Conversations with Elissa

Elissa just came to tell me the back of her knee is hurting.

Me: Have you been sitting on it?

E: No, it just started hurting.

Me: Then I'm sure it will stop hurting if you sit comfortably with it.

E: No, it's been hurting for YEARS.

Me: I don't think so, you've been running around for years.

E: No, I only just recognised that it was hurting.

Me: Then it can't have been hurting that much. Go and rest it.

E: [Runs into the next room, then realises her leg is hurting and starts to limp]

Rudeness in the classroom

Yesterday Ben (9), in a fit of melancholy induced by many dramas, announced that, on top of it all, his teacher had taken his handball off him. Ever one to leap to my children's defence, I asked him what he'd done to get her to confiscate it. He'd been tossing it in his hands while the teacher was talking. Well, no freaking wonder, thinks I. I explain to him that pretty much all teachers are going to think that tossing a ball around in the classroom is extremely rude. Ben has some difficulty understanding why, since he was listening more carefully than usual while he's tossing the ball around.

This kinda throws up a red flag. Lots of kids listen and think better when they've got something to occupy their hands - particularly kids with ADHD and Autism Spectrum Disorders. This doesn't apply to Ben, but it's a perfect example of why considering the needs of kids (or indeed adults) with disabilities is actually about accepting diversity generally. It's not some grand gesture made out of the goodness of the heart, it makes the world a better place for everyone, regardless of whether or not they currently fit the category of having a disability.

What this teacher should have done, was ask Ben why he was playing with the ball. She should have considered that he may listen better if his hands are occupied, and offered more appropriate options that don't distract the other kids (because tossing a ball in the classroom is always a Bad Idea)*. She should have considered that not everyone is the same. Of course, almost no teachers would do that. Most think of accommodations for kids with special needs as a separate category, that they only need think about when someone hands them a file explaining a child's diagnosed situation. We really need to change this.

This was no big deal for Ben, we discussed it, we discussed other options for keeping his hands busy, and today he apologised to his teacher and asked for his ball, which was returned. However, if Ben had been a child with undiagnosed ADHD or Aspergers, or a kid who doesn't fit any boxes so doesn't get the "protection" of a diagnosis, this could have been a Very Big Deal Indeed. Teachers (and all of us) need to consider diversity all the time, not just when a kid is stamped and approved for special assistance.

Last year, I did an assignment about what I'd learned about teaching, as a result of having a child diagnosed with Aspergers. In the assignment, I quoted the blog post I wrote the day after he was diagnosed. To bring the whole incestuous thing full circle, the video that constituted the "physical" part of the assignment is below. The take home message, though, is that what I learned is that we need to understand kids, not just manage their behaviour, and that this is true of all kids, not just ones with labels. And, perhaps more importantly, this is actually the easier path. Working with a kid is a lot easier than working against them, even if it involves a steep learning curve when you first meet them in your class.

It needs to be said that I understand teachers already have too much to do, and I think some serious changes need to be made to give teachers more time to do all the things they need to do, but that's a rant for another day. In the meantime, any steps we can take in this direction will help.

* This conversation need not have happened at the time she took the ball, it could have happened in a quiet moment later.

Open letter to "fat" kids

Dear Beautiful Little Person,

I hear someone's been telling you you're fat. It might have been someone at school, or your brother or sister, or your parents. They've probably also been talking about how much exercise you do and what you eat. They've almost certainly been telling you what shouldn't be eating. Most of them are probably genuinely concerned about your health.

But here's the secret - it's your body. It's an amazing, strong and beautiful body. It can do all sorts of cool things. And because it's yours and yours alone, it's amazing and wonderful in its own unique ways. If you look after your body, get to know it really well, teach it new tricks and give it every opportunity to show off the tricks it knows, it will look after you. And it will look after you, and be able to learn new tricks, regardless of what shape it is, or what it is or isn't able to do compared to other people. This is what exercise is really about. Doing what you and your body love to do. Your body has different needs to everyone else's. It might need more rest than other people. It might prefer to go crazy for half an hour, or it might prefer a long walk. The new tricks you teach it might be cartwheels, or spins in your wheel chair, or playing handball. Get to know what you and your body love doing together, and do it as often as you can.

