The warrior parent. A much used label for a parent with a special needs child who fights the system until they are bruised and bloodied and then still gets up, spits out a loose tooth and goes in for a second round. Some parents wear this label as a badge of pride, and I completely
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
I don’t get unwell very often, I feel grotty an awful lot though. It’s a side effect of staying up too late, getting up too early and being surrounded by small humans leaking germs at me all the time. I don’t get can’t-get-up-out-of-bed sick, because I just can’t. At least I can’t Monday to Friday, because someone has to be vertical and vaguely compos mentis to look after Dominic.
So here it is, my very first go at setting a blogging challenge for my creative blogging friends. For a bit more background into what this is all about have a read of this. To start things off I would like to share a series of pictures from the dusty depths of my computer. For