Well as it is nearly the end of 2010 I feel it only right to make a few comments about the people I have had the fortune to be friends with over this year, sharing the good times, laughing, and being supported by.
Firstly there is a very wonderful lady by the initial of A. We met via a website called 'GonetooSoon'. During a rough time for me after losing baby C, A became a person in my life, who by just leaving little messages and kind words, helped me though that sad time.
We built up a friendship and then through Facebook we were able to converse much easierly (is that a word?). Even today, eighteen months on, A is still so very kind. There are very few people in this world with whom I would sing the praises of, but A is one of them. A very spiritual lady, a Grandma several times over, with a love of animals.]
Thank you A for always being able to say the right thing and making the hard times a little easier.
Another person with whom I think needs to be recognised is J, my J's old (not in the age sense!) support teacher assistant. Another woman who has kindness running through her veins. A naturally warm and friendly lady who had my J calling her name at home all the time when she worked with him. I have met many support staff over the years but J is head and shoulders above them all.
There are two women with whom I share a bond with as our babies were all born within seven days of each other. We went through all the pregnancy niggles together, the newborn stage, the worries. They supported me when I became concerned about W's eyes. They accept it is hard for me to do the sociable things when J is about and adapt to help me.
There is the network of mums from J's school who are always available for a moan or to share happy or funny stories with. They understand first hand the trials of being a mum to a special needs child and do not judge.
There have been certains online mum friends with whom I have had the pleasure of going through their own journies into pregnancy and birth, sharing ups and downs and having that kind of support where sometimes it is just easier to type it down to friends you have never met in real life. Even though I now rarely use the forums we used to talk via, I still have the important ones as my friends on Facebook, so we can keep in touch and share our stories.
I have met some new friends via other friends and have found a common ground (and love of Farmville!). Thank you for the acceptance and the kindness.
Now I have not mentioned yet the females of my family, namely my mother and my mother in law. If I don't I am sure to hear about it! But, when I see them, speak to them and share with them my family, they should know how important they are and not need a blog to tell them so. But just in case I get vilified for it here it is - THANK YOU!
I hope 2011 brings all my friends happiness and joy, good health and wealth.
I am not going out to celebrate the New Years Eve, but when I have my three boys here I don't need to. I will have my Baileys, choccie and rubbish TV to keep me company and the love of my children to see us into the New Year. I don't need party poppers, cheese on a stick, and Auld Lang Syne to realise how lucky I am!
Whatever you are doing I wish you all a very Happy New Year! XxXxX
Thursday 30 December 2010
Monday 27 December 2010
Money Money Money
If we were rich we would have access to so much more help, so much more intervention, and so much more security for the future.
As it is, we are not rich.
We rely on NHS services and council services to provide health and care and heavily subsidised playscheme groups for the fun elements.
After three years of seeing the same paediatrician via J's school, I learnt that we did'nt have to stick with them. I only stumbled upon this fact when making a round about complaint that promises from this paediatrician were not materialising and that appointments were never forthcoming for anything that had been suggested to me.
So, there it was. We could change paediatricians. But, as is life, it was not going to be that simple. Oh no. No, what had to happen was my old paediatrician had to be told why I did not want them to see J and myself anymore. So, rather uncomfortably, they know my complaint. Not exactly helping us to keep away from stress and worry. Plus, ironically, this paediatrician is also around the clinic that my baby son attends for his eyes. Double whammy of embarrasment.
If we had the money we could afford a private paediatrician and one that we felt was working for our best interests.
What is going to happen to J when he needs to leave for residential care?
We will have to put his name down for a council run home and hope we pick one that has a good record of care, a low rate of complaints, offers a proper structure for autistic adults and their specific needs (as opposed to a generalised mental institution) and is not threatened with the looming shadow of closure or streamlining.
But naturally, these homes will have waiting lists as long as a mile, and even then it may still have politics about who is accepted.
If we had money we could pick and choose a private home. We would'nt have to compromise on the standard and quality of care and we would feel safe knowing he was being cared for without the fear of him being moved out due to the council needing to make yet more cuts to the disabled ( as opposed to cutting their ridiculous expense accounts and pointless training weekends in top country hotels).
I have been accused in the past (by not very well meaning persons of whom have no personal experience of their own child with a disability) of thinking too much about the future.
Well, what else am I to do? We see even now the contempt governments give to life long disabled people. Yes J is my responsibility, but at the risk of martydom, I may not be able to cope with him as an adult. I need to mentally prepare for him leaving my care. The process of gaining a place at a preferred home is long and so being ready in mind as well as practically seems more logical to me.
Now of course I am not blase about him leaving. In fact it hurts me inside just imagining him being cared for by other people. I have an element about me that needs to be in control. I have things run my way. I need proof that I can trust others to care for him and that they will put him first.