People also make a big fuss about food. There's a reason for that - it's important to be good at eating. But being good at eating isn't about what you shouldn't eat, it's about what your body needs. Just like exercise, different bodies need different food. It can be really hard to work out what your body needs, so a good place to start is to try to eat as many different kinds of food as you possibly can. That's hard when you're a kid - lots of kinds of food taste yuck when you're younger, and seem to taste better as you get older. While you're waiting for broccoli to start to taste good (and it really does!), keep trying different foods, and remember the ones you like. The more variety you eat, the happier your body will be.

As you grow up, try to pay attention to how foods make you feel. Which breakfasts make you feel good at school, and which ones leave you starving even before recess? Do some foods make you feel terrible a couple of hours later? (Drinking fizzy drinks gives me a headache about 2 hours after I drink them - I don't know why, but I mostly don't drink them anymore!) Eat the things that make you feel good, give you energy and have a huge variety of good stuff in them. Then you'll be good at eating, and you'll be looking after your body.

Your body is beautiful and wonderful and powerful exactly as it is. It doesn't matter what shape it is. It will change shape over and over again through out your life. That's not what matters. Look after it, don't compare it to other bodies and enjoy it.

I am a looser

A week or so before school went back, when saying goodnight to Ben (aged 9) I saw he'd written "I am a looser" on his drawer. He's always been a "glass half empty" kind of kid, so I'd been expecting this kind of thing at some point. Still, my heart broke a little bit.

A bit of probing suggested anxiety about going back to school and being bad at stuff. The particular stuff he flagged was drawing, but I'm guessing it was sort of a generalised fear of publicly sucking. Still, drawing was an excellent example. Sucking at drawing is quite different to sucking at spelling. No-one hangs your spelling list on the walls in the classroom. In fact, even the person sitting next to you is pretty unlikely to look at your spelling. The things Ben sucks at are dancing, singing and drawing*. Everyone in the class is gonna know you suck at those things. Therefore, there was absolutely no point in attempting the whole "You're not that bad at drawing", because if he was already feeling bad, condescending to him, when he knows the truth, was only going to make it worse. Further, pointing out what he's good at doesn't help, because his talents don't stop it feeling awful when his stick figures are hung up next to a perfectly detailed scene.

I was going to go with my go-to solution when feeling bad about not being able to do something - "If you want to be better at it, you just need to practise" - but he hates drawing. At which point, the answer become obvious. Ever since he was tiny, he's had no interest in drawing, colouring, or pretty much any visual art. Which, of course, is why he's crap at it. He's never done it. I explained to him that I could get him books that show the basics of drawing, and he could do lots of practice and his drawing would improve, BUT, he doesn't want to. Outstanding talent aside, the main thing that makes a kid good at something is interest in it. He was looking pretty skeptical, so I switched to his talents. He's good at science. He protested that he doesn't practise science, but he does, and has done since he could talk. He asks how everything works. He's been building and refining his model of the world since he was two. He's been practising incorporating new information into his models and beginning to identify dissonance for years. Kids that don't share his interest in that sort of understanding (possibly because they're too busy capturing the awesome beauty of the world), find science much harder.

After an hour or so of chatting, he was prepared to rub off "I am a looser" (once again, see footnote). It's quite empowering to realise that the main reason you're bad at something is that you're not all that interested in it. It's an unfortunate illusion created by those early years of school, that ability is innate. The practice is invisible, because it's just what the kids like doing. Kids see differentials in abilities, but they can't see the effort that went into it. If they focus on those examples, instead of the ones where they see the practice (like learning an instrument), it's easy for them to believe that if they don't pick something up straight away, they will never be able to do it. Ben has a tendency to ignore the visible practise, as did I when I was a kid. It took until I was much older before I realised that if I stick at things for long enough, I can be capable at them, regardless of whether I'm any good at them to start with. I believe many beers and games of pool may have finally illustrated this point to me. I'm hoping that I can keep this message explicit as the kids grow up, and make it very clear that if they are really bad at something, that's probably their choice, and that is a completely valid choice. There are only so many hours in a day.

