Tag Archives: Parents

The Other Kind of “Pushy Parents”: My “Mind-Blowingly High” IQ and My Need for a Disability Label

I originally intended to write a post on my experience of the other kind of “pushy parents” when the “Hooked on Labels” report first came out. However, I felt somewhat kept from disclosing my parents’ take on what might or night not be wrong with me, because after all I’m still in the assessment process. A rather hurtful comment by my father last Friday made me want to write about this anyway.

By the other kind of “pushy parents”, I mean parents who deny their child a disability label or services for special needs children when the child needs this. Of course, I do have a disability label – I am blind -, and of course, I did go to special ed. It was clear to my special ed teachers and professionals that I had social, emotional and behavioral problems, among other issues, for which I needed help. Most of them however denied my high IQ. As a result, my parents fought for years to get this recognized and to get me an academically challenging education. They eventually won, only to have me go back into the care system after six years of mainstream secondary school.

My parents are incredibly disappointed in me. My father last Friday even went so far as to say that, in a contrived kind of way, I alwasy manage to end up in institutions. Somehow, with my mind-blowingly high IQ, I manage to always manipulate professionals into providing me support I don’t need.

Never mind that my IQ isn’t as mind-blowingly high as my parents would like to believe. My verbal IQ was once measured at 154. This is within the highly (not exceptionally) gifted range. This IQ score was measured exactly once. Other times, I scored much lower, usually around 130. My performance IQ can’t be measured on the Wechsler scales, because I am blind. There is a non-verbal intelligence test for visually impaired children (unfortunately there’s no adult version). I got it administered when I was eleven, but had so much trouble and was so easily frustrated that the ed psych couldn’t finish the test. Of course, my parents likely reasoned that this wasn’t due to poorer non-verbal skills but due to my refusing to do tactile assignments because I didn’t accept my blindness.

And of course, there is no reason for that low frustration tolerance and all the social, emotional and behavioral challenges I’ve ever had, except for my refusing to accept my blindness. My parents say I didn’t have behavioral challenges at all until I transferred to the school for the visually impaired. Makes me wonder why I had to transition at all, since it wasn’t because I had to learn Braille. After all, I transferred in the middle of Kindergarten and didn’t start Braille lessons till second grade.

However, even if I didn’t have obvious behavioral problems – ie. aggression or self-harm – as a young child, I definitely did show signs of social and emotional weaknesses and sensory issues. I was intrigued by strings of information, had trouble relating to other children and had stims and sensory aversions. These may not be problems a parent pays attention to when 1. the child has low vision and 2. the parent believes the child is mind-blowingly intelligent.

I understand some peculiarities in a child can be cute. I remember, for instane, my father bringing me the home supermarket’s peanut butter in the hospital because I wouldn’t eat the hospital’s brand. I was about five then. I remember my mother searching every clothes venue in town because I would only wear seamless socks. My parents were proud that, at age two, I had memorized the underground stops. My parents didn’t mind that, at the same age, I made this crawling-in-one-place movement in bed. They were surprised when I still did it at eight, frustrated when I still did it at twelve and outright angry when I still did it at eighteen. (For those who wonder, I stopped this behavior when I went to independence training at age nineteen.) All of these are potential signs of autism or similar disabilities. I wouldn’t have minded my parents denying that these are potential signs of a disability if they’d always accepted me for them. But they didn’t. Instead, they grew increasingly angry with me for my idiosycrasies. In fact, my self-discovery process relating to autism started with my father using “autistic” as an insult. He should be lucky that I cared to google the DSM criteria before self-identfying with a disorder that he’d insulted me with, or I’d have far more self-diagnoses than I ever had.

And here I am at age thirty, nearly fifteen years into my discovery process with regards to autism. Suddenly, somehow, the behavior that my parents found cute when I was two but were desperate for me to change when was eighteen, is no longer a problem. My mind-blowingly high IQ is, because I use it to con people into believing I deserve a disability label and services that I don’t need.

One last point. Suppose I do really have as mind-blowingly high an IQ as my father claims I do. So does he. Suppose I could use that mind-blowingly high IQ to manipuulate every single professional around me. So could he. So who out of us is the one who is being manipulative? Think on this.

