Well hubby's weekly appointment to see the Dr was cancelled yesterday. One of her patient's needed urgent attention - which is fine and dandy. I commented to my friend that it was probably one of her clients that was running amock at the hospital and it turned out it was, but he'll get to see his CPN sometime next week.

Hmph. Sometime next week. This narked me slightly, because he was to be seen weekly to ensure he was ok (ok?...) off the meds. Then I had a sit and a think about it, and him seeing his CPN isn't a bad thing. He hates her. Why? I hear you chorus. Well it's because he can't "fill her with bullsh**e" like he does everyone else. She sees beyond that, and he knows it. It's simply the fact that he sticks to their rules, and then the rug is pulled from beneath him and it isn't his fault, although he's delirious that the meeting was cancelled because "I've got away with it for another week". What he hasn't twigged is that the CPN hasn't seen him since before he came off the meds and that she is going to see him in week three, almost four of no meds and the difference will be more obvious to her. Good - says me.

This morning he got up and looked awful, really awful. He kind of looks a little lost, and the work for the shed (dum dum d'aaahhhhh) is starting to be made more complicated than it needs to be. We're only discussing foundations at this moment but by gum, he's making it harder than it needs to be. Fortunately our neighbour dragged him off to his garage so a distraction was there and hopefully we can re-address this issue when it comes up again.

On a happy note, Littley passed her green belt in kick-boxing with a C+ last night and I'm so, so proud of her. It's the highest grade she's received and the instructor says that she's showing promise. Bless her. Apparently all the new boys come in and think she's an easy target because she'd blow over in a gust of wind and she's a girl. They only make that mistake once lol.

I'm still happy, happy, happy with my Gtec sweeper thingy. It's the best £50 I've spent, and the girls and hubby have all been told it's a girls and hubby free zone and the only person allowed to use it, touch it or even look at it is me. Oh, and when I went to my friend's house for coffee the other day apparently all she could smell on me was Pledge. A cheap alternative to perfume, but not sure I want to smell of Springtime Meadows...

I'm in an upbeat mood today, and even ventured into Middley's bedroom. I made it out alive - wahoo! What the girls haven't realised is that whilst they're away at Grandpa's next week (school holidays begin tonight) that I will be venturing into their rooms with CSI whitesuit, plastic gloves, breathing apparatus and bin bags. Guess what? I'm really looking forward to it - what's wrong with me?...

Whoo whoo... all aboard that's coming aboard...

Well I thought that the decline might be quicker than it has been, but wowzers. Day 1 - 4 off the meds and he was high as a kite, energy abound, eyes wide open, and it was go, go, go. Day 5 and there was a little evidence of him not being quite normal (what does that mean anymore?), day 6 and it was like you're waiting for the volcanoe to errupt but you didn't know when and you don't know how big it will be and there's that unsettled vibe in the air - and the girls have noticed, but today is day 7.

It's a whole new ball game today. Constance have you made my coffee? It's right infront of you sweetheart (I know, I'm nice - just don't tell anyone, they won't believe you), but if you've finished it, I'll make you another one. Nope. He hadn't touched the coffee. Constance can you charge my phone - he's sat with the phone and the charger right infront of him. Constance can you get me my watch? Constance where's my boiler suit? Getting the picture? He's lost that bit sparkle in his eyes, his face is puffy, he looks old and a little bit lost.

I don't know if he'll manage to pull it out of the bag tomorrow when he sees the doctor - she's not daft, but if he does, he won't be able to next week. 

They've been treating him for Alzheimers (must remember to change that in my bio) and the medication is for Alzheimers, and they want to prove he has Alzheimers because he's responding too well to the Alzheimers meds and they don't understand why. So take him off the Alzheimers meds, stand back and let's see what happens. Well, Mr. Fancy Pants Doctor in Edinburgh, the result is that he declines, and he's showing strains off what he was like at the start (which I can not go back to because it was awful) and the end result will be him going back on the Alzheimers meds. Well. Let me just say, our lives in this house is stressful enough without adding a little experiment into the mix just to shake things up.

We've had Middley packing her bag and waiting for someone to come and pick her up because she doesn't want to live here anymore she can't stand the worrying. We've had the rollockings at the dinner table for no reason. We've had the forgetful side to him increase, the mood swings become more variable, the being embarrassed in the garden because he's having a little strop. We've had him shoot his mother down in flames, and the slowness in his dexterity and I'd just like to say thank you. Like life isn't hard enough as it is.

