In September, everything seems possible, and so you find me in a state of flux, considering finances, housing, accessibility and long and short-term planning.

This, unfortunately, has led to a good hard look at the finances.

I am a child of the “70s brought up in a very frugal household. Credit was frowned on, saving and second hand the order of the day.

My lovely man, however, was never taught the joys of delayed gratification and is under the impression that not owning every single power in existence, is a sign of searing poverty.

We have managed to jog along with these vastly different spending styles for over twenty years of marriage.

Imagine my surprise, dear reader, when I started looking at our accounts.

One amongst us apparently spends a great deal on clothing, hair, beauty treatments and handbags.

When I was growing up, my parents had very little. Coming from an Anglo-Indian background, with servants, my dad seemed extraordinarily frugal.

It was only later I found out that gambling debts run up by my Grandad had led to several moonlight flits from properties.

Dad decided such things wouldn’t happen on his watch, and kept a tight rein on the already meagre finances. Mum was brought up in a council house, with war as the background. She had three siblings and a dad who worked on the railways. Living on a budget was a way of life.

How then have I, a product of this union, moved from being a frugal saver to someone for whom appearance is important enough to splurge on?

During the summer, we spent a lot of time in Wales. On a packed Llandudno beach I found myself with a small Pearl in leg plasters. For ten minutes, we attracted some glances on the beach.

Pearl was rolling around on the sand shrieking with happiness. wearing two bright orange casts so it was understandable, possibly even forgivable.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the mood changed. Shrieks of joy changed to screams of pain? Anger? Frustration? I was not at all sure. Pearl had entered full meltdown mode.

As I am a fabulous SEN parent I had left her PODD communication book at home in Cheshire (I know) so had only yes/no questions to to work out what was up.

It is quite difficult to indicate yes/no when you are screaming at full lung capacity with tears streaming down your face (Pearl not me, but it was becoming a close thing).

The wheelchair was out of reach, the child was inconsolable, and small dog Herb, attached to the wheelchair started crying too.

Having tried everything, I stood up and picked up a reluctant, loud, and heavy ten- year- old. Carrying her across the beach.

I am not exaggerating to say that every person on the sand was watching us. And on the prom. And the pier. It was as though the whole of North Wales froze, hushed and turned to follow our progress.

Five minutes later, walking with child in chair and dog in tow I felt my emotions re-engage.

In order to deal with the day to day small traumas in our house calmly, I switch off a big chunk of Jane.

If I don’t, I would go up and down with every emotion riddled situation that batters our family daily, I would need more than coffee and antidepressants to get by, and the family would lose out.

I have learnt to flick off the emotion switch temporarily, in extremis.

This works, but risks me feeling like an identity less husk.

In order to reassert myself I spend money on how I look to tell the world “This is me! I am not just a Carer, I am me, a person! I care about how I look, what I wear! Me! Myself! I!”

I suspect that being Mother of Pearl has made me more self-obsessed because of having to be largely selfless.

Oh, and if you think this is a long, complicated justification of my overspending to Mr. Power Tool…I couldn’t possibly comment.

You may not believe that if you read certain newspapers, which think only non-working, tidy mothers who never laugh about the boring minutiae of the daily grind are acceptable.

As a therapeutic example of someone who has managed to parent for the last 18 years, I bring you a heartening list of things that may come up in my children’s future therapy sessions.

Full of love and emotion I told the eldest (aged 2 at the time), “I can’t love you any more.”

It came out of my mouth meaning, ”I’m utterly consumed with the depth of love I feel for you; I love you so much I simply couldn’t love you any more than I do”.

It entered two year old ears thus, “Right, that’s it, I can’t love you anymore – Good bye.” Cue screaming.

Yesterday, concerned about future proofing our house I searched on a property website for bungalows.

As I did this the child with the mobility issues who had prompted the search started up the stairs unsupervised and fell down them, backwards, hitting her head hard.