Spectrum Sunday
Hooked on Labels - responses & other relevant posts linky

“Pushy Parents”?: A “Pushy Adult”‘s Opinion

There has been some talk around the UK special needs blogosphere about a recent report that suggests parents may be pushing for special needs diagnoses when these are not needed. The report is poignantly called “Hooked On Labels”. It points out that many teachers feel that pushy parents are responsible for unwarranted learning or behavioral difficulty diagnoses. The report does not ask for parents’ views and did not ask anyone to quantify how many parents might be working the system to gain diagnoses their children don’t need.

I understand both sides of the issue. My father used to work at a secondary school with at the time around 1500 students. Of these, at one point, 139 had a formal dyslexia diagnosis. At the time, it was thought that only 1% of the population have dyslexia, hence suggesting a serious overdiagnosis. I just googled it and found current estimated prevalence rates as high as 17%. Assuming that reading ability runs on a bell curve, this would indicate that those only one standard deviation below the norm would be classified as dyslexic. Now I have no clue whether reading ability runs on a bell curve, but if a disability occurs in as many as 17% of the population, in my opinion, it can barely be called a disability. This means the system is failing, not the student. Either that, or parents are being pushy.

I find it interesting that parents are automatically blamed for overdiagnosis of learning or behavioral difficulties. Some teachers surveyed for the report suggested parents were working the sysstem to get accommodations for their children. Some even said perhaps parents wanted these children to enter into more competitive education which they otherwise would not have been able enough for. I do believe there may be some parents who get their children labeled with disabilities in order for them to be able to compete. However, doesn’t that mean that schools are just too focused on competition rather than individual differences? If you need a diagnosis to get your idnividual strengths and weaknesses recognized, isn’t that the problem rather than parents seeking that diagnosis?

I have always, ever since I first self-diagnosed with autism in 2002, believed that, if a child doesn’t cope, either the child has something going on or the system is screwed. I have always advocated for more individualized educational programming, but this doesn’t happen yet.

Mind you, I disapprove of parents seeking labels for their child – or adults seeking a label for themselves – just so they can get into special ed, collect disability benefits or the like. That’s not fair and if it happens, it needs to stop. This is however talking extreme examples. With how restrictive the special education and benefits systems are these days, I don’t believe many people would be able to fake themselves or their children into them. Where accommodations at home or at school are concerned, I don’t think anything is wrong with demanding them. Like I said, the need for labels to qualify for them, is the problem.

Some people see me as “working the system”, too. They don’t deny that I’m disabled – they can’t deny my blindness -, but they do deny that I’m as disabled as I claim to be. I asked for a second opinion when I was given a diagnosis that by some is perceived as meaning I misuse the system. Now dependent personality disorder is a genuine mental health condition, not willful behavior, but even my psychologist has some trouble seeing that. Treatment for DPD is not a kick in the behind to solve your own shit, but even my psychologist has some trouble seeing that, too.

In my case, the DPD diagnosis resulted from the same flawed logic that might get parents to seek learning or behavioral difficulty diagnoses for their children: the need to always have a label to explain every single need a person has. The occupational therapist from the blindness agency said my difficulty making tea wasn’t due to blindness. Another occupational therapist said it wasn’t due to motor difficulties. My psychologist assumed there are no executive functioning diffiuclties, so it wans’t due to that either. Since there needs to be some explanation, my psychologist decided to consider it a sign of dependence and to label that dependence DPD. As a side note, my husband tried to make tea with his eyes closed and it was way harder than it is with his eyes open.

I am often told that I desperately want to be different and that’s why I seek an autism diagnosis. I do see myself as different indeed, but I don’t need an autism diagnosis for that. There’s “highly sensitive”, “introverted”, “intellectually gifted”, and probably others that don’t require a shrink. I don’t even seek an autism diagnosis specifically – I seek recognition of my impairments.

