Ming-who-is-not-interested-in-birds has decided to re-name 9, Gutsy.
I can see his point!
Gutsy-9 will not leave my shoulder!
A chick called 9
I got home from seeing Ants and went out to feed, and commune with, the birds and whammo! Some tiny scurrying thing caught my eye – a chick! All by itself! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I sat at my picnic table watching it for awhile to see whose chick it was but, despite a lot of interest from the gang and the chooks and peafowl and the guinneas, not one of them came to the party, so I had to catch it (sounds easy but it took about 9 hours!)
So here he/she is, in Ming’s hands. We have no idea what kind of chick this is, but it might be a peachick!
And its name?
9!
We have now cosied 9 into a box with some straw, water and crumbles but 9 is already addicted to cuddles.
I wonder what 9 is!
Godfrey becomes godly
Godfrey: I’m sorry I bit you yesterday, Julie.
Me: No you’re not!
Godfrey: Yes I AM!
Me: No you’re NOT!
Godfrey: I think you are jealous of me, Julie – face it!
Me: Godsy, it is the other way around! I love the gang as much as you do but, and I hate to break this to you, they love me much more than they love you.
Godfrey: But why?
Me: Well, you scare them. You are so overbearing and bossy and your habit of biting the hand that feeds you is not fashionable anymore.
Godfrey: Oh I think I am going to cry, Julie.
Me: Let yourself, Godsy, and try to remember how we began….
Godfrey: I’m so sorry, Julie.
Me: Good!
Nine
Tomorrow is the 9th of December and I have decided that, in order to combat the rut I am in, I will do everything in nines – 9 household jobs, 9 photos for Anthony, a 9×9 walk up and down our long driveway to begin getting fit again, 9 emails to those I’ve lost touch with, 9 blogposts (that’s a joke), 9 hugs for Ants when I see him in the morning, 9 hugs for Ming if he tolerates it, and 9 new thoughts/resolutions.
Lately I have been reading about autism and Asperger’s, not for any reason except that I happened to borrow three books about this syndrome and I became enthralled. No, I do not have autism, however I can definitely relate to the number obsession that some people suffer/embrace, and some of what I have read makes sense of what I was like as a child.
I always had to count my steps and couldn’t bear odd numbers, so walking to school I would always make sure that, between each bit of footpath, just before the crack, I would do either 2 or 4 steps, never 3 or 5. And, from my bedroom door to my bed, I always had to make sure that I took 6 or 8 steps, never 5 or 7. If I made a mistake, I would get out of bed and retrace my steps to make it right.
This kind of thing (which I kept secret as a child) is a form of OCD – obsessive, compulsive disorder – and I happened upon an article recently that described my childhood behaviour in those terms. I found this extremely comforting and began to read more about OCD. It was a bit of a shock to find that some of my other weird childhood thoughts and habits were actually quite common and, in fact, quite normal in the OCD context.
Was this obsession with even numbers an attempt to make sense of a world that I found so uneven? I don’t know. I was adored by my parents and I adored them too, but I was plagued by uncertainty, anxiety and the very definite sensation that I was abnormal, which lasted well into my teenage years.
And now? The challenge of tomorrow’s 9 frightens me but compels me to get over this uneven number fear. I have to do it. I will do it, and my score will be 9/10. I’ll make sure of that!
Nine.
Malay
Malay: Thank you for finally featuring me in one of your posts, Julie. I have been waiting rather a long time.
Malay: Next time, get the hose out of the way and please get your light settings right!
Malay: Newkid was okay but I am a survivor, Julie.
Malay: I would prefer it if you would refrain from photographing me with Prince from now on.
Love story 125 -Needy versus needed
As indicated in a previous post, whenever I get to the end of my tether, the first person I talk to is Anthony – always.
I think it is remarkable that when I am the needy one, he becomes incredibly supportive and completely forgets his own neediness.
This is Malay, our only remaining rooster. He has Anthony’s tenacity!
