A New Earth

I've been so lucky this past week. Instead of waiting in London for a bailiff's order, I could take my son and escape, escape for seven whole days.

My brother who lives abroad had come over with his family and with my own parents away, we all stayed in their house.

Unparalled joy from my son, it's been three years since he's seen his cousins. My sister in law said she'd look after him if I had to come back to London and I did feel a pull. Wednesday morning after lying in following a sleepless night thinking of everything I had to do here, my son said:

"It's so peaceful without you mummy. Sorry...." I smiled at him.

There was no phone call inviting me to view a property so after deliberating with Nico Teen for a long procrastinating moment, I picked up a book.

Eckhart Tolle.

The personal and collective ego, personal and collective unconciousness, ourselves and our planet.

Housing was in the news, and I, totally identified with it, struggled to escape myself, woh, bored my family rigid I'd say, even had an argy bargy with my brother when he realised how much I got "paid" a year.

I found some comfort though, as Cameron announced he would not be doing a u-turn on his new housing policies:

"You will be free to let go of your unhappiness the moment you recognise it as unintelligent. Negativity is not intelligent. It is always of the ego (the mind). The ego maybe clever, but it is not intelligent. Cleverness pursues its own little aims. Intelligence sees the larger whole in which all things are connected. Cleverness is motivated by self-interest, and it is extremely short-sighted. Most politicians and businesspeople are clever. Very few are intelligent. Whatever is attained through cleverness is short-lived and always turns out to be self defeating. Cleverness divides; intelligence includes." (A New Earth, page 112)

My brother understood my position. He told me to write about it if I couldn't let it go. He told me to take out "me". "There's no power in "me", there's no scope for change with "me". People will attack you because it's easier than looking at the bigger issue. Write about the issues, take out the "me"."

Woh bro! You read the book?!

There may be hope. I just have to get over myself first.
As for you stiggers, I need you to show me the way...

Cainer has extraordinary powers

Perhaps there are some friends or relatives that you only see once a year. Currently, they are far away. If you try to think about them, you can't remember very much detail. But when you see them again, it will all come flooding back to you. The information is not on the desktop of your mind; it is compressed and stored in the back-up hard drive of your brain. When you need it, you can have it. You currently doubt your ability to handle a situation that may arise this weekend. While it is actually happening, it will be fine.

This morning I wasn't going to go to my nephew's christening but now I've been told I won't get a bailiff's order through the post I'm going to take the risk and go. My son's cousins will be there, we might be invited to stay.

Good for my son, even though I feel impelled to stay here, you know, in case something happens, so I'll play it all by ear.

Tis true Cainer, I rarely see them. Nothing like a baby to bring a family back together. Thanks for telling me it'll be fine.

Stigs, I leave housing with you. At least, I hope I leave it with you as politics and housing pretty much dominate my mind at the moment.

Oh I so need to sleeeeeeeeeeep, my eyelids close on this post, and my dreams I hope will take me somewhere nice.

Repeat after me:
I am a millionaire
I am a millionaire
I am a multi millionaire
(Law of Attraction...)

Birthdays

It's my dad's birthday today. Seventy something! Seeing June 9th on blogspot, I suddenly thought 'call him!' So easy for such simple actions to slip the mind.

"I'm so lucky to be calling you today!" I said after singing to him.

"Yes, you are, thank you for remembering me," he said.

My dad's a good man.

On Sunday it was my son's first holy communion. The lucky chappy had all his grandparents there. His other granddad has alzheimers. My dad doesn't have that but a succession of on going mini strokes has played havoc with his memory.

"Do I know you?" said my ex father out law to my dad.
"No you don't," replied my father.

My nephew laughed and told my mum, my sister, my brother. We all laughed, these two old men not meaning to entertain us.

My dad's sister has alzheimers. My dad could have genuinely forgotten who the ex father out law was (especially after so many years), but I think he was sparing my son's grandfather. It's painful reaching out and not remembering.

Happy Birthday pappie! To take my son's other granddad's words from that Sunday:

Amen!

