Happy New Year!

Don't laugh - it's not like I was having fun at the end of the year so not posting isn't a surprise.

But despite it being a new year and a new decade, many things are exactly the same.

I downsized my car. Two of the cats needed dental surgery and it wasn't covered by our insurance. And we had a nearly new car sat outside, barely being used. So I sold it back to the dealership, bought an older car and used some of the money to pay the £600 odd vet bills. We have a small amount left and I am trying to make sure it doesn't get frittered away but it's not easy.

I'm writing again. It only started about a week or so ago, but I've written just under 10,000 words of a fanfiction story which is pretty amazing since based on my various journals and archiveofourown blogs it's been nearly four years.

Stripes and I are starting a new project. It was initially brought up because I was attending a diabetes eye check appointment and Stripes let me try on the scarf I had knitted for her about five/six years ago. It's an infinity scarf in either double or chunky knit and that thing is toasty!! I didn't want to give it back as it felt gorgeous. I did make myself an infinity scarf but my Marmee saw it and liked it so I ended up giving it to her. The next one I made for myself in a lovely brown shade, the teenager fell in love with so I gave it to her. Which leaves me without one.

So I decided I was going to make myself one, in a BRIGHT colour and it was going to stay as mine regardless of what anyone said. That then led to the idea of making knitted squares and making a quilt. So, Stripes and I have committed to knitting a square a month and at the end of the year, we're going to sew it together.

I have ordered an obscene amount of wool from eBay : bundles, offcuts and a few big cones. And we found a ball of wool in my knitting bag and started knitting. And it looks really good. So I'm impatiently waiting for the wool to arrive by post.

Teenager has not improved. She failed all of her mock exams and did the usual: cried, said she was disappointed, that she was going to do something different, then went right back to what she normally does. We had a phone call from the school and apparently, she's back to falling asleep in class, is regularly late, and has not been handing in assignments. She isn't going any of her chores at home and it's all incredibly frustrating and upsetting.

So yeah - new year, same old same old.

I will try to update this a bit more regularly though. I'll try!

Where did I go wrong?

Good grief, it's been a really shit summer!

I came off my diet with a vengeance and put back on 2 stone. I'm incredibly jealous of a good friend because she managed to stick to her plan and has now lost 92 lbs. 92 lbs is barely a dent in what I need to lose overall but I didn't even manage that before I tripped myself over and managed to grab failure with both hands.

I think I'm back on plan. Today is day seven. But yet, once again, things with the youngest daughter are getting into my head and taking precedence. We found out that she hasn't completed work from her previous year of school and is going to fail at least one of her subjects. That doesn't even take into account the rest of her school report. The only thing she is passing is P.E.

So we're spending our evenings basically standing over her whilst she completes the components needed. And we get no thanks, no appreciation - in fact, we get resentful and attitude. And all of that makes me want to have MacDonalds on speed dial.

I attended some counselling over the summer. But it turned into yet one more thing that I was putting a face on for - trying to pretend I was more together than I actually was. So I stopped that. Family Support has turned out to be a bit of a bust for us. The focus is on the youngest, which means that it's all about how we can make her do the things she's supposed to do. Everyone involved bends over backwards trying to find ways to make her understand how important all of this is regarding school work and life, and she nods and smiles, or cries, apologises and says she is going to change. Then leaves the room and completely forgets everything she said.

It's so completely frustrating and I make myself even madder because then I spend time trying to figure out where I went wrong. My older two kids are great. I mean, okay the eldest is part of a church that sometimes seems almost cult like. And my middle daughter has taken over far too much responsibility including being my carer, some finance of the house, the pets, the youngest. It's not fair and I know it adds to her stress and anxiety and I wish I could do something about it.

But none of that explains why the youngest acts the way she does. Why she doesn't expect a single, solitary thing from her Dad but expects that me and her sister will do absolutely everything for her, put up with all of this, and do it with a smile on our faces and a song in our hearts. I spend so much time feeling like I could scream that my chest hurts.

Everything hurts. And sometimes I wish it would all just go away.

Learning to let go

This Saturday just gone, I burnt my hand.
I was in the kitchen, working with some isomalt for my Cake International competition piece. Isomalt is basically a sugar derivative. To use it, you have to melt it down to the correct working temperature, which is above one hundred and twenty degrees. In other words, it's really bloody hot.

I've been trained in working with molten sugar, and I know how to avoid incidents. But occasionally, accidents happen.
I was checking my mould and the side split slightly, spilling liquid isomalt across my left hand.
Immediately, I put my hand under the cold tap and let the water run. Lil Monster heard me cry out when it happened, and rushed to my side, where she was a major help. She got me my phone, so that I could do some research on burns, as well as getting me paracetamol. She stayed with me whilst I was on the phone with NHS 111, and helped me through the flat, so that I could ask Wheelz to take me to A&E.

