A last word for 2015

The husband is at work.

Son#1 is off with friends - we confiscated his bought-and-paid-for-himself tablet that he has been watching all sorts of shooting games/clips/whatnot with.

He turns into an aggressive fireball afterwards.

I worry about him and what he will turn out to be.

It has a strange Jedi/Dark Side-ring to it.

Will he choose to use this force in him to be good or choose bad things?

Lately, he blames us for his bad behaviour, which is bridge too blooming far.

Son#2 and #3 are happily at home.

#3 keeps taking off his clothes and licks his brother's food/snacks etc. before giving it to him.

Sigh.

I have a good case of PMS, of which I am convinced that the 'S' stands for Satan.

I attempted to make gluten-free oliebollen but, alas, it has flopped again.

I'll eat the flops regardless, although it truly isn't very tasty.

I tried to emulate Modigliani's Christina, but ended up giving it my own ring as my hands hurt and I kept buggering up the eyes.

Left hand now in a brace, aaaaaaaaah bliss.

 Practice, practice, practice.

Now, go on Miserable Year.

Bugger the bloody hell off.

On to new and better things.

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Night on the tiles

The husband took us out for a (gluten free) pizza.
Our kids were so well-behaved, bar Son#2 who screamed 'I have a willy infection!' quite loudly and repeatedly after having gone to the loo twice already.
Not sure what the other pizza patrons were thinking at that stage.
I dared not look over my shoulder.

But, the boys had a ball, playing tag under glowing trees wrapped with Christmas lights, zigzagging amongst pedestrians, and we let them run because when you're a kid and out at night, you should be doing just that.
A walk through the dark park back to the car.
The sheer thrill of it.
Home, pajamas and a bit of TV.

Tomorrow we'll bake Dutch oliebollen.
Chill the Champagne that's been lying in the cellar for more than a year, waiting for a celebration.
Be calm and kind.

Happy 2016, dear reader. 
Treat your time well.


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Summary

We are beset with stomach bugs.

Son#2 fell asleep on the couch - and if Mr Hiiiiigh Energy falls asleep while the sun is still out, you KNOW that he ain't feeling all that chipper.

My right arm and leg stopped working during the course of the afternoon, but functionality returned in time to cook supper which the kids ate with pulled faces.

Grateful?

Unsure.

We have candles and a dishwasher which isn't actually me, a new cupboard to stuff all our cluttered crap in, and a hot shower awaits me before I crawl into bed.

Two more days and this crappy year will close.

Thankful, I am.

New Year's will be a quiet affair - meaning I can go to bed at 8 as usual. 

Bliss.

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It's a family affair

The Christmas Season.

We did the food, hit a new playground in a small harbour nearby, then home again.

The husband made fire.

Son#1 (PUBERTY!) was given freedom to go deliver home-made Christmas cards to his friends.

Son#3 is a Duplo Genius and built his own (!) version of the Eiffel Tower.

Tomorrow, in the afternoon, we'll have drinks with friends in the village.

Wish my mum could be here with us!

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This beautiful life

Son#1's impulsive behaviour at school is a cause for concern, so it's back to parent-teacher meetings again.
Somehow (but this might be innate to motherhood?) I feel like we've screwed the kids up.
Our stress, our inability to roll with the punches, our lack of maturity and a confirmed lack of any wisdom whatsoever...
Deep sigh.
You think you've given it your best shot but that might not be enough to ensure that the kids will look back and love their childhoods.

Son#1 and I lay in bed watching Mr Bean DVDs last night, until he finally nodded off at 22h00.
A friend from high school lost her son to Cystic Fibrosis a fortnight ago - a beautiful, talented kid with eyes that laugh.
Count those blessings, Yo.


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Surprise, surprise

We are alive.

Still.

I have been referred to a rehab centre in Breda to get me up to (physical) scratch again.

Hopefully I'll walk out of there by summer, with bulging muscles and a chipper attitude.

Son#3 and I are at home alone today.

He keeps singing 'I am a lucky boy' to his own self-constructed tunes.

We survived the annual buy-a-christmas-tree-hell last night, parents and children semi-hysterical, but not as bad as last year's excursion.

The husband is close to losing his marbles, and is cutting back his work hours a bit in order to survive a while longer.

What can I say.

It's been a tough (couple of) year(s).

I have slowly started my Low Dose Naltrexone.

I'm only on 1mg per day - I need to increase this to 4,5mg over the next few months.

Tonight the husband and I are volunteering at the rugby club, working behind the bar where they don't serve alcohol (gasp!) during youth training nights.

We're all going to see Snoopy tomorrow at the movies - a first for the 5 of us.

