Tantrums and Animals

Wednesday evening, about six o’clock, I went to Waitrose. There was a mother there with a little boy, he was having an absolute loop-out. It brought back lots of memories. The little boy was about five or six and at some point had managed to become detached from his coat. He was now refusing, absolutely, to have anything to do with it. Mum was tired, busy and embarrassed that everyone could hear him scream and shout. It was cold outside, she needed him to put on the coat, he was refusing. It was loud and emotional. I felt so sorry for her, I have been in her place too many times.

You could see she was tired, at that, “I’m going to cry myself in a minute, I don’t know what to do” stage. The threats were escalating (no ice-cream ever again) and you could see she was itching to smack his legs but too worried to do it in public in case everyone disapproved. I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t the world’s worst mother, that all mothers have been there, that eventually he won’t have tantrums anymore and she will actually wish he was small again. But I didn’t. Partly because there was no pause in the boy’s screaming and her telling him to put on his coat, partly because she looked so emotionally fragile, so completely worn down, that I thought she might misunderstand or burst into tears.

The thing is, if I am honest, I still don’t know what you are meant to do in those situations. Children are completely unreasonable and if they refuse, absolutely, to do something, there is not much a mother can do. My children did eventually stop having those very public screaming rows, but I think I just got better at avoiding them, seeing what was likely to happen before we got to that stage, not getting into situations that would explode. I don’t think I ever learnt what to do when they did happen.

I do remember a particularly bad session with one child where I believe I asked husband to stop the car so I could leave him by the side of the road. I think he was refusing to wear a seatbelt or something. We were in California, on holiday. Son was screaming, daughter started to cry because I was going to abandon her brother, other son burst into tears because daughter was crying, our friends (who did not have children at the time) were terribly worried and wondered if they should intervene. It was not a wonderful time. But it passed. No one was abandoned by the road. Son now always wears seatbelt. (Friends now have children of their own and understand completely.) I don’t miss everything about those days.

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This Tuesday was a very productive day for me. I finished the first draft of Joanna. I am now, according to Stephen King in his book ‘On Writing’, supposed to forget about it for three months, then re-read it and make any changes and additions that seem appropriate after reading it with ‘fresh eyes’. I, of course, am not sure that I am patient enough for that and am just dying to send it out to agents.

I also did some awful animal jobs. Regular stuff, like feeding them and cleaning them out and collecting the eggs, just sort of happens every day without me really thinking about it. The other stuff, like worming them all and using the flea stuff, is a pain and I tend to put it off. But not Tuesday, Tuesday I got it all done.

I took old grouchy Louise to the vet for her vaccinations.

I weighed the outside cats (SO much fun on my kitchen scales, you can imagine) and bought them all worm tablets and flea stuff. Then I forced the pills into their mouths (which they hate.) Five cats were successfully wormed, Mandy refused to swallow and after an absolute age, when I was sure it would have dissolved, she spat it out. Annoying.

I then squirted them with the flea/worm combo stuff. They hate that too. It has to go on their skin, so it probably feels cold. After they were done they ran away and refused to come near me for the rest of the day.

The ducks are thinking about laying. They have started making round dips in the hay in the aviary.

The chickens are horrible. They all pick on one chicken and peck at it. It tends to change, they take turns on who is picked on, so they do get some respite but there is always one poor scraggy looking bird who lays smaller eggs because she’s unhappy.

Mostly, all the animals get on together well. Mungo (inside cat) seems to have taken over Kia’s (GSD) bed, though they do sometimes share.

The cockerels have had a few stand-offs this week – perhaps because it’s Spring. Kia manages to sort it out (she bounces on them!)  I’m hoping it doesn’t escalate or one will have to go.

The outside cats have allocated themselves beds. There is a heated igloo, which the two mothers have squashed flat and now sleep on together. There is another heated bed, big enough for three, where Mandy sleeps. Midge sleeps on top, where he can see everyone.

     

When everything is calm, I like my life. Hope your week has been good.

Take care,
Anne x

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Letter 43: Lent and Laughing

Letters to a Sister : 43. Lent and Laughing

Did you have a nice week? I managed to remember both Husband’s birthday AND Valentine’s Day last week. This is surprisingly difficult because they come so close together. I did one year forget the Valentine’s card completely. I didn’t realise until I was going to bed late on the evening of the 13th. We always exchange cards first thing in the morning, so there was no way I could make an excuse and say I was giving him my one later – he knows me too well, he would know I had forgotten. What to do?