Good morning lovelies. Well I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment, I'm on a housework mission. I think months and months of having to do it to keep hubby happy (or happier) has rubbed off on me because I'm now doing it with a smile on my face and doing jobs that don't need done lol. I'm actually looking for jobs to do, starting them earlier and finish them later - seriously? I'm turning into Hyacenth Bucket! It's not funny! Hubby is happy.

Oooh. He's had me doing all sorts. Trying to make the tea the other night whilst lifting the felting from the dismantled shed and putting it into piles at the bottom of the now massive garden, shovelling the scrap would and putting it into the wheelie bin so he could take it to the skip and trying to make sure the dogs didn't get out of the garden wasn't the easiest. I wanted a cape. I wouldn't put my knickers ontop of my trousers because I won't even hang them on the washing line incase I go out to get the washing in and I find a family of squirrels have moved in - there's enough room (there is a pun about where they'd put their nuts, but I won't go there... lol). He had me so stressed I was contemplating trying to fit him into the wheelie bin. The only thing that stopped me was the contortions that would be needed and the fact I wouldn't be able to shift the bin to put it into the boot of the car. So I didn't.

On a really chuffed note, Biggey has gotten into college - whoop, whoop! She wants to join the army and go into REME and do mechanics, and when she put her name forward the interviews at the college, she was told not to expect to get anywhere because there were so many boys applying and it is always a popular course, did she not fancy doing the plumbing course? No. She does not want to do the plumbing course. "What if I don't get a place mum?" I got asked on the morning of going to the college. "Well sweatheart (we were beingnice to each other here lol) if you don't get in, it's not meant tobe and that's when you find what you are meant to be doing. Do your best, try your hardest and that's all you can ask of yourself and all we can ask of you". She went away with a smile on her face - she really is a bonnie lassie when she smiles, she should do it more often, I've tried telling her that scowling is only going to give her wrinkles.

Biggey came home on Friday night and told us she's got a place in college doing mechanics. It's a one day a week course for the year and she will come out being able to service and probably mot the car. We are both so proud of her and I'd just like to stick my fingers up to the teachers - it's your job to encourage, not to burst the bubble of children's dreams, whether that's them wanting to be a bin man, mechanic or md of high rolling company. She's so nervous that she's going into school to double check that she's got the place because she can't believe she's done it. We are so proud of her, and not suprised at all. She might struggle academically, but by God, when she sets her mind to something it will be done.

Middley came home on Friday to tell us that she'd come second in the Shot putt and first in her round of the Discus. That's my gal - very proud of her too. Not to leave Littley out, she came home to tell us that she'd come 10th in her cross country (out of 52) and that she'd improved her placing from last year when she was 26th. It's taken a while, but I think she's finally found her competetive spirit - don't know where she gets that from because I'm so laid back... That's what I'm telling you anyway, I struggle to play snap with the girls because I still have to win lol.

So we're off to go swimming this morning. He's still in bed, but he's not sleeping well at the moment so I'm going to let him lie for a while longer before we go. Hope the sun is shining where you are and you have a lovely day :o)

Well, having had my rant the other day, you'd think that home life would be like that of a headless chicken, but no. It's not.

I know he's focused on his shed, and the demolition began yesterday so that means he'll be planning and such like before the new one gets built, but his mood is calm and he's got a little sparkle in his eyes - it's lovely to see.

I think (and it's only a think) but I think, it's like he knows I have his corner and that I'm prepared to come out the corner fighting and that I can be the bitch whilst he follows on my coat tail - and I'm happy for that, if it makes him happy and comfortable then I'll be as big a bitch as I need to be. The other thing I've been thinking is that whilst Edinburgh told him to come off his tablets, locally he's been told to stay on them - and this has been his safety net, and he's happy to have that safety net.

Whilst all has been going ok with hubby, Biggey on the other hand has been having a whale of a time with hormones, temper, attitude and anything else you want to throw into the mix. I've tried silence, I've tried ignoring, I've tried being nice (struggle...), I've tried speaking back but it only fuels it further and yesterday I'd had enough. Yesterday morning was an absolute hum dinger (from her side - I had two extra children in the house and kept quiet so I didn't exhasperate her further) and it was at that point I said to hubby that I'd had enough. She kept threatening that she didn't want me to be her mother, that she hated me, that she would happily live anywhere that I didn't, that I do nothing, blah, blah, blah. Yesterday was the final straw. I know life here is difficult, but by God, that behaviour wouldn't have been tollerated before the illness so I'm buggered if it's going to be tolerated now. I feel that social service's have tied my hands behind my back. You can't shout at her, you can't batter her (not that I ever would), you can't repremand her, you can't send her to her room, you can't ground her - and bugger that, yesterday I had enough.