Funfunfun

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With ease

I met up with an old friend - she is utterly intelligent and utterly pragmatic.
No faffing around with jumbled emotions. 
Just clarity and simplicity, and her message was clear:
You need to be happy.
You need to do things that make you happy.
Even amidst negative things, find something positive and focus on that.
Check.

In the morning, I'll go pick up my Low Dose Naltrexone (and may the gods thoroughly bless my GP for that).
I'm sending blood off to Germany to test for chronic Lyme's disease.
It will cost a fortune, I'm sure, but it seems like the next necessary step.
I don't want whatever-I-have to get even worse, thankyouverymuch.

The kids are calm, except for Son#1 who seems to break down in tears every (bloody) time I ask him to study for a test.
We're already starting to scout for a high school, which will be largely determined by where his 2 best friends are going.
The husband borders on a breakdown, but with a bit of humour and Port we might bash our way through it.
You think that in your 40s life will be smooth sailing, but it isn't, you know.
You question everything.

Be kind to yourself.


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Take these broken wings and learn to fly

Honesty is a bitch.
I haven't been feeling up to much lately - physically, mentally.

My results came back from my hospital stay, delivered by a youthful, pretty girl, not yet qualified who will go home tonight and tell her young boyfriend about the middle aged lady crying in her office today.
This is the world of the Medical No-man's-land:  no diagnosis.

I stopped her from talking anymore right after she began:  You're going to tell me to go home because you couldn't find anything?
I asked her if I should accept the status quo or keep hoping (and pursuing) improvement.
She suggested the former.
She tried to fob me off with a rehabilitation doctor and pain clinic appointment, but I'm afraid this is simply not sufficient nor satisfactory anymore.

I drove through Rotterdam in tears, not giving a shit what I looked like should anyone see - a blessing when you're 40-fucking-1.
And then I turned the radio on, and the Beatles were singing 'Take these broken wings and learn to fly, all your life'.
There must be a god.
I stopped for Port on the way home.

But - this is the conundrum - which way do I go from here?

Against all reasonable advice - union, lawyer, medical:  I have to quit my job.
I don't know how, but I have to.
I'll be dead in a year if I go back.

So that would be step 1.

I've been reading up on Low Dose Naltrexone (Naltrexone is really for [us] alcoholics and drug addicts, you give it to someone who has overdosed on heroin - but small doses help to strengthen immune systems and fight pain and fatigue).
My GP knows nothing about it but understands my desperation and is willing to give it a try.

That would amount to step 2.

I have no idea where to go after that.

It's been a thoroughly shit year, and instead of getting better, I've gotten worse.
Not only the stress from being-ill-with-no-probable-cause, but the stress it places on one's family and then work stress also making itself known.

The things that continue to ring my bell are, and remain to be, my family, my mum, painting and studying.

Et voila.
Easy peasy.
Right?



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Isolation

Changes happen quickly.

At nearly midnight, I was moved to isolation.

Some hospital bug.

The new room has great views of Rotterdam.

Ships, cars and people come and go.

The only downsides are that I can't use the bathroom and I can't continually get myself a coffee from the machine down the hall.

It is quiet though.

And I slept like a babe from around 3 a.m. onwards.

Count yer blessings, missy!

Hopefully I can go home again tonight.

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What a lot I've got

My mother has come and gone, leaving a gaping hole at home.
I'm spending a few days in hospital, in Rotterdam, for tests to check my adrenals and to see if my fever peaks high enough. 
As I write, I'm sporting 38,3 degrees, but alas: it has to be 38,5 before they'll draw blood.

The lady in my room has dermatomyositis, a man next door passed away.
I've weasled my way into getting released tomorrow night - quickquick, thankyouverymuch.
I'm in pain - the usual suspects in my arms and legs, plus some serious neuropathy in my right arm for good measure.

The husband was forced to take days off.
The boys go fishing close to our house.

Next week I have to see my boss.
I'm unable to continue with the stress he delivers, chopping 20% off of my salary and so forth.
In my own way, I also attempt to move forward.
I'm still alive, not wearing nappies like my hospital roommate.
So far so gooooood.


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Barking

Son#3, in a nasty tablet-throwing-mother-beating-screaming funk, has been at it for 4 days.

Inevitably, so have I, and we seem to feed off each other's energy.

I went to bed at 7 last night, lest I rip someone's head off.

I seem to know my limits after all.

My mother leaves next week.

It went by too fast.

She stepped into our life with easy strides, but the exit will be dramatic. 

The immunologist will re-assess all my tests and PET-scans, ordered new blood tests.

I just need a starting point.

That's all.

Just a 'this-is-what-you-have'.

I'm a sucker for clarity.

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A wee bit of sunshine

Quickly gone again.

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Waiting for Trains

Abcoude to Amsterdam.

Short but sweet.

