We finally got to the shops last night to get the photos for Biggey and Middley's bus passes and we had a lovely girly run in the car, with a poke of chips for them on the way home - still no cooker lol. They came home, got their bags ready with their new pens and pencils and Middley got her purse out, now she needs one, for her buss pass and her Scot card (the way lunches are paid for in Scotland so that they don't have to bring money in every day, they take money in and it goes onto the card and they just use the card instead of cash. It's supposed to stop bullying or stealing, but I don't understand this because they have to take the cash to school in the first place to put it onto the card, which to me implies that anyone stealing it would just get a lump sum instead of dribs and drabs. It is good for us though seeing as how they get their lunches paid for and it is a way of not letting on about it and keeping them all the same). They had their cup of tea, showers and went to bed when they were told - I know. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Our neighbour was in having a coffee so I walked the dog, and came home to heat up hubby's tea (an Indian meal for two), and he ate it, like he hadn't seen food for a fortnight. There was an issue of it not being hot enough, and the reason for that? "You don't clean the microwave, it's filthy, all the germs in there, it's full of muck, you do nothing, you don't keep a tidy house... blah, blah, blah". It wasn't worth rising to the bait, I just put it back into the microwave and he had to wait for it to cool down before he could eat it. Now the sardonic side of me enjoyed that - but I realise that's cruel.

I went to bed early to watch a bit of tv before hubby came up. I only do this if I'm not going to go to sleep because I like to be able to hear what he's upto downstairs. Not that I'm spying on him, I don't mean that, but if I hear him let the dog out, it means I can hear him let the dog in (because he's forgotten to let him in in the past) and if it takes a long time for him to come upstairs after letting the dog out I can pop downstairs because he comes up straight after that.

We had a turbulent night last night, and for the matter the past few nights, but I wasn't sure why. He's been tossing and turning during the night, to the point where it's probably not much point me trying to get any sleep. I had thought that he was asleep whilst tossing and turning but this morning, after another night of watching the clock he mentioned that his legs are cramping during the night. This makes perfect sense. I asked him where they're hurting and he pointed to his thighs, his calfs, and the top of his feet and said that they really hurt him. I don't know if this is part of Dementia or something else with him going wrong.

Last night he had a moment of crabbitness (over a drill believe it or not) which I haven't seen for a while and it came from nowhere and went back to nowhere in the space of about five minutes, but it's been away for a while so it was a suprise, although it's not a suprise because he's stressing about the cooker, which he can't shout and rant about because it's down to him we've got the new (new for us anyway) cooker. Why the heating men cut the pipe when they changed the heating system and didn't reconnect it when it was done is beyond me, but the hastle that we've had since the heating system was changed it doesn't suprise me in the slightest. I know it's winding him up though, and that's usually when you get the crabitness.

He's still up in the morning, he's not laying there "wide awake" until lunchtime (aka fast asleep), and he's eating breakfast now - which he hasn't done in I don't know how long, but he is tired and he is sore and I'm not sure what to do about the cramps. I might ring his nurse when he's not about, because that's how our communication works, but then it might not be related. This illness is a bugger.

On a happier note, the girls were up and dressed and breakfasted and trotted off to school, Middley's first day at High school, without any complications this morning. There was no murder, there was no shouting and it ran smoothly. I enjoyed the silence at 6.30am with a coffee before getting them up, and going to bed earlier makes getting up not such a hardship - infact, I was awake before the alarm went off (funny that...) and I enjoyed the structure of day, the routine coming back into play.

He rang me earlier in a bit of a tizz. He told me he'd "had words" with his friend. Okay... this is unusual. It's me that's the target for "his words" normally. He's still at his friend's house so it can't have been too much of a fall out - but the fact that he has is not normal - there's that word again... He told me that he didn't think he'd be home in time to get Biggey to Cadets so could I organise a lift for her. So in one hand I have him slipping in one respect, in the other I have him compusmentus. Honestly, this Dementia is a headcase whether or not you're the sufferer.