Cue screaming.

Worried about my oversensitive sons ability to fit in at his new school, I told him to never cry in front of his friends as they would be mean to him.

He probably in my opinion, needed to toughen up and pull himself together.

He mashed all of his emotions down as a result and ended up with depression.

His ‘oversensitivity’ turned out to be part of undiagnosed Asperger’s syndrome.

A professional told me that the boys problems resembled autism. I thought about it, and disagreed vehemently.

This delayed his chance of having an official assessment and diagnosis with the attached support.

I did this because his younger sister had significant disability and learning difficulties and I could not cope with having two children with additional needs.

Please note that my decision did not miraculously cure his autism.

Cue screaming (mine).

I told Aspie boy (pre-diagnosis) to listen better as his ears were big enough.

Subsequent testing showed he had significant Auditory Processing problems.

My go to reaction to the cry, “But I want it!” is, “I don’t care what you want”. I suspect that there is a better way to word this while maintaining the upper hand, but it rarely occurs to me.

I can’t lie about my level of interest in computer games, Manga and Anime.

I absolutely do not have a poker face; my disdain is clear to see.

In the steely watches of the night these things come back to haunt me. Despite them my children appear to love me, tease me and laugh at me, while largely remembering that, ‘I’m the Mummy”

Hopefully these things will build huge reserves of strength and emotional resilience in my dearly beloved?

I am for Good Enough and lashings of love.

I hope my aim is true.

It appears to be a double blind trial, I have no idea of the results, the purpose of the study, or which group I’ve been assigned to.

Foolishly believing I had firsthand experience in this area, with two older children, I volunteered, only to find that nothing prepared me for the special needs version.

I do not appear to be able to ‘withdraw from the study at any time’ which I’m pretty sure breaks medical ethics, but I’m not clear who I can complain too.

I offer this then, dear reader, as a template of how not to plan for the summer holiday with an additional needs child.

Look at Instagram. Behold the beauteous horde, resplendent in their immaculate houses.

Marvel at the amazing places they take their children on a daily basis. No Lunchables or MackyDs for these families, even the chicken nuggets are home made.

Keep them at the front of your mind. This is what your holiday can look like.

Remember all the improving therapies you should be doing with your child. I’m not talking about the maintenance stretches, chest physio or medications you already do on a daily basis.

You have a 6 week period of, ‘block therapy’, ahead of you.

I personally always start the holiday with two aims, firstly toilet training small person followed by teaching her how to talk.

Sometimes I write a structured plan to follow!

Remain positive at all times.

Remember the Daily Mail does not like, “Slummy Mummys”. Who are these ogres, I hear you cry?

Why women who sometimes find parenting difficult and attempt to use humour, honesty and peer support to get through. Do not be like these women.

It is imperative that you glide swan like through the summer holiday, and that you push any feelings of sadness, worry or failure, deep, deep down, and hide them with a well-made up smile.

I have followed these guidelines so you do not have to. You are most welcome.

I can tell you now that they are ill thought out, unsustainable and do nobody any good.

This holiday I aim to make sure we are all clean (enough) and fed.

I will smell my child’s head at least once a day. I will ensure the iPad is thoroughly charged.

We will meet up with some other parents who are in the same tribe and have a whinge, a laugh and some fun.

We will go outside and get fresh air, and also treat the Supermarket as an exciting place to visit.

I will not feel guilty that I hate swimming. I will lower my standards.

We will muddle through.

Oh. And I absolutely will not use this new list as a measure for success.

I wish you all the very best.

See you on the other side…

Have you seen children with complex needs out and about? Witnessed a small person with autism having a meltdown in public?

Have you inwardly recoiled, wondering how anyone can cope with this kind of life?

It looks distressing and messy. Maybe you thought “they must be really special to do that, I couldn’t”

And now it’s you. The thing you feared, maybe quietly expected, has been confirmed by the medical profession.

How will you cope, how do they cope? What will you do?