Wheelz and Lil Monster were fantastic, getting me to the hospital in record time.
I have nothing but high praise for the NHS, as I was triaged and treated very quickly, as well as being given supplies to dress my wounds.
The burns aren't too bad, thank goodness. A few second degree burns, where the isomalt touched me first, and a splatter pattern across the top of my palm and the base of my fingers in first degree burns.
The problem, of course, was that I was thoroughly wrapped in bandages, rendering my left hand pretty much useless. I hadn't even realised how much I use it on a day to day basis until suddenly, I couldn't.

Having to take a step back, and let people help me, has been a real learning curve over the last few days. I struggled to carry things, couldn't feed the cats properly, preparing food was too difficult. Basically all of the things that I'm used to doing, both for myself and my family, I couldn't do. Wheelz and Lil Monster had to step in with sorting dinner, feeding the cats, arranging the washing etc.

In fact, it started even earlier than that.
Usually, when we go out, I take a bag with me. My bag usually contains (this is not a complete list):
Phone
Keys
Purse
Wheelz's phone
Wheelz's keys
Wheelz's purse
Water bottle
Cereal bars
Boiled sweets (in case Wheelz faints)
Lip balm
Tissues
Pens
Paper/Notebook
etc.

Lil Monster had to pack a bag instead. I walked her through the basics of what I usually tow around with me, and she packed it into her hastily emptied PE bag.
The journey to the hospital was quick, and easy.
The next obstacle was parking. Usually, when there's a pay and display, I'll go over and sort it. If I don't have change, I'll find a nearby shop or food stall and make a small purchase in order to make change.
Lil Monster never usually has to think about this, as it's always handled. Thank goodness the pay and display was broken and we were allowed to park for free, because her distressed toing and froing was quite stressful to behold.

Next came the wheelchair. It seems so easy when you think of what needs doing. Remove from car, push into seating position, remove brakes.
But I couldn't do any of it. I just stood there like a lemon, unable to help with it at all, because it takes two hands. It hadn't ever occurred to me that Lil Monster didn't know to grab the seat cushion. That she didn't realise that Wheelz needs the brakes off if she's walking with the chair, and on if she's going to sit in it. Push down on the seat bars to put the seat in place, but make sure it's not too close to the car, so it doesn't hit it.
I felt micromanaging, because I felt as though I had to walk her through each step of what I do as a matter of course. It was a weird feeling, and one that I wasn't at all keen on.

For the most part, things at home have been OK. From Saturday afternoon, when we got home from the hospital, until last night, I was given 'invalid' status. So saying, I was off duty for my usual have to's, and would need helping out instead.
I'm not a very good patient. I have developed a fierce independent streak over the years, and having this stripped away has been a real learning curve. I've had no choice but to sit back and let other people help me out. I've had no choice but to let go.

And it's been hard. I suppose, because of the things I'm used to handling, I've developed my own way of managing things, and it's been difficult to let other people take charge. I've had to bite my tongue a few times, when things weren't being done in their usual way. Because not-my-way doesn't mean wrong (with the exception of weighing out cat food. Lil Monster has been overfeeding them, hence the four piles of cat sick Wheelz and I had to clean up last night).
I've been off duty for two and a half days, and nothing has fallen apart. We're all still standing.
Lil Monster really stepped up for me, and it was heartening to see.
So maybe me being forced to let go hasn't necessarily been a bad thing?

Having said that, my invalid status expired at midnight, so it's business as usual from here on out.

Dear N (potential trigger)

Sometimes, I wish I was mute.

That's not true.

Yeah, it kind of is.
Sometimes, I wish I couldn't speak, so that I wouldn't have to speak. Because sometimes, in our home, to speak is to pick a side. And to pick a side is to start a war.

For whatever reason, you argue less with me.
This is shitty. I am thrust into the middle of every argument, because without my presence, they descend into shouting, crying, yelling. Admittedly, even with my presence, this happens, but moreso when I'm not around to translate.
 It's so fucked up that I'm needed to do that. She makes sense. She does. She speaks with clarity and precision, as she's had to over the years dealing with you. She makes sense.
 You, on the other hand, play dumb. Is it because you like the attention of both of us? Is it that if you're going down, you want to drag me down with you? What makes you argue for hours and hours over the smallest word choice, until I have to get involved and dumb it down to three letter words, because it's half eleven and you need to go to bed?

I hate having to get involved, because it means that, whatever I say, it will be twisted and warped until it barely resembles my original words. I hate getting involved, because if I try and reason out either viewpoint, I feel as though I am betraying the other. I hate getting involved, because I'm so exhausted. I hear the same arguments, all the damn time, and nothing changes. I ask why, phrasing it in a million different ways, to hear I don't know, in that awful dead voice. I hate getting involved, because it makes my stomach clench and my head ache and my shoulders crunch up to my ears.
I hate that a simple question, a basic conversation, can lead to now; all three of us in separate rooms, feeling various levels of hurt.
I hate feeling like it's become one of my burdens to try and reform us, after Hurricane N has visited. I hate feeling like I hate my younger sister. Because I do feel that way. I do sometimes feel like I hate you. I listen to the things you say, and see the way you act and I think, God, why are we still living this? What epic mistake did we make that karma is paying us back, this hard?