Of course, he's still going to have to draw stuff. We talked a bit about how he can draw in a cartoon style that requires minimal effort, but looks both ok and intentional. Along with the deep and meaningful, he's gonna need some survival skills until he doesn't have to draw anymore.

* and spelling, as it happens, but that doesn't seem to stress him.

4 year olds and belly dancing

There's nothing like starting your day with an über tantrum from your 4 year old. I shared my exasperation with Twitter:

Honestly, there was screaming and gnashing of teeth for well over twenty minutes, because her brother had opened the flavoured straw she was holding. There was another, identical, unopened straw right next to her on the bench. It was, apparently, not an adequate substitute. When the screaming had finally abated, she reluctantly suffered through the identical straw and announced she was coming to belly dancing with me. She was still in her pyjamas and I had to leave in 4 minutes. Again with the totally rational requests. 

To her credit, she hustled and got dressed quickly and we only left ten minutes late. I love belly dancing, and I'd love to share that with Elissa. I tried to take her to some lessons last year, but the study made making it to classes impossible. She was very keen to go back this year, but my teacher didn't seem as relaxed about the idea as last year's teacher had been. So I was feeling more than slightly nervous, bringing my recently screaming banshee of a daughter into the class of a woman who was concerned she might disrupt the rest of the class. However, as 4 year olds are wont to do, she was the picture of delight. She did the stretching exercises with us, played with her toys a bit, and then danced her own dance in the corner until it was time to take off the coin belts. Nobody seemed perturbed, and she got lots of compliments. The relief was palpable. My day was looking up. 

Then we got back to the car park and I remembered the enormous huntsman I'd seen dart inside the front passenger door frame as we'd rushed to make the class on time. Have I mentioned I'm hopelessly arachnophobic? I have been known to call friends to my house to rescue me from spiders at 6am on a Saturday (eternal thanks Cate!). I'm very proud to say that I bought a can of spray from the chemist and dealt with the 8 legged horror (and many of his variably sized compatriots in other hidey holes in the car) on my own. Of course, this last part of the story has nothing to do with the point of this post - the best and worst of 4 year olds, but I felt the need to share. 

I kinda like four. The extremes are exhausting, but amusing too. Watching the bourgeoning capacity for logic, while weathering the episodes of total logic fail. Seeing the desire for independence translate into a real reduction in work for parents weary from a whole year of three. To quote Olivia's mother, Elissa, you really wear me out, but I love you anyway.

Avoiding "too hard"

Today was one of those days that just never got started. I slept in, and the hour or two of work I was planning to do ended up stretching out to 2:30pm. I'd told the kids I would take them to DFO to buy shoes (not one of them had sneakers that both fit and were still in one piece) and then we'd go up to the Blue Mountains, with no particular intent. They were Unimpressed when I revised the plan down to shopping plus a visit to Bicentennial Park. Really Unimpressed.

So I figured, what the hell, we'd go anyway, and have dinner in the mountains. Crash was out drinking at work, so it was just me and the kids, reducing the inertia somewhat.

Shoe shopping was relatively painless and successful - 3 pairs of shoes: Skechers for Charlie @ $33, Rivers for Ben & Elissa @ $7 & $10 respectively. Given that Ben's had to be black (for school uniform reasons) I was chuffed.

We got to Wentworth Falls just after 5pm, just as it started raining. But such a ridiculous expedition wasn't going to be affected by some rain, and we wandered the grueling 300m up the footpath to the lookout. Wentworth Falls looks like this, at the moment.

And proof that I didn't pull this out of "Standard Library of Blue Mountains Photos", the kids were really there with me.

Ben really wanted to go proper bushwalking. If you look closely at the photo, you can see he was wearing thongs (flip flops for non-Australians), Elissa & Charlie were both wearing sandals, and you can see Elissa was clearly dressed for the bush. So we took a short detour along a track, and then walked along a more dodgy track for 5 minutes or so, and then turned around. By the time we got back Elissa had been bitten by nasty little black bugs and Ben had discovered exactly why one doesn't go bushwalking in thongs, but they're all keen to come back another time, in more appropriate attire, and no-one fell off a cliff. 

