Skip to main content

The perils of living with a dyslexic

My eldest daughter is dyslexic. This is not all Firstborn is - she is also funny, kind, full of life, inquisitive, independent, sociable, confident and emotionally sensitive - but the qualities and difficulties that come as part of the dyslexic parcel certainly make life more interesting. And often quite amusing.

One symptom that comes with being dyslexic - and looms large at her age of nine years old as she has not yet managed to fit coping strategies to this part of her life - is not having much of a concept of time, which often leads to chronic disorganization. Whilst I've put strategies into place for her in an attempt to make life less chaotic (we have lists and timetables plastered all over to house), it doesn't always work.

Firstborn came home from school this week all fired up about a charity bake sale she was involved in at school. Except that she neglected to tell me until the last moment that I was expected to make fairy cakes for it, and that she simply had to take them into school the next morning. So, even though it was close to her bedtime when the announcement was made, I whipped up a batch and my three girls and I decorated them (although in BB's case this meant throwing silver balls on the floor then trying to eat them). A slightly later bedtime than usual but happiness all round.

Firstborn skipped in to school the next morning, proudly bearing two Tupperware boxes stuffed with sparkly sprinkle festooned cakes. Except that she quickly figured out that the bake sale wasn't actually on Monday, but on Wednesday. Oops.

But what was brilliant was that Firstborn wasn't embarrassed about her mistake, she merely apologized to me, we laughed our heads off and then she proceeded to hand the cakes out to her eager friends.

I was really proud of Firstborn's reaction. She could have easily seen the incident as a negative thing and felt ashamed, but instead she was incredibly positive and saw the funny side.

Dyslexia comes with its unique challenges but, like most things in life, how you deal with it simply comes down to perception and how positive you can remain in the face of adversity.

I think Firstborn has already got it sorted. Good work kid, you're going to be just fine.


Anonymous said…
Firstborn - you're a winner!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …