How are we coping? #quarantinechaos2020part2

Some gorgeous people have reached out recently to ask how I'm managing everything during this mental, mental time in our history. Some other gorgeous people's ears are bleeding from the amount of whining I'm doing at them. To them. Thank you, village, and sincere apologies. 

As I sit in my living room/art gallery, surrounded by chaos and animals (see photos for ref), whilst Emilio has a (newly reinstated and much appreciated) nap, I'm wondering why I'm deciding to blog rather than clean up some of the chaos or do some of my work. Sanity would be the reason. Writing about this process really helped focus my brain and keep calm when things were not in my control and people were demanding hand delivered papers to request information I'd already requested 5 times etc, etc. So perhaps it will help now as well. Let's see. 

Coping? Not really. Barely surviving at the moment would be a fairer description. Whilst being hyper aware of just how unfair this pandemic is on people with no home/income/too many people to feed or other devastating circumstances; whilst being smacked hard in the face with the crushing inequality we have created in our society; I think it is fair to say that we, who are priviliged, are still living our own personal hell (thanks for that, Halc). Trying to juggle teaching from home, even with the extra help I'm getting, running a home, looking after Emilio and 4 animals, doing Emilio's distance learning, cooking, shopping, washing, cleaning...it's not working. It truly is not working and I am truly not coping. Fortunately, I have an amazing friend who comes over to hang about as we are in the same building and who has looked after Emilio so I could go to the supermarket. Without her, we wouldn't have made it this far. It is exhausting. My house is a constant bombsite, there are never no dishes to wash, I'm never on top of my work, Emilio gets ignored for too much time while I'm trying to work, my animals are neglected and we have eaten sandwiches for dinner far too often. But yes, we are all still alive...though I don't know if this bloody puppy will see the end of the pandemic. Nightmare dog. Nightmare. Never get a beagle and 3 is too many dogs - in case anyone was wondering. 

Thrown into this whole mix is my son's neurodivergent brain and intelligence and bloody mindedness and sheer curiosity for the world. I have tried to flip this on its head and be grateful for the fact he is desperate to succeed at whatever he decides he wants - the paint off the top shelf, for example. Literally nothing will stop him. So I am grateful for that. But it means that nothing is safe. Ever. Today, for example, before 12pm, here are a list of things that happened: 

• He got the step for washing his hands and dragged it into my closet, having shut my bedroom door as I was trying to send emails, climbed up and then climbed onto the shelves to retrieve his paint. There is now blue paint on most of my shoes.
• He threw corn flour in the swimming pool. 
• I set up homemade chalk making. He then threw that all over the tiles outside literally a minute after we made it. 
• He poured all the remaining rice I have into the blender. Then he poured all the remaining laundry detergent on top of that. Thankful he didn't manage to switch it on as plugging electrical appliances in has become a new fascination. 
• He threw my work ipad onto the floor tiles. It is still in one piece. (His own tablet went swimming last week when he pushed it down the slide into the pool.)
• He took off all his clothes, his current favourite thing to do, and then proceeded to jump around behind me as I was Zooming my kids. 

I think there are a few more but my brain is fried. You get the picture. A few friends have asked why I don't get Santa Maria Poppins a permit to come and move in here. Firstly, because I don't think it is fair to ask her to be away from her own daughter in these troubling times. Secondly, because I'm scared she'll bring the virus to us and I can't afford to get sick. And lastly, because after a few weeks of unbearable behaviours and meltdowns, Emilio is pretty happy most of the time. I can't throw another change into this melting pot of madness and expect him not to react. I don't know how he'd react but I do know that my anxiety and nerves are shot to shit and that I wouldn't be able to cope with new behaviours. So, for now, and for who knows how long, this is our life. 

