I think Bob has touched on an issue here that a lot of us hide from. Where do you even start? I think Bob’s 4 points below are very true – but like Bob I do wonder if I’m brave enough to answer them. Particularly number 4!

Please let Bob know in the comments section below what you think. Any suggestions? How did you tackle it?

I know P, my eldest daughter (13) thinks grown women are totally obsessed by menstruation. I know this because she told me. “Dad”, she said, “why does every woman I meet start talking about periods”?

Both Grandmothers, three Aunties , three female neighbours, two mother’s of friends, four or five ad hoc  female friends and  even a couple of ex-girlfriends got in on the act. All have told me they have had a conversation with P “just to make sure everything is OK on that front”.

It is interesting that they all tell me after the event. “I’ve spoken with P” Note the past tense.

I’m not knocking it – I am sure the desire to help with this aspect of my parenting comes from a good place…what was it @coffeecurls told me over twitter one evening when we were discussing periods…(we just were, OK) ”there are things about periods that as a man you won’t even know!”

That phrase “you won’t even know” struck me. It serves me now as a reminder that there really are things I simply couldn’t comment on with any degree of confidence. That said, I thought I actually knew loads about periods – they come once a month, they hurt, you need hot water bottles and tea, you can use tampons or towels (best to experiment to see what works for you), they alter hormone levels and you can become tearful and maybe even a bit shouty, and they also have something to do with the moon or tides. I think. Um, that’s it.

Come to think of it – thank you ladies one and all.  You were right in your assumptions. Like most men, I guess I do know next to nothing about menstruation.

What really strikes me though is that this small platoon of women, while seemingly falling over themselves to talk about menstruation, are not pushing themselves forward to talk to my daughter(s)about sex. Do they really think that this is a subject best taught by their Dad or school or mates or that marvellous life lesson of trial and error?

It’s an interesting question – and one answer might be, if we are honest, for the majority of us (and I know I can speak for many Dads) this whole area of sex education just feels a bit uncomfortable. I will use the word “embarrassing”.

I’ll share a story with you. In our house the subject of sex education was first raised when P came home from Primary School (year 6) and asked me outright:  Dad, is it true that girls have a button and that if you stroke it, it makes you feel nice?”

Once I picked myself up from the floor and finished choking, I simply asked in an effort to divert the direct questioning,  “who told you that”?

“My teacher, Miss N…” came the reply.

Quickly putting all thoughts of Miss N’s “button” to one side, I replied, rather sheepishly, that I am sure Miss N was right. At that precise moment I had rediscovered belief in God and was praying nineteen to the dozen that the conversation would stop right there.

I have been thinking about writing on this subject for some time, and it strikes me that there are four levels of sex education that could really be taught best at home as well as in school:

1 – the basics – the actual mechanics.

2 – sexual health  – avoiding unwanted pregnancies and STI’s etc…

3 – the fun bits

4 – insight into the deeper emotional and relationship perspectives

Thinking this through, I am on safe territory talking about levels (1) and (2) to my own kids. Get me onto level 3 (the fun aspects of sex) and I am, very suddenly, completely out of my depth. I am sorry to say that I am one of those parents who will provide their daughters with what @venaramphal describes as the “good girls script”. It’s depressingly true – the sex education I will deliver to P and A will extend to something akin to “Here’s how to do it, be safe, and try not to do it until you’re much older”

Half an education!

And the saddest thing of all is that as their Dad, I feel unable, incompetent, and unqualified to talk through the emotional issues that will arise when they start sexual relationships. Not just because they are girls and I’m a man, but as with menstruation there will be things I just won’t know, but it seems to me that like most men, talking about relationships and emotions does not come as second nature. Couple that with the fact that I have already admitted that sex is not really something I want to talk to my girls about anyway, and my inarticulate ramblings would become well, just that. Inarticulate.

And the thing is…all of this I have just written – well I think most Dads and maybe some Mums will be able to relate to at least some of it…but for me, I have this feeling that it just might not be good enough. I know much of this is taught in schools (probably a much better education than we had at school), but look at any UK statistics in this area and the picture is one of rising STI’s, especially among women under the age of 20, and ever rising numbers of unwanted pregnancies.

