Why I don't get up until lunchtime at weekends

It all depends on your definition of "getting up". Mine means getting showered, dressed and breakfasted.  And that is not really happening at weekends this summer.  I'm in danger of becoming Dublin's newest pyjama girl, only with less riding of buses.

You see when Smiley was little I could quickly change and dress her, lift her out of bed and into her buggy, and give her a hot chocolate to break her fast while I did a bit of exercise and had a shower.  No longer.  I can't lift her, and the hot chocolates have had to go as I need to keep her weight down.  And now I have aspie boy and his little quirks to manage too.

So a typical Sunday morning goes something like this: At 6.30 am I give up the two hour battle to get my son to go back to sleep.  We go downstairs. If you're new here you need to know that he is 11, but has Asperger's Syndrome.

He is feeling guilty and so makes his own hot chocolate.  There's only a small mess.  Some lessons are clearly getting through.

I put the water on and make some strong coffee and go on-line for 20 minutes or so, part work, part social.

Just as I'm draining the coffee dregs I hear Smiley calling me.  She can't tell me exactly what she wants, but I assume it's a nappy change, and breakfast.  The usual routine.  I get her dressed as well.  We eat breakfast together - it saves time, and then I settle her in front of a video while I have a second coffee and do some work. 

I put a black wash on.  Then go upstairs and find that my favourite black cardigan never got as far as the laundry basket.  I must have been channeling my inner teenager and abandoned it on the floor last night.

Oops its now 9.30 so it's time to give my son his 5 minute warning : The rule is that he has to get dressed and eat breakfast before 10 in the holidays, as part of his daily timetable.

Toileting, cleaning the carpet for Smiley, chicken in the oven, going upstairs to the toilet with aspie boy, back down again to help Smiley choose a video.

And on and on and on, every time I head for the bathroom, there's something else to sort.  Delighted there are no callers!

Then the phone goes.

Then I discover that Smiley has a sticky neck so I get out the cotton wool balls and find there's only two left so you dig out the shopping list and realise there's a few more things that need to be added.  

I admire the latest Pokemon evolutions - all 20 of them...

And suddenly it's midday.

The day after I wrote this was a weekday so my home help arrived at 6.40 am to help get Smiley up for the day - it's the first summer I've said yes to this service.   She is here for just 45 minutes, but the difference it makes is enormous.  By lunchtime I had done 2 hours work, watched a bit of Olympics with the kids, Smiley had been in her walker, aspie boy on the trampoline.  It's been the same on other weekdays, with lots of outings to see friends and places visited. So different from last summer, when the furthest we went most days was to the local Tesco express, and then no earlier than 3.30pm.  My son had lots of meltdowns, but I got to bank sleep for the rest of the year.

But who needs to sleep anyway?  I wouldn't mind so much if all was well with aspie boy, but it's not.   He thinks that he is sick, and getting worse every day.   Yesterday his anxiety was so great and his meltdown so bad that took him to the friendliest local pharmacist - they all know us round here - and begged for a few minutes in the private consultation room.  And she was very good and speaking to someone with 'medical training' seemed to help.  Earlier I'd explained to my son why we were not going to ring our GP's doorbell until he answered...

I'd also suggested going to the children's hospital, which he refused.   I'm tempted to ask if they would take me in instead.  I'll wear pyjamas and eat Cheerios and play Lego Batman if I have to, just give me a break.   If I could make that happen, I wouldn't be getting up at lunchtime, oh no!   I won't be getting up at all.