Guilt

Breakfast:

My son: Mummy, yesterday you said that I couldn't watch tv or play on the computer
Me: Oh yeah! (Mind swings back to outside the cinema)
My son: You said all week
Me: Oh gosh yes, so I did
My son: Not all week mummy, that's not fair
Me: Maybe, maybe not but maybe it's an opportunity for you to learn that how you behave at home is really how you should behave when we're out.
My son: I'm not Jesus you know!
Me (suppressing a laugh): No, I know, and I'm not asking you to be. I'm just asking that you're, you know, you! Funny, clever, friendly, you! Not the little boy who calls his teachers stupid (last week outside Beavers, very embarrassing)
My son: Okay, okaaaaaaaaay.

Later as I am in the bath:

My son: I really wish I'd seen N & L this weekend.
Me: Yeah, I know. I did send messages, I did try to sort something out.
My son (putting fingers to his ear and mouth like a receiver): Yeah, but why didn't you phone? Huh? HUH?
Me: Because my phone um er, you're right, we should've phoned. I should've got you to call.
My son (clearly frustrated): I don't have a phone do I?
Me: You could've borrowed mine but hey son, son....
He leaves the bathroom, head hung low
Me (calling after him): Listen there's nothing we can do now. I'm sorry ok. Don't let it spoil your day.

I stamp my feet in the bathtub, bash my fists against its base, shake my teeth clenched head. There's so much I can't tell my son. So much that hurts.

Fortunately he's a good natured boy and before we even left the house for school, his sunny disposition was back.

RRRRARGH. I keep thinking that when I get him Home I can right every wrong. That will be my mission, when this whole sorry saga is over, I'll make everything up to him.

I will. Goddammit Krystal I will. (Cue Dynasty soundtrack)

Siblings

Home from my shopping trip, my sister is round my parents place with her daughter.

I tell her to read the comment.

"What do you think? Sis, what do you think?" She's drawing along with her daughter. I want to know though.

"Sis, what do you think?"

"Some people might think you're ungrateful."

Woo, that's a medicine ball. Didn't see that coming. Does the backlash begin here at Home? "What do you mean?"

"I just think it's ambiguous."

"What? No it's not."

The phone goes. I answer it. It's my eldest brother.

"I've just read the piece, it's great!" he says.

"Thanks bro, I really needed to hear that. I really need to hear something supportive."

I go and lie down. Thinking all the time is so tiring.

Ungrateful ungrateful what else are they all going to say? The chattering classes will be the worst won't they? Those who have no idea what it's like down here.

"Screw your courage to the sticking place," says Stigmum.

What? What? Who said that? Who? I know Shakespeare but who? Who?

The answer isn't forthcoming. I give up. Zzzzzzzzzzzip. The lights go off on the motherboard.

Going shopping

My ma's going to the shops. I decide to accompany her. I'd forgotten my toothbrush (Don't Forget Your Toothbrush! I met Evans once, on the Heath. I smile at the memory) and my b o basher.

"You accompanying your mother?" says my dad at the front door as we leave.

"Yes, if I stay in my dressing gown all day I'll think that I'm ill and I don't want to be ill."

(We did actually talk in French but I was always hopeless at spelling, not much better at grammar so I'll spare myself the trouble)

It'll take too long to write up our shopping trip but at some point as I wheeled the giant trolley with my chest and my mum hobbled along on a crutch, I wondered if me and my mum were both children. Then I wondered if we were both old people.

I told her I was thinking this because I thought it was quite funny.

Spelling tests

"What's that?" says my son, pointing to a picture he's drawn in my notebook.

I hazard a guess: "A tree? A lollipop?"

"You sing from it."

"A microphone! Can you spell that?"

He starts to write. "Do you need any help?"

"No mummy."

I expect him to write it phonetically.

Microphone.

"Oh well done! I didn't think you could do that! High five!"

"Pirate ninja!" says my nephew.

"I can spell that!" says my son. And he does.

"Spell journey," says my nephew.

Joney.

"You spell it like this," I say and I spell it out.

"What did mummy used to be?"

Journlist.

"You know what mummy is now?"

I spell out journylist.

"Ha ha you're funny," says my nephew.

I laugh too then so as not to confuse my son, I scribble 'journalist'

"Na. Na na na na na nalist!"

One of my son's favourite songs pops into my head: Kids by MGMT

"Don't kill yourself, take only what you need," says Stiggers in tweak mode, to those who might want to.

