Attempting to make it as a writer

Posts tagged ‘Adolescence’

Running Rungs

Do you find there is a certain treadmill quality to life?

I know the seasons rotate in an orderly fashion; months following months, hot sometimes following cold.  Cold, wet winter chases the crisp frosty autumn days, just as blossoming spring precedes the fullness of summer and so on. The full moon wanes leading to the next crescent of new moon as the cycle begins again.

Was it only six or seven weeks ago we were all breaking up for that

Keep on climbing

long balmy summer ahead?   Plans of how we would survive those days trying to entertain the children were being drawn up.   Childcare being divided up between parents, grandparents and unusual educational activities.  Holidays to be prepared for, shopped for and enjoyed, precious days spent with loved ones.  The morning rush eased to permit treasured time to lie in or permission to watch CBBC. It already seems a blur on the fringes of our short term memory.

This weekend found me stepping back to the Rugby club with a new season already upon us.   Youngsters the country over will have been registering with their clubs, learning new laws as they move up an age level, meeting up with old friends they may not have seen since April.

I; too caught up with friends who I have missed over the months. Friends who have stood solidly by me over the years as our children have suffered injuries, lost important games and grown with the game.   There was a certain reassuring buzz of activity, smell of bacon butties and the constant flow of cheap instant caffeine that passes as coffee.

Even the forecasted sunshine kindly waited till the end of training to dry out the drizzle that had arrived on cue to welcome in the new season.   Routine resumed its rightful order as boots were tried out for size, outgrown shorts that had just about lasted till the end of last season were replaced and shiny new mouth guards bought to protect developing teeth.

This rugby heralded the cog in the ever moving treadmill of life; children will this week return to school.  Back from all the holidaying; now only a distant memory, flashing past on the digital photo frame.   The juggling with childcare is finished as we hand our precious children back over to their new teachers.   Some will be moving to new schools, colleges or universities; some will climb a rung on the well-worn ladder of their school hierarchy and some will be out in the world wondering where to go next.

I know this week will bring tears and heartbreak for mothers of reception aged children suddenly seeing their tiny tot in a complete new school uniform, breaking the baby bonds that up until now have been unyielding.  Little people venturing out into a world without their mother’s perpetually protective hand supporting those faltering fearful footsteps.

Other mothers will suffer the effects of their children’s nerves; they will tolerate the self-importance of young adolescence and take a step back as their little one grows independent and superior joining the masses at Top School.   Giving their once infants the space to be a big child in a world of even bigger children and learn to make their own waves in this ocean we call life.

There will be mothers who will reluctantly transport their offspring away to some way off university.   Leaving their homesick tearful teenager in some bleak utilitarian room to carve their own way in the world, knowing this is the final bond to be broken as they allow their child to grow away from them.     Reluctantly, leaving alarmed adolescents with reassurance, resolutions and reliance despite all their own reservations.

I feel lucky this year that I do not have to overcome the emotions of a momentous change in the cogs although No 1 Son is moving into sixth form.  The change for him will not be as dramatic as he stays at the same school; nonetheless he will have to make his own decisions about how much he studies, what he wants to achieve from his A ‘levels and how he will apply them to his life.  It will be a big jump for him to take control of his future; the same future he does not know what he wants to do with.

Middle Son glides up to this final year of GCSEs which he will find harder than before, not only due to the level of work from school but from the level of support for his schoolwork he will receive from his parents.    Here is a boy who could achieve so much if he only focused long enough to acquire the necessary information to apply it.   Had there been GCSE’s in BMXing, X-boxing or I-Padding he would be guaranteed straight A s.  Unfortunately he is going to have to work hard this year to get the grades within his grasp.

Mini Son becomes a big fish in the small pond as he joins year 6, the final year before moving up to big school.   He will be a role model for the younger classes a task he will fulfil brilliantly.  He will be coerced into independence as he learns to accept responsibility and study hard filling in the missing bits of his education before bridging the gap and joining throngs of know it all secondary school children.

I will also return to my job at the school this week, sad to say farewell to the summer that never really materialised in terms of the weather.   Reluctant to welcome those manic mornings trying to get all five of us out of the door in different directions on time with all the remembered kit for the day ahead.  Unenthusiastic to return to the drudgery of routine after my long weeks of freedom from humdrum tedium, I know that it is only a matter of time before the wheel of time turns further.

Before we know it, half term will be upon us with Christmas poking its pointed head in our direction.  The New Year will be here all too soon and then we will be half way through the school calendar.  Exams will be sat and then the long holidays upon us again turning yet another full turn of that wheel.

I shall continue to climb the rungs of the treadmill expecting to reach the haven of happiness at the top but never quite arriving there as the wheel turns again for another season.

Whatever stage of the wheel you are at, keep climbing and keep focused.  It is so easy to fall off the spinning circle but never easy to climb back on.

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

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Bruised and Battered

You will not believe my week again, waves of déjà vu, nausea and pummelled heart strings.

In some small ways that I haven’t worked out yet we are probably lucky where we live.  We do not however, have an A&E department nearby but like buses within an hour’s drive we have three.  Depending on the ambulance crew will determine where you end up.

At work the other day we had nearly reached break time when the call came through.  Ironically I was already taking a call from another member of top school staff on a less important matter.  I cut the call short as the other line was ringing.

“Middle Son has been playing rugby and taken a bad tackle.”

My mind on overtime “Have you called an ambulance?”