If I had an obscene amount of money I would open a play gym soley for mentally disabled children and one for adults, that would provide therapy rooms, specialist play workers, one to one sessions, advice and a haven of love and respect, where parents and carers feel safe away from prejudice and stares. It would be open seven days a week as sometimes we need somewhere to go where our hyper children can let off steam and where parents of 'normal' children don't tut and mutter to themselves about the behaviours of our children.
Money does make the world go around. And when I hear millionaires bemoaning their wealth ( and one such celeb - Robbie Williams once famously stated he would rather live on £80 a fortnight dole money than have his wealth ) I want to offer them the chance to give me their money, so that I can use it positively and give it to those that really do need it. I could do a lot with a million, and the lives of so many local children and their families would be improved, even if only by something very minor such as a bubble tube.
I'm keeping everything crossed (and believe me that takes some effort) that I will win the Lotto, as that appears the only way I will achieve my goal. Here's hoping.
As it is, we are not rich.
We rely on NHS services and council services to provide health and care and heavily subsidised playscheme groups for the fun elements.
After three years of seeing the same paediatrician via J's school, I learnt that we did'nt have to stick with them. I only stumbled upon this fact when making a round about complaint that promises from this paediatrician were not materialising and that appointments were never forthcoming for anything that had been suggested to me.
So, there it was. We could change paediatricians. But, as is life, it was not going to be that simple. Oh no. No, what had to happen was my old paediatrician had to be told why I did not want them to see J and myself anymore. So, rather uncomfortably, they know my complaint. Not exactly helping us to keep away from stress and worry. Plus, ironically, this paediatrician is also around the clinic that my baby son attends for his eyes. Double whammy of embarrasment.
If we had the money we could afford a private paediatrician and one that we felt was working for our best interests.
What is going to happen to J when he needs to leave for residential care?
We will have to put his name down for a council run home and hope we pick one that has a good record of care, a low rate of complaints, offers a proper structure for autistic adults and their specific needs (as opposed to a generalised mental institution) and is not threatened with the looming shadow of closure or streamlining.
But naturally, these homes will have waiting lists as long as a mile, and even then it may still have politics about who is accepted.
If we had money we could pick and choose a private home. We would'nt have to compromise on the standard and quality of care and we would feel safe knowing he was being cared for without the fear of him being moved out due to the council needing to make yet more cuts to the disabled ( as opposed to cutting their ridiculous expense accounts and pointless training weekends in top country hotels).
I have been accused in the past (by not very well meaning persons of whom have no personal experience of their own child with a disability) of thinking too much about the future.
Well, what else am I to do? We see even now the contempt governments give to life long disabled people. Yes J is my responsibility, but at the risk of martydom, I may not be able to cope with him as an adult. I need to mentally prepare for him leaving my care. The process of gaining a place at a preferred home is long and so being ready in mind as well as practically seems more logical to me.
Now of course I am not blase about him leaving. In fact it hurts me inside just imagining him being cared for by other people. I have an element about me that needs to be in control. I have things run my way. I need proof that I can trust others to care for him and that they will put him first.
If I had an obscene amount of money I would open a play gym soley for mentally disabled children and one for adults, that would provide therapy rooms, specialist play workers, one to one sessions, advice and a haven of love and respect, where parents and carers feel safe away from prejudice and stares. It would be open seven days a week as sometimes we need somewhere to go where our hyper children can let off steam and where parents of 'normal' children don't tut and mutter to themselves about the behaviours of our children.
Money does make the world go around. And when I hear millionaires bemoaning their wealth ( and one such celeb - Robbie Williams once famously stated he would rather live on £80 a fortnight dole money than have his wealth ) I want to offer them the chance to give me their money, so that I can use it positively and give it to those that really do need it. I could do a lot with a million, and the lives of so many local children and their families would be improved, even if only by something very minor such as a bubble tube.
I'm keeping everything crossed (and believe me that takes some effort) that I will win the Lotto, as that appears the only way I will achieve my goal. Here's hoping.
Friday 24 December 2010
Christmas memories and reflection
So another Christmas has begun. This year has been fun again as O understands all about Santa and the excuse that Santa and the Elves can hear any bad manners and behaviours has been working a treat - not sure I can string that out for another 364 days though.
J still has poor understanding of Christmas, the festivities, the Greatest Story Ever Told, Jesus and Santa Claus.
He likes unwrapping his presents though. And everyone elses presents too if you're not quick enough to take them back off of him.
But what to buy him? It is always harder, but as mentioned before, Ebay has come up trumps with out of fashion toys that he still loves.
At this time of year, I always become a little maudlin. I reminisce about my childhood Christmases, the excitement and belief Santa was going to visit and leave me presents. The struggle to stay awake to see him. The early morning wake up, scramble to the end of the bed, squeek of excitement, and the awe of what Santa had left me.
