Darling Wifey is delighted.
She has been utterly supportive as I have been a grumpy old git for three years, taking my Master’s. She tolerated me as I took exams and wrote my thesis. She checked my grammar on my letter of application in order to make all my hard work look good.
And today, when I finally got the promotion I have always wanted, she ordered me a Triple Meat Feast pizza with a large scotch on the side.
Could it be that she wants to get her hands on my pay rise?
And did I really say that she could go shopping with the credit card in Boston next month?

I think this promotion came just in time…

PS I always said that one of Darling Wifey’s most extraordinary talents was the ability to lose her keys within fifteen seconds of using them to open the front door. But today she excelled herself. My Most Admirable Mother-In-Law was forced to be a taxi driver for the family whilst I was away foraging for pay-rises because, in Darling Wifey’s words, “You lost my keys, you idiot!”
When I got home I found them sitting next to her laptop, in plain view, right next to the seat she had spent the day sitting in whilst she worked.
There is no denying it: the girl has talent!

Darling Wifey (genus Me oportet propter praeceptum te nocere) is what can be described as an experimental snackaholic. The chillers by the entrance to the supermarket are frequently stalked by packs of these creatures, whose feigned co-operation only shallowly masks ferocious competition. Weaker (or lower fat content) inhabitants of the cabinets are picked off at an alarming rate as the swarm ravages the shelves for exotica like extra virgin balsamic winter herb dressing and seven leaf salad. Back in the domicile, Darling Wifey devours these insubstantial morsels to mark the beginning of the Dieting Season - a short period of abstinence that concludes three days later when the menu for the local pizza delivery service is retreived from behind the microwave.

Little Madam (genus Non est mea culpa) is a social eater: anything that gets in the way of conversation, such as actually eating the food, is to be avoided at all costs. The mealtime ritual consists of telling fellow members of the domicile where to sit, which cutlery to use, which cup is given to which individual, who has the largest portion of vegetables and why she should just skip the main course and go straight for the ice-cream. Her diet is supplemented by regular foraging for fresh fruit from the kitchen table (of which she takes only one bite per item) and lollipops from Grandma’s house.

Little Nutter (genus Id est mihi, id non est tibi, more commonly known as “The Hoover” due to his eating habits) is a voracious feeder with no known limit to his appetite. Feeding times vary, usually commencing within 90 seconds of waking up in the morning and can be sustained throughout the day; they have been known to continue even after the onset of sleep. This creature is rarely seen without a morsel stuffed somewhere about its person. Table habits vary according to the sloppiness of the menu and whether Finger Painting will be a profitable mealtime entertainment. The source of the food is not of interest to Little Nutter, who will happily clear his neighbours’ plates if they aren’t careful.

Tiny Flirt (genus Magister Mundi sum) is a constant feeder who is currently discovering the joys of spoon feeding and the rapture of new flavours. Mealtimes are messy occasions due to the enthusiasm of the Dinnertime Dance, which commences the moment a bib is produced and usually outlasts the supply of food. Every mouthful is welcomed with a cheer, spattering food over the hapless individual on feeding duty and rendering him/her at risk of being eaten later. Mealtimes are usually concluded with a wash and change of clothes for all concerned.

Yours Truly (genus Mellita, domi adsum) is an indiscriminate feeder, preferring large portions of anything that does not require picking apart for tiny morsels of gastronomic delight. Delivered food is preferred, especially if it arrives with beer and can be eaten out of the carton.

Readers of Darling Wifey’s blog will know that we are becoming devoted ebook readers. After years of using an electronic Bible (my primary teaching resource) on my Psion, keeping separate notes on file, and having a dog-eared study Bible full of scrawls in the margin, I have discovered that ebook Readers for the Palm have facilities for highlighting and hotlinking texts (for cross-references) and adding notes. Student heaven.

So we bought a really good ebook reader and I have started adding notes & cross references to my copy the Bible on my Palm. Should take a while to get it up to speed, but then it is also an excuse to kick-start some nearly-extinct memory cells…

Then I downloaded a free ebook; I couldn’t open it with my reader. Contact Customer Services: ‘your Reader does not open the industry standard .pdb files. Please download our free .pdb ebook reader.‘

I checked with MobiPocket, and got the following: ‘there is only one standard format which is the AportisDoc format…‘

Then, when I was looking at some Bible reference works, found that I need the industry standard “iSiLo” Reader to read them - except for when the Teal is the industry standard.

