‘Whose idea was this hill?’‘Yours,’ Neil and Isla chorused together, as we trudged around the zoo.The zoo is Neil’s happy place, that’s fine, let’s go. These days, it’s also a place. Somewhere that isn’t this weirdly shaped corner apartment, so let’s go, anywhere. I’ve been to the dentist and other places I’ve explained my fright reflex to bewildered people. I’ve been to get vaccinated, twice, happily. I’ve watched Isla skip into school bubble birthday parties, and she even had one.…
When I was 29, I made a list. Start a blog was on it. Ten years and a bit later, I asked my readers (that would be you, hi) to Ask Me Anything. I answered some questions here, but some questions called for a new post. Like this one. What advice would you give yourself 10 years ago? That question came from Rachael at Racheal’s Thoughts. And well, I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Ten years ago, I was…
If you hang around online long enough, you might meet someone in the comments section who claims they’ve overcome Cerebral Palsy by doing yoga and thinking positively. Well, that someone is not me, that’s not how CP works, and the thought that we can suddenly be free of it is dangerous. I said all this to someone recently and then vowed never to read the comments section anywhere again. (Except here, hi.) That real comment got me thinking, as I…
I’ve lost count of the days I’ve been without my laptop. These days, when the kid leaves for school (because that happens here), she sets a stuffed animal on my notebook (an actual notebook, my faves are marble composition books and I talked them about here.) The stuffed animal is a scruffy looking cat with big eyes which Isla has named after me, and insists is my writing mascot. (Still not as scruffy as this one.) Anyway, the thing is…
Isla’s new trick is to drape herself across the two close together couches in our living room, and kind of just hang out there. ‘This is supposed to be a comfortable yoga pose,’ she says. ‘Is it?’ I ask. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Good. Sit up so you don’t fall and hurt yourself.’ And she does, because I’m her mother, and sometimes she listens to me. She goes back to drawing and shows me her newest masterpiece a little while later. ‘Look, it’s us.’ she says.…