As they get older I want my girls to enjoy healthy sex and have fulfilling relationships. Of that there is no doubt. But, against this worrying statistical backdrop I have this growing, rather unpleasant feeling, that if I am to do my bit to help them achieve this, I may need to shake myself down, find the right words and the right time and work my way through some difficult conversations!

When I set my alarm last night I was delighted when my HTC advised me that “this alarm is set for 10 hours, 10 minutes from now”, I don’t feel like a woman who has had 10 hours sleep but I take momentary comfort in the knowledge that I have.

I remove my earplugs and try to sit up, this proves difficult as I seem to fallen asleep in my dressing gown which is now nicely tangled with the duvet. I sit up, tuck the duvet back behind me so as not to disturb the sleeping husband, pick up book (Sworn To Silence by Linda Castillo, very good so far), mug and phone and push my feet into my slippers.

Maisy waits for me by the door and runs in front of me as I make my way down the first flight of stairs. She knows the routine and runs straight into the bathroom where she sits on the mat and blinks in readiness for the light to go on. I check my phone as I stumble down the stairs, slippers are on the wrong feet it seems, I have 1 text, notifications of concern from @DrewParky, @Spences10 and @MinaCab and details of new followers.

Obligingly I follow her and switch on light then reach passed her to run the bath. I notice there is no bubble bath, damn, today feels like a bubble bath day. I pause for a second before squeezing some blonde enhancing shampoo into the hot running water. Bubbles is bubbles right?

I glance in the mirror. Bad move. My hair looks as though some angry birds have tried to build a fortress in it during the night. I don’t fancy trying to get those tangles out. A loud thud makes me turn around and I see Maisy attacking some toilet paper, tail swirling and ears back.

Bath run we head out to the landing where DS1 and DS2 are emerging from their room. “Hi mumma, do you know why CH (he often talks of himself in the 3rd person) isn’t doing proper maths today?” asks DS1 perkily. “No.” I say as Maisy and I head down the stairs. “Mumma,” says DS2 “my foot clicked and now it hurts.” I stop and turn back to look at him, “ok, don’t click it again.” I say helpfully. “My foot feels like it needs to click.” adds DS2. “Right well you click yours and you don’t click yours.” I say to them as I carry on down the stairs. Before I get halfway we are plunged into darkness as DS2 goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I know that DS1 will be frozen at the top of the stairs so I go back up a couple of steps and call out “Come on trouble.” Little footsteps soon catch me up and he walks down the remaining stairs with me.

I switch on the kitchen light and Elvis greats me at face height. “Morning panth.” I say to him. “Mmmelllo.” He replies. “I hope there aren’t 15 dead birds down here.” Says DS2. “And if there are any mice, they won’t be as cute as mousey.” He says wistfully.

Kettle on. Toast in toaster. I start making the boys sandwiches. The cats swirl around my ankles like a pair of basking sharks. I pause from cheese grating to feed them. One tuna pouch and one mystery pouch. I add the empty mystery pouch to the pile. Yes, I have a pile of empty cat food pouches ready to post to Terry Leahy before his leaves his post as CEO of Tesco – he has previously assured me that there will be no more mystery pouches, and yet still I find them in every box. I think they are chicken, this knowledge may help him I’m sure.

As today is a day that I can open my mouth I’m going to take full advantage and have chocolate spread on toast for breakfast So far this year I’ve lost 9lb because of my inability to eat some days. Don’t get me wrong, I have many of those lbs in the bank so it’s really not a problem.

Into the louge, boys  put on the TV and SpongeBob SquarePants fills the house.

“Mumma,” Says DS2. “Why does Patrick even live under a rock?”.

“Because he’s a star fish, they stick to rocks.”

“And I mean I know Spongebob is a sea sponge, but why would he live in a pineapple? And Squidwert, one of those heads from Easter Island?!” He shakes his head incredulously.

They then have a conversation regarding the possibility of DS2 moving into his own room tonight. It is agreed, again, that he will. None of us believe it.

DH appears in the kitchen, washes up from last night as his lazy wife hasn’t, and then sits at the pc and sports commentation fills the otherside of the lounge.