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Steamtrained

We have had hellish weeks.
There have been discussions with school after Son#2 (he is only 7!!) got detention for the gazillionth time (and he's such a rule-follower, not a trouble maker at all).
His teacher is not kind, inexperienced, hormonal.
And when you're 7 and not particularly self-confident, you need a kind teacher.

Son#1 has a new teacher whom he still needs to get used to (and he ran away from school - again).

Then an altercation with my employer who thought it prudent to cut my contract down (legally, he hasn't a leg to stand on and implied that I'm a bad employee for asking for my rightful salary).
Panic attacks.
Two of them.

I had to see a psychiatrist to see if I'm depressed or not.
Funny thing - I don't feel depressed at all.
But she thought so anyway.
Mmmmm.

Tomorrow I have to see the immunologist in Rotterdam.
Son#2 is dreadfully sick, running a helluva fever.

But I have tropical-island-escape-plans in my head...
Escape this void consumerism: the design furniture, the fake veneer of supposed perfection and success, the close proximity of others here in the Nether Lands that makes my skin crawl.
I don't want to keep up with the Joneses.
I want to shoot them.




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Bookmark

I once got a bookmark while still at university.
It said 'Be Productive Today'.
I still have it somewhere.

I woke up with terrible pain in my hands, but then my mother and I started looking at dream houses in the Karoo and next thing I knew, there was an easel in the dining room.
The SupPORT helped too (may the gods bless alcohol).

The new painting is already hanging in the living room.

Now rugby on the tv, and the boys almost ready to go to bed.

Exhausting yet Productive day.
I'm just glad my hands held fast.



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Alive (not kicking)

I have to share Son#1's art.
Here is 'Pooping Cheetah, headless chicken'.

Gotta love him to bits.

Medical tests continue.
I spoke to a doctor today who told me that my story made her 'a bit sad'.
Illness brings loneliness.
Vast loneliness.
She thinks that my mystery illness is an AWOL on my body's side.
Too much work & stress at home and at work.
The proverbial bucket is empty.
Adrenal glands probably shot to smithereens.
Recovery???, I asked.
No less than a year.

I'm still hoping to (finger) point to some external cause - it cannot be my bodily fed-up-o-meter that has reached its zenith, surely!
I can't physically manage ALL stressors??
What do you mean 'limits'???
Ri-di-cu-lous.


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Novacious

Life out in the Styx has been groovy and quiet.
It is simply WONDERFUL having my mother here: my self- confidence returned with a vengeance.
School gallops ahead, the boys are busy but content.

My continued illness (38.9 degree fevers, pain, stiffness, too tired for words) is a concern.
Should I try and keep my job?
Is it the job causing all the problems?
Should I cut and run (like hell)?
I lack concentration & energy.
Next month an appointment with an immunologist at an academic hospital.
I am not holding my breath any longer.
The fact is that I might and will probably NEVER know what is wrong with me.

But there is room for good things too.
A quick breakfast with my mum.
Feeling calm and peaceful despite the turmoil that being chronically ill can bring.
I'm a better mother.
My kids seem to love me despite my faults.
The husband thinks I'm pretty damn cool.
My employer seems to want to keep me on the payroll.
I have a student trying to march me to the exam commission after she failed a course for the 3rd time, but it leaves me unaffected.
We have fire.
And supPORT.

Life or circumstances are far, FAR from ideal.
But it could all be quite crap, and it isn't.
Small, grand mercies.


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Playing hooky

Life is calm with my mother here.
The husband and I go out often.
To the movies (While we're young - too Woody Allen-ish, not my taste).

Last night we went for a drive looking for a cheap bite, and ended up at a Chinese restaurant in the next village.
Deeeelicious.

Son#3 is playing hooky.
It's been an adjustment for the kids, this school-rules-and-conformity business.

I have a meeting with my boss next week.
The GP told me that I will most certainly NOT be better in 2 months' time.
She is still convinced that this physical breakdown is stress, and I am finally willing to accept it.

The sun is shining, and I'm sitting under a blanket, warm and snug.
My car has petrol in it, and there is still money to buy groceries with, despite my salary having dropped with a whopping 20% this month.
We have so much, and it is enough.
All problems will be resolved.
Small steps.


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Hedonism

The Fun.

The Games.

The pure joy of having an albeit temporary, live-in granny.

School starts again in the morning, but Sons#2 & 3 are awake now at 3 a.m. from the end-of-summer thunder storms that violently split the skies.

Son#3 lies prostrate like a mouse huddled under the blankets, while Son#2 gives running commentary.

Son#1 sleeps on, unawares, as only near-teenagers can.

Lucky bugger.

We'll be knackered, all of us.

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Waiting

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Goodgood

Here they are then: brothers who play and share stuff.

Miraculous.

