Plan B

Just sitting reflecting on the visit I have just had from my boss. She came over to catch up with how I was getting on and review how things were looking with my job.

I have worked for the same organisation since I left school. It is an organisation that works with children and adults with complex support needs. I started out as a support worker, which involved caring for children in a daycare and respite context. I then developed an interest in the way these children played and became a playworker whilst studying play at Uni. The experiences and times I have shared with the children I have worked with have been truely unique and incredibly special.

I remember all the kids I have worked with and all of them are precious to me. They have taught me amazing things and brightened up many gloomy days. I have developed many close relationships with the families over the years and in some instances been treated like family. I am well acquainted with many grandparents, aunts, uncles and family friends as well as the parents.

When I think about the work I do, I think about sunny afternoons playing in back gardens and trampolines, rejoicing and celebrating with parents at little breakthroughs and quiet moments cradling children in my arms. It really is a sweet and wonderful job to do and I really do miss it.

Things are quite different now and at the moment, the prospect of returning to work seems very distant indeed. My job is highly practical and when I'm not rolling about on the floor with an autistic child, I am cradling a deafblind child on my knee carrying out a tactile activity. This kind of work is pretty much impossible for me to do now- and this is my dilemma.

My work have been amazing at holding my job for me with the hope that I can return- but time is running out. It was basically confirmed today by my boss that they may have to dismiss me due to ill health if I don't show any signs of improvement in the next few months. I can understand and appreciate that it is only fair, and my work have been extremely accommodating up until now, but it is a bit of a blow.

It has forced me to consider alternatives- but at the moment I'm struggling to find any! I am good with kids. And I love kids. Working with children is pretty much all I've ever done, and all I have ever wanted to do. I never thought I would have to reconsider it.

So what can I do? Should I look into different courses and study? Or should I look for a different job? Or should I become a housewife and scrape by with the bills? lol. All of the above are viable options, but none are presenting themselves as the obvious option.

I would say that I'm good with a lot of things, but a master of none. And so there is no obvious career route I would say I could go down. And I therefore propose this- If you feel there is something you think I could pursue (it has to be a viable option mind!) please submit your suggestions. Please note that I am not a brave or particularly ambitious person and I am not very good at business-type things. lol. (and if that doesn't rule out everything, please let me know!)

I have not yet resigned myself to the fact that I will not be able to work with children again, but I feel it is time to establish a plan B (and possibly C and D depending on how many ideas I get!) And if you are the praying type, (and if you're not you should be) I would appreciate prayers too of course.

Me in play mode-it is a very serious business you know...

How to be prepared for a dinosaur attack

Today I have been thinking about bags. Not the ghastly ones that hang under your eyes, but the ones that carry our essential possessions. I have always been more of a bag girl that a shoe girl. Although I often pause in appreciation of a red-soled Louboutin, I could never justify paying for them. However, I have a long list of justifications splurging on a handbag: A handbag will see the light of day more than a skyscraper heel, it is actually functional and carries stuff for you, and it doesn't give you blisters.

I have appreciation for all species of bag, and all would be welcome in my wardrobe. I am partial to a good sized tote. Maybe something like the Mulberry Daria Hobo bag. Big enough for all my trinkets and leather as soft as butter.

I also wonder what people carry in their bag. Men seem to regard it as a mystery and a complete no-no to rummage in a womans bag-I don't know if they maybe think they would get sucked in an drown in a pile of dried out lipglosses and receipts...But I can sometimes look upon it as a bit of a mystery with certain women and their bags too- none more so that the rucksack lady.

I was sitting in the homeopathic hospital yesterday and a rucksack lady sat down across from me in the waiting room. My heart sank a little as I knew that I would then spend the rest of my time in there fighting sheer perplexion and urges to rip open the bag and survey the contents. It was a big rucksack and my mind started racing, wondering with what things she had with her to cause her to have a bag so uneccessarily large.

My bag usually consists of the following- my purse (for emergencies and impulse buys), a bombay mix of pain killers (for gammy legs), tissues (in case someone kicks my shin and I need to cry, or I see something really cute like a micro pig causing me to well up), a pen (just because it is a female requirement) and my phone (for emergencies, correspondence with friends and to fiddle with when I am distracted with rucksack ladies).

I think the contents of my bag are pretty appropriate for every eventuality. So it makes me nervous to look at a woman with a rucksack. Does she know something I don't? Is she prepared for a certain circumstance that I'm not? For example, if there was a giant earthquake and a dinosaur started tearing through the westend where I was currently situated, what would I do? Well, I would go to the nearest vending machine for food and water supplies using my purse, take some pain killers for inevetable injuries, use tissues to mop up my dusty face, and take a picture of the dinosaur with my phone to show Jonny when I get home.

Don't get me wrong, I do believe that rucksacks are appropriate for certain occasions- Like hillwalking. You need maps, spare socks, food, torches, blah blah blah. Do women really need that when they are out and about the town? Surely they'll go home in a few hours so they wont need a tent? I do have a couple of friends that use rucksacks, but I have always been a bit shy about asking them about the contents as there seems to be an extra aura of mystery surrounding rucksacks than you would get with regular bags.

