (can I just clarify that’ adult’ means hundreds and hundreds of dots rather than inappropriate content!), Frisbee-ed his heart out and parkoured the sand dunes and rocks.

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They adopted three lost lambs and named them Jesse, Steve and Bee. Every day we would look out for them in our garden or a nearby field, until the farmer chaperoned them home.

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A road trip for Katy and I took us up through Mamore Gap with amazing views, pink sheep and some thoughtful moments at a shrine to St Eigney.

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Ethan’s biggest challenge this week has been the shower. ‘I can’t use that shower. It’s old. It’s dark. It’s different.’ His biggest joy? All of us sitting round the peat fire reading and dot-to-dotting.

Simple.

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Shhhh! Stop moving so fast!

Ethan seems to have a very high pain and sickness threshold. Thankfully he’s not ill too often, but when he is, he really is. We had at least 6 trips to A&E before he was 9. So yesterday was one of those days when he wasn’t too well. Him and his Daddy didn’t make it to church because the battery in the van had died the day before round at a friend’s house and couldn’t be fixed once Katy and I had headed for church. When we arrived home  we discovered that he’d thrown up. We made lots of guesses about what he may have eaten, but then decided it was just a horrible bug. The throwing up carried on all afternoon, evening and into the night. Poor little guy.

He slowed right down, was lethargic, had no interest in doing anything, including screen-time (amazing), and just was ill. I found out that his brain was still buzzing though. I encouraged him out onto the bench in the sunshine and he snuggled up.

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‘When you die and go to heaven, will you remember your life on earth?’

‘Yes I’m sure you will.’

‘What age will you be in heaven?’

‘Not sure son. Maybe ageless? Your body doesn’t go, just your soul. Your personality, your thoughts and feelings.’

‘Will you know anybody else?’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’ll recognise people you know.’

‘But how will you recognise them if they don’t have bodies?’

Silence.

‘I think I need to do a bit of research!’

How can a child with no physical energy, turn his mind to such deepness? I don’t think he thought he was actually going to die, although at one point he did ask if the vomiting was ever going to stop.  He has been throwing a few other deep and meaningfuls my way recently. Keeps me on my theological toes.

His visits to A&E have been caused by things like: jumping off a wardrobe, opening (!) and drinking half a bottle of Calpol, some _itis in his stomach that begins with ‘m’ , and good old campylobacter  (food poisoning: after raiding the fridge and eating uncooked chicken goujons). It was during this last visit, which actually entailed about 3 trips, that he began to hallucinate. His clothes were walking round the room and there were people in the room that actually weren’t. It was very scary. And I got a little scared about 3 o’clock this morning when he told the silence to ‘shhhhh’ and me, lying still beside him to ‘stop moving so fast!’ I had just about planned the sequence of events to get us to the hospital when he fell asleep again and I convinced myself he was just dreaming.

He woke up this morning with rosy red cheeks and I could tell he was back to his usual self because he recited the words of an entire Minecraft parody, followed by another one, and another. But he had deduced one thing from the whole experience.

‘I think God stopped Daddy’s van from working yesterday so that I didn’t go to church and give everyone my germs!’ Faith and logic.

 

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No matter what…

It’s not often that Ethan divulges any of his feelings, so when a rare moment happens, the rest of us take it all in. The other night it was Katy who overheard a conversation between Ethan and one of his friends, in the car on the way home from the school quiz night.

Ethan and three of his mates from school had come back to our home, raked around, had penssomething to eat (brain food), made team posters and practised some quick-fire rounds before we headed up the hill, back to school. It always does my heart good to see Ethan with this particular group of three friends. They are such lovely boys: funny, loud, quiet, good-mannered and above all else (in my books anyway) KIND. (And they eat whatever I cook them!) They handle Ethan with acceptance, understanding, honesty and patience.

As the evening went on, I could sense Ethan experiencing sensory overload as he began to excuse himself more frequently from the hall to get some space. The boys assured me, ‘he’ll be back in a minute’. This told me that they KNOW him. They KNOW that he can’t cope for 2 hours in a hall with 70 other people, bright lights, music, chat, time restraints for questions etc. They KNOW that he needs a break. No-one went after him and when he returned there were no questions, just back to business.

Jelly-Beans-1KIN-JEL-JEBThey argued about answers, gave way to each other, admitted graciously when they got it wrong and bigged up each other when they got it right. We came somewhere near the bottom of the leader board, but they got prizes for being the only team with posters, and they were happy. At the end of the night there were hugs and high fives, plenty of laughter and the energy of  fizzy drinks and jelly beans.

But the conversation on the way home was both a little sad and heart-warming. The boys were talking about the quiz and their friends at other tables, when Ethan began to tell M how glad he was that M was Ethan’s friend. He began to tell him that outside of these 3 boys, at school he doesn’t have any real friends. He feels the others don’t like him, don’t include him, think he’s weird.

E: They don’t like me.

M: They think you have issues. Problems. That you’re ‘psycho’.  (Hopefully that’s an expression for ‘a little different from what’s normally expected’.)