I discussed it with hubby yesterday afternoon and told him that enough was enough. I said that the bag was there and that when she got in from school that she was going to be given the option. She could pack her bag with what she wanted and I'd take her where she wanted to go, or she could settle down, calm down and be part of the family. To my shock, hubby backed me up. To my bigger shock, as I was about to speak to her, hubby sat down and gave her the options. He also said that the way she speaks to me is unacceptable and that if she wanted to stay in the family then she'd have to think about her behaviour. He told her that if she didn't want to stay in the family, that he'd drive her to wherever but that when she decided that she didn't like it because she'd simply be a number rather than a family member that he wouldn't pick her up.

Now this might sound harsh, and I might get lambasted for writing this, but things couldn't have continued the way they were going. She is only 14. She's not mature enough to deal with the issues we deal with, and she is young for her age. I think that she thinks that she has to care for her d addy the way that I do, and that's not her job - that's mine. She's a child, and as much as things are difficult here, that's her job, being a child. I said to her that we love her more than she will ever, ever know, but she wasn't very likeable at that moment, and that as her parents that's our job - to like our children, so if we don't like her behaviour then why would anyone else?

She said she didn't want to go anywhere else, and that she wanted to stay and never wanted to leave (we knew that, which is why we called her bluff - having said that, I'd have been buggered if she'd picked option b...) I explained that whilst social services have us over a barrel with how we can and can't parent them, and that she knows and works it to her favour (has moments of genius this girl of ours) that I'd had enough. I explained that the line had been drawn and that regardless of what has been said to us from social services, we were going old school. Which means that if I say enough, it's enough. If I ask for the table to be set, it's set. That if I say "no", then it's "no". That if I say "go to your room to calm down" you go to your room. That if I'm standing in the door way when she's barging past and knocks into me that she doesn't scream "don't touch me". She was also told that good behaviour means she gets her phone paid for, that she gets to go one-on-one with daddy on the motorbike. That the things that she gets needs respect (like the things she was bought for cadet camp strewn over the bedroom floor, and regardless of how much or little it costs, it means that we do without so that they can have and that they should be shown respect).

All of our girls are beautiful, they are lovely, but if behaviour like this isn't nipped in the bud then we're making a rod for our own back, and how is it fair to let them think that that behaviour is acceptable, or that it will do them any favours in the future.

She came into the kitchen later on and asked if we could be friends again. Big hug and cuddle and "of course" and it's back to how it used to be. It's not fair for children not to have a line, a boundary, it confuses them and causes upset (ontop of everything they have to deal with as it is) and regardless of what we've been told, I'm bringing it back into line and putting the line and the boundaries back. So lambasted as a cruel mum or not, I know that my children will be the better for it, and that's all that matters. My girls being happy.

Wow. Where do I start? I am flabberghasted. I thought we'd reached a level of utter flabberghastation (a real word in my world) that couldn't be topped, but that just shows me I shouldn't set the bar so low.

Yesterday was another appointment up in Edinburgh. A biggey. So after I eventually got him up, had the cooked breakfast refused, and got us out of the house, up we tottled to the hospital - which we arrived at early believe it or not ("told you so" was hubby's response - actually, it's his response for everything so I shouldn't have been so suprised).

We saw a couple of doctors, did a few tests, signed paper so that they can use his bloods for dna testing something or other, did more tests (of which I was flabberghasted - there's that word again, at how poorly he responded to it), only to go in and see the head man, the man at the top of the tree, the one who knows what's going on (although how I'm buggered if I know because he only sees hubby for 10 mins once a year, and didn't even know about hubby being removed from the house prior to Christmas, and why should hubby mention it because he doesn't need that information?... blah, blah, effing blah...) and do you know what his response was? Would you like to? Are you sitting comfortably?...

(This is the third time I've typed this because I've deleted it accidentally twice already - not helping with my mood lol)

This is the doctor talking, anything in brackets are my thoughts - and I'm trying to keep my thoughts printable, although I'll apologise now if I slip here and there...