Then I had a brain wave. Husband is a very organised person. He always keeps everything in tidy places, they are easy to find. He is also quite sentimental, he keeps all the cards that he is given. These traits provided an excellent solution. I sneaked to the cupboard where he keeps his old cards and found a Valentine card that I had sent him a few years previously. Popped it into a fresh envelope and there you are, all sorted. The next morning, there was his card waiting with his morning tea, just like normal. (Yes, I did admit to it, but much later, after it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t surprised.)

I have never claimed to be a saint, (and people who know me have also never felt tempted to give me that title.) With this in mind, you will understand why I have decided that our church’s plan for Lent – to do one random act of kindness every day – is beyond me. I am just not that nice. I have therefore decided to lower the bar a little. I am going to try and not be bad at least once every day during Lent. So far this is going okay.

It means I have to do things like change light bulbs sometimes. I hate doing this. We keep the light bulbs in a cupboard that is very awkward to reach, between a chair and a bookcase behind a table. Getting new light bulbs is a hassle. Now, our bed has two reading lights in the wall behind it. I like to go to bed early and read for hours, so my light often needs a new bulb. Husband rarely reads in bed, his bulb hardly ever gets used. It is much easier, when my bulb runs out, to just swap it with the one in Husband’s light. He did comment last week that the bulbs don’t seem to last very long because he never uses his light but the bulb frequently needs replacing. I just smiled. If my bulb goes during Lent I will replace it properly. Probably.

I also have to try and not laugh inappropriately. This is very hard for me. I am someone who laughs a lot – it is my default reaction. I even laugh when I am asleep sometimes, which is very annoying because I wake myself up giggling and then cannot even remember what I was laughing at! Husband also complains.

The thing is, I do find rude jokes funny, ‘The Inbetweeners’ was my favourite programme for a while, which even my children told me was inappropriate for a woman my age. When someone drops something or falls over or says something wrong, I feel those giggles bubbling up inside and the more I know I must NOT laugh, that they will find it hurtful, the harder it is to stop.

I am making a special effort for Lent (though actually that bit is not going so well. Someone told me this week that their neighbour had been found dead in their car. They were waiting for the AA to arrive. They had a flat battery. Something about it just struck me as hilarious. I’m not sure I managed to look sad and caring, but I did try.)

It was always a problem when I was teaching – I was never very good at telling off the children because I always wanted to laugh.

I remember once a thirteen year old boy came up to me very pale faced and told me that he had swallowed the end of his crayon. He was obviously terribly worried that he would die or something. I’m afraid I wasn’t the sympathetic caring adult that I should have been at that moment, partly because it was stupid for a boy that old to be chewing his pencil anyway.

I also remember when I was teaching infants and a little girl came to the front and said she wanted to sing a solo to the class. All very good for building confidence and allowing her to express herself. Except that it was terrible and by the end I had tears running down my cheeks and was hidden in a hanky pretending to blow my nose so the class wouldn’t realise I was laughing. It was not my finest hour as a caring primary school teacher.

Anyway, hope you are managing to laugh at the right times this week. Sometimes it’s a life saver.

Take care,
Anne x

PS. You do realise that Mum cycles on the path, don’t you? Why does she need a BACK light??

PPS. I feel you need more veterinary practice. You can take daughter’s cat (who hates me) for her jabs while you’re here.

You can find my sister’s letters at:

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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A Heavenly Story

A man died and went to Heaven.

When he arrived, an angel showed him around. There were lots of large buildings and they began to walk past them. They passed one building and there were sounds of splashing and singing. The man asked who was inside.

"Ah yes," said the angel, "Those are the Baptists."

Next they passed a building full of chanting, with smells of incense wafting out.

"That's the Catholics," explained the angel.

Then they came to a building with candles twinkling in the windows and choirs singing.

"That's the Anglicans," said the angel.

Then they came to a building that was very noisy, lots of laughing, guitars and people were singing the same songs over and over again.
"That's the Pentecostals" said the angel.

On they walked, passing many different buildings, each one with a slightly different style. Then they stopped and the angel asked the man to take off his shoes. They walked forwards very slowly, not speaking, silently, until they had passed a large building. The man could see many people inside, but the angel warned him to not make a sound.

At the end of the tour, the man thanked the angel but he had to ask, "What was the building that we had to creep past?" Why did they need to be so quiet? he wondered.

"Ah, well," said the angel, "the people in that church think they're the only ones here."

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This is a story that my Dad used to tell. I think its blunt humour is still very relevant today, when surely one of the greatest wrongs in the modern church is a pride in our own theology, an unwillingness to really believe that we might not have it all sorted, that perhaps there is more to God than we fully understand.

