Mummyfried

Navigating single parenthood with a neurospicy teen is like embarking on a rollercoaster ride filled with twists, turns, and sudden loop-de-loops of emotions. The incredible highs and deep, dark lows make this bittersweet and wild journey not for the faint of heart. Realizing that my understanding of my child's therapy needs surpasses even that of their world-class therapist is a jolting revelation akin to walking into a glass door. Hours spent observing, learning, and seeking guidance leave me questioning the very purpose of therapy and its effectiveness. The sound of my child's tears echoing through the night serves as a haunting reminder of my perceived failure as a parent, despite my unwavering dedication. The cocktail of autism, character, teenage angst, and daily pressures, often brings tears daily, to the one experiencing the challenges, and the one wanting to shoulder the pain. What many refuse to realise through their eyes and stances of pity - is that my neurospicy ch...

Below are key messages I would like to deliver to management... That's right, to Mummyfried (the boss of the boss:  my own alter ego)  the big boss upstairs, the vertically challenged bosses I gave birth to, the bosses at the paid place of employment:  To Mummyfried:  Stop the 60 -70 working week and dreams about really being a tall, blonde, athletically thin, dedicated houseproud yummy mummy and fabulous friend. It's not working. Take a stand. Get to it and sort it out. (Stop being a slave to the system, eating, and start exercising! the rest will follow). To the ankle-biter bosses: The days of empty threats are over. You fail to pick up, I promise to throw out!  My feet deserve a lego free walking path environment!  To the boss upstairs. Give me a break. Please? Like, a real one? A lottery ticket, a wealthy uncle who wants to hand it all over, a warm hug, and some hot chocolate? Please? Don't carry me leaving footprints in the sand, if I fail to act on th...

The children are playing independently, I have an opportunity to meet my personal deadline for a blog. I am stuck for what to write. The last two weeks I have been lying awake between 1 am and 6 am, my mind swirling with ideas, funny anecdotes, plans for adventures. And today, now that I have time and space to think.. nothing. This state of paralysis has to to with the fact that last night, for the first time in a long time, I fell into such a deep slumber, despite sharing a single bed with Little Miss that the back of my nose and throat are sore after a deep heartfelt and continuous snore. I silently breathe a sigh of relief. I am currently sporting a Madonna 80's hairstyle. The no longer subtle regrowth, hair in desperate need of a cut and treatment, combined with a constant snore can't be attractive. Mr Lucky hasn't noticed (rather commented - that is why he is Mr Lucky).  The sigh has slowly turned from relief to worry. Having had a good night sleep means ...