Ta-Da!

So, just as I posted ‘Technical Issues‘ last night, I get a phone call telling me that I had a Mac ready and waiting for me if I wanted it.  Just without a monitor, keyboard or mouse.  ‘Yes!’ I say immediately, and off the hubby pops to get it, while I stay with the monsters and search for the other bits.  Very happy me.

The monsters behaved themselves, and the male shaped monster fell asleep on my shoulder in five minutes flat.  I find a suitable keyboard and mouse from a certain company really cheaply (£8 for the keyboard and a fiver for the mouse), and all is well and good.  The stress of not being able to write the feature before the laptop goes back to the BiL is diminishing, as I have a shiny new Apple Mac.  It wasn’t that big a deal that we didn’t have a monitor as the OAP desktop looked like it was going to the special place called ‘Spares and Repairs’ on eBay.

Although I don’t have a great night sleep (the male shaped monster became a Mummy’s boy at night for the first time in living memory), I wake optimistically.  I have a Mac.  All is good.  It works.  We venture to the company to pick up the inexpensive keyboard and mouse.  Keyboard, fine.  Mouse – they try and flog me one for triple the price.  ‘No,’ I say, ‘there’s a perfectly good one for a fiver on the net – £4.24 web price, £4.99 in store.’  ‘Yeah, we don’t have them in store, they’re web exclusives.’  ‘Well, why have on the website in store for £4.99 if it’s only on the web?’  ‘I don’t know.’  We left (with the keyboard though).  I eventually managed to buy one for £7.  More than I wanted, but at least it wasn’t triple the price.

We get home sort some things out, and then take the monsters round to our neighbours and let them all run themselves ragged.  Just before we leave, I get a call from the guy who was looking at the OAP.  He fixed it.  I nearly fall over.

So, now I have a Mac, and an OAP which is running faster than it did when it was a newborn.

That left me with only one tiny problem.  I only have one monitor.  So, I flick on eBay, take a quick look, and find a monitor for £7 in my home town, ending in two minutes.  I bid, and win.  And, the seller lives not only in the same town, but the same village and is delivering it for £3.  As I have sold a couple of things on eBay just yesterday, my PayPal account was able to pay for that without a problem.  So, I sort of got a monitor for free.  Hurrah!

It’s been a bit of a Ta-Da! sort of day, to say the least.

 

Technical Issues…

Since December, you could say I’ve had a pretty bad time with technical issues.  My beautiful shiny, 17″ double hard drive Sony Viao laptop suddenly stopped working.  Nothing would come on.  It left me in the lurch somewhat, as I wasn’t able to do my radio show, any writing or Social Networking.  What.  A.  Nightmare.

Anyway, after a month or so of burying my head in the sand, I finally decided to get someone in to look at it.  It turned out that the wires on the inside of the on off switch had sort of come apart, and that this particular part was practically impossible to get hold of.  Nightmare even more so.  Lucky then, that the hard drives were able to connect to a SATAR (yeah, because I do understand the technical terms – I think I actually initially called it ‘the endy bit which fits into a hard drive and can connect to a USB’), which meant I had my novel on there and various press releases and such were, at least, safe.  My Brother in Law then kindly loaned me his laptop for the first time.  I had it for around a month or so, until the news came that my techy guy couldn’t even use his contacts to get the part for my beautiful beast.

BiL needed his laptop back, so my mother loaned me hers.  I used this for about three weeks, and then realised she had a perfectly usable (if not decidedly ancient) desktop PC which I would be able to use indefinitely.  This kept me trundling quite happily, and I was able to write a couple of short stories (which will hopefully sell), some reviews, some work on the programme and even do my radio show.  Then, one morning a couple of weeks ago, the hubby went into the Harry Potter cupboard under the stairs/office, turned on the OAP and… nothing.  It didn’t work.  It refused point-blank to come on. I cried.

Luckily, the BiL loaned me his laptop again, and a couple of friends offered their suggestions.  Maybe a virus?  If so, this disk should work – nothing.  Another friend (the same one who witnessed the male shaped monster tantrum outside the cafe) said her hubby was a PC technician and would look at it. Well, today was D-Day.  And, the prognosis isn’t good.  He thinks there’s something wrong with the hard drive, and has had to take it away to look at closer.