Ben was still dictating terms, and was calling for fish & chips for dinner. I was happy enough with the suggestion, but spotted a Chinese restaurant before I saw the Take-away, and conned them into spring rolls instead. While we watched the rain bucket out of the sky, I reminded them of my superiority - Ben's fish & chips in the park may not have been a rollicking success. Food was good, kids were so nicely behaved that an elderly man came over to congratulate them on their efforts on his way out and I barely had an anxious moment. We came out of the restaurant into cloud, literally. The kids were predictably impressed by the idea that they were in the middle of a cloud and we came home a happy bunch. 

It's a fairly big shift for me to decide that this kind of thing isn't just "too hard". Part of it is Elissa growing up - a year ago this afternoon really would have been implausible. But part of it, probably a bigger part, is that I never really came out of pregnancy malaise after Elissa. Everything has felt like a chore for a long time. I'm not pregnant anymore, I have no reason to put so much into the too hard basket and I need to remember that life's more fun when I don't.

In lieu of a post

I'm less than chipper this week. Rather than inflict you with my angst, here's a photo of my eldest, looking chuffed because he'd effortlessly climbed into a new tree. (The red face is from running from the rain, not climbing into the tree.) 

I can't even take credit for the photo, a wonderful woman from school donated the photo shoot as part of an auction, and I bid for it and won it.

One day, this photo will be the one we look back on and say "You know, it was always obvious he was gay."*

* I'm joking really, I just thought it was funny that this was the shirt he chose to have his family photos taken in.**
** I think perhaps the time where he decided he would need to move to the ACT to marry his best mate might have been more of a giveaway.***
*** No, I don't actually have any opinions on his sexuality, that is clearly his business, and his to discover. OTOH, I see no particular reason to assume he's straight, or any other orientation.

I fail at sentimentality

Tonight was Ben's presentation night, which is also staged as a graduation for the Year 2 kids. It's your standard Infants School affair, musical items and every kid gets an award. It looks like every other group of kids performing.


As the graduation ceremony, Yr2 kids each make a short speech (there are only 19 of them). They all have the same format - 3 sentences - but it's nice for them all to get a chance to say something. As they finish they are presented with a graduation book and Yeo Park badge. After that the Yr2 parents all assemble at the front to be given a flower from their child (nice, if slightly chaotic) and then we all get to watch a slide show of the kids throughout the year. The kids, and then their parents are clapped out of the room. Apparently the latter half of this procedure is supposed to be a Kleenex moment. Hmmm. I'm proud of Ben. He spoke loudly and clearly, he joined in and sang enthusiastically and played his instruments as required. He looked like he was having a blast (other than the group singing at the start, when he looked like it was all a great strain), and he was all joy and bubbles when it was over. I'm really happy for him to be moving on to a new school, with more opportunities and a more grown up view of the world. I didn't even consider shedding a tear.

Mind you, I didn't shed a tear when he started school either. I feel no wistfulness with them growing up, only enthusiasm and excitement. I felt his buzz tonight, it was all about him and his class, and I'm glad he got to enjoy it. I'm looking forward to all the other cool milestones, not mourning the passing of these ones.

Saturday Stressies

Today started at 6:30am with Elissa stumbling into our room, very bleary eyed. Actually, today started last night, when we went to the PBC for dinner and didn't manage to get the kids into bed until after 10pm. It started out pretty stressful, but ended up delightful - hence the rather long wind up and a 9:30pm bus home.

So when Elissa wandered in this morning, it was pretty clear that she needed more sleep, but, like Olivia, she was not at all sleepy, and didn't have any interest in going back to bed or even getting into our bed. As a result, she fell asleep on the floor next to my bed for two hours.

This was a day of fractiousness and obnoxiousness. Three tired kids. At one stage I sat Charlie down and explained exactly what his behaviour was achieving, and that mostly sorted him out. Until dinner time at least. Elissa maintained the rage for the majority of the day.

There was rage, every single person in this family shouted at some point today. And then the dinner caught fire. That wasn't the worst part of the day.

As an interlude, I had to take the boys to a dual birthday party for their respective sibling friends, and wasn't sure where I was going. As a result, I had to cross a busy road, along with another woman and 3 kids she was taking to the same party. 5 kids, 2 adults and an illegally stopped cab made this an interesting exercise. The woman who got out of said illegally stopped cab added to the fun by yelling at us for allowing our children to stand behind the cab while waiting to cross the road. The alternative was standing in the middle of another road, or being unable to use the refuge island. Since berating us wasn't sufficient, she walked with us and continued. After attempting some rational argument, I finally countered with "Yes love" and she gave up. I love drive by parenting.