Ooooh. I forgot to mention the other day. Hubby asked me to go to the bank to take some money out. I took it out and got a receipt (to prove I haven't taken any more than he asked for) and the money left in didn't make sense. It seemed, to my knowledge, to be about £300 down. I showed him the reciept and said nothing - I didn't want to aggitate him, or confuse him. He asked me if his Disability money had gone in and I said that yes it would have. "So why is the money so little?" said he (You see - on the ball). "I don't know hubby, but I thought the same". He sat and thought and thought and I asked him if he'd taken any money out just to have in his wallet. "No" was the response (You see - not on the ball). I asked him if he'd thought he'd taken any out after our holiday, because I know what he'd taken out and what was in and it could only have been taken out when we'd gotten home. "Nope", so I left it - I didn't want to cause any stress by probing him further about it. When I had the car last night there was a bit of paper sticking out of the ashtray. I had a look and it was a receipt for £300 and a date on it. I mentioned it this morning. He told me the day of the date (which I was impressed with because I had to look at the calendar) but no, he has no recollection of it. Now I think that this is the money in his wallet. I think this is what has paid for petrol, Saturday night and the cooker and what's left is still in his wallet, but he still has no recollection of it and says that this isn't the case. This is unusual for him because he's normally* (*there's that swear word again) so on the ball about his bank and money.

* I stopped writing this entry to make a phonecall to his nurse. She's out on call, and whilst I said it wasn't an emergency the lovely **** (who knows me by voice bless her) has written the message down saying that I want to voice concerns just to ensure that I'm rung in the morning rather than three days time - although this has never happened because they are on the ball with hubby. I'm not sure what the outcome will be, if any, or if I'm "concerned" for no reason, but at least it'll mean I've voiced what I'm thinking - whether it's right or wrong, because my concern is, if he's getting stressed, forgetful, aggitated then his driving may become irratic, and that does concern me. He overtook cars that weren't there on the way to our holiday because he was tired, and I don't want anything to happen to either hubby or other people on the road on the back of this. Although we are coming up to his licence being reviewed and this might go against him, and what happens in this house if it does I don't know, but these concerns are niggling me in the back of my head and if his meds just need reviewed and all is well on the back of it then I'd rather that than him slide back over and not stay where he is now. 

With my head in the cupboard that needs clearing for the gas man I started to think (dangerous I know)...

I've come to the conclusion that my flump of a mood is directed at Dementia, and just how isolating and lonely it can be as a Carer. Dementia just doesn't rob the person suffering from it (and that is awful in itself), but it robs the people surrounding them too.

I don't think that people realise just how lonely a place it can be, and I can only blame this illness called Dementia for that. I used to work. I used to go out. I used to not have to think about doing either. Now I do neither. I don't have any hobbies because the ones that I did do are too messy for hubby to manage. I try to read, because I like words, but sometimes it just isn't possible, and even if I could the little darlings are on the Kindle - bless them.

Whilst hubby has his driving licence, he is here there and everywhere, and whilst I like to walk (now that I've shifted some of the weight that needs to be lost), just the fact of the car not being outside the house unsettles me. It's not that I want to go anywhere, but if I did I couldn't. He's allowed to go where ever, when ever, but I have to justify the petrol costs, and it just isn't worth it. Driving used to be my escape. Now that's gone too.

I used to like my computer. Now I see it as a lifeline. I know there are other illnesses, and I'm not being naive, their carers' have it hard too, but with this one it's invisible. You can't see it. You don't know it's there. It's a shadow in the background. I see this blog as a saviour. I tried writing a diary, but then that's physical evidence of my feelings, and whilst writing a blog is the same there isn't the heavy book in the corner of the room for my ramblings, rantings and guilt. They're locked away in a little black box with keys on it that I can look over when I want to, although I never do. Sometimes my ramblings may be disjointed, but I write as I'm thinking and my fingers tippy tappy over the keys and get my thoughts out of my head and once I've pressed "publish" they're away. They aren't in my head anymore, but if I'd written them in a diary the words would be there. All the time. 

Through this horrid illness called Dementia, I've "met" some fabulous people. How have I done this? Through Twitter. The world is a big, wide place, and whilst that can add to the feeling of isolation and loneliness, it has also brought me together with people I would class as friends - if I ever met them, and they have no idea how much their comments, posts and photographs mean to me. I might not get to leave the house very often, but in my head I can be in Australia, the Hebrides, "home", and anywhere else they're posting from.