In the meantime, I’d looked on eBay for some laptop parts for the beautiful beast – and found two at a snip of a price.  I got them, and found they weren’t really what I needed.  Bugger.  I re-sold them, although the chuffing idiot who bought them has said he bid in error when he bid before I had a chance to answer his question, which was sent at 2am this morning.  I’m not impressed.

Anyway, I’m on the hunt for a new one or a spare one to ‘put me on’ for the time being.  Someone’s possibly found something which would be perfect, but we’re waiting on an answer from the guy flogging it.  In the meantime, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my friends hubby can fix the OAP, or that another techy friend (who has promised to do it free in return for some PR for his sons band – hell yeah!), can solder the beautiful beasts wires together, otherwise after Monday, I’m screwed.

Fingers crossed everyone.

The Male Shaped Monster

I am a mum to two beautiful monsters; a female shaped monster and a male shaped monster.  The female shaped monster is 6 years old, beautiful, and crackers.  The male shaped monster is pretty much the same, except that he’s 4, and is special in a different way.

His birth wasn’t particularly stressful, I gave birth naturally after having an emergency C-Section with the female shaped monster two years before.  He came quite quick and did everything a new-born baby should do.  We had to stay in for a couple of days so the Dr’s could keep an eye on my Section scar, but nothing particularly seemed up.  Then they told us he has a Sacral Dimple, which did ring alarm bells.  My mum has spina bifida occulta – and I knew from experience and research that this could be an outward sign.

When he was a couple of weeks old, we went to a children’s hospital where they performed an ultra-sound scan.  From this they told us everything appeared closed.  From knowledge of my mother’s condition, I know that nothing can be confirmed without an MRI scan.  However, for whatever reason, they refused to do one on my son.  It is something I am pushing for, but I’m waiting a while until he’s less wriggly.

Yes, he’s wriggly.  Still, at the age of 4.  Other than his little dimple, the male shaped monster has other wonderful ‘quirks’.  You’ll have to bear with me while I explain…

I think I’ve always known that he’s (for want of a better word) special (yes, I know all children are special.  But, please bear with me).  He tantrumed more than the female shaped monster, especially when he is in a new situation.  Just before his 1st Birthday, there was an accident, where he ended up in hospital under sedation.  Or, he would have been had he calmed down enough for the sedation to work.  Four hours it took before the sedative worked on him.  At birthday parties he would go slightly mental if he saw someone with their face painted.  He still gets upset if I put make-up on.  He wasn’t progressing like the other children his age.  He wasn’t crawling, he wasn’t babbling, he wasn’t feeding himself.  I voiced my concerns then to the GP, who just pooh-poohed it saying that all children are different.  He’ll do stuff when he’s ready.

By the age of two, he was walking, but not babbling still.  We potty trained him in less than a week.  It took the female shaped monster nearly a month.  Although this should have filled me with glee, it didn’t.  It scared me slightly.  Aren’t boys supposed to be harder to potty train than girls?  He wasn’t interacting well with children of his own age, but would play with his sister or by himself beautifully.  He could do jigsaws and put things together extremely well.

By three, still no sounds, never mind words.  I was frantic by now, as he was due to start part-time nursery in September.  No one would listen to our concerns, until a chance visit by the health visitor, in which I broke down in tears, and he hid behind my legs the entire time.  All of a sudden we were referred.

We had our first appointment in October.  We are still not moving very quickly.  He still doesn’t speak, although he is having speech therapy, with what is quite possibly the worst speech therapist on the planet.  The last session, which was before Easter consisted of her showing me ten makaton signs once, and expecting me to train them to memory.  Er, no.  He still struggles with new situations.  If we go somewhere – for example, physio (as he is also extremely clumsy), he will sit on my knee and curl up into a ball.  If I then try to move him, he makes himself extremely floppy and so impossible to maneuver.  He still throws mega tantrums – in one example he was that upset that Nanan had left without him, he punched me in the stomach.  Unfortunately, I was having an Endo attack at the time, and ended up throwing up on his head, which made him throw up on my feet, and so on…  Another tantrum was for the same thing – his Nanan had come to give me a driving lesson, but then left without him.  I carried him down the cafe, while he’s screaming the entire time.  When we got there, he was still in full voice, thumping me, pulling my hair, not letting me sit down, go home, go to the shop for some pennies, or go into the cafe to order.  A friend was sat there the entire time, with a look of what I can only describe as pity on her face.