Like I said, I have always felt that, if I fall through the cracks with the support I do get, either something’s wrong with me or something’s wrong with the support system. If blindness could get me the support I need, I wouldn’t have sought a mental diagnosis. For your information, it wasn’t me who sought my first autism diagnosis in 2007. They were professionals working with the blind. If I am just a lazy, unmotivated fatass who willfully misuses the system, I shouldn’t even get a DPD diagnosis – the label for that is malingering.

Back to pushy parents. It is my firm belief that there are as many parents who ask for labels their child doesn’t need, as there are parents who deny their child labels they do need. The solution to both is individualized support.

Hooked on Labels - responses & other relevant posts linky

Ten Ways in Which I’m Blessed

This week was a tough one. I have been stressed almost constantly over a lot of things. For this reason, I’m extra happy to find out that Finish the Sentence Friday is about blessings this week. It’s supposed to be a joint linky with Tuesday Ten, but I can’t find the Tuesday Ten post on blessings. Maybe it’ll go live next Tuesday. However, let me write a list of ways in which I’m blessed anyway. I hope it’ll cheer me up. Here goes.


  • I have my husband. I’m so glad I met him nine years ago.

  • I have my home in the tiny village.

  • I have my family. My parents are still in good health and my grandma is still alive and relatively well for a 92-year-old too.

  • I have my cat Barry.

  • I don’t have to worry about money most of the time.

  • I am in okay physical health.

  • I have my computer, with which I can connect to the Internet and interact with mostly supportive people.

  • I can write and express myself creatively.

  • I have my faith. Even if no-one else loved me, God does.

  • I am alive. I am not always happy about this, but right now, I try to see it as a blessing.

It was a bit hard to write this list, but I’m so happy I got to do it. I hope you are blessed in many ways too.

Currently – May 2016

I have seen people, particularly lifestyle bloggers, post a monthly Currently post before. This is a post in which you answer some prompts about what you’re currently up to. Today, I am embarking on the journey too. There are many variations on the theme. I chose to link up with the Currently linky provided by Anne of in residence and Jenna of Gold and Bloom.

Celebrating

It’s liberation day in the Netherlands today. The celebration started after World War II ended for the Netherlands on May 5, 1945. It is also the feast of the ascension of Jesus today. Ironically, though liberation day is much more important than Jesus’ ascension to the Dutch, even to many Christians, it’s a bank holiday because of the ascension. Liberation day only is a bank holiday once every five years. Quite odd if you ask me. I say this even as a progressive Jesus follower, but I want to point out that without liberty many people would not be able to express their faiths.

Official celebrations aside, we celebrated my mother’s and sister’s birthdays last Saturday. My mother’s birthday was on April 28th. My sistehr’s is the 13th of May. Yes, it’s a Friday the 13th this year and no, that’s not a bad omen. My sister was born on Friday the 13th, in fact.

Reading

Lots of blogs. After the April A to Z Challenge is over, I’m surprisingly motivated to read a variety of blogs. I was hardly motivated to check out other participants during the challenge, but now I’m again interested in reading other blogs.

Book-wise, a few new books are coming out this month that I’d love to read. I badly want to read The Genome Generation by Steven M. Lipkin and Jon Luoma, but it isn’t even out in hardcover yet. I saw it up for pre-order months ago on Kobo, but now the idea of an eBook publication seems to have vanished. Consumed, the new book by Abbie Rushton, is out as an eBOok and I badly want to get it. However, I’m not finished reading The Memory of Light by Francisco X. Stork yet and want to read that first.

Pondering

I just discovered Philosophy Experiments, a site full of philosophical games and challenges. I am in pretty good philosophical health according to the Philosophical Health Check. It found only one tension in my beliefs. I also made it through Battleground God with just one direct hit.

Sipping

Coffee, mostly. Oh, and a yucky type of fiber that I got prescribed to help with my chronic constipation. I can’t get used to it.

Going

I went to my parents’ on Saturday, like I said. This was jsut a day trip, as my father is doing construction on the upper floor, where we usually sleep.

This month, I’m not going anywhere, except to my and my husband’s home. I’m there right now because of the bank holiday and also because I had a meeting yesterday. I met with an independent client advocate, who’s going to help me through the process of getting care funding for once I’m living with my husband.