I’ll try and help you out. I myself have an accidental specialism in Special Needs parenting.

Unfortunately nobody bothered to send me on a career development course for this one.

Personally I believed I was better suited to a more glamorous way of life.

Despite ongoing reservations I have found out that it is possible to have an ordinary family life in the middle of an extraordinary one.

It takes guts, physical strength, emotional resilience, a sense of humour. Oh, and a functioning washing machine.

This life can be extremely isolating. At times you may find yourself completely alone and unsupported.

Please bite the bullet and seek out new friends in the same club. You won’t like them all, but there are bound to be people in your tribe, whatever it may be.

Marvel at their strength and revel in their support.

I laugh with other SEND parents harder and longer than with anyone else, and frequently about things that really should not be funny.

Feeling overwhelmed is normal. Denial is one of my favourite coping mechanisms. Take each day as it comes and don’t fret (easily said) about the future.

If sticking your fingers in your ears and singing Disney songs helps, go for it (possibly not in public!)

Your home will be filled with well meaning professionals. They will bombard you with appointments and information. You can pick and choose what to take on board.

This child is a member of your family, welcome good advice, but it’s still you who has to get up in the night and deal with sick/poo/seizures/feeds (delete as appropriate).

Believe me you will soon find out who you can rely on to go above and beyond the job description. Appreciate them, thank them; buy them chocolates at Christmas.

I won’t lie to you, newbie SEND parent; you are likely to experience depths of emotion that you never knew existed.

You will come up against children struggling to survive; some won’t make it. In one school year my then 6 year old lost three schoolmates.

You will see the bitter unfairness of life in all its imperfect glory.

It’s neither understandable, nor explainable.

I hope you find some comfort in remembering that those special parents you feared and revered had no training, no preparation no idea of what lay ahead.

They like you had different plans for the future.

Join the club.

Now living on the edge of the Peak District it is our nearest city. We visit often.

London was the backdrop to my teenage adventures. Manchester is my teen’s playground.

Affleck’s Palace and China Town, The Galleries and the Northern Quarter. Gigs held in a variety of venues, big and small, make the short train journey frequent and worthwhile.

Then the unthinkable happened. May 22nd – a terrible day.

Children the same age as mine, went to a gig in Manchester and did not come home. Others saw things that time will not erase from the memory.

We all felt the fear. We’ve talked, we’ve hugged, we’ve raged.

The news is full of stories, with Psychologist input, about how to talk to your children about this dark event.

What if your young person has a learning difficulty?

Pearl, my youngest, is 10, she is non-verbal and uses a communication book to make her needs known. She has Learning Difficulties.

Pearl’s understanding is pretty good, but because she can’t speak it’s hard to know quite at what level she takes things in. Her ability to pick up on moods, however, is superhoned.

Replacing the news with Go Jetters on Tuesday morning was pretty easy, but we were all talking about the bombing, as was her taxi driver who has the local radio on.

How much could Pearl understand?

What should I do? I think of Pearl’s life. She is cocooned from worry.

Attending a Special School she always has an adult near at hand. She always will.

Pearl does not know that bad people exist. When friends or family have died I do not know how much she comprehends.

So how do I explain something so utterly beyond my comprehension, as this attack, to my beautiful girl? Should I even try?

My girl understands kindness and unkindness. She knows love, but seems unaware of hate.

I want to keep her enfolded in this world of peace, but I want her to be prepared for what life may bring.

I do not want her to half understand, be confused, worried or fearful.

So I tell her.

“Something very horrible happened in Manchester. A bad man has made a bomb and killed people. It is very sad and dreadful. We are all very sad.

Lots of people have been kind and cared for and helped each other”

And I leave it there.

Does she understand? I’m not sure.

Do I? I don’t want to, I do not want it to be true.

I hope she feels safe and learns that the world is full of beauty and love and that with support pain can be endured, love wins over hate.

I hope we all know that.