Christmas in my family was always a bustle of visitors and visits out to friends houses for parties and games. My lovely grandma was always chief cook. My uncle D and I would fight for the most roast potatoes and bacon wrapped sausages. My mum would sit with her enormous pile of pressies that her children had given her from her nursery. Box after box of chocolates she got. Matchmakers, Quality Street, After Eights and Roses were the most popular, and most sickly.
With me being the baby of the family for twelve years it was myself who retrieved all the pressies for everyone and handed them out in their designated seating area.
I was also responsible for putting the decorations up, and every year the cardboard box of them would be found, squashed at the back of the bathroom cupboard ( a huge cupboard that stretched back a good few metres), and I would get to work, blu tacking and pinning the foily, stretchy, boingy decorations. The cats would systematically play paw bat with the baubles on the tree until the lower section of the tree looked sparse and bare come Christmas day.
It is with these memories that I am so desperate to make my boys Christmases so wonderful. I know they will look back with fondness and longing, and so to make it a day for them is paramount.
J may not comprehend the actual reason for the special day, but he has an amazing memory and so I know he will store and reflect within himself, all the fun, and mountain of chocolate he will consume.
I will raise a glass of Baileys (just one mind as I don't want baby W to be tipsy on his first Christmas) to all those I have lost. My grandma and grandad (who has been gone three years as of the 22nd), my great grandma (Nanny), my father, my father in law, and my little baby C who never got to experience a Christmas on Earth. They may be gone but I know they are sharing the day with us here, in their own special way.
I hope this Christmas you and yours have a special day, filled with laughter and love and that Santa brings you what you wished for.
*~*~*~Merry Christmas~*~*~*
J still has poor understanding of Christmas, the festivities, the Greatest Story Ever Told, Jesus and Santa Claus.
He likes unwrapping his presents though. And everyone elses presents too if you're not quick enough to take them back off of him.
But what to buy him? It is always harder, but as mentioned before, Ebay has come up trumps with out of fashion toys that he still loves.
At this time of year, I always become a little maudlin. I reminisce about my childhood Christmases, the excitement and belief Santa was going to visit and leave me presents. The struggle to stay awake to see him. The early morning wake up, scramble to the end of the bed, squeek of excitement, and the awe of what Santa had left me.
Christmas in my family was always a bustle of visitors and visits out to friends houses for parties and games. My lovely grandma was always chief cook. My uncle D and I would fight for the most roast potatoes and bacon wrapped sausages. My mum would sit with her enormous pile of pressies that her children had given her from her nursery. Box after box of chocolates she got. Matchmakers, Quality Street, After Eights and Roses were the most popular, and most sickly.
With me being the baby of the family for twelve years it was myself who retrieved all the pressies for everyone and handed them out in their designated seating area.
I was also responsible for putting the decorations up, and every year the cardboard box of them would be found, squashed at the back of the bathroom cupboard ( a huge cupboard that stretched back a good few metres), and I would get to work, blu tacking and pinning the foily, stretchy, boingy decorations. The cats would systematically play paw bat with the baubles on the tree until the lower section of the tree looked sparse and bare come Christmas day.
It is with these memories that I am so desperate to make my boys Christmases so wonderful. I know they will look back with fondness and longing, and so to make it a day for them is paramount.
J may not comprehend the actual reason for the special day, but he has an amazing memory and so I know he will store and reflect within himself, all the fun, and mountain of chocolate he will consume.
I will raise a glass of Baileys (just one mind as I don't want baby W to be tipsy on his first Christmas) to all those I have lost. My grandma and grandad (who has been gone three years as of the 22nd), my great grandma (Nanny), my father, my father in law, and my little baby C who never got to experience a Christmas on Earth. They may be gone but I know they are sharing the day with us here, in their own special way.
I hope this Christmas you and yours have a special day, filled with laughter and love and that Santa brings you what you wished for.
*~*~*~Merry Christmas~*~*~*
Thursday 23 December 2010
The case of the missing tooth
The Tooth Fairy has visited our house again, but has left empty handed.
J has lost his seventh tooth as of yesterday, but as with teeth numbers three,four,five and six, I have no idea where it went.
The first two teeth were lost at school and given to me wrapped in tissue by the teacher.
Thereafter they have fallen out, sometimes with a lot of screaming and crying from J, but when I try to retrieve them they have dissapeared.
I search through the bathroom bin and surrounding areas but never find a tooth.
Maybe he swallows it, or flushes it away.
And because he has no understanding of the Tooth Fairy, the mystery of leaving a tooth under a pillow in return for money is completely lost on him.
I did'nt even realise he had lost another tooth, until that gappy smile was flashed in my direction and I spotted it.
He did'nt make a fuss, cry or scream - all indicators that something is wrong with him and makes me sprint to his location to try to assess the problem and cause for the screaming, and to make it better for him.
So, somewhere, floating down a sewerage pipe , or making its way to the sea, is my boys top tooth. I wonder if the Tooth Fairy will find it and leave money in lieu?
J has lost his seventh tooth as of yesterday, but as with teeth numbers three,four,five and six, I have no idea where it went.