Whilst I choose not to research too heavily into Dementia, I appreciate and value to the people who bring things to my attention via Twitter. If they're posting about it, then it's verification enough for me, as far as I'm concerned. I read things that are appropriate rather than the scare mongering you can come across online. We buck the trend so much with this illness, it's safe to say that we're probably going to do Dementia differently from the norm, so why look for pointers that we might not point towards. I value the "wing it" approach too. It suits us because this illness shows no kindness in how anyone suffers from it, so a game plan isn't going to work, and even if it did today it might not tomorrow, so why add to any stress by failing at a game plan?

I don't feel so alone on Twitter. Whilst we all have it differently, just knowing there are others who feel similar to me makes me feel less unsettled for feeling the way I do at times. Guilt, I think, is the hardest emotion to deal with - or it is for me anyway. I can feel guilty for this, or guilty for that, or guilty for not doing this, or guilty because I have done that, and it's always there at the back of my mind eating away. Dementia feeds guilt. I think both of Dementia and guilt are as bad as each other. They don't discriminate and they can both bring you down. What I need to do is find a way of seperating the two, so one doesn't feed the other. When I've discovered this, I think I will bottle it - surely I can't be the only one that feels like this. Dragon's Den beware lol.

All in all, I'd like to say a big thank you to those of you who take time out of your busy lives to read my ramblings. A big thank you to those of you who are my friends on Twitter, and for the comments, retweets and favourites that you lovely Tweetlets give me. It means a lot. xx

Well the cooker from Gumtree is still sat in the kitchen not connected to anything because it turns out that some bright spark thought it would be easier to disconnect the pipe from the gas when they changed the heating system a few months ago. What the reason for this is I do not know, but the damage that was done to the house, and the shoddy workmanship that went into the heating system - nothing would suprise me (do you remember the firemen being called out?...).

Now I have to get someone in to re-do the gas pipe work to from the gas to the cooker. I know the cooker was inexpensive (thankfully), and because I'm buying the bits and bobs and whatever's needed it shouldn't cost as much as it was going to, but it always seems that as soon as we start something in this house it opens a Pandora's box of other things needing to be done. This is setting hubby into a tailspin because it's lots of information all at once and it's gas, so he's stressing about things that can go wrong, and the extra cost and blah, blah, blah.

I won't have a cooker until Wednesday, so for the next couple of days I'm going to have to manage with "picky teas" and things that can go in the microwave - which I hate because I only relented into having a microwave so that I could defrost things or heat up hubby's tea when he was working the long hours he used to work. I never bought it to cook anything in, and I don't cook anything in it, so it could be an interesting menu for the next couple of nights lol.

The girls go back to school tomorrow, and it's just dawned on me that I haven't got their photos for their bus passes. £5 each to get their photos taken, for only one photo to be used. £10 in total. Like that isn't extravagant. Like that's not a jar of coffee, a block of cheese and some bread. I also need to get Biggey some thick tights, or she won't be allowed out of the house with her skirt on lol. Dear me they're growing up fast. It's Middley's first day at High School tomorrow - they cut out the Middle school in Scotland, and Littley is on her own at First school, which she's never had before, so that could be interesting.

I'm in a bit of a flump today, and I'm not exactly sure why. Middley has had a face on her like you wouldn't believe, and I've had "I hate you" and all of the other lovely things that could be said. I think it's because she's a bit unsettled about tomorrow, but also with Middley if a meal isn't provided at the o'clock (12pm and 5pm) she gets more and more unbearable until she is fed, and with the gas man being here working out why we had no gas to the cooker this delayed the meal time. Now that she's been fed she's morphing back into lovely Middley, but by crikey it's a hard slog until she does. 

I now have another cupboard to empty, although I'm not sure where I'm going to put the contents. It's the cupboard the gas man needs to get into to start the new pipework. Mind you, I could bin a lot of things because hubby has a thing for empty boxes. You know the boxes that things come in, the ones that are the packaging for the product inside (mind that is the definition of a box, so apologies for that) and so far I've come across a hair clipper box, a drill box, a kobo box, a drill bit box and that's without even trying. The masses of maps that he has accumulated over the years are also in there - there's even one for Australia, the whole country not just states. What I do with these is beyond me, but I must not throw them out - it's more than my life's worth lol.