Hubby is very young (no kidding Sherlock), and he doesn't tick any of our boxes (never heard that one before), and he's not declined at a rate that we would have expected him to (well he hasn't adhered to any of the dementia rules so far, so why should he start now?), and we can't believe how well he's responded to his medication (your problem being?...) so we think he should come off his medication (dumbstruck - say what?). That way we'll be able to see what happens (again, no kidding Sherlock) and be able to pinpoint which area of dementia he has, if that's what he has (Wtf? Are you kidding me?). The drug he is on is for Alzheimers (ok...) but he doesn't fit the rules for that (losing the will to live here) and the other doctor thinks it's FTD (which is what we were told, but where does Alzheimers come into it?!?) but because you're husband is non typical (again, state the bleeding obvious) we think the best thing to do is for him to come off all of his medication and we'll be able to see what happens as a result (you want what now?!?). Maybe it's a nervous breakdown that he suffered and he's just on the anti-social, forgetful, bad tempered side of the spectrum and that's his normal behaviour (I can't really type anything here because it's all expletives, but please feel free to insert your own). So we want hubby to come off his meds and we'll be able to see. I know he came off them once for a week, and he crashed and it all went a bit haywire (I remember) and he asked to go back on them, but we're not sure what to do with him, and this would be a way of seeing what happens (again, insert own expletives).

It beggars belief! At the beginning when they thought he had dementia we had to go through loads of tests to prove it wasn't a nervous breakdown because that was more age appropriate. We were told that he categorically had not had a nervous breakdown. We then went through all of the tests, and then some more for them to say he had dementia. We are three (nearer four) years into this, and he's not responding "normally" and they don't know what to do with him, so hey-ho, instead of keeping him on what works - lets upset the applecart and have a mini experiment and stand back and see what happens.

(I paused for a coffee - recompose my thoughts)

They were unaware of what happened prior to Christmas where hubby was removed from the house. We are almost at the point where the girl's social worker will be removed because the meds have got him level. I asked what would happen if they start messing about with his medication and the response was "it's nothing to do with them". Well I disagree. Hubby wasn't allowed in our home until his meds had levelled him out - this is going to keep social services in the loop (I imagine, because they were concerned about their well being with hubby's moods being all over the place). Have they even thought about this or is this just a little experiment for them where it doesn't matter because they're up in Edinburgh and we're not, and they won't see him for another 12 months and what does it matter?

On the drive home (still in utter disbelief) hubby asked my thoughts on the matter. Now this is staggering because he doesn't normally care about my thoughts on any matter. I asked him what his were. Now bare in mind that hubby has been arguing his illness from day one. He's wanted off his meds from day one, he has disagreed with everything and everyone since day one, and once we got home he wanted me to ring his local consultant. I told him that whilst I don't want him to be ill, I want him to be working, I want to work, I want to have a "normal" life, if he could hand on his heart and truthfully tell me that he thought that there's nothing wrong with him then I would stand by him and go with the flow. He couldn't. Where his age comes in handy for some things it goes against him in others. Let's experiment a bit and stand back and watch doesn't go down well with me, or him if he's honest.

I rang the consultant when we got home, and got straight through (unheard of - go figure) and I was told not to come off any mediation until she has seen him next week (Thank God) and that she will wait for the letter from Edinburgh so she can read it, and if she hasn't had it by the appointment, she'll discuss it with us.

I can't go back to how it was at the beginning, and he can't either. It's frightened him, it's frightened me. The fact he's arguing coming off the meds shows this. He's finally been told what he's wanted to hear (through "baffling them with bullshite") and it's taken years of telling them what they want to hear (Edinburgh, not the local doctors) and they've swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I am briefed as to what I can say, what I'm allowed to mention, and they've taken his word on everything in a ten minute discussion. Seriously - is this not like day one of dementia school? Patient's will say what they want you to know?

They didn't know about him being abusive prior to Christmas, they asked if he was getting himself into debt by spending money. The answer was no, but that doesn't mean he's not spending money like it's tap water - it means that I'm having to cut costs and do without so that we don't get into debt. They ask if he's making any irrational decisions. The answer is no, because whilst he's making irrational decisions (like moving to the Islands on the outer Hebrides) I'm the one that's putting her foot down in the background so it doesn't happen. I'm the one having to make the space for a motorbike he's decided to buy and come home with, I'm the one refusing to put the house on the market so he can buy a pub, the one who's saying she won't move back onto a farm so that we can rent the house out so he can go back to work (it would kill him). Are these rational? No. I am the bad guy, and I keep things as settled as they can be.

I am the one who is trying to keep things calm in the house so that he doesn't get frustrated. "Do you lose things?" No. (Why would that be? Because he doesn't put anything away and if he needs something he askes me to get it for him - seeing a pattern here?...) "Can you cook a meal?" Yes. Does he? No, because I do it all because it would stress him out and cause frustration and a paddy. "Can you plan a route out when you're driving?" Yes. He was an HGV driver for God's sake, but that doesn't mean that the drive doesn't stress him out - there are other people on the road who don't always do what he wants them to (how dare they).