The first two teeth were lost at school and given to me wrapped in tissue by the teacher.
Thereafter they have fallen out, sometimes with a lot of screaming and crying from J, but when I try to retrieve them they have dissapeared.
I search through the bathroom bin and surrounding areas but never find a tooth.
Maybe he swallows it, or flushes it away.
And because he has no understanding of the Tooth Fairy, the mystery of leaving a tooth under a pillow in return for money is completely lost on him.
I did'nt even realise he had lost another tooth, until that gappy smile was flashed in my direction and I spotted it.
He did'nt make a fuss, cry or scream - all indicators that something is wrong with him and makes me sprint to his location to try to assess the problem and cause for the screaming, and to make it better for him.
So, somewhere, floating down a sewerage pipe , or making its way to the sea, is my boys top tooth. I wonder if the Tooth Fairy will find it and leave money in lieu?
Tuesday 21 December 2010
Hello drama? Not today, thanks.
Does J hold grudges? Does he take something innocuous and innocent and harbour resentment?
Speaking for him I would have to say no.
Does he build up scenarios in his head and create a false persepective with which to fill his own agenda?
Again no.
He may be a human being, but he does not use his brain in this way as many neuro-typical humans do. He accepts people for who they are and does not look to try to find fault and blame.
What a wonderful quality to have.
We all have our own ways to do things. We parent in our own style. We romance and love our partners in our own way. Which way is right though? Is there a perfect formula to achieve perfection? Or rather, if a couple, a parent, a sibling, can muddle along, happy in their own family, is this perfect, for them? It may appear to observers that this dynamic is not tenable, but then, to fully be able to judge another, one must have walked a 1000 miles in the shoes of those they think less of.
And even then, to judge another is more of a personal vendetta than a humane and kind act.
I have heard the "oooohs" (or that sucking in of breath with which to make a judgement with sound and not word) when I make commands to J. Yes, you read right, commands. I could fluff and pander around with long silly sentences or cut to the quick and actually use brief words that J would understand. Remember his autism disables him from discerning specific words amongst a tirade of them and so quick and simple commands count for more productivity and less stress.
I have had the dramas and battles of autism for a good six years now ( when it became an issue as he must have had it from birth but the first 30 months were not so much a struggle) and so I find dramas and battles from adults intolerable and a waste of good human contact.
I used to belong to a few online mum forums. The ones that have debates and gossip and a general meet up of mums who (for the most) have never met in 'real life'. I have since departed these forums as I could not cope with the bickering, sniping, miscontruing, and general womanly bitching that always seems to be amongst an all female environment. For the good, they did provide me with moral support and advice when I was low, and I met some very lovely and genuinely kind women, but I think as I grew older, and gained my own personal drama boy, I could not find the strength to muster up replying to posts that demanded a debate that would be set out for one sided arguments ( where whatever you say will be wrong or taken out of context).
I have been married for nearly nine years now. Nine years. That may not be half way to a silver anniversary, but in this day of throw away celebrity marriages I think it is pretty bloody good. Considering we have a lot to cope with and do not get much 'us' time, we just seem to make it work. Yes, we bicker and argue, but how unhealthy would it be if we hid our feelings and never vented our frustrations? The strength of our relationship is the key to our success. I trust him and he trusts me. I love him and he loves me. Simple. This basic common sense to relationships is how J is about me. He trusts me implicitly. He loves me ( even though he can only echolalic those three words to me).
I was 22 when I first met my husband. I was young. I was naive. I had baggage. He had baggage.
We got a place together and stored our baggage together in a cupboard, opening every so often to remove some and replace with our own memories. Now, a decade and a bit later, we are one. We are united and stand strong against people that try to hurt us or our children.
In our little family unit we have created, we are one and the same. J may not fit the 'ideal' of family life, but he is our family and always will be.
Speaking for him I would have to say no.
Does he build up scenarios in his head and create a false persepective with which to fill his own agenda?
Again no.
He may be a human being, but he does not use his brain in this way as many neuro-typical humans do. He accepts people for who they are and does not look to try to find fault and blame.
What a wonderful quality to have.
We all have our own ways to do things. We parent in our own style. We romance and love our partners in our own way. Which way is right though? Is there a perfect formula to achieve perfection? Or rather, if a couple, a parent, a sibling, can muddle along, happy in their own family, is this perfect, for them? It may appear to observers that this dynamic is not tenable, but then, to fully be able to judge another, one must have walked a 1000 miles in the shoes of those they think less of.
And even then, to judge another is more of a personal vendetta than a humane and kind act.
I have heard the "oooohs" (or that sucking in of breath with which to make a judgement with sound and not word) when I make commands to J. Yes, you read right, commands. I could fluff and pander around with long silly sentences or cut to the quick and actually use brief words that J would understand. Remember his autism disables him from discerning specific words amongst a tirade of them and so quick and simple commands count for more productivity and less stress.