Dad was good at little sayings and stories. I remember him giving me advice when we were looking for a church to join.

"Anne," he said, "you will never find the perfect church. But if you do, don't join it. You will spoil it."

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A Quick Quiz : Know Your Own Gender

There has been a lot in the media recently concerning gender issues. If you are confused as to which gender you belong to, this short quiz might help. If you are a sensitive soul, it might be better to consult your medical practitioner.

Answer the questions and keep a tally of whether you score mainly A or B or C.

1. During a discussion:
   A You always think you are right.
   B You always think you are right, until someone challenges you, then you assume you must be wrong, then in the end you discover that you were right.
   C You don't care who is right or wrong, you just do whatever you want to do.
2. When you were small:
   A You were often told to take your hands out of your trousers.
   B You were often told to stop playing with the hair of the person in front of you.
   C You liked to play with spiders.
3. When you need scissors:
   A You think you know where they are but when you look, they are not there.
   B You think you know where they are and when you look, they are there.
   C You never use scissors, you prefer to bite things.
4. When the toilet roll needs changing:
   A You sometimes put a new roll on the holder.
   B You put a new roll on the holder AND you throw the empty insert into the bin.
   C You never use toilet paper.
5. Which is true ? :
   A You know the make and model of every car your family has ever owned.
   B You know the name of every car you family has ever owned - there was "Connie Consul", "Betty Beetle"......
   C You do not like cars and if forced to travel in one you are usually sick.
6. When on a long journey:
   A: You never even think about where there might be suitable toilets en route.
   B You sometimes worry about where there might be suitable toilets en route.
   C You do not like cars and if forced to travel in one you are usually sick.
7. If there is an unusual noise in the middle of the night:
   A You get up to investigate, sometimes taking a weapon.
   B You send the person next to you to go and investigate.
   C It is usually you who has caused the unusual noise.
8. When you go grocery shopping:
   A You rarely have a carrier bag with you.
   B You usually have a carrier bag with you.
   C You prefer to catch your own food.
9. When you have your hair cut:
   A It always takes less than an hour.
   B It always takes more than an hour.
   C You never have your hair cut, you prefer to leave it all over people's cushions and sweaters.
10. Which is true?:
    A You hate peeling boiled eggs and oranges and so rarely do either.
    B You hate peeling boiled eggs and oranges but you do it anyway.
    C You never eat boiled eggs or oranges.
    Answers:
    If you scored mostly As, you are probably male.
    If you scored mostly Bs, you are probably female.
    If you scored mostly Cs, you are probably a cat. This quiz was not really aimed at you.

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LOVE

Loveby Anne E Thompson

No more,
Do I carve big hearts in the sand.
Neither do I scribble our names entwined.
Nor do I keep your photo’ under my pillow.
Nor chant your name like a rhyme in my head.
I do not whisper about you with friends,
Nor blush when I hear your voice.
I do not loiter in the places you may pass,
Nor practice smiles for you before a mirror.

Yet still,
My heart thrills at the sound of your laughter,
And I watch the clock when your arrival is near.
I am content when I manage to please you,
And I watch your face when you drive or read.
I learn every wrinkle that creases your smile,
And I bend to your moods as they change.
For though time may mellow and age us,
My love for you remains
The same.

Letters Between Sisters : Anxiety

How was your week? I am feeling hassled! It's mainly to do with not having enough time at the moment. I have started writing about Joanna (my psychopath) and I'm loving it. I spend all my time thinking about her, imagining what she is like and I am desperate to write her story. But real life keeps getting in the way. I notice dirt I ought to clean up, husband wants dinners, the animals need looking after, I still have all my commitments at church, I have friends to keep in touch with. It all feels like too much sometimes.

I know it's better than having an empty life - sometimes I've had those phases too, when I have too much time, life is lonely and boring - but right now it's too full. Then I wrote a whole chapter of my book and realised afterwards that it was wrong. I had my psychopath stalking victims on Facebook but actually she was active before 2004, so social media wouldn't have been available for her. Very annoying. I had to think back to those days when we didn't have computers and we actually read newspapers for our news and had absolutely no idea what aunty Flossy was up to.

I do find that I get stressed very easily now - do you? I have actually started having proper panic attacks over the tiniest thing. I thought for a while that it was due to my brain surgery, they cut through the bit that controls stress in the body, so I was blaming all my worries on that.