Ah well. What do I know? Absolutely nothing if Edinburgh is anyting to go by... I cordially invite, any of his doctor's (well just this puffed up little one, who at the age of 12 thinks he knows everything about anything) to come and live with us for a week - that might be too long for him, a couple of days might do it, and see what it's like at the dinner table where his food can dribble down his chin and we aren't allowed to talk because the noise is too loud, or catch him prior to his meds (or indeed after his meds) and see him try to take off the kitchen cupboard because he can't get a bracket to fit on the wall properly, or see his response if his favourite socks are in the wash and there aren't any others for him to wear (ignore the 20 other pairs in the sock drawer), or witness the gumtree addiction which means he brings budgies into the house knowing I'm allergic and then having to rehome them because the chirrping is too loud, or him deciding there and then that we need a new dog and twenty minutes later we have a puppy in the house. Or even see the wallpaper that's been stripped for months and left because the thought of putting it up is too much, or the drive that needs finished and don't get me started on the shed project. Or the "I'm not eating sausages for tea - they're a breakfast" but he'll sit and eat 12 if you let him, or the inappropriate comments that come out whenever he likes leaving you wanting the ground to open up and swallow you. Oh well. 10 minutes a year sounds like long enough to be "baffled with bullshite" and believe it, allowing you to come up with conclusions like the one he made - many, many years at med school well spent. Like I say. I cordially invite him - I lay the gauntlet down. 

Rant over. I think...

Wowzers. I'm actually sitting at the laptop and going to write something... It's been such a long time since I've done this that I had to sit and think about passwords lol.

It's been a long, long time since I did this, and I apologise for the absence, but I'm blaming the intermitent internet (scaffolding on the house is what I'm putting it down to), hitting the wall (it was very high), my laptop playing silly buggers which means using hubby's (and he's very possesive of his) and my dislike of using the kindle because there are no keys to tippy tappy (and being able to type it's a pain because it slows me down immensley and then uses words that I didn't want to use because of the predictive thingy).

So here goes... are you sitting comfortable? Then I shall begin :o)

I don't know where to start, so it might be a ramble (that won't suprise any of you...)

Our little rollercoaster of a life has had a few more ups than it's had downs since January. They don't feel to be so big now, but when you're going round and round and up and down (upside down a couple of times) it feels like an uphill slog from the minute you get up to the moment you drag yourself into bed and then before you sleep you're thinking about getting up and starting all over again. I think sleep is my major problem - the lack of it. The 6am starts, the constant busying of yourself, the stopping because hubby's called me and I have to drop everything (and it doesn't matter what it is you're doing) and the feeling like you've not accomplished anything when you lay your head on the pillow - that and the fact hubby constantly tells me I've accomplished nothing is what gets me the most.

We've had the "we're moving to an island off the north of Scotland", the "I'm going to buy a pub and run it", the "I'm starting up my own business delivering parcels", the "I've had an idea..." the purchasing of a motorbike for him and biggey that I knew nothing about until he brought it home (biggey has been on a motorbike since she was five and the stabilisers came off her push bike), the "I'm going to buy a garage - it only costs £2000" (thankfully I've managed to disuade him from that one) which has moved onto him sorting a shed for the bottom of the garden (which if worst comes to worst I'll be able to move into because it will be so big), to him wanting to set up a business of a cafe based on the 1940's, to the new one now which is "I've got the chance of a job on a farm. We'll move into the tied cottage and rent our house out" which I just smiled at and continued washing the dishes.

We've had a major appointment (on Monday) were his cogniative tests showed very little decrease - how does he pull it out of the hat?!? The Dr. said to me that last year appears to have been easier for me than the previous one had been. The response to that was "No. It hasn't been. I think we're just more adept at handling things, but last year has not been easier - by any stretch of the imagination. I was asked questions, and unfortunately it wasn't until last night and early this morning that I have the answers so I think I've shot myself in the foot and made things look better than they actually are - I'm so cross with myself. I explained to her that my definition of "normal" is blurred and I can't remember what normal is anymore. That what is a good day to us might be a day that tips somone else over the edge, but I think I might email her and answer some of the questions better. If nothing else it will make me feel better.

He's back to getting up early (well not today, he's still asleep) but he's on the go from the minute he wakes up to the minute he goes to bed and even then he's tossing and turning because he can't switch off. I'm sick and tired of money and the lack of it, so the purchasing of the bike and the knowledge that the shed will be being built soon just has me to the point of "please stop". I wouldn't care but I'm still waiting for the drive to be finished and the wall paper that was started before Easter being put up. That's three jobs on the go at the same time, and I just dread what the next one will be.