As of yet, we’re not entirely sure what it is with him.  Autism, Aspergers, Dyspraxia and Extreme Shyness have been bandied around.  But, the medical professionals have never seen a tantrum.  He had one at school last week, because he had fallen over, and wouldn’t let anyone clean him up.  They rang me, but as I was covered in chicken pox, had to send the Mother in law to fetch him home.  She didn’t ask the right questions.  Saying that, she’s only seen him tantrum once as well – in which she said to us, ‘please don’t leave him like that with us again.  It was heartbreaking’.  My simple reply was ‘welcome to my world, each and every morning.’  She didn’t say much after that.  Grandma (my mum), has experienced it once as well.  She rang in tears, in sympathy for me.

It’s even harder because his speech is that of an 18 month old.  He uses single words coupled with grunts and pointing, and his vocabulary is extremely limited.  I’ll list a couple of his words as he says them.

Nananananash – Nanan’s (the Mother in Law)

Mimi – Dummy

HoHo – Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer plush cuddly toy which was a Christmas Present off one of my best friends.

Ooopshtairsh – upstairs

Miaow miaow – cat

Peeesh – please

Coo – Thank you.

Grashe – Grace – his friend

lu you – love you

As of yet, we don’t claim any benefits for him.  The chances that the medical professionals are just going to turn around and say there’s nothing wrong is just too high, and we’re too worried that we’ll have to pay everything we ever claimed back if they do.  I don’t want to feel even more fake than I do.  Every single day is a struggle with him.  He craves my attention when I have to work.  Right now he’s sat at the side of me grabbing my arm.  He was playing a few minutes ago, but when he realised my attention was elsewhere, he came for a squeeze please.  He’s anaemic, and has to have a lot of medicines.  He gets knackard walking anywhere, and sits down in the middle of the pathway with not a care in the world.  He’s affectionate, but he’s a little sausage when he wants to be (punching me in the stomach)…

We have a new referral to a children’s’ hospital next month, with some specialists.  I’m counting down the days.

It’s Written in the Stars?

Although I’ve lived where I do for around a year or so, I haven’t really got to know my neighbours too well. They all seem a bit, well, insular. Not interested in community or each other at all.  Not like where I used to live in the shoe box flat with the dodgy porch.  Now, that place was a community.  If one of us went out to the back on a sunny day, the whole block would follow and we’d end up having a mini party.  Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I saw a post on Freecycle from a lady asking for cups and saucers for her daughters’ Alice in Wonderland themed birthday party.  I responded, and it turned out she lives on the same road as we do.  With the same landlords.  Her youngest daughter is in the same class as the male shaped monster at school (which is funny in itself as it’s the furthest school away from us in the village).  We have the same degree.  Our partners work at the same place.  Freaky.

Anyway, we also get on very well, as do our children.  After a bit of a touch and go start with the male shaped monster, he’s now asking for them every single morning.  This makes me exceedingly happy, in that the monsters have people to play with their own age near them, and I have adult conversation with a lovely, intelligent, witty lady on tap.

Last night, I nipped round with some more things for the birthday party, and ended up staying for a while chatting.  I took some of the soup round, and some of the cookies too.  I went round at around 5.30pm, and came home at 11.30pm.  We really got talking. We both edited the same Uni magazine (although she started the year after I finished), we both get annoyed by the same things and we both watched and got terrified by Ghost Watch in the ’90’s.  She also pretty much talked me into doing something I’ve always wanted to do by opening a door.  Could possibly be life changing.

We both joked that we were fated to meet.  The amount we’ve got in common is quite frankly bizarre, and the fact that now, when I’m getting fed up of trying to fake my way through life, I have a possible amazing opportunity is… well.  I don’t know.

 

I LOVE Freebies

The thing I love most about being a fake writer, is that some people do take me very seriously, and occasionally send me free things.  I get a lot of free music.  An awful lot of free music.  Most of it from unsigned artists, but some from more well-known artists.  Also I get a lot of free tickets to gigs and festivals.

As a fairly normal, well(ish) rounded human being, I love these freebies.  Based on the fact that I voice my opinion on other peoples’ art forms and passions, being sent free stuff is pretty amazing.  Of course they do it in the hope that I’ll be nice about them, but there is genuinely no need, I’m relatively nice anyway.