Im sitting in the middle, on the sofa, with precariously balanced tea and 1 remaining slice of toast. To the right of me I have sports white noise, someone called Nidal(?) just did something good it seems. To the left of me the TV is now blaring out some american teen show – Tori or something. The noises conflict. Lisa likes quiet.

I glance at the clock, it’s 8am, thoughts of work flood my head unbidden and the days tasks lay themselves out like virtual folders. Time for that bath, which will now have to be quick!

When I was little, Grandfather used to drive us passed the House In The Clouds or the house on stilts as he used to call it.

It is in Thorpeness, near Aldeburgh. My grandparents, I believe my nan especially, had a real soft spot for Aldeburgh (pronounced allbra if you didn’t already know…) and so now do I.

You can see the house from quite far away as it sits just above the tree line and really does look as though it is just floating in the clouds

Opposite the house there is a windmill – which is currently for sale!

One of my earliest memories is being left by the side of the road at this windmill (actually I’m assuming it was this one, only think I know for sure is that is was A windmill!) while my family drove away…..it was funny apparently.

Today while I was standing looking up at the house a guy came up and asked if I was on holiday, I said no and asked if he was. He said yes and that they’d rented the house for the weekend. The expression on my face must have given a lot away as he asked if I’d like to have a look inside! SQUEEE!

Apparently some people find that odd things happen when they stay in this house. The guy who showed me around said they’ve had a few instances where the lights have gone off/on on their own. Like last night, they switched the lights out and went for a walk along the beach – when they got back the lights were on! There are nicknacks EVERYWHERE, someone has collected a whole heap of stuff, it’s just fascinating.

The pond that it overlooks is lovely, full of swans and (judging by the amount of men with large cameras, binoculars and telescopes) many other wild birds. The Island in the centre is Peter Pan island complete with a crocodile

She’s been describing her symptoms to me with incredulation and as I’ve suffered with one since I was around 17 years old I don’t really register the symptoms anymore, there are just THERE, all the time and I accept them.

So when she said to me today that she’d gone back to the doctor in a panic with pins and needles – I said “oh yeh I get that” and she said she kept forgetting stuff, so I said “oh yeh I do that” and so on, and so on, it soon became apparent that there are a whole heap of symptoms that they don’t tell you about.

Here are some of mine:

Pins & Needles/Numbness – get this all the time, sometimes a lot worse than others, I generally ignore it. Specifically I have pins and needles in my left arm nearly all the time. It is also generally colder than my right arm.

Coldness – I quite often have cold hands/feet. Also, if I get cold I get REALLY cold, teeth chattering the whole nine yards.

Hotness – conversely, if I get too hot, I get REALLY hot and find it hard to cool down. Let’s say if I were a boiler I recon they’d say I had a dodgy thermostat.

Palpitations – tricky one this, I prefer my thyroid to run on the upper limit of the vast range of ‘normal’, a down-side of this is that sometimes, especially at night, I get palpitations. Suspect am meant to mention this to the GP but then they’d lower the dose, and I don’t want that.

Weight gain/loss – this depends where I am in the aforementioned vast range of ‘normal’, again I prefer to run on the upper limit as it means that I don’t put on weight, and that if I diet I can lose weight. If I am in the middle or lower range then I gain weight unless I eat less that 800 calories a day. Good game.

Hair colour – my hair doesn’t respond as hair dressers expect it to. I do warn them that the colour wont do what they expect, but each new hairdresser has to find out for themselves. “It shouldn’t do that” they always say.

Hair texture – it can snap off sometimes as it becomes dry and brittle, I’ve never worked out whether that is worse when under/over.

Dry skin – as above really, lots of moisturiser needed.

Goitre – a swelling in the neck, I had this for a few years, they zapped me with radioactive stuff and it went down. Cool huh.

Forgetfulness – this is awful and embarrassing. Some things I can remember, somethings I can’t. Simple as. No rhyme or reason to it. I have no control over it and it doesn’t mean I love you any less.