I have had the dramas and battles of autism for a good six years now ( when it became an issue as he must have had it from birth but the first 30 months were not so much a struggle) and so I find dramas and battles from adults intolerable and a waste of good human contact.
I used to belong to a few online mum forums. The ones that have debates and gossip and a general meet up of mums who (for the most) have never met in 'real life'. I have since departed these forums as I could not cope with the bickering, sniping, miscontruing, and general womanly bitching that always seems to be amongst an all female environment. For the good, they did provide me with moral support and advice when I was low, and I met some very lovely and genuinely kind women, but I think as I grew older, and gained my own personal drama boy, I could not find the strength to muster up replying to posts that demanded a debate that would be set out for one sided arguments ( where whatever you say will be wrong or taken out of context).
I have been married for nearly nine years now. Nine years. That may not be half way to a silver anniversary, but in this day of throw away celebrity marriages I think it is pretty bloody good. Considering we have a lot to cope with and do not get much 'us' time, we just seem to make it work. Yes, we bicker and argue, but how unhealthy would it be if we hid our feelings and never vented our frustrations? The strength of our relationship is the key to our success. I trust him and he trusts me. I love him and he loves me. Simple. This basic common sense to relationships is how J is about me. He trusts me implicitly. He loves me ( even though he can only echolalic those three words to me).
I was 22 when I first met my husband. I was young. I was naive. I had baggage. He had baggage.
We got a place together and stored our baggage together in a cupboard, opening every so often to remove some and replace with our own memories. Now, a decade and a bit later, we are one. We are united and stand strong against people that try to hurt us or our children.
In our little family unit we have created, we are one and the same. J may not fit the 'ideal' of family life, but he is our family and always will be.
Tuesday 14 December 2010
So another year older - from 32 to 33
What have I learnt over this last year?
Well for starters I have made another space in my heart for my third child. A space you never realise exists until you hold them, all fresh and new, smelling so sweet and perfect.
How our hearts divide up so equally for new additions I will never be able to explain, but the second I saw him I just had this surge of new love and our mummy and baby bond began.
It has been hard at times with the worry about his eyes and brain, but everyday he is learning new skills and becoming my adorable and perfect little man.
My middle son, O, has started school, learnt to write, can read basic words, and is amazing me with his knowledge. He loves his baby brother so much too. W will smile and laugh when he hears O coming into the room and they have such a brotherly bond it is beautiful.
J has grown taller - 4 inches - and is maturing into a young man, with his face shape changing and his adult teeth nearly all through at the front.
He knows all his alphabet and will say each letter pointed to. Reading even basic words is still a challenge, but he is recognising 'mum' and 'dad' more frequently.
He has become very keen on dancing and has little routines that I think come from the Teletubbies. It is a shame that his school offered dance classes after school, did'nt give him a place, and then when I enquired the following term as to allowing him one session to see his potential, I was told it has been stopped altogether. Such a shame.
Personal relationships have changed, for the better. My mum and I are now best friends and if she could come and live here I would make the space like a shot. I'd love her to have a little bungalow with a garden where we could grow herbs and vegetables (as my dogs would be digging mine up if I had them here) and the boys could treat it as a second home and spend more time with her - they all love their Nanna.
I think because I grew up living in my Grandparents home (with my mum also) I understand the bond formed and that special relationship a grandchild has with their grandparent when you see them all the time.
As for me. Well not much has changed. Apart from not having a baby bouncing around on my bladder and getting the hiccups a hundred times a day against my hip this time last year but now having him bouncing around on my lap and burping little milky burps in my face, I am not much different. Perhaps a few more wrinkles and grey strands, but they're all worth it.
Well for starters I have made another space in my heart for my third child. A space you never realise exists until you hold them, all fresh and new, smelling so sweet and perfect.
How our hearts divide up so equally for new additions I will never be able to explain, but the second I saw him I just had this surge of new love and our mummy and baby bond began.
It has been hard at times with the worry about his eyes and brain, but everyday he is learning new skills and becoming my adorable and perfect little man.
My middle son, O, has started school, learnt to write, can read basic words, and is amazing me with his knowledge. He loves his baby brother so much too. W will smile and laugh when he hears O coming into the room and they have such a brotherly bond it is beautiful.
J has grown taller - 4 inches - and is maturing into a young man, with his face shape changing and his adult teeth nearly all through at the front.
He knows all his alphabet and will say each letter pointed to. Reading even basic words is still a challenge, but he is recognising 'mum' and 'dad' more frequently.
He has become very keen on dancing and has little routines that I think come from the Teletubbies. It is a shame that his school offered dance classes after school, did'nt give him a place, and then when I enquired the following term as to allowing him one session to see his potential, I was told it has been stopped altogether. Such a shame.
Personal relationships have changed, for the better. My mum and I are now best friends and if she could come and live here I would make the space like a shot. I'd love her to have a little bungalow with a garden where we could grow herbs and vegetables (as my dogs would be digging mine up if I had them here) and the boys could treat it as a second home and spend more time with her - they all love their Nanna.