Now, my love of free things and not getting paid very much for my writing (hence the crisis of confidence and yesterday’s mini breakdown), meant I discovered Freecycle.  Freecycle does what it says on the tin.  It re-cycles stuff you don’t want any more for free to someone else who may be in need of it.  I’m part of a local Freecycle network, and from it I’ve got a wardrobe for the male shaped monster, a working DVD player, loads of clothes, trainers, boots, LPs, stuff for the female shaped monster and a plethora of other things.  I’ve also got rid of a load of stuff I no longer need, and made a couple of friends.  It’s amazing, but not without its drawbacks – having to wait in for people who don’t turn up for things when they said they would, giving your address out to random people…

Other than music and Freecycle, I don’t get too many other free things.  It’s a shame, because I could do with being sent loads of stuff to review, eat and review, wear and review…  I’m sure you get the gist….

Tell me why, I don’t like Fridays?

Oh joy!  It’s Friday!  The last day before the weekend.  The day of the week everyone loves  Blah-de-blah blah.  Well, just to be contraire, I don’t like Fridays.  Actually, no, I’m not being contraire.  I genuinely don’t like Fridays that much.  It’s just another day of the week to me.  One that proceeds a day when the hubby’s at work leaving me with the monsters all day because they’re not at school.  Or, in a previous life when I wasn’t trying to be fake at being a full-time writer, another normal day before being stuck in a smelly call centre with people shouting down my ear all day.

So, anyway, Friday.  After the less stressful than normal start to the day as the monster rose before 8.20 am, I showered and plonked myself down in front of the laptop.  Well, to be more precise, curled up in a ball on the sofa, put the laptop on my knee, bought up various social networking sites and Word, and then proceeded to cringe.  I have a feature of around 1,500 words to write on a headlining act for a local festival programme, and try as I might, I can not do it.  I’ve been trying for about two weeks now.  Admittedly, for the majority of those two weeks I’ve been going out of my mind trying not to itch myself to death, but still.  Yesterday, I had a mini melt down, and nearly jacked it all in.  I mean, why should I call myself a Journalist when I can’t even write a feature to my own brief?  After a few tears (well, OK, a lot of tears), tantrums and general feelings of woe, the hubby half talked me round.

This morning, after staring at Word for 10 minutes, and distracting myself elsewhere on the internet,  I couldn’t deal with it.  Deciding that part of my block could well be down to being stuck in quarantine for the last ten days, I ventured out.  Dressing in some funky Converse style pumps, jeans and a beautiful swing jacket, I blinked into the sunshine and made my way down the 100 or so yards to the local cafe.  Once there, I promptly started outlining a story centered around a dream I had last night, before promptly realising it was pretty much the same as a novel I read last year.  Instead, I had some much needed adult conversation, proved my will power is strong, drank my coffee and came back home.

Once home, I quickly sunk back into the depressive state I was in yesterday.  I surfed Facebook, looked at Twitter and played Draw Something.  I morosely stared at Word some more. Then, out of the blue, I got a craving for something sweet.  Or, to be honest, I wanted to binge on food.  Lots of food.  Luckily, I’m far too skint to go to the shop and buy a load of crap, so I decided to attempt some recipes my friend had posted on her blog.  http://middleclassvalue.wordpress.com/.  The first one that came to mind was a lovely, simple peanut butter cookie recipe and then a soup one too

Feeling quite smug that I’d found something worth while to distract myself with, I assembled the ingredients for the peanut butter cookies.   I noticed a couple of pre-packed cookie mixtures, so I decided to make those as well, just for good measure, and to impress the hubby and the monsters.  Unfortunately, while I was reaching for them, an evil bottle of red food colouring decided to attack me.  Suffice to say the result was a rather gory looking scene all over the kitchen floor, the Brother in Laws laptop, and my beautiful new jacket.  After a few deep breaths, I got on with and produced three batches of cookies.  Plain, double chocolate chip and the peanut butter efforts.   After that, I still felt somewhat, flat, so decided to make the soup.  And then, eat the soup.

My fake housewifery duties done, I returned to staring morosely at the Brother in Laws laptop, now resplendent with reddy-orange streaks on the screen where I attempted (not very well though) to wipe the evil red food colouring off. That’s when this came.  Or, well, the idea of this to be honest.

So, that’s why you’re reading this slightly weird blog.  There’ll be more to come.  If I can be bothered.