I think the reason for my feeling in a flump is because hubby is going to his friend's house a fair bit of the time and the girls are back to school tomorrow, and the car isn't here that I'm going to go back to feeling isolated and lonely again. I won't have the company in the house that I've had the fast seven and a bit weeks, and even though they have driven me to distraction at some points we have had lovely, lovely times in others. The time has flown by and I've enjoyed it. I'll just have to channel my energy into my housework lol. x

Hubby doesn't drink. If he does it's only a can of lager every now and again, but yesterday he went out with his old workmates. Five hours later I'm waiting outside the pub because I've never ever gone into a pub or rang him to chivvy him up, and I'm not starting now.

So 45 mins after the time he asked me to pick him up he comes out of the pub. With a cheeky smirk on his face and walk that took twice as long as it would have done if he was to have walked it in a straight line, he gets to the car. Arriving at his mum's house so I could pick up the girls, he was given his tea. Bad move.

Readers of a nervous disposition should probably not read any further...

It didn't take long before he needed escorted to the bathroom with cries of "don't throw up on your mum's cream carpet" ringing in the air (that would be me). He made it to the bathroom door and threw up. Now watching him skite through the bathroom like Bambi on vomit was amusing, but his mother was not amused. Off she goes for a bucket to clear the floor up with him still Bambying on the floor. I managed to catch him by the waistband of his jeans and this stopped him going down thankfully. I'm balancing him over the toilet as his mother is on her hands and knees. This was not a good moment for hubby to try and use her as a seat. Stopping him from doing so and having to wash the bottom of his shoes so he didn't trample any of his tea onto the cream carpet whilst extracting him from the house was like trying to shoe a horse.

We managed to get him into the car and we weren't down the drive before he told me to hurry up because he was going to be sick again. Opening the window for some fresh air was a good idea as he vomited Scooby Doo style, with it running down the side of the car, back lashing in the window and spattering on Biggey and listening to the girls hueying in the back like a dawn chorus was an interesting drive home... 

At home I got the washing up bowl out into the drive way and washed the car down, in the dark I might add, before cleaning him up to get him out of the car. He came into the house with great difficulty and went into the kitchen. Watching him trying to take his shoes off was like watching a horse do dressage or a bull getting ready for a stampede, before he threw up in the sink. I was not amused - I was the one that had to unblock the sink. He then thought it would be a good idea to sit on the seat (thankfully a seat and not a human this time). Now this seat is wooden, but it propelled itself across the kitchen floor like it was on wheels. What stopped the seat, and my husband? The cooker did. Shatterproof glass might be shatterproof, but it isn't hubby proof. Glass exploded everywhere and into places you wouldn't have thought it would land, and it took me an age to brush and sweep it up. He danced up the stairs (that's the best way to describe it) singing "come on ********, it's time to go to bed" (******** is the name of the dog), but the dog was having non of it. He spent the night in his dog bed downstairs - which he's never ever done before.

This morning, the last Sunday before the girls go back to school, and the last chance of a lie in, we were up at 8.30am. I never said a word. He came downstairs fresh as a daisy, no hang-over, no headache (which I think he should have had because the cooker took no prisoners), and sat down for his coffee. He looked at the cooker and asked if it was still working. "I'll never use the grill again hubby, but I can't remember the last time I used it anyway" was my response. He drank his coffee and went into the living room to get his laptop out. Gumtree was put on and cookers were researched. I'm now getting a six ring gas cooker which is bigger than the cooker space and needs a cupboard to be removed, but I'm a happy bunny because I didn't realise we had a gas fitting, and I've always, always wanted one. It is the cooker of my dreams, and I wouldn't be able to afford it full price, but because it's on Gumtree it's affordable (or as affordable as it can be having to replace the cooker that doesn't really need replaced but will make hubby feel better about it having happened in the first place by replacing it). 

Honestly, I don't think you could make up the things that happen in my house, I really don't think you could.