What have you been up to lately?

Seven Things

Last week, one of Friday Reflections’ prompts was to list seven things about yourself. I was at my parents’ for the week-end, where the desk I had my computer on was uncomfortably high. I also I had a hard time concentrating with my parents, husband, sister and her boyfriend in the room. For this reason, I didn’t write a post this week-end. (On Friday, I attended a concert so didn’t have the time to blog at all.) I’m still not very inspired today, so I just choose to use last Friday’s prompt. Here are seven keywords that describe me.

1. Preemie. Last week was World Prematurity Day, so I just got to choose “preemie” as my first descriptive word. I was born a little over three months premature in 1986. I was very lucky to have been born in the city of what I believe is the oldest children’s hospital of the Netherlands and even luckier that the Netherlands is a developed country with good health care. Read this article on Preemie Babies 101 to find out more about preemie care in developing countries. This made me realize how fortunate I am.

2. Intelligent. This is the first thing my parents would say if they had to describe me, or at least it was when I grew up. When I was twelve, my verbal IQ was measured at 154 (my performance IQ cannot be measured because I’m blind). This means I may be intellectually gifted. At least, Mensa considers a verbal IQ of over 130 to suffice for membership if you’re blind. Yes, I did at one point consider joining Mensa.

3. Blind. Okay, let’s start the collection of disability labels here. I am blind. I have always been legally blind and have been practically totally blind since age eighteen, although I still keep noticing that my vision can get better or worse. I notice even tiny changes that are not measureable by ophthalmologists. I am clasified as having light perception only and have been classfied as such ever since 2004, but I still use the tiny bit of vision I have for orientation sometimes. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I can’t shut it off.

4. Autistic. And possibly otherwise neurodiverse. I wasn’t diagnosed with autism till age twenty but suspected it from age twelve on. My parents didn’t want to hear of it, so after they voiced thir strong disapproval of my “hypochondriasis”, I pretended I was completely neurotypical. I failed, of course. Even though my autism diagnosis has been questioned a few times, most professionals are sure that I’m not neurotypical.

5. Mentally ill. After all, I have a mental health diagnosis. I am not one of those neurodiversity activists who believe that a psychiatric disorder is completely separate from a neurodevelopmental disorder. That distinction is, in my opinion, entirely political. I however do sometimes wish I didn’t have the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder, but that’s because BPD is one of the more stigmatized mental health diagnoses.

6. Blogger. I have been a blogger since 2007 (or 2002, if you count my online diaries that have been republished on my old blog). I don’t like to be associated with my old blogs though. I have this idea in my mind that I need to blog regularly or i need to start over and not associate with my old blog at all. It’s really surprising that this blog has been active for over two years, because I’ve started and restarted my Dutch blogs half a dozen times in the last year.

7. Wife. I don’t like this word, although I do like to refer to my husband as such. It’s probably because, in Dutch, the word “wijf”, which sounds like “wife”, is an insult for a woman. I always feel that the word “wife” sounds slightly submissive. However, I like being my husband’s wife.

Career Aspirations

I have been feeling rather uninspired in the blogging department lately. It couldb e the lingerng effects of #Write31Days, the fact that my mind is too unquiet to write, or both. It could be something else entirely. I started to write a post earlier this evening, but deleted it after I went off on a tangent. The post was on my parents’ jobs and aspirations and how my aspirations growing up were different.

My mother worked in administration at a major science institute for 35 years. She started as a data entry assistant or something in 1977 and worked herself up to project management by the time she quit her job in 2011. When she started working for this institute, she had just earned a low-level high school diploma through adult education at the age of 22. She has regretted her entire life that she never got any more education. In spite of this, she worked herself up to a well-paying position where all of her colleagues had college degrees.

My father dropped out of college sometime in the 1970s. He was a physics major for years, but never got beyond the foundation (first-year) certificate, although he did work as a student assistant for a while. After leaving the university, my father worked various jobs and then was a homemaker for years, doing all sorts of community service while caring for my sister and me. It was through a volunteer job at my high school that he found employment in 2000: he was doing computer maintenance on a voluntary basis and got more and more tasks, until he eventually said he was willing to continue his job provided he got paid. He worked as a system administrator for ten years until he too quit his job.