I think because I grew up living in my Grandparents home (with my mum also) I understand the bond formed and that special relationship a grandchild has with their grandparent when you see them all the time.
As for me. Well not much has changed. Apart from not having a baby bouncing around on my bladder and getting the hiccups a hundred times a day against my hip this time last year but now having him bouncing around on my lap and burping little milky burps in my face, I am not much different. Perhaps a few more wrinkles and grey strands, but they're all worth it.
Thursday 9 December 2010
Frankie Boyle and Katie Price
So, I must have had a little psychic intervention over the last blog entry. That piece of work called Frankie Boyle has been up to his favourite of late trick of attacking the disabled.
Unfortunately for him he chose to attack Harvey Price, eldest child of Katie Price (AKA Jordan), and it now facing her wrath, which considering her wealth, should come as a huge sledgehammer to his ego, his wallet and his popularity.
Also in the firing line is Channel Four, the network that gave us Kinga and her insertion of a wine bottle whilst lying on the Big Brother grass open legged.
This channel has always tried to be edgy and court controversy but to allow this man to air his vile comedy which serves to only humour the lowest form of humanity is sticking two fingers up at any parent with a special needs child and laughing.
The people who have laughed at the following sentence really should seek out some help in locating their benevolence.
To quote Frankie Boyle -
"I have a theory why Jordan married a cage fighter - she needed a man strong enough to stop Harvey from f***ing her"
Harvey has autism to name one of his disabilties. He is only a few months older than my J.
I used to be a fan of Katie when she emerged from the Jungle on ITV and her romance with Peter Andre. I would not say I am a huge fan of hers now.
However, the fact a television channel, a producer, and a 'comedian' could let this sentence pass out from behind the closed doors it was filmed is not just an attack of Harvey and Katie, but an attack against all us mums and all our special children.
I am sure, just as with his attack on the lady with her Downs child, Frankie will see this furore as another notch on his humour board. Channel Four will revel in the number of people going to their online website to watch this episode.
Katie gave them till 5pm this evening to apologise. They have refused to do so.
I can only hope she employs the hottest and most vicious lawyers who will tear into these lowlifes and seeks retribution of the highest amount.
Let us look at another angle.
Channel Four rushed into apologies and censorship when a contestant on their famed Big Brother series uttered the very racist word begining with 'N'. She was removed from the house and not allowed to continue.
When in a celebrity version of the show, more racist remarks were uttered daily in a tirade of abuse from three female 'celebrities' the channel was slow to do anything, until public pressure and other media outlets put insumountable pressures to do so.
They finaly did take a stance and the main instigator of the vile racism was full of remorse (unlike the other two who never apologised).
I detest racism.
I detest discrimination of disabled people.
Why is one deemed fit for apologies and one not?
This world is full of people of different colour, different religion, and different abilities.
To be so bombastic in the belief that attacking a person from any of these sectors is acceptable is not leading a life of compassion. It is egocentric to assume you can be so callous and vile and mark it up as humour.
I may not agree with some of Katie Prices antics and shenanigans but for this I back her 100% and hope she succeeds in bringing the curtain around this 'comedian' and the arrogant Channel Four execs.
Unfortunately for him he chose to attack Harvey Price, eldest child of Katie Price (AKA Jordan), and it now facing her wrath, which considering her wealth, should come as a huge sledgehammer to his ego, his wallet and his popularity.
Also in the firing line is Channel Four, the network that gave us Kinga and her insertion of a wine bottle whilst lying on the Big Brother grass open legged.
This channel has always tried to be edgy and court controversy but to allow this man to air his vile comedy which serves to only humour the lowest form of humanity is sticking two fingers up at any parent with a special needs child and laughing.
The people who have laughed at the following sentence really should seek out some help in locating their benevolence.
To quote Frankie Boyle -
"I have a theory why Jordan married a cage fighter - she needed a man strong enough to stop Harvey from f***ing her"
Harvey has autism to name one of his disabilties. He is only a few months older than my J.
I used to be a fan of Katie when she emerged from the Jungle on ITV and her romance with Peter Andre. I would not say I am a huge fan of hers now.
However, the fact a television channel, a producer, and a 'comedian' could let this sentence pass out from behind the closed doors it was filmed is not just an attack of Harvey and Katie, but an attack against all us mums and all our special children.
I am sure, just as with his attack on the lady with her Downs child, Frankie will see this furore as another notch on his humour board. Channel Four will revel in the number of people going to their online website to watch this episode.
Katie gave them till 5pm this evening to apologise. They have refused to do so.
I can only hope she employs the hottest and most vicious lawyers who will tear into these lowlifes and seeks retribution of the highest amount.
Let us look at another angle.
Channel Four rushed into apologies and censorship when a contestant on their famed Big Brother series uttered the very racist word begining with 'N'. She was removed from the house and not allowed to continue.
