When not parenting 3 kids (one in a wheelchair, one with Aspergers and one poor child stuck in the middle, all with an undiagnosed genetic condition), she can often be found trying to change the world, usually after the kids are in bed. Nocturnal megalomaniac. Rarely sleeps. Often Tired.
When not parenting 3 kids (one in a wheelchair, one with Aspergers and one poor child stuck in the middle, all with an undiagnosed genetic condition), she can often be found trying to change the world, usually after the kids are in bed. Nocturnal megalomaniac. Rarely sleeps. Often Tired.
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This was just too funny to not share… I am, perhaps, in a position where I have cause to be more grateful than most parents that Dominic has wonderful teachers and brilliant support staff at his school. Because of this I, of course, make sure I remember to give them a little gift and and
I thought that it would be fitting to blow the dust off the keyboard and remove the cobwebs from the blog by sharing something that I can (pretty much) guarantee will make you smile (unless you are cold and dead inside, then not even small, fluffy kittens will warm that icy soul). Yes, dear reader, I shunned you for younger, cuter models…
By the time you read this post, I will have packed a suitcase, boarded a fast train to London and relocated the few things that Dominic and I can survive with into a room somewhere in the heart of Great Ormond Street hospital. I have been preparing to separate myself from my family and
As delighted as I was to have become a finalist, watching the banter on Twitter about the approaching Britmums Live blogging conference and the included award ceremony had the opposite effect than it probably should have done. I didn’t feel part of the community involved with Britmums Live, exactly the opposite, I felt like the one stood by the door holding a watermelon gawping (if you have never seen the film Dirty Dancing, to be honest, this metaphor is going to be utterly wasted on you).
With your first child it’s fine to be fastidious with every aspect of their lives, from having ear phones strapped to your belly playing Beethoven (yes I did this) in order to better grow a cultured foetus, to showing a 6 month old flash cards in the hope it will give them an edge over their competition peers. With the second child you’re happy if everyone is dressed and fed and you convince yourself that the older one is passing on all the wisdom you attempted to impart in them to their younger sibling. By the time you’ve reached your third child, a good day constitutes not having misplaced any of them and not having had the neighbours report the screaming coming from next door to social services. Little do they know that it is you screaming, not your children.
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