Operation family BBQ

Wonky Warrior is back within her tribe and in five minutes it was as if she had never been away.

Sitting down to the back room table, I notice the cat flap is slightly open. Kipper is sat looking very pleased with his kitty self with a few feathers stuck suspiciously to his left paw...

suddenly he pounces! "oh no!" I think there is a mouse or something in here and am relieved to see him trying to swat at a little fly.

noticing the cat flap once more, I see what it propping it open- a birds clawed foot! NICE! Kipper is swooshing his tail and sits proudly next to his presentation for the family with recently returned matriarch! EWWWWWWWWK

Luckily for me, the ever lovely fluffy headed husband Richard comes to the rescue and unceremoniously disposed with the long lost claw in the compost heap and showed the cat the door.

My son Michael is off to help my sister (AK), uncle and my cousins put together my sisters little shed, although it is not allowed to be called a shed because its declared to be a "summer house".

Something you should know about my family. We are a rather "bohemian" eclectic mix here. Our older children are adopted children, we have had them for 8 years now and things have been, errr, well, not entirely straight forward.


Blindly hanging on through the bombshells from social services, having the very ground you gingerly tread shaken to bits by removal of supports and everything you thought you knew turned upside down at regular intervals and navigate the mine fields of the effects of early loss and trauma with an iffy map of therapeutic reparenting, best describes it. Fondly referred to as the adoptive revolutionary front their tactics of avoiding attachment and lulling us into a false sense of security every now and again followed by a swift descent into the holey brain wiring of children with early trauma is a regular occurrence.

We also have a 2 and a half year old who was born with great difficulty having been told we would never have children naturally! She is a miracle in everyway, we called her Bernice "bringer of victory".

Anyway, AK and the family arrive in a heap and there is a flurry of activity, I have been busy making pineapple salsa and between us, Richard and I have got a table of goodies ready for all the family to enjoy.

Michael is trying to impress uncle and shows him he can read- he has had many years of struggle and has suddenly found the Percy Jackson books of desire. He has read a load of them now but instead of praising him, uncle said "Haven't you read Harry Potter? You stupid or something?" Seeing his forlorn face he quipped "only joking lad"

My Dad and I put our head in our hands what an awful thing to say. I mean reading of all things. My poor lad. We decide that it might be best to have him sat on our side of the garden and tell him what a smashing boy he really is.

AK reads Bernice a story and then she is in her cot snoozing softly. It feels strange without Gems here, she is living in a therapeutic unit now and it seems that people don't know what to say about that so don't say anything. Mental health is such a taboo, especially in hurting children it seems.

I am exhausted, and then I can't walk into the house. Much to my embarrassment I have to be wheeled the 20ft into the house.

my Gran pipes up "Well, you have done too much what do you expect Jen?"

I feel like screaming "I AM 34 NOT 94! ITS JUST A BBQ NOT RUNNING THE LONDON MARATHON"

is it unreasonable to think this way? I want to live LIFE and LIFE to the full- I am 34 and refuse to give up and "rest". I will not isolate myself and give up! I defy you RA Monster...! Get back in your box!