I also see men with rucksacks which to a certain extent concerns me more. Most men I know are like my husband who carries a wallet and a phone in his pocket. Do these rucksack men and women look upon us 'light loaders' as foolish? unprepared? Sometimes I sit and despair about my lack of knowledge of rucksacks...

For those who have been sucked into my fascination with rucksacks, I am please to tell you that the rucksack lady at the hospital did indeed open her rucksack and proceeded to lift something out...

It was a banana.

This is my hypothetical illustration. Notice how the rucksack lady has a fort and I only have a Mars Bar. Bums.

Oh, Happy Day!

Ever since I was small, I have loved dancing. I remember dancing about in the living room in my nightie with my sister to Gloria Estefan and Kylie. As I got older, my mum enrolled us in our local dance class. Jo and I faithfully attended and bled my mum dry of money paying for it. So she was excited to see her money pay off when we finally performed in our wee show. But I refused to do it. I was terrified of being on stage.

I have a couple of friends who are qualified dancers. I always find it funny how you can qualify in something so intrinsic- but I know they would argue that it is not the qualification that makes them a dancer, it's the love of doing it. Anyway, I still love to dance. As I mentioned before, I danced the entire night at my wedding- some would say in a rather undignified manner since I had my dress hitched up to my knees and I took a rather ungraceful tumble onto my backside. I also hasten to add that I only had two alcoholic drinks the entire day! But I couldn't help but dance all night because I was bursting with happiness and it was probably a rather accurate portrayal of how I was feeling inside ie- explosive and hyper! I can dance happily for hours on end.

One form of dancing that isn't to my taste is ceilidh.... I know there will be a few gasps from people that read this! I enjoy the tradition of it etc, but the repetition, twirling, awkward social interaction and barely having room to move does not suit me. I'm more freestyle. lol.

So we were at a wedding celebration at the weekend. And it was a ceilidh. Normally I would have grumbled a bit but since I now have my stick and delightful way of shuffling, I was confident that dancing partners would steer clear. I also was happy to go to this ceilidh because it was in honour of two very precious friends. I had a crackin' night just sitting with my friends, catching up and watching everyone else twirling, glad it wasn't me. However, I did look on feeling a bit disappointed at the fact that I can no longer really dance full stop. But then God showed me something...

The ceilidh band were a christian band that had played at some parties I had been to before. They often play very modern songs to ceilidh dance to so they are entertaining even if you are not dancing. So loads of people were up on the dance floor swinging one another about and the band decides to break into 'Happy Day' by Tim Hughes (if you don't know it then have a listen). All of a sudden, a joy came over me as I watched them. It was brilliant watching people dancing with such fervour and enjoyment to a song about God. I felt the atmosphere step up a gear to even more heightened energy and gusto. I sat at the side singing away and it made me think of what it was going to be like in heaven. There will be singing, rejoicing and dancing and joy untold. We will also have new bodies, (which is probably a good thing coz my heart would probably explode) and no matter how difficult it may be for me to dance at the moment, there will come a day where there will be absolutely nothing holding me back from jumping and dancing and rejoicing in everything God has done for me. God is being so faithful in reminding me of the joy that is in store for those who love Him.

'When I stand in that place, free at last meeting face to face; I am yours, Jesus, you are mine. Endless joy and perfect peace, earthly pain finally will cease. Celebrate Jesus is alive...Oh Happy day, you washed my sin away!'

Listen to Happy Day and be joyful!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVxS3xyGBOQ

Why talk when you can sing...

Most of you will know that my family is pretty musical. I grew up in a very noisy house (a pretty mandatory condition since we were Flynns.) Singing is my thing- and I'm glad it is. It is a cheap hobby; Unlike my siblings who have had to buy all manner of instruments to pursue their passion. The rooms in my mum and dads house are littered with musical things and you are guaranteed to find some sort of instrument to fiddle with. Drums, guitars, saxophones, tin whistle, piano (and contrary to popular belief, there are no trumpets) .... Even my walking stick has been dismantled and played like a flute.

But as for my musical passion, it is very easy. It is compact and I don't have to carry my voicebox around in a big case. So this makes me glad. I am not one of those mental people you see on X-Factor who insist they will die if they don't get to boot camp- but I would say singing is very very important to me.

Being a playworker for children, I have learned many colourful songs and developed the art of making up songs on the spot to aid your activity or the point you are trying to make. Since I am off my work, my nephew Charlie gets the full impact of my singing obsession. Thankfully he can't talk yet to tell me to shut up...so I shall carry on. I sing about everything from getting dressed and eating lunch, to singing about cars and triangles (yes, I know a song about a triangle).

People who are very close to me also comment on how I can remember lyrics to hundreds of songs. And I can also pick up and remember lyrics to songs after listening to it once or twice. This is proving to be rather useful.