When in a celebrity version of the show, more racist remarks were uttered daily in a tirade of abuse from three female 'celebrities' the channel was slow to do anything, until public pressure and other media outlets put insumountable pressures to do so.
They finaly did take a stance and the main instigator of the vile racism was full of remorse (unlike the other two who never apologised).
I detest racism.
I detest discrimination of disabled people.
Why is one deemed fit for apologies and one not?
This world is full of people of different colour, different religion, and different abilities.
To be so bombastic in the belief that attacking a person from any of these sectors is acceptable is not leading a life of compassion. It is egocentric to assume you can be so callous and vile and mark it up as humour.
I may not agree with some of Katie Prices antics and shenanigans but for this I back her 100% and hope she succeeds in bringing the curtain around this 'comedian' and the arrogant Channel Four execs.
Monday 6 December 2010
How far is too far?
Everyone likes a joke. Comedians make money from their witty banter and one liners.
The average man down the pub can feel like a king when he has people in stitches over his comedy repartee. That text message joke sent on and on to all and sundry that eventually ends up being sent to you.
But, when does comedy about disabilities and the use of slang words for disablities become unfunny and even offensive?
We all have our own personal limits of taste and decency and what one finds hilarious another finds distasteful.
But, there is one thing I can not abide and that is the use of abusive words for children or adults with a disability.
Why do some love to flip the word 'retard' around so matter of fact? I have a family member who regularly uses this word on Facebook and I wonder if any thought or respect has been given to how offensive I may find it?
Perhaps I have missed something? Is it me that has the problem with a word being used in a defamatory manner? Should I chuckle along with the others? Well, if using a word randomly thrown into a sentence to be descriptive of a person (who by all accounts does not have a mental disability with whom said instigator is writing about) who has behaved foolishly, with which bears no purpose but to appear cool or witty, then no, I shall not laugh along, I shall take offence at the lack of morals and the lack of judgement to what my situation resembles.
I will add that I dislike any use of a word with which the intent is to be offensive in retrospect of a persons colour, religion, race, sexual preference or disability.
I can take swear words. Blimey I say a fair few myself, but they are muttered to myself and not tossed into a perfectly penned paragraph for the sheer effect or coolness certain younger people feel is needed to feel validated amongst their 700+ friends on their Facebook/Myspace/ Twittery tweety account.
One Frankie Boyle caused outrage when he started a joke about Downs Syndrome at one of his tours. What actually riled me was his verbal abuse of the mother he took umbridge over (who was not laughing and with whom he singled out in the crowd). She explained (after being heckled by him) she had a child with DS and he then, instead of back tracking and moving on (perhaps even with a gentlmanly apology), choose to mock her and her child, bullying her with sterotypyical views on DS and thinking this was comedy.
Now, Boyle has made me laugh in the past. And yes it was near the knuckle stuff, but to actually attack a paying audience member about their disabled child, purely for the comedy, shows a severe lack of judgement and since then he has'nt really produced much to laugh home about ( Tramadol Nights anyone?).
Of course he is not the first comedian to stir the hornets nest of controversy over disabilities and he won't be the last.
I can think of another comedian who joked about wounded soldiers and the paralympics, and the press had a field day berating him over it.
I concur that jokes like these do bring disabilites to the fore, whether for the right reasons or not, and that getting people to acknowledge that it does cause offence, and it does hurt, can bring about changes in attitudes, but it seems that there are a lot out there who, until they have a personal experience of a disability will continue to titter and snigger at their comedic wit and lazy offensive slang, along with their equally amusing aquaintances.
The average man down the pub can feel like a king when he has people in stitches over his comedy repartee. That text message joke sent on and on to all and sundry that eventually ends up being sent to you.
But, when does comedy about disabilities and the use of slang words for disablities become unfunny and even offensive?
We all have our own personal limits of taste and decency and what one finds hilarious another finds distasteful.
But, there is one thing I can not abide and that is the use of abusive words for children or adults with a disability.
Why do some love to flip the word 'retard' around so matter of fact? I have a family member who regularly uses this word on Facebook and I wonder if any thought or respect has been given to how offensive I may find it?
Perhaps I have missed something? Is it me that has the problem with a word being used in a defamatory manner? Should I chuckle along with the others? Well, if using a word randomly thrown into a sentence to be descriptive of a person (who by all accounts does not have a mental disability with whom said instigator is writing about) who has behaved foolishly, with which bears no purpose but to appear cool or witty, then no, I shall not laugh along, I shall take offence at the lack of morals and the lack of judgement to what my situation resembles.
I will add that I dislike any use of a word with which the intent is to be offensive in retrospect of a persons colour, religion, race, sexual preference or disability.
I can take swear words. Blimey I say a fair few myself, but they are muttered to myself and not tossed into a perfectly penned paragraph for the sheer effect or coolness certain younger people feel is needed to feel validated amongst their 700+ friends on their Facebook/Myspace/ Twittery tweety account.