My parents had gone on a very different path through education and employment. My mother was hard-working, always looking to make up for her lack of formal education. My father was more laid-back. Nonetheless, when I spoke to my parents about my own education and my parents’ decisions regarding it, they assured me they had always been on the same page, expecting me to reach my full academic potential.

I never had a good understanding of my mother’s job. In 2006, when I was myself in college, we had to interview someone about their job for communication skills. I assume I did a lousy job at the interview, because I still hardly have a clue what my mother’s project management duties entailed. With regard to my father’s job, I had a greater understanding, but still I find it hard to explain what he did except for fixing my computer when it was broken.

Consequently, I never aspired to become like my parents in terms of employment. I never understood why someone wanted to work in administration and, by the time my father got his job, I had already figured out I didn’t want to work in computers either. The reason I probably never aspired to get one of my parents’ jobs, however, is probably that neither did they. I don’t think that, growing up, my mother wanted to work in administration and computers didn’t exist when my father grew up. My parents are a great example of what my high school student counselor once said: hardly anyone ultimately gets the job they envisioned for themselves at the end of high school. A possible exception are those growing up among generations and generations of doctors or lawyers, and these are not a small group among the students of my high-level high school. However, in today’s era of flexibility in employment, very few people get to become exactly what they aspired to be thirty years on.

I probably already blogged about my childhood aspirations. Like many girls, I gravitated more towards working with people than objects. This turns out to be a common distinction between girls and boys on the autism spectrum, too. While autistic girls, being autistic, do not have good people skills, they do generally have more people-focused (special) interests than do boys.

I suppressed my interest in people-focused jobs for years. This had to do with my being aware of my lack of social skills, but also with the fact that both of my parents gravitate more towards objects than people. Both have a strong dislike for people in the “helping professions”. This could’ve been parlty learned, because the “helping professionas” weren’t all that helpful when I was growing up. However, I learned in school that children develop a preference for people vs. objects early on and this is a strong determiner of later career choices. Like I said, a common misconception about autism is that autistics naturally gravitate more towards objects than people. This is not necessarily true, particularly in autistic girls. Although my parents, both with some autistic traits, fit the stereotype, I do not.

When I’d Grow Up…

Last Friday when I was at my parents’, we had a long discussion. We often do. My sister was frustrated that she still doens’t have a “real” job at 27. Neither do I at 29, but it doesn’t frustrate me as much unless others are talking about how much of a failure they are for not having a “real” (or “real” enough) job. After all, we measure what we want to achieve by what the people around us (want to) achieve.

My sister is the only memeber of my family with a college degree. Nonetheless, my father attended college and my mother would’ve wanted to attend post-secondary education at least, which she never got the opportunity for. Therefore, it was instilled in me that I need to achieve. I knew at an early age that I was later going to a high level high school and maybe even university. When I was twelve and starting secondary education, I wanted to be a mathematician or a linguist when I grew up.

It hadn’t always been this way. When I was in Kindergarten, probably I wanted to be a princess or a Mommy like every other girl in my class. Starting by first grade however, I wanted to be a writer and I continued to want to be a writer far into high school.

My parents did of course tell me that you couldn’t make a lviing out of writing, so I had various other aspirations throughout school. For the longest time, I wanted to be a teacher, switching form elementary education when I was myself in elementary school to various secondary subjects when I was in high school to finally wanting to be a college professor when I’d finished high school. I did have some bad thoughts about burning out while teaching and landing on disability, but never quite gave into these thoughts.

I also for a long time wanted to get married and start a family. When I was an adolescent, I for a while thought I was a lesbian. I can’t remember what I thought regarding marriage and children at that time. Of course, gay couples have been able to legally marry since 2001 here in the Netherlands, but this was the same time when I thought (as it turns out correctly) that I was on the autism spectrum. I thought this meant (as it turns out incorrectly) that autistics didn’t marry, so probably neither would I. In fact, I didn’t give a long-term relationship much thought until it happened with my husband.