One thing I really want to develop is memorising the bible (not the entire thing...jings). But it has become apparent that my scripture memorisation skills are pretty mince. I think it is important to recall scripture especially when you need to be assured of God's promises. So, this is where I think God has really blessed me with my singing....

I have sang in churches and various other places since I was 15. I love using my voice for God's glory. Nothing brings me more joy than lifting my voice and belting out praise. At my church, Harvest Bible Chapel Glasgow, we have a policy that the songs we use are accurate with scripture. A lot of them quote directly from scripture- and this has proved really helpful for me. 

Sometimes if I'm struggling, I sing. I find it hard to remember scripture, but I can remember it in a song. So I lift my voice and declare God's promises and remind myself to keep praising. Preparing for singing on Sunday has really blessed me this week. The songs have really ministered to me and I'm looking forward to giving them back to God.

 'Let now the weak say I have strength, by the spirit of power that raised Christ from the dead. Let now the poor stand and confess, that MY PORTION IS HIM, AND I'M MORE THAN BLESSED.'

'Triangle ABC, Triangle 123...123 it's a triangle....count to three you've got a triangle!'

Just in time.

Sometimes when I sit and reflect on the past few months, I think about the things I can no longer do. I can't lift or move heavy things, I can't walk very far, I can't get up from sitting on the floor in a graceful manner, and I cannot run (although some would say that's a good thing since I was regularly compared to running like a duck).

The rate at which I lost these abilities was a bit too quick for my liking and it took some time to accept this. Some people comment on how I am still so young (many thanks), far too young to be having problems like this. I was obviously unable to control why and when I became ill, but when I think about the timing of it all, I thank God for His grace.

I think everyone has a destination list- a list of destinations that they want to visit (...in case anyone didn't catch that.) As for me, I've pretty much been to all my places. I've been to Rome to soak up the history, I've been to Florence to overwhelm my appetite for art, Barcelona to see Gaudi's cathedral, and New York to pound the streets and skip down broadway... Although I didn't actually skip for fear of accidentally jay-walking and gettin nicked, but it sounds a lot more whimsical and romantic.

I never would have been able to experience all these awesome places if my legs weren't able to take me. I am thankful to God for giving me these opportunities before now. I was also able to take the most joyus walk of my life, which was down the aisle on my wedding day and dance all night to my nine-piece funk band. And I actually did dance all night- as did everyone else. 

The point is, my legs have carried me when I needed them most! And I will never take that for granted. It's not as if I'm crippled- far from it. And it's not as if I am rendered immobile. I know still have so much more mobility than a lot of people. But the point I am trying to make is that I was able to experience these special moments in life without any underlying pain, tiredness, or anxiety of pushing myself too much. What a huge blessing that has been to me.

There is no perfect time to fall ill, but I can stop and thank God that He has allowed me to experience these things first. I am not using this as a way to get into discussion about sovereignty, but I do want to express that God is good. And how well I know it! God's timing is perfect in everything and I therefore believe that if and when I am healed, it will be just in time.

I may run like a duck, but my dancing is off the chain!

Sick of being bored, bored of being sick.

Starting a blog was something I never thought I would do. Mainly because my thoughts are normally pretty mundane and ordinary, so why would I want to publish them? Well, being in the house with very little to do drives you to try things otherwise unconsidered.

I have been off my work for 6 months now. I've developed an illness which is so far undiagnosed but it has meant that doing anything too practical presents great difficulty. This has been a problem as I happen to be a pretty practical person. My job, my social life and my hobbies have always been practical. I play with kids for a living, enjoy wandering around cities, shops and museums, and standing for hours in the kitchen baking up a storm. Seems a bit unfair that of all the things to be wrong with me, my legs have decided to be stupid and gammy.

I always treated my legs well. I would take them nice places, wrap them in my cosy uggs when the weather was chilly, and occasionally treated them to nice jeans and shoes. I don't know where the relationship went wrong. They started to turn on me last summer where walking became increasingly painful and difficult. I wondered if they needed to be traded in for a younger model, but being only 25 years old, this decision feels a bit premature...

A lot of changes have been embraced (some would say reluctantly) but I'm beginning to explore the pleasure that can be found in less physical hobbies and pursuits. I have been reading more, which is a habit I am excited about developing. The literature is not always hugely intellectual or sophisticated, but sitting with a book always feels less lazy than sitting with the TV. I'm trying to revisit my passion for art, creating pieces for some friends and family including a toybox and a squinty sketch of my nephew. My nails receive a lot of attention now too (more so than usual) and online shopping is definitely proving to be a huge amusement and time waster. Much to the relief of my husband, I am able to exercise an element of self control and restrict myself to window shopping of the laptop kind.

I'm always looking for new things to try and relieve boredom and a couple of friends suggested writing a blog. I enjoy writing, and It involves sitting down. So it was an obvious choice. I also recognise the therapeutic value of writing down your thoughts and so although some of my posts may be long winded and positively mundane, I am sure it will be of some value to me even if no one else cares to read it!

At the bottom of the Spanish Steps before my legs turned stupid. Maybe they should invest in a Spanish ramp...