E: So why are you my friend then?

M: I don’t think they’re right. I like you the way you are.  I’ll always be your friend, no matter what happens.

Between the tears that Katy and I shared as she recounted this to me, we determined to do our best together to help Ethan with these three friendships. To create opportunities more often for him to get together with the ‘Thunder Knights’ and for him to feel and appreciate in his own way, the love and acceptance that they give to him.

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9, 807

scarlett ohara

If you know me well enough to get a close look at my phone, you’re probably one of my friends who has exclaimed with disbelief at the number of unread emails in my inbox. Yes, the number in the title is current. It is ridiculous I know and it probably reflects more about my personality and habits than I really want to be sharing with the world.
I’m sure some of you delete, delete, delete. Or maybe you file emails away into folders. I’m sure that some of you have less than 100 emails in your inbox and you think that’s untidy!! So, what’s my problem?

 

Well, I DO scroll through and deal with the emails that are important (although I know some slip through and I miss them!), but I never seem to get round to doing anything with the others. They’re mostly emails from random sites I’ve subscribed to at some point, all with information that’s relevant to my life in some way or another.

 
List-300x199The problem. I’m a procrastinator. I put off a lot of things (that I don’t enjoy doing) until the very last minute of must. And then some things, like the emails, I just avoid totally. I have pushed sitting down and writing this to the top of a list that includes things like….send parcel, clear desk, purge emails! I have lists about lists. And lists about those lists. I have an almost tangible feeling that if I make a list, I’ve pretty much got everything done already.

 
Would you be surprised if I told you that ‘Gone with the Wind’ is one of my all time favourite books? Scarlett O’Hara and I are soul mates. ‘After all, tomorrow is another day!’ If I don’t do it today it will (magically) get done tomorrow. Or the tomorrow after tomorrow. Or the tomorrow after the tomorrow after tomorrow.

 

choose-your-college-degree-then-take-massive-actionFrom time to time, I encourage myself with little mantras to spur me on to list-ticking instead of list-making. One of my simplest, most direct is, ‘just do it Kathryn!’ You’d think that would work, right? I’m not going to make lots of excuses for myself: too busy, not enough hours in the day, etc. And I’m not going to make any promises to myself either. That I will somehow pull it out of the hat, change beyond recognition and be the most organised person on the planet. But I think I need to find a way through the middle somewhere.

 
One of my wonderful friends reminds me that goals need to be specific. Maybe I need to delete 50 a day rather than add ‘purge emails’ to my ethereal ‘to do’ list.
What tips do you have for ‘getting the job done’?

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Leaving home. Going home.

It’s quiet. Oh, so quiet. No voices calling for me, no guitar playing, no continually repeatedguitar movie dialogues, no lengthy exchanges about the fact that it’s time to get dressed/eat dinner/turn off/go out/come back/go to bed. I can hear myself thinking. It’s wonderfully strange and strangely wonderful. I have left them all at home and flown to my other home to visit Mum (and Dad, but Mum’s the patient with the broken wrist.)

In my quiet thinking time I have wondered how they will survive without me being there to organise them, mediate and feed them. In my quiet thinking time I have told myself not to worry. In my quiet thinking time I received an email from the boy to say that (while I was still on the way, on the plane) they had been locked out of the house and he’d had to ‘break in’ and save the day! Reward – £5! Mmmmmmm, feeling the anxiety climbing.

As much as I love my work uniform I didn’t really want to wear it on the way over, so got changed before I left. That’s when I discovered that my water bottle had leaked into my ‘change of clothes’ bag. There was no option. I flew damp.

I’m not a happy fly-er at all, but with my last minute ticket I’d been allocated 29E which was the very back row. Hemmed in by two sleepers, head down in my Good Food magazine, I enjoyed the happiest flying in a very long time. Anyone else find the back of the plane is better? I’m choosing back seats next time.

My friend Claire had kindly agreed to pick me up and so I waited outside the airport along with several other fellow fly-ers. Sure enough, a car pulled up with Claire’s hubby Jon driving. He smiled, I smiled. AND waved. AND leant to open the door.It wasn’t Jon! Embarrassed laughter. Obvious but pointless explanations.

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Home, the one I’m returning to, has been famous throughout the centuries for a whole number of reasons. From martyrs to incapacity benefit fraudsters, from being voted the most boring town in the UK to now being the home of TOWIE!

Brentwood has been home for my mum for her entire life (coming up 82 years) and she is a mine of information on its history and has been interviewed by newspapers, local radio and a local author, all gleaning facts from her memories. She’s resting now with her broken arm on a pillow, but fortunately her fingers are wiggling enough to text!

Having home far away from home would leave me feeling pretty helpless in a situation like this, so I’m very thankful I was able to get over this weekend, see my sister in amongst all her own busyness and cook up a few meals for Mum and Dad’s freezer.

I have enjoyed the quiet, I must confess, punctuated by incoming texts from Katy, keeping me up to date! I am relishing each hour of it. But, equally looking forward to hearing their voices soon.

And my clothes are nice and dry for tonight’s flight back home again.

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