Finally, as I took Elissa to put her pyjamas on, I noticed the massive raised red rash over all of her torso, her legs and the tops of her arms. Thanks to Google doctor, I'm pretty convinced that it's hives. Excellent. Google doctor also told me that 80% of all hives are idiopathic, which is a lovely way of saying that doctors have absolutely no clue what causes hives most of the time. Personally, I'm choosing to believe it was an allergic reaction to my Lindt chocolate that Crash fed to her while I was being abused by the woman in the cab. No, I'm not fazed by the fact that the time frames are all wrong.

How was your Saturday? I sincerely hope it was better than mine.

I lie, for all that, it was actually a pretty good day. Which goes to show how weird life really is.

This week in meltdowns

You're never quite as aware of the swirling vortex of confusion that is parenting as when faced with the sudden, unexpected meltdown.

This week Charlie had a massive meltdown which turned out to be about going to school next year. In between massive sobs and hysterical crying, it became apparent that he thinks he's going to hate school because Ben hates it. Fair reasoning on Charlie's part, but for the fact that Ben really rather likes school. This is a child who has NEVER chosen to stay home when given a choice. When confronted with this damning evidence, both Ben and Charlie had to reluctantly concede that it was quite likely that Ben does in fact like school. Conversations with Ben about how talking only about the bad stuff might be cool amongst his friends, but is not cool at home ensued. Poor Charlie, it must look pretty daunting when all he's heard from his older brother is negative messages for years.

A perfect reminder that all the things you carefully consider, the talks you rehearse and consider from all angles, slip right past your kids, and it's the casual, throwaway stuff that no-one gives a second thought about that are life changing and earth shattering.

Ben had a massive meltdown this afternoon when I asked him to do invitations for his birthday party. He's only inviting 3 kids, I really didn't think this represented a major task, and he was claiming boredom. I think it all stemmed from angst about not being able to make precisely the right invitation for each child. I suspect I may understand that kind of perfectionist paralysis all too well, so we'll be working on the merits of half arsed efforts tomorrow.

Finally, as befitting a 3 year old, Elissa had the most over-acted, most ridiculous meltdown of the week this evening. She completely dropped her bundle and sobbed and sobbed because 2 kids from her day care (who will be coming to her birthday party on Sunday) are "going to big school without me". They're going to the same school as Charlie, so they're hardly disappearing out of her life. More importantly, while she clearly likes these kids, it's also clear that they are not her best friends. Possibly because they're two years older than her. And to close the meltdown loop, she then proceeded to sob even more ferociously because she's unjustly excluded from going to school next year.

At least her meltdown was easier to sooth. I spoke in a silly voice, she used my face as plasticine and farted on me. After which she was laughing so hard, she'd utterly forgotten the injustices of the world.

Blogging from the bubble

I was looking forward to the school holidays. I had Plans. I knew it was going to be a bit hectic, and the boys would probably watch more movies than I'd like, but there were a few key things we were going to do that was going to make sure it was a worthwhile holiday.

But the universe would have none of it. First, Ben got chicken pox. That was ok, it was the last week of school, and he wasn't very sick. Then, just as he was getting over the pox, he got a throat infection that landed him in Emergency on the Monday of the first week. He was ok - nothing that a massive dose of steroids wouldn't fix, but it screwed up his social life no end. Then he kindly passed that throat infection on to me, which didn't quite knock me out, but definitely knocked me down.

I managed one reasonable day in which we saw friends. The kids had fun and we had a sensational sushi night. At least our holiday highlight was a thumpingly good one.

Then I started to get a little ill again, and I thought it was the tail end of the throat infection. Not so. Eventually the little red spots started to appear, then I crashed completely. Chicken pox. I was very tempted to inflict you with the full litany of symptoms, but suffice it to say that there are systemic as well as rash-related symptoms, and one should remember that the rash gets everywhere. Think on that while you see how it looked on my face.