There is only one reason for all these differences: use one Reader, and you can only read ebooks bought from one shop. The “industry standard” seems to be to try and lock your customer out of reach of your competitors.

Meanwhile, I had two hours alone with Tiny Flirt this afternoon whilst Darling Wifey and Little Madam went swimming (Little Nutter was at his day nursery.) We sang a couple of songs, and he barfed on me. Then he lay on his mat and played with his gym for a bit, and when I picked him up he barfed on me again. Then he rolled onto his front, tried to crawl until he was in a screaming temper, and when I comforted him he barfed on me. Then he cried for some food, and I fed him, and he barfed on me.

When Darling Wifey and Little Madam got home, he was all charm again…

What a way to spend Valentine’s Day: the clearout so we can sell the house continued today. Darling Wifey was filtering all the ancient, unfashionable stuff from her wardrobe - only the stuff she never wears any more.

So I emerged from scrubbing the toilets clean to see her looking very sad. She had thrown out the dress she wore on our first date. That makes me Grand Master Love Rat of the Day, I think.

The stuff that goes on in our own house, under our noses, is incredible. There is a collection of coloured glass bottles decorating the en-suite, and at some point (although not more recently than Christmas, judging by the smell when I pulled the corks out of them) Little Madam had filled them with milk. I think she was trying to grow cows.

The high point of the cleaning mission to the bathrooms was my Bright Idea of the Day. The easiest way to clean a shower cubicle, I figured, was to get in it and scrub the walls as you scrub yourself.

It worked brilliantly until the hot water ran out.

It isn’t quite accurate to say that Autism is a single, specific condition. In fact, the National Autistic Society prefers to use the term “Autism Spectrum” because there is such a wide variety of circumstances and symptoms involved.

Stella Waterhouse (see the links under ‘I have been reading’ to the left) suggests three different major types of Autism:
“Perceptual Autism” is the condition associated with aberrant reflexes (hand flapping and so on,) anxiety, allergies, sleep disorders, panic attacks and precocious areas of development (which is not a special Autism “gift” like Dustin Hoffman’s Rain Man would have you think, but simply the result of extended periods of total concentration on a single task.)
Waterhouse further links this form of Autism to impairments of the limbic system, and refers her reader to cases where doses of secretin have had a profound effect on ASD children. Little Nutter does not fit this profile of Autism.

“Reactive Autism” is associated with trauma; Waterhouse goes to great lengths to compare the reactions of Terry Waite and John McCarthy to their ordeals in captivity in the Middle East with the condition of some Autistic children. But here I would have to disagree with her. Whilst there undoubtedly are similarities between trauma-induced psychosis and ASD, concluding anything from those similarities is misleading because the causes are so different. We simply do not know the extent of the ‘overlap.’ Little Nutter does not fit this profile of Autism.

“Induced Autism” is associated with genetic markers that can be identified in tests. The theory here is that a child is genetically ‘at risk,’ and an environmental trigger (medical treatments, illnesses and yes, the MMR) causes the onset of Autism. The tragedy here is that it is believed to be a direct cause of the regression that is so distressing to all people concerned. Little Nutter does not fit this profile of Autism.

Does that mean that our son is not Autistic? Well, I don’t know. But I do know that the paediatricians, special health workers, psychologists and psychiatrists all say that he is; and the National Autistic Society would certainly define him as being in the Autistic Spectrum.

Within the Autistic Spectrum there is a further idea put forward by Waterhouse; Neurodevelopmental Delay. And reading this section is frightening. There is a link (in theory at least) between:
severe Morning Sickness in pregnancy (Darling Wifey was dreadfully ill);
severe stress later in pregnancy (Darling Wifey’s boss was very unreasonable with her about her illness and tried to force her to either work or resign);
prolonged labour (32 hours);
foetal distress (Little Nutter ended up being resuscitated and placed in an incubator);
general anaesthetics in early months (Little Nutter had surgery at 20 months, 29 months and 33 months)
and the symptoms of Neurodevelopmental Delay:
late learning to walk;
late learning to talk;
difficulty learning to dress;
auditory difficulties;
dislike of crowded places;
difficulties in non-verbal communication.

