Stories about the family keep creeping into my facebook posts too.
Providing I can work the technology, I shall repeat them here with a new one most days until the blog has caught up with real life.
So here is the first Tale of Chateau Midden, from September 2007.
Saturday lie in
Number One son is autistic, Number Two is somewhere on the
spectrum too – and I have distinct suspicions about their father.
On schooldays I have to virtually use a cattle prod to get
Number One out of bed.
But, despite the fact he’s allowed up almost as late as he
likes on Friday night, Saturday is a different story …
This morning Number One bounced out of bed shrieking “It’s
six o’clock – wake up Mum and Dad” and came bounding into our room to turn the
tv on.
He was told clearly, and at great volume, by his father to
go downstairs to watch tv and to be quiet.
A few minutes later Number Two creeps in with “I need a
cuddle”. No sooner had he settled down
than he was up again and sloped off downstairs to let the cat in.
Shortly after there was a kerfuffle in the living room with
shrieks of “I’ll call the police”.
Leading to more completely ineffective roars of rage and
“Shut up” from their recumbent father.
Eventually I stumbled downstairs to find Number Two trying
to take contol of the tv, changing channels, turning up the volume and winding
up his brother.
So they were both chased upstairs and back into bed. Number Two was told in no uncertain terms
that we knew what he was doing and he was to leave Number One in peace. Then
I had a few quiet words in their father's shell like about the logic of
shouting at children not to shout - "it's like telling them not to effin’
swear". Which past experience shows
will make no difference but it got it off my chest.
Peace settled on Chateau
Midden.
Until 7.30 when the postman rang the doorbell
with a parcel.
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