Boobends

Half term is over.

Well, it’s over for my little boy, who's back at the coal face tomorrow, but not for his big sister, because her school has a teacher training day. Wish me luck in the morning with explaining that to a belligerent six-year-old who is already a black belt in “It’s not FAIR!”.

Much of the week has been spent tag-teaming with my husband, taking said boy down to the skatepark on a dragon-embossed skateboard given to him by my next door neighbour. He’s basically taught himself to skate in a week, thanks to YouTube videos. He’s also learned how to speak the lingo, with his sample shouts of encouragement to the bigger boys doing ramp tricks on their scooters being: “Yo, dude, that was epic!” and “You really nailed that, man!”.

My daughter went for her traditional holiday sleepover with her Prader-Willi Syndrome Best Friend Forever. They went to the cinema (see her incisive review here), went to Pizza Express for a leggero (a pitch-perfect, sub-500 calorie, PWS-friendly pizza with a hole in the middle filled with salad), they chatted, caught up with Eastenders, rang me giggling several times on my girl’s new mobile phone, walked PWS BFF’s dog, and had a generally lovely time.

My girl also attended a Halloween party with a couple of friends from school, and looked very glamourous as a glittery witch. We did the trick or treat thing last night, too, with the usual pre-planning (only visiting relatives and close neighbours, with plenty of no-sugar wine gums and low-cal snacks on hand ready to switch with the normal round of lollipops and Halloween-themed sweets). My daughter was quite happy with her ‘special treats’, my son was ecstatic with being slipped her share of chocolate eyeballs when the swapsies were made, and they were both in bed by 8.30pm, which was a blummin’ treat for me.

But it was only today that I realised that there has been an overarching theme, a narrative arc, a subject that has dominated half-term.

It’s boobs.

They first surfaced at the start of the holidays when my son showed an unexpected commitment to continuing his education at home, and asked to go on my computer to practice ‘typing words’ (see photo).

They reared their nipples in the middle of the week, when my daughter, in an escalation of a recent obsession with having dry skin, decided to rub her chest until it was sore because she was concerned about having ‘appendicitis in her breasts’.

And they unexpectedly took centre stage today when I took my mother-in-law back to her care home after having her over for Sunday lunch. An extremely elderly man beamed at me as I was walking along the corridor, and it was a moment before I realised his eyes were fixed firmly on my breasticular area. And then he uttered the immortal words: “Hmmr, argghatuban mmm, ggrgree. BANGERS!”

Oh God, I think I have seen my boy's future...

Song is Cornershop - Brimful of Asha. "Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow, everybody needs a bosom..."

Vamps

Nosferatu, eat your heart out, sucker.

The annual sugar rush of Trick or Treating was not designed with Prader-Willi Syndrome kids in mind.

Children who don’t physically feel full up and buckets full of unsuitable sweeties and chocs are not a good mix.

Strictly speaking, as someone who has just had to peel my pumped up, jitterbug, vampiric son from the ceiling, that much sugar is not really a good mix for kids who don’t have PWS, either.

But our daughter, the one who has to have her diet strictly monitored, and the one whose calories we have to limit, loves Hallowe'en - the whole bat to pumpkin lot of it.

So we do what we always do: prepare, control and substitute.

We only target a few select Hallowe'enie homes: neighbours, aunties, uncles, and grandparents. Instead of Haribo multipacks, or kiddy meth delivery systems as I like to call them, savvy relatives dish out lower calorie snacks (raisins, breadsticks, Flump marshmallows, etc). If anyone sticks in normal sweets or chocolates, I do a quick switcheroo, delving into a ‘here’s one I made earlier’ bag of no-sugar substitutes. I let my daughter have a rummage through the treats and choose one thing to eat when we get back home, and then we save the rest for snacks to eke out (or as it’s Halloween, that should probably read ‘eek’ out) throughout the week.

The kids are settled down now, in front of a film called Corpse Bride, which isn’t quite as horrific as it sounds, and is for children, honestly.  

It’ll soon be time to tuck them into their coffins.

It’s been blood-sucking, stake-avoiding, crypt-creeping, pointy-toothsome fun.

Video is Jace Everett - Bad Things (the theme from vampire series True Blood). "When you came in the air went out." That's a killer first line, isn't it? 

Related post: 
Hallowe'en

Hallowe'en

My family's true feelings about Hallowe'en

We're going to a Hallowe'en Party tonight. My brother-in-law got married 25 years ago, so it's a spooky silver wedding shindig.

Having failed miserably to sort out costumes in advance,  we've come up with a frankly poor effort, which is basically my husband and I both donning his hi-vis work uniform (he works on the motorways) and slapping on a spot of zombie make up. It could also involve a few judicious felt-tipped tyre-prints across our faces and backs, and maybe the word 'Roadkill' inked on. Drink may be taken, and some moaning, groaning, and stumbling about with our arms outstretched may occur. This last part is no different from most Saturday nights, to be honest.

My daughter, who LOVES Hallowe'en, is wearing a cool, black skeleton dress with neon pink bones on it. My son, who is really not so keen, also has a skeleton outfit. I reckon he'll probably keep the mask on, but ditch the clothes and run round in his nappy, growling, which again, is fairly standard behaviour.

It's great that my 13-year-old girl is excited about dressing up for Hallowe'en. About 'bobbing for apples' (although her version of the game should be renamed 'eating apples'). It's the same with Christmas, Easter, or any other holiday or event that involves games and stories and make-believe (apologies to the religious amongst you, for challenging the veracity of the virgin birth, but come on, really...)*
*Sorry, Mum.

Because of a tiny missing strip on one tiny chromosome, my daughter's childhood has been extended. I don't know how long for. She is growing up, but I don't know how 'grown-up' she'll eventually be. In the meantime, we'll take delight in her delight at childlike things.

Yep. Loves it.

Video is Monster Mash by the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band