As I write, my mother is on a plane, en route to Johannesburg.

Then on to Abbu Dhabi, final destination Amsterdam where we'll pick her up at 3 tomorrow.

We're very excited!

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Say Hello

Son#1's friend came for a sleep-over.
They stayed awake until 1 a.m. and, inadvertently, so did I.
Now Son#1, #2 and said friend have disappeared into the village and #3 is forcing me to watch Toy Story with him.

Tonight, the babysitter is coming and we're going to Antwerp.
The need for time without kids is great.
Great.
I'm going to study for a bit, sip my endless coffee supply and hope I'll wake up before our date.

The university where I teach is up and running again, and I feel this pull to start working, but I suspect it's just my normal schedule kicking in and it's not what I need now.
The fever/elevated temperature continues.
I have pain, which one gets used to to a certain extent.

The sun is shining, it's a lovely day, and we have a helluvalot of things going for us, you know?

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Agog

It's quiet.
The boys play in their respective rooms - not under duress, but because they like it.
Except for Son#3, colouring a box while I try to read.
He's busy drawing a Boxtroll, bless.

The husband is shell-shocked after the holiday.
I have appointments to make, administration to see to.
I have to start studying again.
Same old, same old.

In a week's time we'll be on our way to pick up my mom from the airport.
Something to look forward to!


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Business as Usual

It rains a lot, which doesn't boost morale if one is in need of a boost.
The poor husband has returned to work - already stressed again.
These feelings of freedom and rested bliss last but a short while.

I saw a friend whom I haven't seen for 6 years yesterday.
She felt like home.

Then this morning, a colleague dropped by, spewing information about work and changes that I couldn't quite follow.
My mind is far, far away from work.
It feels good, but it also always looms in the background.
Damn Lottery just won't come through.

Then the internal medicine specialist phoned.
She's referring me to an auto-immune specialist, but tells me they won't find anything.
She was also miffed that I saw an alternative medicine doctor, disregarding the streptococcus infection he found in a perfectly standard blood test.
If he ordered the test, then he must explain it!
Mmmm.

All the while, I'm humming Randy Crawford's One day I'll fly away in my head.
Right now, my place in this world is at home, and nowhere else.



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Back from Outer Space

It's my 41st birthday (gulp).
I got to sleep late, got drawings from the boys and flowers from the garden.

This afternoon the five of us drove to a piano shop in Breda - just to see what's on offer, but it's quite expensive, even if you can buy one on interest-free credit.
It would be lovely, though.

Then we bought sardines for the husband, wine and melanzane-ingredients for me.
The husband is enjoying a nap, the boys and I watch TV.
It's a lazy, rainy day here in the southern Nether Lands (would that then be the Nether Nether Lands??).
I'm 41, and quite tired.

Breathe.
Smile.
Repeat.


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Noblesse Oblige

We stayed up late to see the lights on Chartres' cathedral last night, and all of us feel the indulgence of that act this morning.

A short walk after breakfast this morning, a breakfast brought to our suite by no fewer than three people.
Aaaah, the good life.

But we saw the cathedral, inside and out, and it was breathtaking.
Things #1 and #2 fought on the street, bringing our snobbishness back on par with reality.
We're checking out and slowly trailing back to the Nether Lands.
The party's over.


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Once again so my mum can see

The hotel in Chartres.

Our suite's foyer (ahem).

The boys, calm and collected.

Satan, who finally fell asleep before he ruined everyone's fun (as he is wont to do).

A better bed than the one in Le Rheu.

Siiiiiiigh.

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Capital F

F for Fancy.
We are sleeping in a Fancy hotel.

It's a suite.
Our suite has a foyer.
There are bathrobes and L'Occitane bath products.
We tried not to look too impressed and come across as utter amateurs.
Son#1 carries snobbishness off like a boss, complaining beforehand that he doesn't enjoy eggs for breakfast, and he would appreciate tea as well, thankyouverymuch.

First, a nap with Son#3 who has been naughty since Rennes, saying naughty words and biting his brothers.

Later, a small dinner and looking at Chartres' cathedral.
The boys (and us) will have to stay awake until at least 10.

Tomorrow the holiday will really be over.



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A bientot, Le Rheu

Mmmmm.
We are leaving around lunch.
We came, we saw and were conquered: by landscapes, seascapes, cities and our boys.
When everyday stressors fall away, we see each other again, and that was grand.

Saint-Malo was uber-busy yesterday, but very, very impressive.

We walked the city walls, followed steps down into the city again and picked the first restaurant we saw for a last lunch.
We had fish, the boys steak.
White wine, great company.

It's been a fantastic holiday.
I think my best one yet.

Tonight, Chartres.
We're staying in a nice hotel, because it will be my 41st birthday on Saturday.
Merde.


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