Sending love to everyone out there and eternal gratitude for you who are listening as the world experiences a collective anxiety attack (thanks Sam for that!). xxxx

Chaos in Quarantine (#quarantinechaos2020)

Day Who Even Cares? And also Who Even Knows? It's week 4 of our new normal and we have had further restrictions slapped upon us; now, there are men and women days.  Days in which the people born with the XX chromosome can gleefully, maskfully, glovefully skip to the supermarket, bank or pharmacy, do those jobs that need done and get the hell home as quick as quick can be. Those days are Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. XY types go on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and hold up all the lines in the supermarkets as, in these parts, they've never been sent the 'big shop' before. Sundays are for quedo-ing en sus casas. Dinnae go oot at all, that is. Blessed be the fruit, under his eye, etc, etc. The parallels with dystopian Atwood settings are, frankly, stark. However, I am actually quite excited by the prospect of going to the supermarket tomorrow (women day) and only seeing women. Not suggesting for a second that I'd fancy this idea as a long term way of living, but as a wee novelty, it'll be interesting for sure. I am entirely unsure as to what non-binary people, or anyone whose gender may not be the one with which they were born, are supposed to do. Entirely unclear. May the odds be ever in your favour, friends. 

Whilst these measures may seem Handsmaid's Tale-y, they are clearly necessary. People are still being totally ignorant, or naive, or rebellious, or whatever, and choosing to go out in groups or couples or herds or whatever. I mean. It's not fair to assume that everyone is getting the same message because CLEARLY the message in different countries is a different thing. And obviously not everyone has internet. Or TV. Or family. So sometimes the daily messages by our President may slip through or just aren't understood? I don't know. He's getting ripped for sounding like a primary school teacher at the moment but if you aren't going to follow a simple instruction like STAY IN YOUR HOUSE, then what do you expect?? It's a frightening place at the moment, this here world in which we do live, but it's more frightening how little attention so many people are paying to this thing that's ripping through the planet like a cull.

Emilio and I are rollercoastering through this, like everybody else. The weekend was absolutely hideous. Not least because I was awakened to find Picasso decorating the apartment. With paint. Without a paintbrush. I'm still cleaning up. He hasn't been 'up and destructive in the night' for a while so I'm inclined to believe that the caged animal/boredom/lack of understanding of just WTF is going on, is taking its toll. I have to laugh at stuff like this. So there's paint everywhere. So what? It's been suggested to me by countless people, (people I love and adore and am grateful for their advice), that I do This, That or the Other to stop him doing This, That or the Other. After 14 and a half months of living with my little Tempera Terrorist as one friend described him, I can honestly say that NOTHING will stop him. No baby gate. No things up high. No locked box. No change of location. No telling him (obviously). No hiding things. Nothing. This child has a determination and a curiosity for life that equals no other I know. Where I put things, he will get them. Where I try to stop him, he will find a way. Where I put barriers, he will bulldoze through them. And when I'm sad or stressed or overwhelmed or feeling like I can't do this, those feelings can almost paralyse me. They can make me feel like the biggest failure as a mum, as a person. They can make me feel like someone else would be a better mum for Emilio. They can rip my heart apart and smash my soul to pieces. But when I'm calm and rational and reflective, I am unbelievably grateful and proud that I am raising this incredible Tiny Human to believe that he can do ANYTHING. NOTHING will stand in his way, NOTHING will stop him. When I'm in that frame of mind, which is the majority of the time, I know that I'm doing the absolute best for my son and that he is doing his absolute best for me. My heart is fuller than Santa's belly at Christmas and my soul sings like a bird gloriously soaring through mountains. I have an exact picture in my head of Santa and of the guacamayos in Caracas right now. Heaven indeed. 

Be safe, friends xxxx

No toilet roll, you say? I fear I've heard this one before.

Russell Brand basically has all of the answers and I will default to him on a whim at every single crossroads or question mark. Oh, the sense he speaks. We are heads under water in 'something simultaneously so small and so huge'. We really are. We really, REALLY are. It's Day 3 of quarantine in Peru and your man at the top is getting mighty pissed off that people aren't taking this virus seriously enough. I saw someone out jogging today. What? What a bizzare, unpredictable, life altering world we do live in. 2 weeks ago, my biggest fear was that my baby boy was not going to adapt to nursery life in a big school. 2 weeks ago, I spent sleepless nights wondering if we were going to be talked about, if he would ever be able to make a friend, if we would survive this year. And 2 weeks later, my biggest fear is that this virus is going to make someone I love a million miles away seriously sick and that I can't get home. 