As it turns out, I did study linguistics for a bit in 2007 and was planning on becoming a scientist in this field. It never worked out. Obviously, I never even attempted to become a teacher. I am however somewhat of a writer now, having had my first piece published in a book last June. I am also of course married and happily so!

Mama’s Losin’ It

Everyday Gyaan

Transitions: Moving Out of Student Housing

One of today’s prompts for Friday Reflections is about moving out of your last home. I have not truly lived in a home since being institutionalized nearly eight years ago. Before then, I lived on my own for three months in a student housing apartment. For this post, I am going to write about moving out of that home.

I was admitted to the psychiatric hospital suddenly in the middle of the night on NOvember 3, 2007. I also couldn’t be sure then that I would never return to the student housing apartment, although the psychiatrist admitting me did say so more or less. The apartment, like I said, was from student housing. This meant you needed to be in college in that city to be allowed to live there. I formally quit college three months into my stay at the psychiatric unit, but persuaded the student housing corporation to let me keep the apartment for a while, then was never given an eviction notice. I held on to the apartment until I could no longer afford it, which came when my long-term care copay was increased in May of 2010.

I was by now relatively stable and had moved from the acute unit to the resocialization unit. I was sure however that I’d not return to this home. I formally left the student housing accommodation on May 3, 2010. It wasn’t a coincidence that this was exactly 2 1/2 years after my admission to the hospital, as long-term care copay started at one year in a facility, you pay the low copay for another year and my social worker applied for an extra six months of the low copay for “resocialization into the community”.

Interestingly, I don’t remember much about letting go of my student housing apartment. I remember the packing. Because we packed rather inefficiently, some boxes were over 10kg and others were just five. I sent them to my parents, so this matters, because you pay extra for sending boxes over 10kg. I remember the argument with my parents (and especially my sister) because I wanted to get rid of my old keyboards that I’d gotten from my grandma. I also remember getting a friend of a nurse to take the stuff I no longer wanted to the garbage collection place. (I can’t believe I trusted that man, whom I had never met, in my home even with the nurse accompanying him.) I didn’t want my husband (who was still my boyfriend then) to help me much, so he did some packing and lots of cleaning. We probably left the apartment cleaner than I’d gotten into it.

Moving out was a bit emotional of course, because it meant, or so I thought, letting go of the idea of living independently. Roughly at the same time that I handed in the keys to my student housing apartment, I handed my parents my key to their old home, which they were selling. This signified my letting go of the home in which I’d grown up. It also signified my letting go of the idea that my parents would always be there for me. Not that they were. After all, since I’d moved into the student housing apartment and especially since I’d been institutionalized, they felt I had now grown up and should take care of myself. I almost said it signified that my parents were no longer the most important people in my life. This is true in a way, because a month after this, my boyfriend proposed to me.

In many ways, moving out of student housing was bittersweet. It was freeing, because it helped me let go of the requirement that I be in full-time college. It also in some ways made me sad, having to let go of the hope of being in full-time college again. The same goes, to a lesser degree now, for living independently. Of course, I plan to go live with my husband, but I didn’t know this back then. Moving out helped me let go of the requirement of living independently, but it also sort of crushed the hope of my living independently again, at least until my husband and I got our current apartment.

As you can see, my moving out of student housing was in many ways a transitional point in my life. It helped me make the transition from daughter to girlfriend and eventually wife, but more so it helped me become my own, independent self. This seems a bit paradoxical, but what I mean is, I no longer held my parents respnsible for making my decisions, and I didn’t hold my boyfriend responsible for making my decisions either. At least not yet. Unfortunately, now that I’m married, I have fallen a bit for the habit of holding my husband responsible for my decisions. I don’t believe in the submissive wife type of bullcrap, so I need to let go of this habit.

Reflections From Me
Everyday Gyaan

Back-to-School Memory

One of the prompts over at Mama’s Losin’ It is to describe a back to school memory. Usually, my first days at school were quite eventful, and not usually in a positive way.