Now think about that everywhere. Ice packs were involved, people.

And it got worse. This was two days later.

Yes, that's as painful as it looks. That stuff about pox rash being itchy? Rubbish. The spots on my back were itchy, and I barely noticed it. It was all about the pain. And it went on and on. It's still going on, 9 days since the first symptom and 7 days since I hit the bed. I'm still in bed, but definitely on the improve. Why am I telling you this? Because there is a vaccine available for adults. If you didn't have the pox as a kid, get your immunity tested, and get vaccinated if need be, because this is a special kind of hell you don't want to go through.

On a lighter note, it was Crazy Hair Day at school today, and Ben was sent off, suitably crazied.

He was pretty chuffed, despite being told he looked like a girl. He's promised me next time he won't defend this with "I've never seen a girl with 6 pony tails straight over her head", but rather "Saying I look like a girl is the same as saying 'I look like a person'". (His wording on both counts, not mine.)

And no doubt Blogger is still going to left align these photos rather than centering them as they appear here in my editor, and I'm sorry, but I don't have the energy to wrestle with it. I'll just watch the rain instead.

Elissa's first pigtails

Elissa's hair is getting longer, and becoming annoying. Because I'm a terrible parent, I haven't managed to get it cut, so I bought some hair elastics instead. Today we wrangled her hair into its first pigtails. It's worth being a slack parent to get this level of cute.

And since there was a camera about, Charlie thought he'd show off the side burns he's been working on.

Elissa, aged two and three quarters

In the car yesterday:

Elissa: At day care, C always says "poo poo". That's not funny, it's just rude.

Me: I'm glad you have such a sophisticated sense of humour

Elissa: Yeah, cause when I fart, it makes a sort of noise, and that's funny.

--

Also in the car yesterday:

Elissa: When I grow up, I'm going to be a daddy.

Me: Well, you can't actually be a daddy. The only difference between a mummy and a daddy is whether you're a girl or a boy. They're both parents. But you don't have to be a mummy, you can grow up to be a woman. [Explanation of difference between woman and mummy.]

Elissa: Oh yeah, womans are funny. I'm going to grow up to be a woman.

--

One morning this week:

Elissa: [from the bedroom] MUMMYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

[Crash is out of bed, and so opens her bedroom door for her]

Elissa: [Slams door] I SAID MUMMY! [Much howling and gnashing of teeth]

[Repeat - THREE TIMES!]

Finally, Ben opens her door and she gives up and goes down stairs with him.

--

A week or two ago:

Elissa: Ben, can you make my breakfast?

Ben: Mummy can make your breakfast.

Elissa: [Sadly, with resignation] Asleep.

Ben: OK, I'll make your breakfast.

(I almost felt guilty. Mostly I was laughing.)

The first mango of the season

Tonight we had the first mangoes of the season. Not even spring (quite), and we have had mangoes! Ok, not exactly Kensington Prides, these were little cooking mangoes that I spotted in the supermarket for a ludicrously small price.

Easy to peel and slice up, they look very pretty in the bowl.

I'd already decided on rice paper rolls for dinner, so I figured I'd see how these went into the mix. I use a random selection of ingredients for these, but tonight's were:

• rump steak (cooked and then sliced and marinated in soy sauce and sesame oil)
• carrot
• cucumber
• shallots
• red capsicum
• mango
• celery
• mint leaves
• Vietnamese mint leaves
• rice vermicelli
• sliced ham (for small kids who won't eat the steak)
• hoisin sauce
• sweet chilli sauce
• hot chilli sauce

We constructed them at the table, to general approval. I even got kisses and multiple thank yous after dinner.

And the mangoes? They're a keeper. They're tart and aromatic and very, very tasty. Perfect for salads. The kids are very keen to have more, and at the price they are now ($1/kg) they can have as many as they want. They even have a tiny stone in them, for maximum bang for your buck. They won't be booting big, fat, yellow, sweet mangoes off their Favourite Fruit pedestal, but they'll be making more appearances in our kitchen.

Journeys in the wilds of Medicalia

Last week I took Elissa for another visit to the ophthalmologist, which resulted in much angst, frustration and anger.