Our reality now is that we can't fly out of Peru. The next reality is that even if these restrictions are lifted, I can't fly with my child because we don't have his citizenship yet. We are stuck in our, thankfully spacious, apartment for 2 weeks but probably more. We are FINE. I still have a job. I will still get paid. The BRUTAL reality of the huge majority of Peru is that they don't and they won't. Our amazing Santa Maria Poppins was on the what's app trying to find a way to get to us so she could take care of Emilio so I could work. The terrified 'I need to get paid' written between the lines was glaringly obvious and it felt so terribly sad that, after a year of working together, I had to actually say the words, 'I will still pay you, of course. None of this is our fault!' 

I wrote that bit on Day 3. It's now Day 10. 

How swiftly this whole thing changes and morphs and causes friction and chaos and love and kindness. The fear and anxiety is palpable. But the love and support is almost tangible. Almost, because social distancing and quarantine. :) Once upon a time, I lived in a city called Caracas in the most beautiful country called Venezuela. It had beaches made from wishes and mountains grown tall by the Gods. How I adored and still adore that place that was home for a while. But it also came with mayhem and madness, guns and guarimbas, shortages and shoot outs. The difference between then and now is that this is a global endurance test; this thing that is putting us in our houses and taking us away from our loved ones and our normal lives is doing the same to the whole wide world. Whilst it is devastating, and just ask my family how utterly devastated and scared I have been, as I'm sure millions of people are, it is truly humbling and heartwarming to find the community who are building themselves back up. This blog has been about becoming a mum to the most exceptional Tiny Human I could ever have wished for - we have been through some fairly challenging times. The fight to get him seemed endless. My village were by my side the whole entire way but somehow it seemed to get lonelier and lonelier as time passed. 

But this? This here virus that's taking the world down? This is bringing us ALL together. The support showered upon me from my team at school is just exceptional - I couldn't ask for better. The Zooms (who knew that would be a thing) with friends, the taking the time to message those we haven't for a while, the cracking up and listening, the freaking out and consoling...it does NOT make this worth it. I am still PETRIFIED. I can't even write the things that I'm petrified of. But, I wanted to just write this and say how unbelievably grateful I am for those people who are going out of their way to make this easier for my beautiful, incredible, creative, destructive, exploradora, whirlwind, curious, hilarious, loveable, exceptional little Tasmanian Devil and I. We love you and we are grateful for you. 

A year in and everything is changing

It's been a while! Coz it's been a little bit busy and a little bit crazy and a little bit so many firsts for us both. We went to Scotland. We did that thing. And it was a truly incredible experience for which I will be eternally grateful. Taking my little boy to see my family, to spend time with his eleventy five cousins and aunts and uncles and friends was exactly everything that I wanted for us both. We did all of the things and went to all of the places, including the Kelpies, which I've been desperate to see for since they were constructed. Just brilliance. All of the nerves and the anxiety didn't disappear overnight, of course, because it was completely impossible to predict how my guy was going to react to the sheer volume of newness that was getting smashed right into his face every single day. But man, did he SMASH it. I quickly learned that provided he knew more or less what was happening, he was able to cope. And more than that, he thrived. It happened when we were surrounded with family in the land of the Mickey Mouse (who is, FYI, the current obsession) and it happened more in Scotland - something just helped him to open up. The happiest little love in all the world. So, so grateful to have had that time with everyone at home.

And then onto the next. We started at Nursery in my big, massive, fee paying school. I mean, Emilio's attitude to the latter part there might be, 'Quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn', but it's a thing because it just is. I do not come from a fee paying school background and really do struggle with the concept entirely, however, it is how I've managed to have the life I've had; the one that has seen me dancing round the world through Europe, Asia and South America. But now, here we are, here I am, on the other side of the curtain and quite frankly, my dear, I dinnae like it! Man, that old anxiety came back to haunt like a big bag of haunting, painful, terrifying things. How on earth is he going to cope? I'm about to literally blow his tiny little life and world WIDE OPEN! His old Nido had 6 children and 2 teachers. We have just graduated to 25 children and 5 teachers. Holy actual moly. And then there's the whole 'what will the parents say about him?' and the 'how will everyone react?' and the actual agony of 'what if he really never makes a friend?' My goodness, it is somewhat suffocating. And definitely sleep robbing.

