Best laid plans...

Well, so much for blogging about our move back to the UK... it turns out that moving a whole family from one continent to another, including starting new schools and jobs, finding, losing and finding new housing, navigating the British legal, health, educational and financial systems as a default foreigner, unpacking a large container of slightly damaged possessions, and settling in to a 16th Century, listed cottage, all takes a bit of time, and does not leave much free time for blogging... go figure! It makes me smile to look back at my last entry, written 11 months ago, and see that getting mobile communications up and running was my biggest concern. I guess that is just another lesson in "this, too, shall pass" and keeping things in perspective. A lesson I very much need to remember today.

I am curled up on a giant, red beanbag, in what we call our "sensory alcove" of the aforementioned 16th Century Cottage (Bolebec Cottage), after a pretty rough night with our little sensory-seeking adventurer, who is fast asleep, and buried in cushions beside me. The alcove is actually the walled-off fireplace on the dining room side of a huge, ancient chimney, in the centre of the house, with an active fireplace on the other, living room side. It was a selling point of the house, especially for him, since the previous occupants had had the brilliant idea of artfully placing a small mattress, cushions and curtains here, to make it a comfortable, hidey-hole nook. Of course, our version is a lot less organised and definitely less artfully designed, and just has all our spare cushions, bean bags and a motley assortment of blankets piled into it. Not exactly Architectural Digest (because so much of my life is...!) but more "Hoarders - the soft furnishings edition." But, despite that, or probably because of it, it is our little one's favourite place to calm down and hide from the world. Or, last night, on the hottest night in Britain for the last decade, and after a rather stressful week for him, the ONLY place that he would go to sleep. I, stupidly, fought this, and tried instead to get him settled first in his own bedroom in the attic, which was about 100 degrees last night, and then, in my bedroom, where I could keep an eye on him and try to help him get settled. Except at that point, he was totally ramped up, and manic, and I was exhausted. So, after much fighting, arguing and a little bit of sobbing on my part, I gave up, and let him come down here where he crashed at a little after 11 pm.

So, of course, getting him up early for school this morning, was challenging, to say the least. Dear husband is away on business, and so this means getting little one up earlier than usual, to drag him out on the drive to the station to drop the older one off. By the time we had done that, it was clear that 1) little one was too exhausted to get anything useful out of school today anyway, and 2) I was too exhausted to fight with him anymore. So we came home, where he has been sleeping ever since. This does not bode well for getting him to sleep tonight, but I am making the most of the peace right now.

Fortunately, school were pretty understanding about him skipping a day, since I have had lots of meetings with them in the last few weeks to try to get them to understand some of our challenges with his behaviour. He does really well during the school day, white knuckling his way through all the restrictive rules, and lack of sensory input, but then explodes with energy and frustration when he gets home. Bedtimes are a particular challenge - always have been since he was a little baby and needed to be rocked and bounced for hours every night, and probably always will be. Recently, things have been worse than usual, though, and, maybe more significantly, I have just got tired of the battles. Eleven years of trying to manage 2-3 hour bedtime battles with no respite, no matter how well we understand where it is coming from, is just exhausting, and I am at a low ebb.

The irony is that although I have been struggling to keep it all together, I was starting to feel as if I was making progress, and things were on the upswing again. I had had some productive meetings with school, and they were doing some things both in the short-term to help little guy in the classroom, and in the longer term to coordinate with the secondary school that he will be entering in September. Also, he has been at that secondary school for a couple of days of induction with the rest of the incoming class earlier this week, and that seemed to go well - he will never admit it, but he seemed tentatively excited to have a little more independence, and we'd found out his form teacher is going to be a young, energetic, male PE teacher... thank you to whoever thought that one through for us. So I started off yesterday tentatively optimistic... dressed in a cool, flowery top that made me feel the right combination of hip and professional, and ready to face the world for once.

Before it all went wrong...

Ahhhh... hubris. Today, I am a dishevelled and sleep-deprived mess. And I feel like the world's worst parent for letting things get so out of hand last night, and only being able to think about my own grief and pain.

But... you know what? As bad as I felt this morning, I have had some tea, and some rest. I have decided to let go of that belief that I must get the kids to school EVERY SINGLE DAY NO MATTER WHAT OR I HAVE FAILED AS A PARENT! (Sorry for the caps, but that voice in my head can be awfully strident). A friend stopped by for a cup of tea, and said all the right things about how we all feel like we are failing as parents and reassured me that I am doing all the right things. (Thank you, Suzy!) And I am writing again. For the first time in ages. Which is definitely a good thing. I am pressing the reset button. Now back to my messy, complicated life... See you all out there...