The symptoms “fit” and the theoretical causes were almost all present. And yes, it is only a theory with no clinical data to support it.

But it still makes us both feel guilty as hell for subjecting our baby boy to three bouts of general anaesthetic so early in his life - only to discover that it could well be one of the plethora of causes of his ASD.

There was a plain, digestive biscuit in Little Nutter’s plate of fruit shortcakes this morning. Outrage. Three times he threw it across the room; the third time, I took it back into the kitchen. He went bananas. I put it back in his bowl again, and he was happy.

Lucky for me I have spent the week suffering from gastro-enteritis - otherwise I would have eaten it.

Not being able to keep anything down for four days wasn’t fun. I ended up dizzy due to low blood-sugar levels, and threw up when I was given anti-emetics at the surgery. I was in the nurse’s consulting room, gently barfing into her sink when she said, “I might as well give you an injection. Just drop your trousers whilst you’re bending over.”

Dignity? What dignity?

P.S. I have been recommending an online shopping village to everyone. A small percentage of the profit on every purchase is donated to the National Autistic Society every time you buy anything. It doesn’t cost the customer any extra to use this site. I’ll try to add a link to the side of this page - so the whole site may crash until Darling Wifey rescues it for me…

Rules for Strip Fondue
Ingredients: one wife; one fondue set; one filthy grin.

1. Put the children to bed. Read stories. Do not skip pages.

2. Light candles, close curtains, and open a bottle of wine.

3. Put fresh bread in the oven to bake, assemble ingredients for fondue: Swiss cheese, cream, more wine, garlic and herbs.

4. Respond to wails from small child. Fetch new drink, kiss teddy bear goodnight, adjust dressing gown so it doesn’t look like a Shadow Goblin.

5. Light stove, and gently melt the cheese and cream in a small pan. Do not stop stirring.

6. Answer the front door. Tactfully turn down neighbour’s invitation for a quick pint in the local pub.

7. Rescue bread from oven. Slice carefully to ensure that half the bread falls off the prongs the moment it hits the cheese, whilst the other half can be held securely throughout the “dip.”

8. Set the table, carefully ensuring that Darling Wifey gets the doctored bread.

9. Answer cries from upstairs. Change Little Nutter’s nappy. Sing songs with him, tickle fight, and very carefully arrange all his toy cars into perfectly straight rows before returning downstairs.

10. Search cupboard for fondue set. Find four unused sets, given as wedding presents in 1993.

11. Search for tea-light candle to warm fondue set. If the only one you can find is shaped like a cow, that’s good enough.

12. Search for matches. In order to keep them very very safe indeed they are usually hidden somewhere the children will never look. In the fruit bowl? The vegetable rack?

13. Light the candle direct from the gas hob.

14. Sit down and eat. Every time your bread drops from your fork into the cheese, you must remove an item of clothing.

15. Discover that Darling Wifey switched the plates of bread.

Unlike many modern families, we live in a house populated by all manner of strange creatures. Some of these, like the Laundry Fairy, we rather like (even if it is prone to lapses, and leaving dirty underwear on the floor for days at a time. And its track record for blocking the washing machine is best not mentioned.)

The Pixies in the garden are very shy - so the garden is the perfect place for them to hide. The grass is nice and long, and the borders hidden behind overgrown shrubbery. Every now and then they come out and pinch or break the children’s toys.

The problem, however, is the recent explosion in the numbers of Toilet Serpents (which bite your bottom if you don’t scare them away with a few choruses of the Flower Faerie song.) Then there are the Duvet Dragons, which await sleepy children whose parents forget to check all the way down. (The Duvet Dragon in Mummy and Daddy’s room must be enormous, because the duvet there is sooooo big! And the light is never left on at night!)

The Wardrobe Monster has recently been found guilty of eating single socks and picking holes in the knees of tights. It is easy to deal with this nasty but weak creature, by shutting the wardrobe door, pushing a chair up against it, and piling the chair high with everything that isn’t fixed down somewhere else.

Shadow Goblins fill the house at night, and are adept at looking like innocent household objects when you turn the light on. Best leave all the lights on, then.