Intellect – this one I think I mind the most. When I am running at the upper level I can think clearly, I can converse eloquently, big words spring to mind easily and a witty retort is never far away. When it’s middle or lower I am a brain dead numpty. As the levels drop down it is as though bits of me literally get switched off.

Indecision – not sure this is actually down to my thyroid but I’m blaming it anyway. Sometimes I make quick decisions, usually the more important something is, the quicker I decide. If, however, I have a choice of say Heinz Salad Cream or Hellmans Mayo to go on my salad, I can honestly sit there for minutes weighing it up. Apparently this is reasonably annoying… The same can apply to tea and coffee half way through the day – the girls at work are used to me having to think about it!

Expression – my face changes depending upon the levels. I think (hope) I am the only one who can see it but it is definitely true – I look like a completely different person in some photos.

Energy – sometimes I have none. None at all. Getting up to make a cup of tea seems impossible – don’t get me wrong, I still have to and I have to sort the boys out and get to work, but it’s a bloody achievement. Othertimes I’ve done things before I even realise that they need doing.

Tiredness – sometimes I could sleep forever. Othertimes I can’t sleep at all – even though I’m tired.

Fertility – it can affect you in this area, I’ve had 2 miscarriages, no idea if they are linked to it.

Voice – it gets deeper (shall we say huskier, that sounds better right?) when the levels are lower.

Personality – when it’s running right I seek out people, I want to converse and learn and play. When it’s not I want to curl up, draw the curtains and can you bugger off please.

That’ll do for now, truth is there are probably more and I’ve probably forgotten them

The only plus point is that I get free prescriptions because of it – I have to take thyroxine for the rest of my life and the only way they can ensure people do that is to give them free prescriptions I guess?

If any of the symptoms ring a bell with you – go see your GP.

This post is for @porridgebrain’s writing workshop, under the prompt of ‘GIVING’, Porridge has chosen this prompt to tie in with her support of Action Aid.

So, my post on the theme of giving has been inspired by my recent visit to the platelet donation centre at Addenbrookes hospital. It is a separate part of the hospital called Blood & Transplant, which for some reason is lodged in my head as Blood & Transport so I’ve confused a fair few people when discussing it, sorry.

I’ve you’ve read my post The Colour Red you’ll know that I can’t currently give blood. This is because I have an underactive thyroid which is on 6  monthly review – however I’ve been told that as soon as it goes to 12 monthly review I can donate, which I’m really pleased about. In the meantime I’m trying to urge as many of you who can, to click on the banner and register as a donor.

Seriously, what’s stopping you?

The phrase ‘knocking out a triple’ accounts for the number of units of platelets that you donate and is equivalent to 12 standard blood donations. It takes around and hour and a half, and is painless. The staff are warm, welcoming, friendly and appreciative. That last word, appreciative, really touched me as you could tell that every single staff member valued every single donor. It was lovely.

Only some people can donate platelets. When you go along to give blood – ask to be tested.

The following information is from the www.blood.co.uk/platelets website:

“As you know, there is always an urgent need for whole blood but you may not be aware that there is always the same need for platelets as well – every bit as urgent. At the moment we really need more platelets. We need both whole blood and platelets and our platelet contributions can only come from existing donors like you.

Most platelet donations are given to patients who are unable to make enough platelets in their bone marrow. For example, patients with leukaemia or other cancers may have too few platelets as the result of their disease or treatment.

Also after some major surgery or extensive injury, patients may need platelet transfusions to replace those lost through bleeding. Platelets given by our generous and committed donors are often life-saving and special in that they can help up to 3 adults or even 12 children! What’s more, as platelets can only be stored for a few days, regular and frequent donors are in great demand and that is why we are asking our platelet donors to attend at least 8 times per year.

We would like to emphasise again: both whole blood donors and platelet donors are equally valued and needed. If you do find that platelet donation is not for you, we very much hope you will continue to donate whole blood.”

If you want more information call the helpline 0300 123 23 23.

If you can, please click on the image above and donate online. Let’s help Millie get the operation that she needs.

Cool huh.

I’ve chosen this picture because, despite the very poor resolution quality, it shows her rosy cheeked and clutching a glass of sherry!

Cheers gran-nan and Happy Birthday!