Snuck out of work mid-afternoon for a 20 minute wander in town. Only one interesting photo. Kind of hope he’s called George.
George Street
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Monthly Archives: February 2013
The maybe pile
11.06pm. Wednesday night.
“Mum? Mum?!!! Where’s my Hornby book Mum?!!!”
“Er, which book?”
“The Hornby book Mum. About trains Mum.”
“Mmm. Dunno. Do you need it now? It’s getting late.”
“Yes, Mum. Where is it Mum?”
“I dunno. I’ll come and have a look in your room.”
“Yes Mum.”
… “Mmm. Can’t see it. How about Horrible Histories?”
“No Mum.”
“Victorian London?”
“No Mum.”
“Eddie Stobart: the Story?”
“Maybe Mum.”
“Ok. I’ll start a maybe pile. How about Cars: The Cowley Story?”
“Maybe Mum.”
“Alex Rider graphic novel?”
“Maybe not Mum.”
“Bus magazine?”
“No Mum.”
“The Oxford Bus Museum booklet?”
“Maybe Mum.”
[…..]
“Well there’s quite a few books in the maybe pile now. Which one do you want to read?”
“The Hornby book Mum.”
Snow in Beaumont Street
Confidence street revisited
Oooh, lovely lovely. Returned to the batch (is that the right term..?) of photos from Saturday’s wander and found these two that were overlooked on the first cut…
Boundaries
It’s a tough gig bringing up a disabled child. Yep. It shouldn’t be, I know. Appropriate, timely and sufficient support would make a huge difference. And a seismic shift in public attitudes. Of course these things overlap and I ain’t optimistic for all sorts of reasons that they will ever happen. But if they did, there would still be trickiness.
Take this morning. We’re in the midst of pretty dodgy times with LB and he’s booked into Parasol for four days for half term activities. A charity organising and supporting young disabled people’s access to, er, fun. Yep, it’s as simple as that.
But…
“IDON’TWANTOGOTOPARASOLMUM! I’MEIGHTEENMUM! YOUCAN’TMAKEMEGO.I’MGOINGBACKTOBEDMUM!”
Like his two younger brothers who will probably sleep/doze till lunchtime. Sigh.
All sorts of thoughts and considerations….
You’re kind of right…
We don’t want another major kick off….
You can’t watch youtube all day….
We’re both working today….
“You’ve got to go.” I said. Some ranting and raging. But at a low level. And he’s off to the Kassam Stadium for a day of bowling and cinema.
Now Parasol is an enigma to me. They organise a range of activities in and around Oxford. You drop your child off at stated destinations; outside the Playhouse in the town centre, or in the ice rink car park. Or at a local community hall. Believe me. This is seriously weird to a parent subjected to years of constrained, heavily policed and overly organised out of school child care for the ‘special needs child’.
Eh? Leaving LB at a community centre with the doors wide open, kids in the car park, and helpers running around having a laugh in squirrel onesies? Hello? These kids are runners, you know?! They’ve got no sense of stranger danger or road safety???? Hey, the door is open!!! Anything could happen. Anything! You hear me???
The organisation of Parasol appears chaotic and random.
But it isn’t. It’s run by and staffed by exceptional people who enjoy the kids, understand difference and get out there and get on with it. With impeccable leadership. And, in doing so, they allow some freedom, independence and fun for this group of young people.
Anyone who takes LB, and ten or more other young dudes, to watch Les Miserables (at an ‘ordinary’ showing) is cracking on in the right direction in my book. We all just need need to catch up with them.
Confidence street
Back out with my camera in Oxford today. I remembered another thing I learned from Antonio Olmos; travel light. Just the camera (no lens) and money/keys in my pocket. This was very liberating, and I got much closer to people. Quicker getaway without a lot of baggage. Cough cough*.
There was a lot going on for a rainy February afternoon. I broke the no animal rule, but rules are meant to be broken. And learned that it helps to have a good relationship with the local Big Issue seller.
*took a fab pic of a mother and baby watching an owl. Can’t bring myself to share it.
The dishwasher. Again
“Mum. I’ve got a dodgy stomach Mum.”
“You’re going to school LB.”
“Dodgy stomach Mum.”
“School LB.”
“I don’t like you Mum.”
“Eh? How can you say that? I grew you.”
“No you didn’t Mum.”
“Where did you come from then.”
[points to the dishwasher] “There Mum.”
The streets of Oxford
Eek. Determined to take photos today for the first time since the masterclass. A few sneaky numbers on the walk from the bus to the office. And then home again. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Get close. Shoot and deal with fall out after. Breathe….
The Stranger
I stopped LB happily mending the downstairs toilet this morning, once it started leaking. He went apeshit. With a spanner in his hand. The language was dripping with expletives and the toilet seat took a hammering. With his head. He stormed passed me and went upstairs. I hung up some shirts in the wardrobe and the rail fell down. The rage continued upstairs, directed at me. I put my keys in my pocket and hovered near the front door. Billy Joel’s The Stranger came on the radio.
Yep, I thought. That just about sums it up.
The blue onesie
“Hey LB, how was Trax?”
“Good Mum.”
“What did you do?”
“Looked around Mum.”
“Wow. What did you see?”
“Car workshops Mum.”
“Cool. What else?”
“Many many more Mum.”
“Many many more what?”
“Car workshops Mum.”
“Very cool. When are you going to start there?”
“Wednesday Mum. I’ll wear my blue onesie.”
“Maybe call it an overall there, eh LB?”
mydaftlife 