I've given myself a kick up the arse - which was needed but has taken me a lot longer this time to self medicate, but hopefully it will be a while before that's required again - fingers crossed, and I'm back on the losing weight m'larky. Which is another thing that has niggled me if I'm honest. I'd lost 5.5 stone and was really chuffed with myself, only to put 7lbs on and feel like a complete failure. It's the only thing I have any control of in our house and I think putting that half stone on (albeit over about two months - still awful) made me feel completely useless, but I'm back on the wagon (although the weight restriction is lower lol - the tyres don't get upset when I get on the trailor anymore lol), and I feel all the better for it. I'm going to get back to the walking/jogging/gasping for air again because that seems to be my only "me" time, and I've missed it terribly - although I'll have to mug middley for my trainers that she seems to have claimed...

So hopefully that's me back on track, and hopefully I'll be able to get back to doing this daily because like the walking, I really miss itwhen I don't get to do it.

Thank you for your continued support - even when I've gone to ground, the twitter messages and texts really are appreciated - just so you know :o) xx

Hmmm. I have been awol for quite some time now. When I started writing this blog I promised myself that I would be honest about how things are in this house, and I think that due to this promise, over the past couple of months I have thought that because things have been so awful that if I wrote it down that it was true and boy have they been awful.

Today, however, and I don't know why, but I've woken up with a f**k it attitude. I've decided that I am the queen bitch in my little home and that if anyone wants to come and get us (social workers take head) that they're going to have to get through me first.

Just a brief recap on our situation. Due to an incident in the home prior to Christmas, hubby was "voluntarily" removed from the house for a couple of days. Three weeks later, many many phonecalls and an email to our local mp, hubby was allowed home two days before Christmas. This is where I (stupidly) thought things would go back to "normal". Pffft - you can be wrong once in a while Constance...

Things settled down, maybe down to his new meds, and we paddled along quite nicely. There were no ripples or waves, which I expected. Hubby has been the best he has been for as long as I can remember and all was well.

That was until Biggey came home with a saw finger. We just thought that it was part of the injury from earlier in the summer that seems never to have been fixed, but upon taking her to the gp's and ending up in a&e we found out her finger was fractured. Jiggling of the finger and splinting it and all appeared ok.

Then I get a phonecall from hubbys gp. "Do you think that hubby could have been involved in the injury?". The walls came crushing down around me. No. He did not have anything to do with the injury. Out comes the girl's social worker for a routine visit, so I thought I would take the bull by the horns and tell her about the phonecall - prempting said social worker from finding out through the discussions the professionals have about us in the background. So then the childrens protection services were involved. Of course they were, we had nothing to hide so that wasn't a problem - other than the undue stress that it causes to be in a goldfish bowl and knowing that everyone is watching and you're second guessing yourself all the time, no problem at all.

The last I heard was that the social worker would let me know the outcome. So when said social worker came out for the next regular meeting and I asked if there was an outcome for the cps decision and I was told there was nothing to worry about I asked when the decision had been made. "Why?" was the response. "Because I would like to know" was mine. A week ago. The social worker had known for a week and had not informed us. Well stand back and light the blue touch paper. I was furious. I was so cross that I had tears, not out of upset but out of absolute sheer bloody annoyance. Why hadn't we been informed? You are not my only family that I deal with, I work part time and you could have rung me. Ok, now I stepped up a level - make that severely annoyed. My hubby sat in the corner of the room and let me deal with this, and I must say that after the meeting I was proud of myself. I told the social worker that it is not my job to chase up whether or not they've done their job. I said that the difference between social worker and us is that whilst this was a job to them, it was our life that they were playing with. "If I had any concerns about this injury, hubby would not have been here" was their comeback. I upped it up a notch (I didn't think this was possible). Social worker started talking, and apologising (I know...) and I actually shooshed her. I told her that the uncertaintly over what was her job had caused me (not hubby) to not only hit the wall but have it crumbling down ontop of me. That I had not had chance to get myself over the Christmas incident before this issue had been raised, and that I thought that the "didn't think" apology was not good enough. I was livid - but very calm, and that's never a good sign. I told her that her involvement was actually causing stress within the house rather than reducing it and that it caused major issues with the girls and the moods that they had prior to and after a meeting were horrific. "Do not tell me that my meeting with your children causes them to argue" was the response. Hmmmm - don't tell me that I don't know how my girls work because you're just wakening a sleeping tiger there, and she did.

"I am telling you that your meetings raise issues with our girls. Our girls are not perfect, and I know they can argue amoungst themselves and they are little buggers, but I am telling you that when you meet them it ups the stress for them. Why are they stressed? Because you ask them questions and they are scared they are going to say something that will have daddy removed again". "Why would they think that?" said she. "Because it happened before Christmas" said I.