I am not stupid, I am not mad

The motherboard meltdown I had at my parents place wasn't altogether awful but perhaps that is because they were there. They were there, my son was there, my neices, my nephew, my brother, my sister.

In short, my family.

Oh, and Nicoteen, my faithful friendly foe.

I am back home now, in my home that is not my home, just somewhere I rent (Libdem Lady, you probably didn't mean to hurt me)

I cannot afford to break down again, because really, it's not that pleasant if you are going through it on your own.

As I dropped my son off at school this rainy monday morning, choosing to take the front entrance so I could hand in the form so my son can do gymnastics, I saw the head, the deputy head and someone else standing where they usually do on a Monday morning, under the clock, in the corridor.

I went over and told them I was in the local paper.

I could not articulate this very well, not 'normally' at any rate, speaking ten to the dozen, when suddenly the deputy says: "Would you like a cup of tea?"

I did not expect that and said yes, yes please.

In her office I told her what had happened. I told her my 'big secret' and you know, bless her, she didn't ask for the link.

The school's primary concern, obviously, is my son. I told her yes, I was trying to protect him, I was trying to protect myself, that's what the blog is all about. Well, now at any rate. Now I can see...

It was good to 'off load' some of my mental mayhem. I can trust my son's school. I trust it because they have always, always, taken care of my son when I have asked them to.

I didn't ask her now, but she did say, if my meeting with the editor over ran today, they would look after him if my son didn't get into gymnastics (a volume of parents like me handed in their forms this morning.."Let's get there early," I said to my son. "It's first come first serve. You might not get in, but we'll say a little prayer to Jesus." "And God mummy." "Yes, yes, God too but if it doesn't happen, you've got swimming on Mondays, so it's not meant to, ok?" "OK".)

I thanked the deputy, a lot!

Nicoteen on the way to the coffee shop. Nicoteen on the walk home with my double expresso.

First things first, I called my doctor. I have an appointment next Monday but asked the receptionist to ask the doctor to call me. She will, when her shift finishes after midday.

I went to my inbox and replied to my friend Anne, that I would try and attend her redundancy drinks evening. Years ago I used to work on a communications title, that's where I met her. I find that quite funny, the coincidence (you know, calling my mind a motherboard and all that)

I replied to a person in the council, saying I would be prepared to be interviewed about the PA report I was part of.

I'm not sure I'm up to that, but she sent the email last week so perhaps another parent has stepped up to it. Que sera sera cross that bridge and all that.

Like I said to deputy, I cannot abandon "what I did before". I still need to go to Bazza's Boot Camp and stuff. She agreed. I was talking sense obviously in my ten to the dozen chatter.

Now obviously, I am here, ten to the dozen typing.

Later, I have a meeting with the editor. I told the deputy "I have to trust him". You can't tell someone you've got a 'big secret' then not tell them what it is. She told me to "be careful". I told her I would be, "he did pull the article the other day after all, I think I can trust him. I hope I can."

For you though, and for me, I'm going to post some of what I went through at the weekend, some of the stuff I didn't get round to posting last week, because my son was hogging the computer!

It's important because I AM STILL HERE. What I've been through has given me HOPE.

I will leave this post with a song. Susan Boyle! I forgot to bring my cds to my parents and Saturday night, I saw hers in the kitchen. My brother got it for my mum for her birthday apparently. "Do you know, I've never heard her sing," I said to my neice. "Really?!" she replied. "Yes, really!"

I pick this song, or the relevant to me bits, because that's where I was last week and over the weekend I learnt that no woman is an island (John Donne with a stigmum tweak)

You think after all you've done
I'll never find my way back home
You'll see, somehow, someday

All by myself
I don't need anyone at all
I know I'll survive
I know I'll stay alive

All on my own
I don't need anyone this time
It will be mine
No one can take it from me
You'll see

I do need people this time, I cannot do what I need to do, all by myself.

Yo doc, I await your call. Yo ed, I hope our meeting goes well! I'm actually crapping myself (figure of speech, not literally for once!)

(And a big thank you to Jen of the cigarette diaries for teaching me how to do multiple label links!)

Heard the one about the three bears - nephew aged 14

The three bears come home from being out.