I can absolutely, 100% guarantee that Emilio is the first child to enter my school without a father listed on his matriculation form. He most certainly is NOT the first to have autism. Nor is he the first to have a foreign parent (obvs). He's also definitely not the first to be adopted. But combine that together? We have ourselves another brand new first, ladies and gentlemen. I know a lot of these nerves are what every new parent goes through - the starting school, is he going to be ok, will they 'get' him stressy stuff. I know that. But then you have all the other parents going through the same thing and you can lean on each other and cry into your tea or whatever. It's just an entirely different experience when you're an employee at the place he's going to school and you have already been told that the parents have 'heard about Emilio'. Anyway. Let's see how it all goes. This boy has taught me that absolutely nothing is predictable and that he will continue to surprise me and make me prouder than a big bag of proud things on a daily basis. So let's just see. 

We are SO lucky that school are being incredibly supportive and have bent over backwards to put things in place for my wee guy to succeed. Like, above and beyond support. He has a truly excellent, understanding, caring, committed-to-learning-about-him and all of the many shades of spectrum he brings to life, team - we could not ask for more. 

Watch this space. This boy is heading for the stars. 

50 shades of anxiety

And a long illness that was. Uff, the guilt of going to work and leaving your child to be looked after by someone else...said my friend, the only worse one is stuffing them full of calpol and sending them to school. We had basically a week and a half of being at home with the not feeling well and the hell and the beauty that it brings. Coz it's rubbish when they're sick but it's gorgeous to be all cuddly and snuggly and he just wanted me. One morning, he was clinging to me and crying his heart out and we were just laid on the sofa for about half an hour until he calmed down. Where did my head go? What about the last time he was sick? Who cuddled him? Who held him? Who loved him? Anytime I think I've got a handle of this - the autism, the adoption, the trauma, the newness...something else hits like a big bag of hard things. I've said before that I never know which bit the behaviour is coming from, but sometimes I just need to sit back and think 'love'. Just love and that will be all I can do for the moment. 

This weekend was brutal. I broke my toe, whilst on the phone to my sister and turning to run to the kitchen where I heard Emilio climbing on something...did not find out what because an offending metal legged chair was in the way. OUCH. Just massive, massive OUCH. Then dogs had to go to the vet. Then to a big park where I thought we had lost Bridget forever, twice. Emilio ran in one direction, Bridget the other. I'm aware that this happens to all toddlers but when he responds to NOTHING and it can be dangerous...anyway. Then we all piled back in the car and drove to deliver some backpacks my kids at school made for Venezuelan refugees arriving in Peru. Hours of traffic, screaming child, cooped up pets, going NUTS mummy. However, all was right by the time I was eating homemade veggie haggis and nattering away with some lovely friends who ALWAYS SHOW UP. Thank you, fabulous humans. 

We are on the countdown to coming home for Christmas. I cannot tell you the levels of anxiety this induces. Reckon I used to be a fairly laid back person, go with the flow, etc. Now. NOW. Sheesh kebab. I worry about not having the right cereal in. I worry about not doing enough PECS or play or not speaking enough (HAH!) or playing enough with friends or a million other worries. But the thought of travelling...JEEZ. That sets off a whole range of rollercoaster panic waves about moving home next year. Where will I work? Where will Emilio go to school? Will he need a special school? If that's the case, where's the best one? How will I make sure I get a job that's close to that one? Where in the country is that? How will I afford it? Will he even get citizenship? If I go to the west, will I even fit there after 20 years away? And how, HOW, in the name of chuffery am I old enough to have lived away from home for 20 FREAKIN' YEARS?!!?!?!!?

As I say...50 shades of anxiety and it's not my favourite colour. 

We are about to start the rest of the paperwork nonsense for getting us out this country. That thing where I send my nanny to the machine to get Emilio's birth certificate because I can't get it. Me. His Mama. I cannot collect it from the machine but literally EVERY SINGLE OTHER PERUVIAN HUMAN can. Awesome. That bit has been achieved. That bit that states I'm his birth mum. I mean... Stage 2: get the permiso. That permiso that will permis me, Marianne Kelly, to take Emilio out of the country. Yes, that's right. Marianne gives permission to herself. I mean, again...

Anyway, watch this space. It may well ABREEEEE (private joke with myself!)

Lions and therapies and doctors, oh my!