One Frankie Boyle caused outrage when he started a joke about Downs Syndrome at one of his tours. What actually riled me was his verbal abuse of the mother he took umbridge over (who was not laughing and with whom he singled out in the crowd). She explained (after being heckled by him) she had a child with DS and he then, instead of back tracking and moving on (perhaps even with a gentlmanly apology), choose to mock her and her child, bullying her with sterotypyical views on DS and thinking this was comedy.
Now, Boyle has made me laugh in the past. And yes it was near the knuckle stuff, but to actually attack a paying audience member about their disabled child, purely for the comedy, shows a severe lack of judgement and since then he has'nt really produced much to laugh home about ( Tramadol Nights anyone?).
Of course he is not the first comedian to stir the hornets nest of controversy over disabilities and he won't be the last.
I can think of another comedian who joked about wounded soldiers and the paralympics, and the press had a field day berating him over it.
I concur that jokes like these do bring disabilites to the fore, whether for the right reasons or not, and that getting people to acknowledge that it does cause offence, and it does hurt, can bring about changes in attitudes, but it seems that there are a lot out there who, until they have a personal experience of a disability will continue to titter and snigger at their comedic wit and lazy offensive slang, along with their equally amusing aquaintances.
Saturday 4 December 2010
Head banger
It almost seems as if last year, at this very time, is being replayed like GroundHog day.
J has started to head bang again, a lot.
It started off with the odd head bang against a wall and has progressed to numerous bangs resulting in a wound opening up and bleeding everytime he bangs.
I have caught him looking in the mirror in my bedrooom, walk up to the wall, smash his head against the wall, smile with a glazed eye look, then walk back to the mirror to inspect his work.
As happened last year, he leaves bloody trails where his head has touched the wall. But unlike last year he is not leaving it for me to clean up, rather he gets a cloth or some tissue and wipes it away.
There are two wounds that have opened up, side by side on his forehead. One is a lot larger than the other, and only has time to heal when he is asleep.
Last Christmas he played an angel in the school Nativity, and even though he looked resplendant in his white outfit with a golden halo atop his head, he had a huge scabby mess on his forehead.
It will be the same this year.
As before, from the pychologist, we have to ignore the behaviour. But how is that possible really?
I understand he is doing it for pleasure, and not out of frustration or anger, but to see your son bash ten bells out of his head, look so glazed and starry eyed, but with a huge grin on his face, is very hard to watch, let alone ignore.
The logic behind the ignoring is that if we say anything to him such as "no" or "ouch" he will be getting a reward from us. So to not say anything and look as if we don't care, should, in theory, stop him. But it's not working at present, and it is only getting worse.
The other night I woke up to hear, "bang, bang, bang" over and over again, and he was sitting on the top of the stairs banging the wall next to him, blissfully happy.
There has to be a link to these episodes, but nothing is standing out. I have been thinking that the change in temperature may be significant, but the head banging is a pleasureable thing for him, not a transferance of pain or irritation.
I know one day I may either have an 'aha' moment when I click or someone will moot an idea to me and it will fit. I can only hope it is soon.
J has started to head bang again, a lot.
It started off with the odd head bang against a wall and has progressed to numerous bangs resulting in a wound opening up and bleeding everytime he bangs.
I have caught him looking in the mirror in my bedrooom, walk up to the wall, smash his head against the wall, smile with a glazed eye look, then walk back to the mirror to inspect his work.
As happened last year, he leaves bloody trails where his head has touched the wall. But unlike last year he is not leaving it for me to clean up, rather he gets a cloth or some tissue and wipes it away.
There are two wounds that have opened up, side by side on his forehead. One is a lot larger than the other, and only has time to heal when he is asleep.
Last Christmas he played an angel in the school Nativity, and even though he looked resplendant in his white outfit with a golden halo atop his head, he had a huge scabby mess on his forehead.
It will be the same this year.
As before, from the pychologist, we have to ignore the behaviour. But how is that possible really?
I understand he is doing it for pleasure, and not out of frustration or anger, but to see your son bash ten bells out of his head, look so glazed and starry eyed, but with a huge grin on his face, is very hard to watch, let alone ignore.
The logic behind the ignoring is that if we say anything to him such as "no" or "ouch" he will be getting a reward from us. So to not say anything and look as if we don't care, should, in theory, stop him. But it's not working at present, and it is only getting worse.
The other night I woke up to hear, "bang, bang, bang" over and over again, and he was sitting on the top of the stairs banging the wall next to him, blissfully happy.
There has to be a link to these episodes, but nothing is standing out. I have been thinking that the change in temperature may be significant, but the head banging is a pleasureable thing for him, not a transferance of pain or irritation.
I know one day I may either have an 'aha' moment when I click or someone will moot an idea to me and it will fit. I can only hope it is soon.
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