A little while ago, whilst on Twitter, I saw a post by the wonderful Lee. It had an article from the BBC News (read me) and it really, really set me thinking. I don't go looking for things about Dementia online. I tend to keep my head buried in the sand, sometimes because things don't really relate to us and others because I just don't want to know. There are lots of people on Twitter that I value dearly, and when they post things on there I do have a look because what they post is informative rather than some of the waffle you can get online.

It's taken me awhile to write about this post because it really pulled at my heart strings. I read it with tears rolling down my cheeks. I read it from a stranger's perspective, but then realised that for all we're strangers, we're not because it was a mirror image of our house. The young diagnosis, the young children, the young wife. We were diagnosed a year earlier and we're coming up to year four of this illness, if you don't count the couple of years prior to the diagnosis where hubby was showing signs of it.

We're nowhere near where the family in this article are yet, but I'm well aware that we will be someday. We've gone through the telling of our beautiful girls and the struggles that they have coming to comprehend this awful illness. I'm not convinced they comprehend it at all, but in our simplistic explanation of daddy's memory doesn't work properly, they have a grasp of it. We go through the financial struggles all the time, constantly. I often think that our situation would be a lot easier to deal with if we were financially stable.

I know of the life expectancy. I know it's between 7 and 10 years, and we're coming up for year 4, but for whatever reason we seem to be stemming the decline because of his unparalled response to Aricept. It hasn't stopped everything, we still see the illness, but it also makes me wonder if it means we're storing up an almighty decline that will come all at once and rapidly.

I worry about the future. Hubby, the girls, his parent's and sibling's. I stress about the finances, about how I will afford to care for him, to keep a roof over our heads and all of the bills that will still need to be paid when it's just me. Even the thought of a funeral and the costs surrounding this. I worry about hubby having to go into "an old people's home" at a young age, but then my sister-in-law pointed out that if that was necessary it would be because he would be in the same position as the old people and he wouldn't notice the difference. I hadn't thought of that.

I swing between two thoughts about hubby. Now don't get me wrong, I love him dearly, I love him to pieces, but I swing (selfishly) between the thought of him dying young and me being left as a young widow with everything to deal with on my own, things like him missing the girl's weddings etc, and then I swing to the other side of the spectrum with the thought of him living on into his 80's and the thought of having another 40+ years of dealing with this illness, and how I'll manage and then the thought of him missing the girl's wedding because he's too ill. It's a very sad state of affairs, and sometimes I think I focus too much on myself and the effects this Dementia brings onto me, especially since my brother told me that I use the Dementia card to gain sympathy (something I will never, ever forgive him for).

I would like to think, as in the article, that I could keep hubby at home till the end. I'd like to think that I would be sufficient enough for him and manage to care for his every need, and this is the approach that I will take, unless it proves that I'm not enough, but for now that is my thought process on that matter.

Whilst I think a lot about my feelings, I sometimes forget what he must think about this illness. I will never know because he has never told me, and I don't imagine that he ever will. The only way I can imagine it being like, and I'm probably way off bat on this one, but I imagine Dementia to be like being a puppet master. Dementia hovers above you and holds the strings, and sometimes it falsely lets you think that you're in control, but then it pulls the strings and you are played like a puppet as Dementia sees fit. You are no longer in control, but at the whim of Dementia and trying to keep control, and be in control becomes more and more difficult as the puppet master grabs the strings tighter and tighter. I can't imagine this. I can't imagine my thought processes being taken out of my control, my precious memories being removed from me, and whilst I think that all of the physicalities that Dementia also removes from an individual, I think that removing your being "you" is the most awful aspect of this illness. It's simply cruel.

I'm not sure what I've gotten off my chest here, or even why, but thank you to Lee and to the family in the article for making me sit back and think, and for letting me write things that I hadn't realised that I'd even thought.

I follow the lovely Dementia Journeys on Twitter, and read an article by Beth Britton, another lovely lady that I follow this morning (read me). This article set me thinking (you can mock lol).

It's about sex and Dementia. The cogs started turning once I'd read it. Now I know that Dementia is usually an illness of the advanced years, but in our house we're not, yet Beth has captured exactly how I feel perfectly.