I remember the day I started in seventh grade at a new school for the blind in 1998. It was my first time taking my laptop to school on a weird-looking troller, because I couldn’t carry the backpack myself. In elementary school, we’d all used braille typewriters. We started the school day with a talk from the principal, and then everyone went to their classrooms.

For my first class, we had computer education, for which we didn’t use our own laptops, since not everybody had one. In fact, I was the only one who had a laptop not provided by the school.

Our next class was either biology or English. We’ll say it was biology, and there, I had to use my computer. And it wouldn’t start up. I had my teacher take a look, but she couldn’t figure out the problem either. Neither could my English teacher for the next hour. I had an utter meltdown, fearing i’d ruined my entire school experience because I couldn’t even figure out my own computer. As I usually do, I refused every opportunity at finding a solution, such as my taking my schoolwork home to do it once my parents had figured out the problem. I was in total panic.

As it turned out when I got home, my parents had set a password on my computer which they hadn’t told me, and had forgotten to have my computer bypass the password upon startup. They’d set the password to prevent teachers from doing stuff with my computer they weren’t supposed to, and they hadn’t told me for fear I’d let it slip off my tongue.

Recently, I related this story to my husband, who is quite computer savvy. He got a post-secondary certificate in computing at age twelve, so he knew a bit about the computers of the late 1990s. He told me that the way my parents had set up the password was not a safeguard anyway.

I have had countless more back to school experieneces ever since and many more bad experiences with computers at school. Once I went to a mainstream secondary school in 1999, I was lucky to have my father work in computers there. At least, I was lucky when my computer acted up. I wasn’t so lucky when I acted up, because inevitably my father would find out.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Gratitude List (Birthday Edition)

It’s been over a week since I posted. This past week has been pretty rough, but there have also been good moments. Time for a gratitude list once again! I am going to cheat a little and include some items from the previous week.


  1. I spent the week-end at my parents’ for an early birthday celebration for me. It’s a tradition that my parents give me redcurrants and strawberries for my birthday. However, the redcurrants had not ripened yet and the strawberries had been eaten by my parents’ chickens. My mother bought some on the market though, which were much better than the ones I had bought at the supermarket a week or so before.

  2. My husband helped me figure out how to copy music from CDs onto my computer. I copied some of my parents’ music. Also, one of my parents’ acquaintances, who is a singer/songwriter, invited me to her album presentation this coming September. I’ve not yet made up my mind whether I’m going, but it was cool to get an invite.

  3. I got some lovely beads from my parents. They were plastic beads, whic I don’t normally use. I usually use glass beads. However, I was able to create a nice bracelet with some of these beads.

  4. Getting these beads from my parents inspired me to look for acrylic beads in funny shapes and colors to make a memory wire bracelet of. Memory wire bracelets get quite heavy if you use glass beads, so I was happy to find acrylic beads in heart, square, disc, round and even butterfly shapes. I just finished the memory wire bracelet a few hours ago, but don’t have a picture yet.

  5. I have been able to get into a nice exercise routine with the help of my husband’s MP3 player (which he gave to me). It helps me get an idea of how long I spend on the elleptical trainer or stationary bike.

  6. I have discovered a new kind of candy at the institution town’s store. I know, not exactly healthy, but so yummy! I managed to keep from bingeing this week even though I did buy the candy.

  7. Institution meals are notorious for lacking taste. Furthermore, because of a new meal-providing company, we no longer get to choose our meals from a menu each for ourselves. Instead, the nurses choose and we just have to go with whatever is being served. This makes me extra grateful that tomorrow is my birthday and I got to select a birthday meal. It’s still provided by the same company, but the meal I selected (noodles with beef and some kind of peas) is quite good. I got to eat it today as I’m at my husband’s tomorrow.

  8. The weather has been quite good yesterday and today. Today, I wore one of the skirts I bought a few weeks ago again.

  9. My husband took me out to lunch at the restaurant near the institution town railroad station today. I ate a delicious tuna salad roll.

  10. My sister and her boyfriend will be coming over tomorrow and my in-laws will be visiting on Sunday. I’m looking forward to it!


What are you grateful for this week?

Linking up with Reasons to Be Cheerful.