I'm so tired of this. Of feeling so empty inside, so dead.
Sometimes, I feel as though you are a leaky bucket. You can never be completely filled. But instead of asking for help patching yourself up, you go around punching holes in everyone else, so that they hurt, too.
There are days when I wonder why we didn't make you go and live with your dad, last year. Logically, and when I'm feeling capable of looking to the future, I think it's probably a good thing. Your dad is actually not dissimilar to mine, and I know how hellish I found it living with him.
When I'm not feeling capable of looking to the future, I curse the fact that a train didn't come last year, when I was standing on the tracks, looking for a sign.
I made a promise to myself that I would be the sister to stick around, I'd be the one who was there. Sometimes, I can stand by that. Other times, I think I was a fucking idiot to put that on myself.

I don't know how to keep doing this. I don't know how to keep being there. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of feeling like I can't ask you to do anything. I'm fed up of dreading the time I know you'll be home from school. I hate the feeling of pure terror that fills me when I think about the upcoming summer holidays.

I don't know how much of it is in my control. I've spent hours, in my own head, trying to work out what more I can do to help you. Trying to figure out which parenting book to read, so that I can get through to you. Hanging around on parenting forums, trying to see how other families have coped with children like you.

The idea that some of it is not in my control, that it's in yours... I can't actually bear to think about it. Because sometimes, I'm not sure that you can change.
Sometimes, I'm scared that this is just... you.

What it means to be a carer *potential trigger warning*

I often find that people don't take it as seriously as they ought to, when I tell them that I'm Wheelz's carer. I don't know if it's because they don't truly understand what that means, or if it's because I'm her daughter and so they don't think it's a 'real job'. With a few people, I've gotten the impression that they think it's just an easy way for me to make some money from the government, without having to work for it!

In case it's not clear, that is categorically not true.

Being Wheelz's carer means a lot of different things to me, and I suppose some of those things are different to a paid, trained carer, because they're not related to her.
If I told people that I was a carer, and didn't mention that it's for my mother, they'd have a very different picture in their minds. They'd think I went to work in blue scrubs, visiting disabled/elderly people. They'd think that I went around, helping with painkillers and tablets, keeping a general eye on their health, and aiding them around their houses with both general and personal needs.
The truth is, I do all of that, except that Wheelz isn't elderly, and I'm generally wearing jeans and a hoodie.

But I do help her out with her painkillers and tablets throughout the day (especially the aspirin that never wants to come out of it's blister pack). I do keep an eye on her throughout the day, whether she's resting or awake. I keep track of her sleep, and how much of it she's not getting. I know roughly how much she's drinking throughout the day, and that realistically, it's not enough. I know what she's eating during the day, because I'm the one that prepares and cooks it. I know how much food is in the kitchen, and when the shopping needs doing, because I do the shopping and cooking. I help Wheelz around the flat when she's feeling unsteady, and have my ears trained in her direction when she's not. I'm her support both physically and emotionally.
When she has appointments to attend, regardless of whether they're blood tests, pain clinic or just med reviews, I go with her.
When she needs help walking to the bathroom and back because her knees aren't cooperating, I'm there to guide her, and help balance her as she walks.
And when she was feeling at her lowest low with everything, I was there to call the crisis team and put away the tablets that she'd been planning on taking.

I'm not saying that this is all one sided, of course. When I was having weekly panic attacks, and failing three driving tests in a row, Wheelz was there to give me a hug, and tell me that it didn't matter if I could drive or not.
When I'm not sleeping well, or I'm unwell, or it's day 2 of my period, she does everything she can to need me as little as possible.
What Wheelz and I have is unique and probably quite unusual, but it's been working for us.

I don't want this post to come across as pious. She's my mum, and I'd do all of that for her and more, if she needed me to.
But I'm sick and tired of feeling like I'm looked down upon for what I do. I may not be with an agency, or employed by the NHS, but I am a carer.
The truth is, no matter how willing we are to do it, family/friend carers, those of us who get by on Carer's Allowance, get paid a pittance for what we do. We do everything that an agency/NHS carer would do and more, as well as being paid less and being judged more.

Despite how difficult it can be at times, I truly wouldn't change what we have. Wheelz is my very best friend, and I know we're lucky to be so close. My work is being with my best friend all the time, which not very many people get.
But being a carer is not a free ride. It is not sitting at home all day, doing sweet fuck all and being paid for it. It is just as much work as any other job.
I wouldn't change what I do, because being there for Wheelz is probably the most fulfilling thing I've ever done with my life.
But I would change how other people saw it.
I wish everyone truly understood what it actually means to be a carer.