I would like to say that we haven't encountered the inappropriate touching of himself yet (thankfully), but the comments that he can make could make Chubby Brown blush.

I'm 37. He's 38. This illness has killed our sex life, I think anyway. It's not always down to him though. I struggle sometimes with the thought of having sex with him because I feel like I'm taking advantage of him. I sometimes think he doesn't want it, when maybe he might, but then sometimes he wants it when I really don't. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I often feel like the "carer" all the time and forget to log back into "wife" mode. I also struggle with the flip of moods that he can have. One minute insulting me, the next minute trying to initiate sex. I don't think of it as making love anymore because it seems like it's now a perfunctory act (except it's not regular) rather than an act of intimacy.

Don't get me wrong. Sex in our house can be great, but sometimes, and I feel awful for saying this, I'm gritting my teeth and waiting for it to be over. I think this is very sad, for both of us - although I would never tell him, I love him to bits. I remember the things we used to get up to, and yes, I'm blushing now lol, and we haven't gone back to those days yet (although we seem to with other aspects, so maybe it's just a matter of time), but his tastes have changed. I can sometimes feel like I'm not "there" for want of a better word and I'm simply "there" so he can complete the task. I feel duplicitous for feeling this way about him. It's unfair because it's not something he is aware of, and I feel selfish for feeling this way - it's not all about me afterall.

Cuddles and hugs are a rarety here. I can talk to him and get no response. It's sometimes like I'm talking to a wall (better than hitting "the wall" I know) but it's soul destroying when you just get nothing in return. Yet last night in bed he rolled over and said to me "You're my wife, and I love you." Wow. That meant the world to me. 

It's a complicated thing this Dementia, and it doesn't just affect the people who have the illness. Yet, when things are sad and dark and miserable, he can say something with a twinkle in his eye and just blow you away. I must admit, these rare moments is what gets me through :o)

Yay - peace throughout the house because the scent of Lemon's meant that I had been busy and tidied and not sat on my a@@e all day. Happy me. Happy me until Biggey turned around on the sofa and knocked over the candle (Lemon of course) and sent wax down the wallpaper (the wallpaper that took three weeks putting up) and the little phone table it was sat on.

Oh. Dear. God. Peace was shattered. Not only is the little phone table going to have to be thrown out, because apparently the varnish will be taken off and the table is ruined (What varnish? It's a glass table), but that's the wallpaper ruined. Whilst he might be correct on the second issue, he's not on the first but there's no telling him, so I'm not going to antagonise him by mentioning this. What I have said is that I'll let it cool overnight and with the blunt side of a butter knife I'll remove the dried wax, and then I'll put white kitchen towel onto the mark and either use a hairdryer or an iron on a coolish setting to try and get any grease off, if there is grease remaining. This has sort of pacified him, but only just.

He's now in the kitchen watching the England - Scotland match with our neighbour. Hubby is English, neighbour is Scottish... Whilst as a daughter of a Scottish man, and the mother of two Scottish children, I did smile when England scored ;o).

I always know when hubby is a little unsettled or worried. It's comes through in his behaviour (rather than forgetting more), and we've gone back over a little bit in the "you're not doing enough around the house" remarks. They are constant at the moment. He's back to worrying about money again (which is usually my domain) and it filters through with his moods. The girls are off school for another week, and this has interupted his routine, but they go back next week so that should be one less thing for him. He's tired too, flailing about in bed at night time and getting up early regardless of whether he needs to or not. He's staying up later at night time too. Getting back to the cleaning issue and I'm having to put my thinking cap on about it. I have had a couple of thoughts on the matter, and I think the winning one is to use slightly more cleaning product so that the scent is stronger, and maybe even invest in a bottle of fabreze because doing it the old fashioned way in that "elbow grease" is better than using too many products is not working. The jobs are being done, but he's not noticing them because, I'm assuming, there's no "stong, clean smell". 

