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stuff

Some days are diamond, some days are stone

6th May 2014 by Jax Blunt 12 Comments

Can’t use the title I wanted to use, because I already used it. So I’ve had to put the whole lyric in, instead of just half ๐Ÿ˜‰

It’s been that kind of day really.

Big started the day with a physio appt, (which meant I started the day hauling her out of bed and going to a physio appt) to replace the one we totally forgot two weeks ago after the last Kentwell mini. It’s really just a case of keeping up with the exercises, but she finds it hard to remember to do them regularly, so she’s been referred for a course of pilates classes, on the NHS. Apparently you can be referred for one batch of 6, and that should teach you enough to do it on your own, but if you want more classes you can pay and go to the ones I’ve been going to. Which makes me feel a bit better – I thought the physios were referring direct on to a paid service, which didn’t sit all that well with me.

Then Tim had another eye appt, and I was waiting for a woman who we’d cancelled, but was supposed to be ringing, and she didn’t turn up or ring, so I don’t know what’s going on with Tigerboy’s communication group yet. And I think it probably started last week ๐Ÿ™

When I’m waiting for something to happen, I find it really hard to do anything else. And I had another appt of my own this afternoon, which was kind of filling my head.

That made 4 1/2 hours of talking about myself, my childhood, my thought processes, difficulties, confusions and so on. And I don’t actually know what the psychologist concluded, if anything.

It’s a bit like scraping your brain out with a spoon, into a bowl on the table in front of you and having someone poke it a lot, then trying to fit it all back in again. It doesn’t feel quite like it fits. And it’s in the wrong order, and a bit bruised.

(It’s not at all like that really, but I’m trying to explain how I felt when I came back. Wrung out. Shaken up. Lost for words.)

And while I was gone, Small thought it was going to rain, and rushed to bring the (still wet) washing in. And I told him it kind of needed to go back out again, so he took it out, and then hung it all crammed together on one side of the airer. And I snapped at him.

๐Ÿ™

Bad mummy.

And then I took a very deep breath, reined in my inner Sheldon, and thanked him for being thoughtful, apologised for being horrid, and dealt with redistributing the washing myself.

Slightly better mummy.

On my way through town decompressing after my appt, I popped into a charity shop, and picked up a copy of Eleanor and Park. When I got home, I discovered Tim had confiscated Big’s internet devices, and she was very happily planning a herb garden instead. Once she’d done that, I gave her the book.

eleanor and park

Good mummy.

Then I did the cooking, even though it was her turn, so she could read.

Come on, I must be doing alright by now?

Except dinner was a bit late, because we were doing this all over the kitchen floor.

reading jigsaws

He loves jigsaws. And he recognises quite a lot of the letters and will read them out. I probably was taking it a bit far trying to teach him to blend the sounds though, given he doesn’t really talk. So now he points at each of the letters on the ball jigsaw before saying ‘baw’. Unutterably cute. Not sure whether that’s good or bad mummy to be honest!

There’s more to come. I bought some diverse picture books in the charity shop too, and we read one of them tonight. You’d have thought by now I’d have learn to scan books before reading them at bedtime, but no. The dolphin was a gonner, and poor Smallest sobbed and sobbed, so we had to have a chapter of Milly Molly Mandy as well to settle her down.

Bad mummy. Gah.

I think that’s probably about evens over the day, yes? I’ll quit there before I fall behind!

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Filed Under: It's where it is Tagged With: autism, Eleanor and Park, jigsaws, reading, stuff

A hundred pieces of me Lucy Dillon Read 52 book 6

1st February 2014 by Jax Blunt 3 Comments

100 pieces of meRead 52, book 6.

A hundred pieces of meiconby Lucy Dillon will be described, no doubt, as chick lit, or women’s fiction. Because it’s about women’s things. Lives, illnesses, love, death. It’s also about men, and relationships, and a dog. It’s about careers, and houses, and work.

It’s glorious, and moving, and heart breaking, and even, amazingly, life changing.

Yes, I actually mean that. Physically, literally, life changing. I read it. And then a day or two later I found myself in the kitchen, hauling all the mugs out of the three cupboards they were spread across, and downsizing our motley collection. I put this squarely down to the effects of reading this book.

Which *is* about decluttering. Sort of. It’s about recognising what is important, and what isn’t, and having a life where you can’t quite turn around in your kitchen for all the things that don’t fit into your cupboards because they’re stuffed with mugs you never use is not quite how I saw my life. So, time to change.

(It’s not just about decluttering things. It’s about decluttering your mind, emotions, memories. But if I go into too much detail, I’ll blow the whole plot.)

Try the blurb.

As heart wrenching and life-affirming as One Day or Me Before You, A Hundred Pieces of Me is a story about what it means to finally live life to the full. Letters from the only man she’s ever loved. A keepsake of the father she never knew. Or just a beautiful glass vase that catches the light, even on a grey day. If you had the chance to make a fresh start, what would you keep from your old life? What would you give away? Gina Bellamy is starting again, after a difficult few years she’d rather forget. But the belongings she’s treasured for so long just don’t seem to fit who she is now. So Gina makes a resolution. She’ll keep just a hundred special items – the rest can go. But that means coming to terms with her past and learning to embrace the future, whatever it might bring

The story is cleverly told. Present life interweaves with object inspired flashbacks as Gina moves on from the end of a relationship, and works her way through the backlog of her life, now stored in (lots of) boxes. There are past climaxes and present ones, if that makes any sense as significant events from her history, still influencing the present are gradually unfolded before us.

It’s emotional, but never mawkish, and the strands come back together to a finely balanced but highly charged ending.

I can see me recommending this book to people left right and centre. And pressing it into people’s hands. Particularly anyone who hoards.

Now, I wonder which wall I can cover with a list?

I’d love to hear what you’ve been reading this week. Feel free to stick it in the linky, and grab the badge if you’d like.

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Filed Under: read52 Tagged With: decluttering, dog, Lucy Dillon, read52, stuff

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