GuestPost- My Compulsive, Impulsive Oddball Child

I wasn’t sure what to expect when Diane told me the title of her guest-post! I’m glad I had no idea because I don’t think I could have imagined such a heartwarming, sympathy-invoking, giggle-starting post! This one hits all the buttons. A real issue described in a fantastically candid way. What better for a blog called Curly & Candid?!

Please take a minute to leave Diane a comment, I know she would appreciate it,

N x

Sometimes we all need an impartial, emotionally distant sounding board for nothing more than offloading – which is why I’m grateful for Nicki to allow me to chew the fat with you good folks.

I’m a Mrs. Average – a working mum with two kids, husband, non-descript freelancing career, grey roots and too many pounds on my derriere.  You wouldn’t glance twice at me in the street.

However, my youngest daughter has destroyed this anonymity.  Whenever she’s with me, in public, she draws all eyes our way.

She has chronic exhibitionism and obsessive tendencies.  If she hasn’t commanded everyone’s attention wherever we choose to go, she sees it as a failure.  Knickers?  Not for her, not in public.  She goes out with them on but doesn’t always return with them in situ.  We don’t eat out much – the sight of my daughter’s front bottom or the contents of her nose don’t tend to sit well with a three course meal.

I would never want to revisit the potty-training stage again, that’s for sure.  Her obsession at that point was, not surprisingly, poo.  She didn’t just want to feel its texture like other curious children – oh no – she wanted to either eat it or spread it all over herself like moisturiser – and always when someone came to the door.  You could guarantee once the doorbell went, it was ‘clothes off, poo on’.

The medical world wasn’t very sympathetic.  When I told them about her behaviour, they’d claim, “She’s normal and healthy – all kids do things like that”.  All kids eat dog poo, too?

At the moment she’s turned stalker.  There’s a shy boy in her class who she’s taken a shine to; (I think he’s that timid he doesn’t know how to deal with her).  She follows him constantly and bombards him with phone calls whenever I’m out of the room.  When I apologised to his mother and explained her personality she laughed.  “Oh, she’s fine – it’s cute!” she said.  Now she’s understood…it stops being cute after a few weeks.  Their phone gets left off the hook.

I’ve tried reprimanding her but she doesn’t seem to ‘hear’ me.  She doesn’t care about anything so punishing her goes unnoticed.  Naughty step – she’d sit there all night but not learn anything.  Taking toys from her doesn’t even register.  Shouting at her gives me a headache but my words fall on deaf ears.

She’s seven now and I’m used to her little ways.  I try and rein her in as much as I possible can though her teachers just tell me she’s disruptive.  (Tell me something I don’t know).  All I can say is, I’m glad she’s my second child because I definitely wouldn’t have had more, had she been the first!

Because nothing shocks me now, I try and enjoy her unique personality.  The benefits are that she knows no fear, and she could chew the fat with anyone, of any age.  She’s fantastic at drama and friends come easy to her as they think she’s brave, funny and affectionate – which she is.

And I love her to bits.

There, now I’ve sounded off.  I’m sorry if I’ve left an image with you of when she was three, naked, and covered in poo.

One definite benefit – it certainly got rid of any door-to-door salesmen!

Diane Hall is a freelance writer, writing coach/editor and proofreader; a married mother of two, therefore, a slave to three. To read more visit the blog and her website.

GuestPost: A Nice Cup Of Tea, a simple act of kindness

I’m very lucky to have this fab, and heartwarming guest post on C&C today from Susanne who blogs over at GhostWritingMummy (have a nosy!). This is a story of how a simple act of kindness at the right moment can mean so much to someone.

Thanks for sharing this Susanne x

I’ve already written about my son’s birth and the fact that it is the event that led me here, to this world of blogging. I have also written about the emergency section through my husband’s eyes as it is something that has bothered me a great deal. I hate to think of my husband being left alone in the delivery room after they’d whisked me down to theatre. The room must’ve been buzzing with silence after so much activity and fear. I hate to think that they just left him there…

My son’s birth affected so much in our lives and we lost valuable time, precious moments we’ll never get back. I was asleep when my son was lifted from me, lifeless and limp. He was alone in those first few minutes when they pushed a tube down his throat and urged his lungs to take in the air around him. My husband was alone. I was alone.

My son was an hour old when they ripped the tube from my own throat and urged me to open my eyes; to look at my baby. My son had been cleaned and wrapped in a blanket. He had a name and a weight and a whole hour of his life under his belt before I even opened my eyes. I think that the most painful realisation is that I- his mother- had not even known he existed for that first hour of his life. I went to sleep thinking I had lost him.

When they thrust him onto me I felt almost outraged. It was indescribable. This surely wasn’t the baby that had been inside me? Why did everyone keep congratulating me? Why were they insisting that I look after this baby?

My son was born at 6.45pm. By 9pm my husband had been sent home and I was left with my baby to sleep on a groaning ward. I felt no pain, just numbness and confusion. It was the next day that the terror began. The following evening, after the joyful visitors had gone home, happy to have seen their son/ brother/ grandson/ nephew, I was left alone in agony. I had a black and blue body, an excruciatingly painful scar and an agonisingly sore throat and neck. Unable to sleep, I shuffled down the corridor looking for someone to take pity on me. A midwife found me in the small kitchen and performed a small act of kindness that I will remember forever. She made me a cup of tea.

I don’t drink tea. Readers of my blog will know I am a coffee drinker. That night, however, I was too broken to argue. I took a cup of tea with two sugars and it was the nicest drink I have ever tasted. It was made with kindness, in my hour of need. At a time when everyone I loved was far away and could only be reached via telephone. It was a hug from my daughter, a kiss from my husband and a moment with my mum. It was a blanket to wrap me in, to warm me and to calm me. It was the English way, the perfect remedy to any crisis. In the time it took to drink it, my heart stopped galloping and my breathing returned to normal. In that short twenty minutes I felt a reprieve from the nightmares and anxiety that had already started and, unknown to me, were to continue. It truly was a good old nice cup of tea.

Why not leave Susanne a comment, I know she’d appreciate & catch up with her on Twitter!