Prince the peacock and Prince Ming
These two guys have a lot in common.
They both like to show off.
They both like to dance on the roof.
They are both gorgeous.
However, the second prince, despite all appearances to the contrary, is much more interesting!
Angry angel
Conversation between Ming and me this afternoon:
Me [timid]: If you could just stop being so angry – please! I think we need to go back for counselling.
Ming [sarcastic]: Oh, of course, counselling because I am a psycho and I need help.
Me: Everything seemed okay until a couple of days ago and now you’re angry again – I can’t stand it and I want it to stop.
Ming: But I am angry. I AM ANGRY!
Me: So what do I do?
Ming: LET ME BE ANGRY!
Okay.
That angry angel has a good point!
No such thing as normal
I have always found the concept of ‘normal’ problematic. As a child I was obsessively anxious that I might be abnormal and would constantly ask my mother, “Am I normal?” She would always reassure me but I still had my doubts.
As an adult I eschew the notion of normal. It is such a bland, boring word and it hardly ever makes sense on its own. Without context, cultural and social, it is a vacuous concept. Quite frankly I don’t like it and it doesn’t like me.
I’m not alone here am I. But normal rules doesn’t it. It boxes you in with its perfect corners. But ‘abnormal’ isn’t a very pleasant word either so it is a dilemma for children when they are measured on such a continuum with nothing in the middle. The pressure to be normal or the same as everyone else is a ferocious pressure and can torture the child/person who struggles with not being able to fit into the box.
If you are not normal in the stereotypical way, you are not abnormal, you are just different, unique, original, maybe a bit eccentric even. So what.
If you are ‘normal’ well good on you!
I’ve always embraced Ming’s various idiosyncracies. When his pre-school teacher informed me, in serious tones, that he didn’t conform, I pretended to be concerned but was secretly thinking ‘yay!’ Hell, he was only 4! When he couldn’t grip his pencil in the normal way, a psychologist was brought in to see him at the school. Again, I pretended concern but secretly thought ‘does this really matter?’ He was only 7!
Now, however, I struggle with whether it is normal for an 18-year-old boy/man to emotionally detach from his father. I have allowed this to happen because my only other choice was to force guilt on him. It has been heartbreaking to watch this transition from compassionate to dispassionate son. 15-year-old Ming said to the doctor “we will never put Dad in a nursing home!” with his eyes full of tears. 18-year-old Ming doesn’t even want to see Anthony anymore. “It’s not Dad now,” he reasons.
I bought one of those mini photo scanners the other day. My plan is to scan the best of hundreds of photos of Ants and Ming that I took over the years of Ming growing up. I will then organize these into a photo book for each of them for Christmas.
Last night I asked Ming, “Can you reconjure any compassion at all?” and he said, “No, Mum, but I can pretend.”
That is enough. That is normal enough.
Love story 124 – Ming’s Christmas present
Oh, I have been so so excited about Anthony’s, and my, idea for a Christmas present for Ming this year. Ants and I have been discussing it for some time but have finally made the decision to do this (I can’t say what the Christmas present is in case Ming reads the blog; he hasn’t for some time, but you never know).
This will undoubtedly be the last time Ants and I collaborate on this kind of thing, for two reasons: 1. Ants’ dementia is getting worse; and 2. Ming is nearly 19.
I guess it is these two factors that punched me in the face this morning when I drove Ming into music school. I mentioned Christmas Day and said Ants would be coming home for the day and Ming’s reaction to this was so horrible that we ended up having our first row for weeks.
We made up for lost time.
While Ming and I were yelling at each other, I thought of Ming’s Christmas present – the only thing that has elicited a bit of enthusiasm from Ants for ages.
Since this morning’s row, Ming and I have had another, followed by a tentative truce in which he said, “We only have each other, Mum”, and I said, “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Dad.”
And now he is in his room and I am in mine and Anthony’s phone isn’t working.
Ming asked me today what I wanted for Christmas and I said, “Wings”.
jmgoyder 