My little lamb is poorly. Is there anything worse than your baby being sick? I remember when Bob got sick for the first time, when we were living in Caracas. He had to go and stay at the vet. My lovely friend Liliana kept calling them for me to check what was going on and I was nearly in tears waiting... As I've said before, I love my animals and my nieces and nephews SO MUCH that I thought I would eat my own child. It's true. It just completely covers you like lava flowing from a volcano. Spewing out, all hot and messy, running everywhere, covering and smothering everything it touches. That's the best description of what this love feels like that I can think of. Also, it's a bit angry. Coz if you DARE mess with my baby, I will END YOU. 

It's funny, though, how your heart doesn't just get full and stop having space. It just keeps growing and filling up more. 

Lately, though. Lately, it's been hard. As we have established, Emilio's sleep is a nonsense. This comes with its own unique set of undesirable behaviours from both of us. But now I decided that he was going to go to Nursery at my school next year...man alive, has that opened a huge big bag of worms. I have to take him to about a GAZILLION different doctors. Luckily, one beautiful human, our paediatrician, signed off on lots of these bits I have to get signed off in order for him to enter my school, and didn't charge me. We went to see him, through a friend's recommendation, when Emilio very first came home. Dr Gustavo said that as I was doing a wonderful thing for Emilio and for Peru, he wanted to give back to me, so my appointments are free. Yes, he's a fancy doctor at a fancy hospital, for all you cynics; but for me, this is just a human being kind to another human. I love him for that. Thank you, Doctor G. 

We also have to do the eyes and the ears. I'm supposed to have done that ages ago. Everything feels huge and overwhelming and hard...not least the ears because apparently he has to get knocked out for them to be able to do that test. I just want to come home from work and play with my son. That's all. Not go to stupid therapy or stupid doctor appointments or stupid anything. I just want to be with him. I get home and he's either in a shit mood, shut down, or we have 10 minutes before 'time to go to this therapy' or 'time to take the dogs out' or 'whatever'...I just want him. 

Taking Emilio to an intro day to Nursery was a cold, hard SMACK in the face. It showed me that our tiny lives work for my Tiny Human. He has me, he has Santa Maria, he has Nido, he has our therapists and our PECS trainer, he has his home, the park, our friends, their homes...etc. Put him into a new environment and he just goes. Touching everything, seeing everything, gathering all the information available. It broke my heart to see just HOW different he is from those others. Life is always going to be hard for him. Always. The bigger our lives get, the harder it will be. 

I have said from day 1 that it must be so difficult for parents to understand and accept their child is different. I've never had that. I chose Emilio and he chose me back. I knew he was on the Spectrum and I love him because of it. But seeing those neurotypical children and seeing Emilio...I cried for an hour when I got home. He will ALWAYS be challenged by things we find easy. It will ALWAYS be hard for him. 

But. BUT. I will ALWAYS be with him (till I'm not), trying to make it easier. Even when that means let him go and let him fail at stuff. 

This parenting thing feels like it's coming naturally and then it doesn't... If you've any answers...write to us here!! I've never felt more overwhelmed or more anxious in my life. It's a colour that doesn't suit me. But tell me how? How do I stop worrying about everything when there is clearly everything to worry about? 

It's almost a year since 'they' told me I was Emilio's mummy. The words to describe the feeling of being his are: elation, love, worthiness, priviledged, special, chosen, lucky. Lucky. The luckiest mummy in the whole solar system. 

Thank you and good night x

Oh to be a part-time working mum...

This morning, I was out walking our three dogs and trying not to let anyone die/run on the road/run away whilst making sure everyone is happy. And then in the afternoon. And then this evening. This means Bella's ball is being thrown, Bridget is running around and checking everything out, Bob just pottering along and Emilio either in his buggy chilling or running around, following the hose, playing in the games or whatever. It sounds lovely, maybe. It's sometimes beautiful but it is mainly the most stressful time ever. That bloody puppy just legs it coz she's a Beagle and my boy doesn't respond to his name/STOP/WAIT/IT IS NOT SAFE. I have uttered, on more than one occasion, 'would it be the worst thing if we lost her?', knowing FULL WELL my heart would break into a million pieces if the newest part of our family left us. I have also screamed, louder than you knew a scream could be, for my child to stop, or sprinted across a park and grabbed his arm just in time as a car has rounded the corner. The looks I get from some people, as I march around with a dog lead around my waist and 2 dogs attached to it, then another lead with Bob in my hand and either a buggy with Emilio in it or pushing it, or Emilio's hand in mine...some judgemental, some just like 'whaaaaa?' but some who are just gorgeous and ask about us. One lady the other night said, 'Eres un campeón,' just as she was passing with her one dog, and a huge smile. What a lovely thing to say and just what I needed at that moment. 