“No he’s fine, he walked off the pitch but is complaining of a sore neck.”

I know I spend a lot of time; some might say too much time dealing with the aftermath of rugby induced sore necks so maybe I am a touch hyper sensitive in that area.  He had, after all walked off the pitch.

I agreed to get there as quickly as it took me to go home and get the car.   I walked or teetered in my high heels and thankfully had the intuition or was it premonition to grab my handbag as I went.  As I drove, that horrible feeling crept over me; haven’t we been here before.

I got to the turning off into town and heard it.  It got louder as my stomach sank low into the well of the car.  I reached the roundabout and there it was coming from another direction; the paramedic, lights flashing, sirens wailing.   Swallowing down the wave of nausea I slipped in behind her and followed all the way to school.

He had become agitated and delirious they thought, so they had called the ambulance.  He is a teenage boy; he is always agitated and usually delirious but only on occasions when you can get anything out of him.

Assessing the tableau before me, I already knew what she would say.   “X-ray needed, neck injuries, just a  precaution,” all words I had heard previously.  How that word, precaution rules my life.

We waited, he breathing deeply on entonox to ease the pain, me pacing the room or holding his muddy hand telling him it will all be ok like an expectant father.  I gave all the complex and intricate medical history and elaborated when they learned he’d been run over, receiving a fracture to the base of his skull.  An event long filed in the memory banks of my mind was now being revisited with each delving question.

Unconscious, for how long?  What were the lasting effects?

The land ambulance arrived and I had to replicate and repeat all the same information.

Finally on our way; Middle son neatly cocooned in the new style back boards which are more like a swimming lilo strapped tightly over the prone body then inflated.  Apparently this cushions the body holding it still.  They also had to cut the collar off his rugby kit to get the neck brace round his neck.  Looks like I’ll be out shopping at the weekend for a new rugby shirt then.

We set off for a very windy, bumpy and rushed journey, well if the rugby didn’t injure the neck the journey had a very good attempt.  Middle Son was offered morphine to quell his pain, unaware of the beneficial pain relieving qualities and learning it involved a needle; he declined.  They unfortunately didn’t have anything strong enough to suppress my nausea or heaviness in my neck and shoulder.  The fact though that middle son was prepared to suffer pain rather than a needle levelled my emotions.

I was glad to arrive at the hospital and get him out.  The journey had become very claustrophobic for him and he was distressed.  He felt very sick, causing a problem in his strapped and prone position we could not turn him easily.  He started trying to fight his way out of the protective cradle while the ambulance crew struggled to hold him still.  It took a while before we were calm enough to be able to get out of the ambulance.  It had served a purpose though; an agitated youngster with a neck injury; they had the doctor look at him very quickly and we were taken to x-ray as soon as we were booked in.

The x-ray thankfully was ok.  They lifted his bed to a seated position, removed the head blocks and allowed him carefully to sit up.  Later, releasing him to a standing position, a wave of giddiness hit him as blood surged to forgotten places. The nurse went through the head injury leaflet with me, another to add to my collection.

If any of the following occur contact my GP or Emergency Department  immediately.

Increased drowsiness or difficulty waking the patient from sleep; he is a teenager!

Confusion or poor understanding of what is being said; he is a teenager!

Mood swings or irritability; he is a teenager!

We escaped.

Realisation hit me I was stuck in town; hungry and thirsty with a hungry thirsty grumpy injured teenager.  Sexy Sporty Dad was stuck the other side of the county in a meeting he couldn’t get out of.   Another ambulance crew and we could have been in the same town as him.

We walked, well he walked I teetered; not really the time to remember I was wearing high heels, into town.  I found Cafe Nero and we both indulged in well earned lunch and the most delicious cup of tea.  I am not sure if this is representative of Cafe Nero or just my timings and need.

On his phone he facebooked all his friends who despite the no phones in school rule all managed to answer him.  I got a text from Sexy Sporty Dad to say he would be able to leave in about 2 hours and would drive straight to me (another hour).

My I-phone came into its own; I googled train times.

There was a train at 29 minutes past or another an hour later.   We crossed to the bus stop there was a bus to the station at 5 past the hour that would get us to the train on time.  It was now 10 past the hour.

Tottering round the corner I discovered the taxi rank.  The driver knew the train times and reckoned barring traffic we could make it despite it now being 20 past.

We arrived with three minutes to spare to find no one in the ticket office.  The station master hardly older than Middle Son was also ticket seller, guard and playing porter when I found him.  The train pulled in to the station as I told him I needed tickets.  Loading top up drinks and snacks, he relayed my need for tickets to the guard on the train, who allowed us to hop on and pay on board.

All well and good but my last cash had been eked out to pay the taxi, who had let me off the last 7p as we were now officially cashless.

The guard however didn’t need to settle for my body or selling my son he arrived at our seat with a portable card reader.

I don’t actually know how much lunch was that day or how much the train fare finally cost.  I know the guard said that in school uniform Middle Son counted as a child.

My final teeter of the day; back up to get the car from school.  I did contemplate getting another taxi home but we needed the car later.   The idea of a taxi to school also crossed my mind, but we had no money left between us.  We walked.

Apart from researching for this week’s blog; I have still to write some new stuff.  Even rugby was called off this weekend so no match report.

Have a safe week

Tiggy

Have you tried http://tiggy-tea.blogspot.com/.  Check out this weeks recipe.

 

 

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