Saturday, September 30, 2017

See through skirt and a thong....

I have moved away from the town, where I'd lived since I three. I moved around but within the same county. Just moving one county over, gave us much more bang for our money. I really love where we live.

I had thought that one day I'd live by the sea. Or in a different country. But hey ho, wasn't meant to be. I did do a stint in Florida, but at only three months or so, it didn't really count. But y'know, I did normal everyday things there, like food shopping, clothes shopping, visit to the cinema, a stint in
A and E ( this task fell to husband number one) And more unusually Disney World and Busch Gardens. On the water rides here, I got totally soaked, and my outfit went see-through. This, unfortunately, was not lost on passers by. Nor was the fact that I was wearing a thong.
So that was nice.

Anyway, back in rainy cold England, any thongs or otherwise, are buried under jumpers and with a side order of gloves and a scarf. And a bobble hat.
It keeps raining loads, and going out when it's raining, when you're in a wheelchair is rubbish. You can't hold a brolly (both hands busy) and your lap gets soaked. Brilliant.
What is good though, since I've changed to a powered chair, only one thumb is busy so I can hold a brolly! And I'm preserving energy. I'm not sure what for yet.....

Ah yes, the youngest in the family is having a sleepover here tonight. I am her Nanny and the Good Man is her Poppa, and the Little Man is her uncle. You following? Which reminds me...I need to do a family tree. Someone I recently met, looked like I scrambled her brain, so I offered to plot it all down for her. I don't think it's complicated, but I appreciate that other people do. My brother, for example, still can't tell the twins apart. They're not identical either. And we lived with him for a bit. They turned twenty seven this summer.  Twenty seven years and still looking slightly panicked/startled/distressed.

Still, it's amusing watching the panic on his face.

Monday, September 25, 2017

The joy that is MS has totally floored me just lately, but rather than sit on my arse moping, I've indulged in a tiny bit of shopping, and I'm eyeing up some Converse, joined green peace, and signed a VSO Petition, which if you're female, know and care about any females, I would urge you to consider signing too. (Just google VSO, and it will probably pop up)
The little man has just come home from a laser quest party, which he really enjoyed. The Good Man enjoyed it too. Probably because he could destroy the opposing team made up of five and six year olds.
The Little Man has another party this weekend. It's being held at the party boys home, which is the kind of party I did for all my girls. The chocolate game and the flour game were the requested games, and as the girls got older, they still wanted to play those games, even when they were camping in the garden, with teddy bears and a thermos of hot chocolate. There was only one burn casualty due to my daughter thinking she could drink straight from the thermos. She couldn't. But what she could do, was to pretty severely scold her chest. Everybody has that one child. She was mine. I was my mother's. But, y'know, we all survived. And the memories of falling out the loft hatch, or all the way down the stairs in an Ali Baba wash basket are intact. As am I, as are my children. To be honest, one fifth of my lot are cautious. The other four fifths are slightly devil may care in their approach to life.


I need a new wheelchair. I have a powered chair sort of on loan at the moment. The jury is out on it at present....1930's houses can't really cope with accommodating a powered wheelchair. And I can't cope with driving the bloody argumentative thing. And it was so comfy at first, but now I have a numb bum. But I suppose it's a big ask, to request that ANY chair be comfy ALL DAY LONG.
I saw one chair that looked amazeballs. But at ten thousand English Pounds, you'd bloody hope it would be! And, small thing, it matches my leather jacket. 

Friday, September 15, 2017

The little man had his first day back at school, a few weeks ago. My questions, 'Did you have a good day? Was it good to see your friends? What's your new teacher like?' were met with an exasperated 'UGH, I just told Daddy!' Fair enough. He kisses my arm, and he's my friend again, by that I mean I have to accept what I can get and when I can get it.

I was feeling a bit grumpy earlier, and this led me to making arrangements to see friends, a much needed source of amusement/happy chatter. Sometimes you just have to take care of your soul. Y'know?

In other news....I'm pleased to report that I took delivery of my new wheelchair. I am less happy to report that I put a scratch on the new fridge freezer. And put scratches on skirting boards. And I've taken divots out of plaster. I have someone coming out to remove a bar, that's shoulder height, and extends back, about three inches. And it's this that has created the odd divot and the scratch on the fridge freezer. It's not my driving, ok? When the lady that delivered it, said she'll be back in eight weeks to see how I'm getting on, I'll admit that I thought 'Seriously?' And she made me promise not to take it out on the street. I can see why. The thing is so bloody sensitive!! And wide! I can't rest both elbows on the arm rests at the same time. As long as my arse doesn't spill into the back corners of the seat, I'll be ok.

I feel sure that I'll get used to it. And the O.T today showed me a bit of kit called a stand aid and JESUS WEPT, whilst it goes without saying that I'm grateful for these services courtesy of the NHS, I am not grateful to have my home turned into an NHS storeroom.
First it was a walking stick, then one crutch, then two crutches, then a wheelchair, then grab rails (now removed. Mostly.) And now a divot making, skirting board scratching, widearsed electric wheelchair. You know that linear drawing depicting The Evolution of Man? Do that in reverse and what are you depicting? Moi. I merde you not.

And apparently I need to consider getting a profiling bed. I slept on one of these when we went to centre parcs, and it was so comfy, and the source of much amusement for teenaged daughter, although at 19 was an adult. Unbelievably. I think I've mentioned her complaining about adulting before? You know when teenagers take on more and more responsibilities (gradually)? BECAUSE THEY ARE NOW AN ADULT? And more understandably, for my then three year old. Up, down. Up, down, goes the mattress = endless amusement for The Little Man.

So anyway, taking delivery of my new wheelchair and I'm saying, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, all whilst thinking, Please stop talking. Please. No? Oh. Well, just fuck off then. And take all this shyte with you. No. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.
Talk about yo yoing emotions. Get a grip woman! This stuff helps to bring personal independence, and as I'm all for that, it just remains for me to say, THANK YOU.