Hellish morning so far.

Little kid’s porridge was “too hot” so I stirred in some cold milk. Then it was “too milky” so I drained the milk with a sieve. Finally it was “too lumpy” so I put it in the food waste bin.

Then big kid’s “wasn’t right” so his went in the bin, too.

Little kid made the card at school and one of the parents handed out Happy Eid bags to the kids as they left for home.

Two Eid cards, one blue with a yellow crescent and star, and the other in black and gold with elegant writing, are displayed on a polka-dotted tablecloth.

Big kid has been eating porridge every morning for a few weeks, which means ten minutes of stirring the pan for me every morning. I don’t mind, I like doing it. So much so that I invested in a Scottish spoon this week to make it easier on my hand, wrist and arm.

Today, in a scene reminiscent of Andy and his carer in Little Britain, he jumped out of bed at 6:30 am ran into the kitchen and proceeded to slice a bagel in half, toast it and butter it all by himself.

My boy got his picture taken for the local council propaganda rag when they opened the school street this week.

Big kid can breathe again.

Plan to ban smart phones in schools scrapped by MP: bbc.com

Big kid brought home a June 1983 copy of National Geographic from the school library today (I said it needs an update!).

Auto-generated description: A National Geographic cover from June 1983 features an image of space with the Horsehead Nebula and list of articles inside.

Some things never change.

A comment and a response discuss perceptions of bias in a National Geographic article on the Beirut destruction in February 1983, with differing views on anti-Semitism.

Big kid has got a place at our first choice high school for September. His best friends are all going to different schools - some by choice, others who didn’t get their first (or second) choice.

Hopefully I can get some grant funding for youth work at the local church, so they can all meet up there after school and maintain their friendships.

A new hope

It’s been quite a week.

My Mum has had a rough few years. Eight years ago, aged 71, she lost John (my step-Dad) to cancer. One moment he was fine, the next he started deteriorating rapidly, was soon bedridden, and spent weeks waiting for for death to take him as his body wasted away. Three months and he was gone.

Auto-generated description: A collection of multicolored spools of thread arranged on a storage rack.

Mum sold their beautiful big retirement bungalow she’d nursed him in, and got a smaller bungalow in the small town where she’d grown up and her cousin still lives and owns the amazing wool shop.

Two years later she had a mini-stroke, fell and broke her ankle, and had to hand in her driver’s licence while she recovered.

Then came COVID-19 and the isolation, followed by misdiagnosed heart failure, and then cancer of her own. She needed major surgery, but the doctors said she wouldn’t survive a general anaesthetic (because of the misdiagnosed heart failure).

She prepared to have the surgery with an epidural. On the day of the op, they decided she couldn’t have the surgery without a general and so that’s what happened. Then there was the radiotherapy and follow up tests every three months since. She survived it all.

Auto-generated description: A cat is lounging in a garden surrounded by greenery and colorful potted flowers.

Then her beloved, very elderly (and very fat) cats died one after another.

She’s been through a lot!

Just before xmas last year she had a chest infection. She’s had breathing problems on and off for as long as I can remember. As a kid she said it was bronchitis. Later it was asthma. Now, like me, it’s COPD.

She hasn’t recovered from this episode and is struggling to do everyday tasks including personal care. Her neighbour has been a godsend throughout and describes my Mum like she’s her own mum. I’ve been trying to help from a distance (a four hour drive away) to organise home help, etc.

Last Sunday I noticed that my neighbours on the ground floor had a For Sale sign outside their relatively (these days) spacious one bed flat. I messaged my Mum saying it’s a shame she can’t move in there. Me and my wife could help her with the things she can’t do for herself plus keep her company and she gets to see her grandsons in the flesh more than twice a year.

I didn’t really expect her to take it seriously, but as her helpful and caring neighbour said, “It’s a no-brainer.” The neighbours downstairs told me that they hadn’t decided if they were selling or letting, but today I viewed the flat opposite which, although I’d forgotten about it, has been on the market for longer. It’s also in good condition, and my neighbour is not in a chain and has somewhere to move to.

It’s given my Mum some hope. It’s a big move at her age. Fingers crossed it all works out.

Relaxing morning with the kids.

I’m sucking on stray lumps of Red Leicester while stirring the rest of the grated cheese into thickened white sauce, monitoring the macaroni simmering in the other pan (for big kid and me), and checking on sausages in the oven (for little kid).

Big kid is playing Minecraft with a friend and little kid is exploring space on his tablet.

Wife is having her morning nap.

On yer bike! (Your voice matters)

Last week we had the local cycling group at the school offering free bikes and training to families.

We’d love free bikes, of course.

Two problems for me, though:

  1. There’s nowhere safe and secure to keep them.
  2. The roads and drivers around here are downright dangerous, and no dedicated cycle lanes.

I couldn’t help myself imparting this information in no uncertain terms to the two smiley elderly ladies handing out the marketing leaflets.

Afterwards, big kid gave me some feedback.

“Dad, when you shout it makes me want to freeze out of fear.”

Me: “Oh no, sorry, did I shout at those ladies?”

“No, you didn’t shout at them. You used your political voice. Your political voice makes me want to listen.”