I don’t quite know where we are at most days. This morning she was her usual (not wanting to get ready for school) self. We got out of the door later than normal, and she was being awkward on the way to school. She hid under the table after she finished her morning activity on the computer (which is normally her favourite). She cheered up when she saw her new friend. I can tell that this is going to be one of her friends that she gets overly attached to.
I caught up on housework and then got a surprise call from the child support agency. (Dinky’s dad has not seen her, and he hasn’t contributed at all to her. The CSA wasn’t about money for money’s sake. I had no choice but to have dinky when I found out I was pregnant. It takes 2 to tango and I have been left with all the responsibility of brining up the child we created. The child which, I have made sacrifices for, in order to do right by her. I had to work part time, and I couldn’t afford to give her everything she deserved. The CSA was his way of contributing to her life. Maybe I could say when she is older, that although he didn’t see her, he still made sure she was provided for. However he hasn’t paid a penny, and I would only use the money for her.)
Anyway, the CSA said that he has finally agreed to make payments. I thought wonders would never cease!
My dad called, he wasn’t feeling 100%, asked if I could do him dinner. Problem is he phoned at just before I went to pick up Dinky, which meant I had to take dinky shopping.
I walked to the school and she seemed happy enough, until I said we weren’t going to the park. Then she ran, she ran through the crowd at the gate, out of the gate, down the path toward the road, went in to the shop and ran round the shop. EVERYONE was looking at us! Judging, tutting, and staring. Which of course only added fuel to the fire. She was kicking and biting. I had to try to ignore her. She was too far gone to reassure and hug out of it. Once she had clamed down a bit I managed to give her a hug. People were looking at me as if I were nuts! Do you know… I don’t care. I looked at my daughter and my heart felt for her. She seemed scared.
Then she was great, she even helped with the shopping. Then I got a text asking if I could pick up painkillers for him.
So we went into the chemist. Dinky was fine, until, the woman said we could put the packet which was in a paper bag, into the co-op bag.
dinky: But it doesn’t come from there
Sales person: yes but it doesn’t matter
Dinky: Yes it does! It didn’t come from there. Mum, it didn’t come from there.
Me: it is ok, I will hold it
Sales person (ignoring the fact dinky is getting wound up and frustrated) : Yes but it is only a bag, just put it in the bag.
Meltdown part 2. I get kicked and dinky (now on wrist reins), tries to hide behind the aisle. She wants the moshie monster toothpaste and mouth wash. When I tell her she cant have them because they are for big children, I get attacked again. I am then kicked as I scowl at the sales assistant, and kicked most of the way up the street. Cue stares! I tell her that she is hurting me and that I do not like it. Of course this makes no difference.
finally she calms enough for another hug where she apologises and says that she doesn’t like getting angry.
At home I drop all demands. I told her she had a reading book and that it was her choice if she wanted to read it, and if she did I would read her one too. So she read 2 books and I did the same! She ate loads, and then my dad came and he got her ready for bed.
We chatted, ate, I kicked his backside at FIFA, and then he went home.
I am shattered again. Tomorrow is the last school day before the half term. I am going to rest tomorrow as her special needs trip isn’t until the Friday. Which will be ok, but tiring. I have a few things planned so we wont get bored!
Another day bites the dust. Day in, day out, this is how we live. It isn’t easy, and it isn’t the most difficult existence. Each day I am grateful for the things that make me smile, and I celebrate every achievement. Her achievements differ from that of the average 5 year old, but I wouldn’t change her for the world.