The back story to explain how I got to condemning the whole of the medical profession in a single tweet is worthy of sepia tones and darkened edges. When I was a kid (about 18 months old), I had a squint - otherwise known as a turn in the eye. It was corrected with surgery, but I was also found to have a lazy eye. Thus began many, many years of glasses, eye patches and visits to doctors which ended, finally, one afternoon when I was about eight. I sat on the front step of our house and looked at the telegraph pole across the street. I looked at it with and without my glasses, about 30 or 40 times before deciding that I could definitely see better without them, and burying them in the garden. This didn't get me in the shit you may imagine, because my mother had also given up on the palaver at about the same time and quite possibly didn't even notice.

Then when I was twelve, in a fit of Responsible Parenting, my mother took me off to a specialist one more time before I went to high school. He looked at my eyes and listened to my history and got very excited and called in other colleagues. Apparently I had some condition which was genetic (classically dominant, I was told). It resulted in my optic nerve failing to develop correctly and no amount of patching or wearing of glasses could possibly have done anything to change it. He declared that my father had the same problem, and my father suggested he had inherited it from his mother.

We all went away satisfied that we knew what the problem was and that was that.

But like all good soap operas, it doesn't end there. When I was pregnant with Elissa, the mutation was discovered. The geneticist I was seeing felt there was unlikely to be any connection between my genetic eye problem and the mutation on my 15th chromosome, but sent me off to an ophthalmologist who specialises in this sort of thing just to be sure. She declared there was no such thing as the condition I described, and announced that my poor eyesight was due purely to a failure to comply with the patching regimen. (To quote her: "If you're only patching for a couple of hours a day, there's no point even bothering". I was patched all day, every day, for months at a time.) I was Unimpressed. (Anyone who knows my mother, knows that if she agreed to patch, patch she did! There was no question of non-compliance.)

By that time, Charlie had been under the care of a wonderful ophthalmologist at Randwick for nearly a year for his squint, and was being scheduled for surgery. That all went well, and I ignored the unhelpful woman I had seen and time passed. *insert wavy lines, cut to recent past*

This year, we realised Elissa also has a squint - a much smaller one than Charlie. Unlike Charlie, though, she has bad sight in one eye to go with it. And because this is a soap opera, there was a clerical error when the booking was made to see Charlie's doctor, and Elissa was sent to see another doctor. This doctor appears to be an excellent teacher. I say this, because he barely speaks to me, only to whichever registrar is looking after us on the day. I value teaching, but it would be nice if noticed we were in the room. Each time he's seen us, he's asked if he's ever seen us before, and there was no recognition when I said yes.

So far I've doubted a number of the measurements they've taken, and now they've recommended patching. For an hour a day, because, to quote this doctor, "You don't want to patch more than a couple of hours a day, because it affects the development of stereo vision." They suggested 8 weeks of patching, but I can't actually get an appointment for 12 weeks, so the poor kid has to go through this for 12 weeks, with no guarantees of success. And yes, I argued, and asked to see another doctor, and was fobbed off.

The orthoptist was the only person listening at all, and she's scheduled an appointment to see her only at about the half way mark just to make sure there is more than one review in 12 weeks.

I'm furious with this situation. The only reason I haven't been transferred to the doctor I was referred to is territorialism. There is clearly no consensus on patching or how it should be done, but there is no discussion as to the pros and cons. I have no choice but to go ahead with at least one round of patching, because for a small percentage of kids it works, and if I haven't given it a shot, I'm a Bad Parent. Added to that, if I don't give it a shot, I'm a Non-compliant Parent, which makes it hard to get any doctor to provide real treatment.

All the time, my gut tells me she has the same problem as I do, and all this will be for nothing. Unfortunately, I know perfectly well that my gut lacks real evidence, and has been known to be wrong before. So I have to play along until I have enough evidence to make a truly informed decision. I just know that I'm going to have to fight for that evidence, and I don't think it's reasonable that I have to find the energy for the fight as well as the treatment.

For the record

I feel the need to record for posterity the fact that Ben and his two besties call each other "Bo Bo", "Mo Mo" and "Jo Jo". This is so that when he denies it in the future, I have proof.

Overheard

The conversation in my lounge room this evening:

Ben: What will you do if I win?