The day's that he's noticed I've worked my socks off are the days I've done the skirting boards and wood work, and the use of Lemon cleaner has meant there was a scent of Lemons throughout the house. I've always loved fresh scents like Lemon, Orange, Mandarin, Grapefruit etc, and these are the scents that I use when cleaning, but I've kept it to a minimum by using the microfibre cloths so that I don't have to use too much cleaner, but now I'm thinking that maybe a little bit more of the cleaner, or even scent should be used. I'm not wanting to go around all day cleaning to be back in the place where I'm told that I haven't done anything. He's always said "keeping a clean house is easier than tidying a dirtier house" and this is true, it also means that he's not even noticing the upkeep but would rather see me whirling around like Kim and Aggy starting in a dirty house and making it shiny.

I'm going to have to think this one through I think. My other thought was moving things about, but that would shoot me in the foot because he likes everything to be in the same place for consistencey - and I understand that, because if it's where it should be, he should - theoretically, be able to find it. This thought really rules itself out for that reason.

I think I'm going to go with the scented one. If for no other reason, I'll enjoy the scent whilst I'm running around like a headless chicken lol. Fingers crossed it works :o)

Morning. Yesterday I had my whinge about the falling out with my brother. Today I'm feeling verified for being upset by him because hubby has not given me wrong for it. I was expecting all hell to break loose and was waiting for the fall out when we got home, but it hasn't happened. All he has said is that I will crumble and back down to him just to keep the peace. I have told him that I won't. I think the thing that has hubby on my side, for a change, is the fact that I was told that I use hubby's illness as a sympathy card and a way of getting attention. That is one of the comments that has upset me the most, and I think him saying it has niggled hubby too. He didn't turn up yesterday, or last night, and to be honest, I would have thought more of him for doing so, but I know where I stand now, and I also know that it's a cold place out there when I'm this upset with someone (although I've never been this upset with someone, so I'm not sure just how cold it is, but I would imagine you'd need your thermal knickers on).

Another thing that rattled my cage at the weekend (yes, it continues - it was a good weekend, just a couple of muppets decided to rankle me - more fool them). Walking past a high street health shop was a sign saying that Coconut Oil and Tumeric (or Turmeric as my mother pronounces it, bless her) was a cure for Dementia. My mother walked in, with me behind because I don't like these things. She asked the woman behind the counter how it works. "Well it halts the illness and gets them back to normal" was the response. "How does it do this?" I asked. "Well I don't know, but it's something in the oil that makes it better" says she. Now I was already in bit of a mawdling with myself and this was just a red rag to a bull if I'm honest. "What dosage do you use?" was the next thing I asked. "Whey, usually people take about six teaspoons of it, but that depends on the height and weight of the individual." OK... now I'm getting slightly agitated. "How do you know the correct dosage for an individual then because not everyone is the same" says I. "I don't know" said she. "Is there any recognised tests that have been conducted with this miracle cure?" says I. "Well, if you go onto a reputable website on-line, then you'll be able to see what's been said about it. It hasn't had any proper tests conducted, but there's a lot of bumpf that says that it has helped". Now I'm not one to "pah" the ones that it has apparently helped, I'm really not - but to advertise it as a miracle cure is slightly presumptious when no recognised tests have been conducted (and if they were being conducted, it would be people like my husband that would be doing them). She was untaken with me, which in fairness I would have been the same with myself, but then I wasn't impressed with her either. "Would you like to buy some?" just finished me off. "If I thought for a moment that sitting eating Coconut Oil was going to cure my husband from Dementia, then I would have him sat infront of the tv eating it like it was Ben & Jerry's, so the answer to that is no thank you". 

My issue with these magical, miracle cures is not that they might or might not work, it's the fact they're being touted around as a magical, miracle cure without having any medical tests or input, and that the people that are selling them don't actually know how it's supposed to work, what it's supposed to do, and how you're supposed to take it. People with this illness can be vulnerable, and whilst these things might work for some, I imagine it to be like the medicines and they don't work for everyone. I don't like the idea of people ditching the medicines that help in favour of something that isn't proved to work and is just a fad until the next one comes along. I also think that if you're going to tout a product for such a reason, then you should at least have some knowledge other than saying "just gan an hae a look on the internet" because that just isn't good enough. Well I don't think so anyway.