However, when I mentioned it to my hairdresser (no, do NOT laugh at me - hairdressers see more of real life than most other people, plus when you are stuck in a chair for ages, it's natural to chat, you get to know each other) she assured me that many women of my age start to feel nervous about things. I have been asking around and I am amazed at just how many people do get anxious about situations that they know are 'safe'. Things like having coffee with a friend or going somewhere that I go regularly, all now cause these anxiety feelings. Really, I would much rather just stay home with my animals and never go anywhere. But that would be odd. Even for us 'women of a funny age' I feel there should be limits.

It made me wonder though if it is just a natural part of aging. If worrying about things that never bothered us before is so that we do start to cut back, we become less adventurous at a time of life when perhaps we should be thinking twice before we bungee jump or trek through a rainforest.

At our church group this week we were asked to consider how we could build bridges with people, to be involved at a deeper level with people. I told them that actually I wanted to blow up a few bridges. I don't think it was quite the response they were hoping for.

It's true though isn't it, sometimes we can feel stretched too much, as if we have become like that stretchy man in The Incredibles. A bit too thin.

They have also changed the name of the church group. It is now called a 'Life Group'. Not sure what I think about that. It sounds like the religious equivalent of 'AA', some sort of support group. Or perhaps that's the idea, maybe it is a kind of support group, meeting friends to share how we're getting on with trying to live good lives. Not very well in some cases (but you're only allowed to say that about yourself.)

Take care,
Anne x

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My sister's letters can be found at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

Thank you for reading.

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Take a look at:

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A Letter to My Sister : Sons and Psychopaths

Thanks for your letter. You are very lucky that one of your boys cooks. I wish someone in my family did. I hate cooking dinners, really hate it. It is a pressure every day, trying to decide what to eat in the evening. Part of the problem is that although I hate cooking, I do like eating decent food. So ready-meals just don't do it for me. None of family really cooks though, unless it's Mother's Day or something.

Actually, that's not quite true. When I was in labour with Son 1, Husband did cook pizza for two year old daughter. I told him he just had to take it out the freezer and put it in the oven. Which he did. Literally. It wasn't until daughter complained there was "white stuff stuck to it" that we discovered the polystyrene base had also gone straight from oven to freezer. I think that's the last 'dinner' he has ever cooked. I blame his mother.

My sons also aren't great communicators when they're at uni. I send them emails and texts, letting them know what's happening, but they rarely reply. Every so often I send an, "Are you dead?" text. To which they usually reply, "Yes, murdered horribly while in pub." So I know they're basically alright.

You can then, imagine my concern a few weeks ago when I arrived home to find a message on the answer phone saying, "please call me," and a text saying the same and three missed calls on my mobile. Heart in mouth I dialed his mobile, hoping that he would pick up, wondering who I should call if he didn't. He did.

"Oh, Mum, where have you been?" he said, "I need to know how you make soup."

We discussed the whole idea of beginning messages with "it's not an emergency." Then I told him how to make soup.

You have to read my book when it's published. It is not optional for sisters. It won't scare you, you'll be fine. Actually, I have nearly finished the main part, the bit about the psychopath. Which I'm quite relieved about because she's not very nice.

I did lots of reading, read some papers by neuro scientists and got some of their books. I also watched some clips on YouTube, so I could try and imitate the speech patterns of how known psychopaths talk. It was all very interesting actually. The thing I found most disturbing was how likeable the psychopaths were. I think of myself as a good judge of character, but these people, who had sometimes murdered dozens of people, came over as very nice people. They were the sort of person you enjoy being with, the people who you invite round for dinner.

They were also very believable. Even though I knew, from my background reading, what the true situation was, when you heard someone telling you that they came from a "loving Christian family" you tended to believe them. It was all very interesting. Husband did get a bit fed up with it though. He would come home from work and I would begin a sentence, "Did you know...." and he would instantly say, "Is this about psychopaths?"

Your writers' group sounds fun. I would love to be able to talk lots about my book. I wouldn't want feedback though, that would be way too scary. You can be my writer's group when you come over. I can talk for many weeks about psychopaths - how long are you staying for?

I might even bake you a cake. I like making cakes, it's only dinners I find emotionally difficult. I will make it during Lent, then it will count towards one of those 'random acts of kindness' that we're all supposed to be doing every day. I have a feeling that might turn out to be even more stressful than having to cook a dinner every day.

Take care,
Love, Anne xx

PS. Bring your wellies. It hasn't stopped raining since you were here last time.

PPS. Happy Chinese New Year. It's the year of the Monkey!

This letter is a reply.
You can read my sister's letter at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/cakes-migraines-and-cooking-letters-to.html

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