Charlie: If you win, I'll hate you and if you lose I'll love you. So if you win, you lose and if you lose, you win.

--

I kid you not. This is exactly what transpired. I honestly don't know if Charlie (aged 5) actually understood this statement.

Not a post

Wow, it's been a while since I wrote anything here. Contributing factors include:

• laptop death, followed by resurrection with new memory, and a suspected new case requiring 2 trips to Bondi, the second on a Saturday and with 3 kids in tow. *shudder*
• 2 work projects right on top of one another
• friends visiting from Melbourne
• exam
• belly dance performance today (with associated rehearsals and costume organisation)
• desperate desire to finish the 2 scarves I'm knitting
• planning for trip to Melbourne on Tuesday and Tokyo on Thursday

So in lieu of a real post, here are a couple of quotes from my kids.

--

Elissa: [waving soft toys at the beagle] You can't have these because you don't have hands.

--

Charlie: Are we mammals?

Me: Yes

Charlie: Are we animals?

Me: Yes

Charlie: Are we the world?

Me: [laughing] No, we're not the world.

Charlie: Are we big piles of poo?

Me: .......

(He's nearly 5, and it's still all about the poo)

Conversations with Charlie

This morning, Charlie gave me a brief feminism 101 lesson.

Charlie: Why do we have an attic?

Me: Because we work from home.

Charlie: But what about other people?

Me: Most people go out to work at other places.

Charlie: But what about T's mum?

Me: She doesn't work.

Charlie: Yes, she does, she does lots of work in the kitchen.

Absolutely. I'd like a new name for "paid work" please, to distinguish between all the free labour and the stuff we get some cash monies for.

--

Charlie: [Pointing at my breasts] Why do you have those?

Me: To make milk to feed babies.

Charlie: Well what are you going to do with them now?

Can a girl be a daddy?

Tonight's bedtime conversation started out a little challenging, and ended up beautifully.

Charlie asked if a girl can be a daddy. I explained that mummy and daddy were essentially just the names for girl parent and boy parent, and so no, a girl can't actually be a daddy. Charlie impressed me with his next question: "Can a girl call herself a daddy?".

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy - Yes, a girl can call herself a daddy, I was please to be able to say. Thinking of Lesbian Dad for one, I explained that if a family has two mummies, one might call herself daddy so there aren't two people called "Mummy" in the one house, or for whatever other reason - a girl can call herself whatever she wants.

Because these kinds of conversations never end here, Ben asked if there had ever been a daddy involved in the parenting of the kids with two mummies. Well, yes, because biologically, technically, a baby needs egg and sperm from a woman and a man, but they don't have to actually live as a family. So Ben says "So they don't have to get married, they can just go together for a while to make the baby?". Well, yeah, but since you can freeze sperm, you don't even actually have to meet the man if you don't want to, but there are a number of options. Some people also adopt children into their family.

BUT, I carefully explained, you need a man and a woman to make a baby, but you don't need them to make a family. A family can have a mummy and a daddy, or two mummies or two daddies, one parent or even three people. I know a family, I told rapt faces, with two daddies and a mummy (taking some poetic license with the story - I doubt they would ever have used that description of themselves). Ben, ever the pedant, asked if you could also have two mummies and a daddy. Indeed, I told him.

Then Charlie announces, in earnest:

I want to have two mummies and a daddy and no babies and no toddlers.

So this is his plan for adulthood - he's not asking me to find another partner. He's made it clear recently that he's not planning on having kids when he grows up.

Ben follows this logically and says: That means you have to marry two people.

Charlie: Do I have to marry people?

Me: No, you don't have to get married, lots of people don't.

Charlie: How do I get married?

Me: You have a ceremony and a party.

Charlie: Naaah, I'm not going to anyway.

Ben: I'm not getting married either.

Me: You don't want to get married?

Ben: No, well, I don't want to do the stuff before it.

Me: What stuff?

Ben: You know, the dancing.

--

I loved it all. So far my boys have aspired to be homosexual, poly and asexual - one of them wants kids and the other doesn't. Sadly for him, the same one wants to be asexual and have children, but I'm sure he'll change his mind again before the reality bites. I hope we can keep this openness and total lack of judgement alive for a while longer.