The comment that finished me was "I know what you're going through"...

"No you don't. You have absolutely no idea. You don't know what's going on here. You don't know what it's like to live in a situation like ours. We are a round peg that doesn't fit into the square hole. Our girls have no childhood, it's been robbed. It's not like going to visit a grandparent who puts their cutlery in the rubbish bag and two hours after the visit starts they get to come home. This is their home, they don't have the luxury of going home. The only thing that helps our girls is Action for Kids who take them away for a few hours every now and again, and the reason they love that is because daddy is never mentioned. If they want to volunteer information then they can, but it is never asked of them. So don't tell me you have any idea of knowing what we're going through because you don't, and I hope to God that you never will".

Another apology.

Tac was then changed into asking if I have any support or anyone to talk to. I responded "no" to that and that after how we've been treat over the past few months that nobody had better suggest that I get a professional to talk to because I don't want another professional added to the mix of who talks about the goldfish bowl behind our backs, and "could you imagine? I go into a meeting and have a complete rant about my hubby and say that he's awful and a complete git and he's bad tempered and hasn't done this, that or the other, and all the things that you (social worker) might say about her hubby on a bad day, and then it gets chewed up and twisted and turned into something that wasn't meant other than I'm having a bad day and then go against my hubby". I also said that I am going to have to dust myself down and lick my wounds and that it was going to take some work on the professional's part before I trust them again, because at the moment there is non to very, very little.

She asked me if I spoke to my mother about any of this. Well I was on a roll by now, and I told her no. Why? Because my mum works very high up in Child Protection and also within the parameters of Dementia. "Pardon?" said she, so I repeated myself, adding, "don't worry, it's on the English side, but before she came up to sit in on the meeting we'd had prior to Christmas she genned up on the Scottish side just to see if there were any differences". OH MY GOD! Her chin dropped. I mean it dropped, and stayed open for about 5 seconds. She didn't know what to say. It was like you could see panic accross her face.

Constance 1 - Social Worker 0

One of her parting comments was "hopefully before long we won't need to be involved". Mine was "I look forward to it".

I think that she expected me to be so relieved that hubby was not being accused of damaging Biggey's hand that I would run up and hug her. Wrong. I completely caught her off guard and boy, she was not prepared. The other parting comment was that she would visit next time with hubby's social worker. Working in pairs? That isn't going matter - now you've woken the lion, you can come in a pack and it isn't going to intimidate me. 

It was liberating. I actually didn't cowtow to her, I said my bit and my husband saw me standing his and the girl's corner fiercly, and him knowing I'm standing his corner is a big thing for him. Make no mistake - I stand their corner.

Oooooohhhhhh - on  a happy, happy note, I've lost five stone .75lbs and I'm a happy, happy bunny. I'm trawling ebay for clothes that are three and four sizes smaller than my previous encounters with ebay, and I can't believe it. I'm now over half way of losing what I want to lose and I'm aiming for another three. I'll never be skinny, but I'm no longer the beached whale I was in the summer last year - and this brings a smile to my face.

So this is why I woke up this morning with a f**k it attitude. Maybe it's the weight, maybe it's because I'm feeling more confident in myself or maybe it's because I've simply had enough of people thinking they know how to deal with hubby better than we in our little home do, but I've decided that enough is enough and they are going to have to be prepared for a new Constance - Heaven help them :o) x

Ok. I've put it off long enough so here goes... and apologies for any rambling that might occur.

We had an incident in the house at the end of November, which I would prefer not to go into details about, but it resulted with a knock on the door and me answering it to two police officers and two social workers. Hubby was given the option to "voluntarily" leave the house for a couple of days whilst his medication was adjusted, which bless him he did. This happened on a Wednesday and nobody saw him until the following Monday to review his medication - don't get me started on this.

The medication, we were told, would take 24hrs to get into the system. So we assumed he'd be home a couple of days later. He was not. He was allowed no contact with the children (to which we later found out did not mean he couldn't speak to them on the phone - to which I told them they should review the language they use because to both hubby and I, no contact means just that). The girls were given a social worker, fair dues we have no issue with this. Two days passed and he was still not home. A week passed, he was still not home. On the 23rd of Decemeber he was allowed home. (In tears and angry writing this down) The girls had visits at school by social work that I was unaware of. We had visits to the house. Nobody knew anything. There was meetings and meetings of everyone and anyone, except for me, which went as far as the headteacher of Littley and the guidance teacher of Middley and Biggey - absobloodymortifying. The lovely thing about them being there is that the headteacher told me that both her and the guidance teacher spoke up about what a lovely, strong, committed family we were and that they'd both known us for years and that this case was down to illness and nothing else, and that they both had children that they would like to be having meetings about but nobody's interested in, but that we weren't one of them.