"Whose been eating my porridge?" booms Daddy Bear
"Whose been eating my porridge?" says Mummy Bear (in nephew's soprano voice)
"Never mind the porridge," squeaks Baby Bear. "Who's stolen the telly?"

(Did you make it up? asked Stigmum laughing. No replied nephew so cannot state the source!)

I need to ask you something - neice aged 12

"I need to ask you something and I want you to be really honest with me. It might be really awkward between us after this but I have to know how you feel.
I have kept it in for a while now but I think it's finally time I be straight up with you and just confront you...

I hope this doesn't ruin the relationship we have, I just need to know and I don't see any other way I can get over this.

It just doesn't seem fair on me if I don't get an answer.

I want you to tell me truthfully no matter how harsh it is. I just want your honest opinion..




Would you choose Wotsits over Skips?"

(Oh ha ha, you got me going! Where did you get it? "It got sent to me by text!" Stigmum likes this from this unknown source, can be used in many future situations so thought she'd post it!)

Entertained by my neice - 25 months

Fader Chismas
Fader Chismas
E got stuck (claps)
E got stuck (claps)
Climin' down de chimney
Climin' down de chimney
What bad luck
What bad luck (ha ha ha ha ha!!)

(Learnt at nursery)

Father Christmas/Santa Claus

My brother popped round this morning, bless, bless, bless him for I didn't think he would, to collect my bag of Christmas presents.

Argos and Waterstones opened its doors to Santa yesterday afternoon, after I had met Milly who wasn't at home, but in Camden, Christmas shopping.

We went into the Crown and Goose and had a glass of mulled wine!

Last night I met the girls at Gilgamesh. We ate, we drank, we danced and they, special, special friends that they are, covered the cost of all my drinks. "Karma," they said. "One day you'll be able to pay us back!"

For anyone who tells me they don't believe in Father Christmas or tells me I am lying to my son by telling him that he exists, I say "Bah Humbug! Father Christmas takes many forms!"

I hope you have a lovely Christmas. I have to go now, I want to buy a small token for my mum, my dad, my sister, my brothers, my nephews and nieces.

I could just make them a card; the Camden New Journal published pictures of local primary school nativities. My son is in amongst them! My photos of him as Joseph taken with the throwaway camera came out rubbish. The CNJ is free!! I can grab a few copies, cut him out and get creative!

Thank you CNJ!

No Christmas in a hostel - the fear and relief explained

I'm hoping the tremors from last week's psychological earthquake will stop now, or at least that I stop writing about it. Fear is a very powerful emotion. Relief is very powerful too.

I am spending Christmas with my parents; "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum". It will be extraordinarily special.
My mum is still cruising around with her Zimmer, picking up speed she tells me. I ask after my dad and she says he's doing well, though my sister called saying "Oh Sue he's really losing it, it's really hard to have a conversation with him now." Special. Christmas will be special.

A week ago today, I told you I couldn't spill my fear on these pages. My fear was real, not unfounded.

On Monday, at the Homeless Person's Unit, the recovering alcholic mum of three told me she had once left her hostel room for four days and when she returned was told her contract with that room had ended. The inference being obviously, that she had somewhere to go. Voluntarily homeless but with two children, she was placed in another hostel.

I believed her because it's not the first time I've heard of this.

Five years ago, the worker at the drop in where I took my then two year old, told me she'd vacated her hostel room to give birth, spent the following two days at her mother's place and when she returned found all her belongings in a black carrier bag in the basement. Her stereo was gone. She had no alternative but to go back to her mother, where she remained 'homeless at home' until she was eventually permanently housed two years later.

Like I've told you, I tend to be afraid of what I know.

If my son and I were in a hostel from Monday, then what to do about Christmas with my parents? If I go, when I come back, the council will say I've made myself voluntarily homeless and I will have nowhere to go. I felt sick with fear. I could not spill it on these pages incase it happened. Even now, I'm not so pleased I'm posting it and would have preferred to write it after Christmas (which is why I haven't started a new paragraph because I don't want a new problem. It's a brutal system we 'statutory homeless' are caught in).

I adore Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee but living with them is not an option. This does not mean I do not love them, I do. For a start, I don't have a driver's licence and I need one of those to live with them. When the local shop closed its doors forever, the bus service was discontinued.