This week, I have been given the gift of time with my beautiful boy. We have been having the hardest time lately. Sleep is all over the place, from getting up at 1am for the actual day to a million times a night. We are no different from any other family with challenging sleeping patterns. We're not. But my overactive brain starts overanalysing: is it the ASD? Is it coz he's 3? Is it because he was abandoned? Is it trauma? Is it the change? Is it coz he loves our nanny and not me? Is it just because? Probably there isn't a clear answer and probably it's a combination of everything. But being home this week, being able to spend time with my child and not be stressed about getting to work, stressed about getting back from work at a good enough time to get any 'good' bits of his day, etc, etc, has worked wonders. Emilio and I have laughed and loved and smiled and giggled more in the last week than (it feels like) in AGES. Which obviously brings on a huge tonne of guilt. I'm being a crappy mum because I'm tired from being a teacher. And I'm being a crappy teacher from being a tired mum. Talk about a catch 22 (hated that book, FYI). 

We have 6 and a half weeks till end of the school year and until we are on a flight to home. I'm using this week as a reset. Reset my patience, reset my tolerance, reset my mind: I love my son and I love my job and I'll get better at juggling this stuff, I'm sure. So be kind. I'll be kind to others and please, please be kind to me. 

This is just so, so hard...so...to those mums who go out there to a job, whichever job that might be, and leave their child/children at home; I salute you. I'm in awe. I stand by you, empathise with you and feel all the guilt you do. To my mum, who raised 5 and then some, whilst working and then some; clearly, you're my inspiration and reason for my 'try me, I can do it!' attitude towards life. To those mums who have the joy of being able to stay home for a while, for forever or whatever in between; all of the above. For those that wish they could get back to work; I support you and send you courage and determination. Make it happen. What is abundantly clear to me is that there is ZERO right ways to Mum. Or Parent. All of us being as uniquely unique as we are mean that we all need different things from life: I vote kindness and support for all of us doing our best. 

Emilio and I have a different story to most other Mum and Son plot lines, but it seems that we share the same hatred of having to be apart. We have been having a full on brutal time for the last 6 weeks or so (I have lost count...) and I have genuinely felt desperate. Sleep so out of control to the point that I what'sapped my neurologist to ask him what on earth I could do. Rising times for the day between 1am and 3am. Then going to work and teaching the Tinies there like I actually knew what I was doing. Home to a tired and grumpy boy who hated me. I know that all parents reading this will know this same scenario. They just will. But going through it? Soul destroyingly heartbreaking. And exhaustion really messes with your mind. Crying in the car, the shower, whilst getting dressed, on a pee break at work...this chick was losing it and might still be. Who knows? 

No one said it would be easy and all that. My goodness, is he worth it! But my goodness, is this the loneliest I've ever, ever been whilst being happier than I've ever been, too. The Village is out there, but really, it's just Us. Russell Brand recently said something along the lines of that becoming a parent makes you the strongest you've ever been whilst making you the most vulnerable you've ever been. 

That. x

Current Best Bits: 
Saying 'thank you' or 'gracias' unprompted when he's given something.
Remembering to say 'hi' or 'bye' when prompted and sometimes unprompted.
Watching him problem solve. His mind blows me away. 
This is a Big One. Watching him run over to other children in the park and (initially) steal their ball...then actually play WITH them. Actually WITH OTHER CHILDREN. And laughing his head off the whole time. Yes, I cried my eyes out in the park and yes, the other Mamas were gorgeous to me when I told them he was autistic and this was a huge deal. And yes, I'm crying again as I write this. 
Singing to him in the car on the way to Nido. Got him out the carseat and he put his arms round my neck and squeezed so I just kept singing. Just stood singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' till he decided we were done.