I contacted our local mp (thanks to the suggestion of the lovely Lee - Dragonmisery) and they got on the case writing on our behalf. Every hurdle we jumped they moved the goal posts, and then they moved them again.

To allow hubby to come home I had to agree to parenting classes (again, the mortification - I am not a down and out alcoholic, drug using, poor excuse for a parent and work bloody hard to try and keep a balance within our home), hubby is not allowed to be left alone with the girls (understandable, but he's utterly devastated by this), he has to have weekly meetings with his consultant, the girls have to have constant meetings with their social worker, he has to have constant meetings with his social worker and so much more.

At the moment, trying to let the dust settle, we've already had the girl's social worker suggesting that hubby has no part in the parenting of the girls and that he steps back and I do it all - how on earth that is supposed to happen, I don't know but I said that this wasn't practical, and it would tip him over the edge if it was implimented. I've had to explain to his social worker that the reason we haven't seen his consultant this week is not because we're being difficult but that we can't get hold of them to find out an appointment day or time and that I was waiting for them to ring me because that was the arrangement when they left last week. I got a phonecall this afternoon to say that they don't see a need to see hubby everyweek and was I happy with this. Pfft - don't ask me. You need to speak to the girl's social worker, because that was one of the stipulations for hubby being allowed home, so I wasn't taking that decision.

We have so many people involved in our family now, we thought we did before but they've all come out to play now. We are like a goldfish bowl. When the girl's social worker came to the house I told her not to judge us. Hubby is ill. We are a triangle peg (on laptop - can't use "cue") being put into a round hole, and that I felt like the protocols for our situation was being made up as we went along, because non of them know what's happening or what will happen and we just cause issues for all of them because non of them know what to do.

It makes you second guess what you can say incase you inadvertently say something that could be mixed up ie. When the policewoman came to our house I said that I didn't like talking about hubby on the phone. This got twisted to "Constance is frightened to talk on the phone". Nope. When I was told that I hadn't been honest with my views about how hubby is doing (still sticks in my throat, even now) in meetings (and this was said at the big professional meeting that was had), my response to the girl's social worker, and hubby's social worker in later meetings was that whilst I didn't say a lot in the meetings where hubby was there, I spoke to his CPN on the phone (funny that - me on the phone...) where I expressed my concerns and how I felt he was doing, and that I thought his meds should have been tweaked and that I'd mentioned it for the past two meetings which would have been about six months, and that whilst I wasn't saying it in the meeting, I was talking to a professional and as far as I was concerned the medical team had to take some accountability for them not doing anything, because as far as I was concerned I had been honest with them.

Anyhoo, that's about it, but it has been an horrific couple of months and one I wouldn't wish on anyone. Constantly Trying by name, Constantly Trying by nature :o)

I have discovered that I can use my tablet to write my little ditties down without having to use the laptop. For all of you who know me that means that I will be able to use the "q" as it should be without having to substitute it with "cue", YAY I hear you cry lol.

I'm going to have to get back into the swing of sitting and writing my thoughts down because these past couple of months have been awful and I couldn't bring myself to write about it because if I did that then it meant that it was real, and whilst I know that those months were real I couldn't bear to write it down. So give me a chance to write war and peace on this swipey keyboard that thinks it knows what I'm going to say before I've even put my finger on the screen and I will briefly outline it for you, but I'll have to do that at bedtime because I'm supposed to be hovering (that is meant to say Hoover-ing but it keeps changing it to hovering, although if I could Hoover then I wouldn't need steps to wash Windows lol).

Thank you for sticking by my with your visits here and tweets, it is very much appreciated and I will pull my finger out and get back on the horse. Apologies now for any tips and spelling mistakes, I will blame the tablet though ;o) xx

I am apologising for my absence at the moment. I can't write down what's happening at the moment because I don't have the words, but we've had a week from hell, and all I can see is another week from hell, and I can't guarantee that I can wave my magic wand to fix any of this.

Once the dust has settled and I've won this battle, I will fill you in on the details. I simply ask that you keep your fingers crossed for us, I'm very grateful for any positive thoughts winging our way.

Thank you very much in advance and hopefully it won't be much longer before I can write the stories of "hubby's decided to remodel the kitchen" or "hubby's got the decorating table out" because whilst it has filled me with dread in the past, I would rather be whinging about that than dealing with what's on our plate at the moment.

Love to you all, and wishing you a very happy Christmas (although I hope to be back before then). Constance x