I have a letter saying I do not have to leave this property, not next week, not in the near future. I have a witness that I've been told the Bailiff order won't be enforced until August (you were with me journo, you were with me when they called, I hope I don't have to call you)

I will paper over this post with another. As with blogspot as with life, what is past is past.

"You need to think positive thoughts," said the doc. "You need to get out of your environment, do you have somewhere to go for Christmas?"

I am spending Christmas with my family. I am spending Christmas with my son AND I am spending Christmas with my parents, sister and brothers (must not argue; Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee don't like it and it's not fair on them).

I am extraordinarily lucky. I thank God. I will say a little stigmum prayer on Christmas Day for those who aren't extraordinarily lucky.

To everybody, I toast your wealth, health and happiness for the future, with my cup of tea.

Making beds

"Why are you making Grandpere's bed?" asked my son when I was at my parents.
"Well, because Grandpere can't," I replied.
"Why not?"
"Making beds is really difficult. Not for you and me, we have duvets. He has sheets. He has to bend and stretch, he's old now."
"You can leave it," says my son.
"Yes, I could, but if Grandpere goes into his tidy bedroom and his bed's all messy, he's just going to think his whole life is messy too and he can't do anything about it, which will make him sad. His tidy bed is symbolic of his tidy life."
"Oh, ok."

"Bloody hell," I say later to my sister. "Everything I'm doing in this house; the tidying, cleaning, cooking, bedmaking, sweeping, I don't do any of this back home in London!"

Two days ago, after I'd hit the snooze button a couple of times on the alarm clock, my son jumped on me. "Mummy, get up, see what I've done!"

Not only had he made his bed, straightened the blue blanket on top of it, but he'd also tidied up his book case, cleared the books and toys around it, effectively cleared his entire space.

He's inherited my mum's tidy gene. I so want him to have his own room so he doesn't have to deal with my clutter.

I must attack my clutter. Right now. If not for me, for him.

Puccini's Nessun Dorma, sung by Pavarotti, translation messed with by Stigmum

Nobody shall sleep! Nobody shall sleep!
Even you oh prince
until I tidy our room...
.....
.....
At dawn I will win! I will win! I will win!

Accidents

My 'elderly' mamma took a tumble last Thursday afternoon. She was climbing down a ladder when its attachment broke away from the loft. Down she fell, down, down, into a space no bigger than a metre squared.

"Broken bones," my sister told me on the phone. Neck, spine, hip, ankle, what? "Pelvis" she said.

Do you believe in angels? I believe in angels. My mother has tremendous faith. I reminded myself of all of this as Google put the fear of catastrophe in me. Haemorraging, surgery, death. I imagined sending white light to my mum's pelvis then distracted myself with the good ol' tv as it was all getting too much.

My brother rang. "Do you think she'll die?"

"NO."

A text from my sister. Two fractures to her inferior pelvis remus. Enlighten me Google? Academic articles I couldn't get my head around.

"Discharging her tomorrow," came my sister's text. Eh? Google? You said at least a week in hospital.

Son off with the Foca I dropped him off at school and took a train down south. Took the number 10 bus to the General. Saw my mum lying on her A&E bed and cried as I gave her a bunch of flowers I'd grabbed in Sainsbury's on my way down.

They were discharging her, not enough beds apparently. But not to worry, a community service team set up specifically for pensioners would come and visit her three times a day for six weeks. I was somewhat relieved upon hearing this until I discovered it isn't free. Targets, ey...

"Tweedle dum and Tweedle dee," I joked to my brothers as we drove home to sort out a bed for my mum downstairs. My pappy's lost his carer, for the next few months anyway.

Half term, I can go down and help out, shove my son infront of dvds. I'm no use as a driver but I can operate a hoover, administer my dad's medication, customise my mum's zimmer (she won't get a wheelchair until Monday; the hospital told her the Red Cross would be open for an hour yesterday but the community carers told her it's never open at weekends.) Fortunately my sister and her husband live nearby.

What actually happened last Thursday afternoon is a big old story and now is not the time to tell you how extraordinary. I will continue to ask my angels to protect my parents and thank them for averting what could have been a monumental tragedy.