On a happier note, my mum bought me a new lipstick and a super dooper frying pan, and I have to say, the frying pan is the frying pan of all frying pans, and the pancakes I made yesterday were the best I've ever made. Even the first one came out fan dabby dozy - and that has never, ever, ever happened before. So you see, even when the skies are cloudy and grey, just a frying pan can give me the chink of sunshine that is needed to make me smile. Sad, I know, but I just love that frying pan :o) xx

I'm in a tizz with myself to be honest. It's funny how something someone else says can have a knock on effect with your mood. For the first time in a very long time it wasn't hubby that has caused this feeling in me.

I went to my mum's house on Friday night for a weekend down there with hubby, the girls and the dog. I'm always a little on edge about these things, but all in all I have had a lovely, lovely time.

My brother turned up on Friday night unexpected and took something I said to mean something else. Now, if I'm going to say something that I'm thinking, I say it. I don't double it up to confuse people, I say what it is and take the fall out from it - if that's what is going to happen. I said something, he took me to mean something that wasn't mean, implied or even thought and a mini rant took place (from him, not me). I didn't enter into an argument, so it can't be called that, but after he stormed out of the house from his mini rant I left it at that until he came around on Saturday night. I tried to clear the air by saying that what he thought I'd meant by my comment wasn't actually what I meant or had even thought and it went down hill from there. Of course I'd meant it how he'd taken it. I'm the sweet and innocent one who viels her thoughts by trying to confuse using big words. It's always me that's the good guy. I'm always the cause of an argument. I have no reason to be upset. I have no reason to be upset by the texts that he sent hubby after he'd left because I shouldn't have seen them (I saw them because I'd asked him to send me dad's mobile number so I could contact him, but I'd left my phone at home and it was hubby's he sent it to and the texts were sat there - I did not go spoaching through hubby's phone, as I have been accused of). I put on crocodile tears to get sympathy. I do nothing for him. I look down my nose at him. I think I'm better than him. I don't treat him as an adult. I have no reason to worry and stress and I use hubby as an excuse.

These words, added to the texts I saw have sent me reeling. I now know exactly what he thinks of me, and I'd always thought I had a special relationship with my brother, but now I know different. What had started off with me trying to clear the air with him ended up with horrible things being said to me, and after a couple of days mulling it over the dynamics have changed. What was me trying to sort things out has in effect turned the argument around. I tried to clear the air. It wasn't accepted and now, with everything that has been said, from my viewpoint, I am not the one that has anything to apologise for - although, I didn't apologise for what I had said on the Friday night because I didn't say what he thinks I did, but I did try to clear things up, so as far as I can see (and I might be wrong) but I had tried to sort out the original episode. Now, it's him that owes an apology, and it's him that is going to have to work hard to get our friendship back on course because now it's been said I know that's what he thinks of me, and I can honestly say that I have never been as hurt as I am by anything anyone else has said to me. I know that I'm upset and hurt because I didn't retaliate. I didn't shout or argue or say anything mean back. I stood there and took it and just had tears running down my face. The fact that I'm not shouting or ranting or saying horrid things shows just how hurt I am by him. It's also not a very good place for him to be in because it means that for the moment, he's out in the cold. He might be thinking that I'm going to beg for forgiveness for the thing I never said in the first place, but it will be a cold day in hell before that happens, and whilst he thinks he has been wronged, when it dawns on him what he has said, and how hurtful they are and the fact that I'm not going to take him on about it, he will realise that I'm not playing his game. I have, in the past, put up with hubby's outbursts so that I can do things for him, because I do do things for him, and have done a lot, and whilst I'm not playing the "yay - look at the things I've done for you card" because I don't do it for that reason, I am taking a step back from this relationship until I have licked my wounds.

He was supposed to be coming to our house last night, to spend the day with hubby today and he hasn't. I've had to lie to the girls about him working and that's the reason he's not here, but that's not the truth. Whilst I understand him not coming, because he is afterall still mad at me, he has let me down by not coming because at the end of the day, it wasn't me he was coming to see, it was hubby, and whilst I don't think much of him at the moment, I think even less because of that.

I'm trying to head off this feeling of hurt, because if I don't, I'm going to hit "the wall", and whilst hitting the wall because of the situation we in this house are in is allowed, I'm not allowing this to let me crumple. I just don't understand how people don't think that their behaviour or what they say can have a knock on effect of what happens in our house, like I have to all of the time.