Family Relationships

Later that Saturday afternoon, back in parents' kitchen

Bro: I don't know what it is you've got against me, everything I say, you jump down my throat.
Me (very calmly): I sometimes think it's because you can't project your crap on your ex wife, that you project it onto me and mum instead and it winds me up.

Reader, I'm going to stop talking about my family. We aren't what I would call close (although when I was with the Foca I'd tell him we were because I was jealous of the relationship he had with his and I wanted the same for myself). This blog is my story, why drag them into it? It serves no purpose whatsoever and could only damage what is already, for me, such fragile relationships which are getting stronger (bit by bit by bit).

During my brief 'thing' with Old Shit School Acquaintance, he told me he wasn't that close to his family either. It's ok. It's normal.

Row with my brother

Parents' kitchen, at the weekend. My married sister is leaning against a wall, my divorced brother and myself are sat around the table.

Sis: I heard you went to see your MP. What happened?
Bro: You went to see your MP? Who is it? Where? Why?
Me (wanting to get on with the story): [The Labour one] about housing of course, it doesn't matter where...
Bro: Yes it does, where? I want to know where?
Me: Oh christ, at an informal coffee evening, does it matter?
Bro: Yes it does, I want to picture the scene.
Me: Somewhere in Finchley
Sis: So what happened? What is she like?
Bro: Where in Finchley?
Me: (beginning to feel somewhat exasperated): God, Swiss Cottage, a shopping centre, there somewhere
Bro: Oh yes, I see it, the O2 centre, I've done Ceroc there!
Me: Geez
Sis: What did she say?
Bro: Why did you go?
Me: To ask her if she could help us with our housing problems
Bro: What housing problems?
Me: Christ, if after six years, you don't know what I'm going through then where the fuck have you been? Our lease has expired, the council wants us to move to a private flat and if we don't they'll put us in a hostel.
Bro: I don't understand.
Sis: Sue is saying that when the lease expires on her flat the council will put her and her son in a hostel if they don't move into the private sector.
Me: Thanks
Bro: What's wrong with that?
Me: What's wrong with that?? You want to carry on paying for us, for thousands of other families, to remain in poverty? What's wrong with that??
Bro: You should do the private thing. I moved around alot, sometimes you have to.
Me: Not with your children on your back did you!
Bro: Yes I did!
Me: Oh for fucks sake, you didn't. But either way, you might like playing bouncy bouncy with your children but I don't want to do that with mine OK? I want to settle, build a secure foundation for him.
Bro: Well from where I'm standing it doesn't look like you have any choice.
Me: (shouting now): Which is why I'm going to sue the fucking bastards if a lawyer will give me the chance!
Bro (rather too smugly for my liking, leaning back into a chair): Oh and WHO is going to PAY for THAT?

Me: YOU

Mother (after a pause way more pregnant than my sister): Un silence mort.

Sis: Apparantly an angel passes through the house every 20 past and 20 to
I look at the clock on the wall, it's 20 past 3
Bro: Ha ha, like that will help her
Me: Actually, I have an entire ARMY of angels!
Bro: You better believe it
Me: I DO

And with that I go and climb into bed and fall asleep as my son plays his psp quietly beside me.

Family Values

Parents' kitchen. They have just returned from Mauritius at 6am that morning. Father is at the table drinking wine. I am sitting opposite him with a glass of water. Mother is at the sink, as always. They are jet lagged.

Me: Mam, will you come and sit down. I have something to tell you and papa?

Mother shoots a look in our direction, carries on at kitchen sink.

Me: Mam, please come and sit down. It's important.

Mother looks again then crosses kitchen to wipe her hands on a dishcloth, moving the butter dish just a little bit this way, just a little bit that. Most unlike her.

Me: Ma-am!

Mother: J'arrives, J'arrives!

She sits down, dresses plastic flowered tablecloth with her hands.

I inhale, deeply.

Me: Foca wanted to come but I thought it better if I told you myself.

Father: Are you getting married?

Me: On no papa, (nervous laugh, almost relieved), no. We haven't known each other long enough for that. No, I'm having a baby.

Father: (circles base of wine glass with thumb and forefinger, leans back into his chair). What have young people got against marriage these days?

Colour drains from mother's face