Of flowers and fusses

More loose plans today. We did not get into town, we did not get a new front door key cut, we did not get to take some stunningly beautiful photographs of our town centre to stun you all with my awesome camera skills stroll around the older parts of town enjoying the pretty things.

Instead, we walked to the post office, posted a couple of letters, and picked up a new driving licence application to replace the one Little Fish shredded (nb to the commentator; we do have a credit sized licence, we also have a paper bit which has a list of all your speeding fines further information; it was that bit she managed to destroy, not the plastic bit!).
We had lunch at our local pub; lasagna for Little Fish and a rather nice though awfully named "rustic deli platter" for myself - big gooey blob of melted Camembert, a loaf of bread and a pot of chutney. Oh, and three olives. Three.

We came home and hit the garden. We mowed and strimmed. I say we; I mowed and strimmed, Mog laughed, Little Fish mainly got in the way, but occasionally disappeared inside which was only marginally less helpful than parking her chair immediately in front of the mower as it meant I had to keep stopping to check what she was doing. Mog really needs to develop her supervision skills.

We weeded - I picked the weeds, Little Fish gathered them up and then dropped them round the corner and refused point blank to put them into the compost bin or move so that I could. We found the first jasmine flower
And, on the other side of the trellis, the first raspberries.Please note impeccably manicured lawn through the gaps. Someone ought to notice it!

We sat on green chairs under the apple tree and enjoyed smelling the jasmine and sweet peas. Little Fish got the hump because the apples aren't big enough to pick yet. Mog giggled because Little Fish was cross. She (Mog) does take the pressure off; it's hard to stay cross when there's a small child giggling (and she giggles well). It's strange; when Mog was a baby and she cried all the time (and I do mean ALL the time; the only time she stopped was when she was asleep, the only time she slept was when we drugged her), Goldie found Mog's cry hysterically funny. And Goldie's giggles helped me to cope with the reality of living with such a desperately unhappy little baby. Now Goldie's gone, but Mog's giggles help me to live with Little Fish's moods and frustrations. Big siblings are helpful creations!

Back to our weeding, and I want to know what the left lupin had that the right one did not haveWhy have the slugs and snails stripped the left one and totally ignored the one on the right?

Back inside now, and Little Fish "helped" me with the laundry by carefully distributing each beautifully folded pile in smaller piles over every inch of the house. She also demonstrated her talent for separating pairs of socks, and for hanging every single piece of wet washing on just one tiny part of the clothes horse, then screaming when I redistributed it. Fun times...

In sorting the laundry, we found this stack of bibs belonging to nurserywhich, when added to the red one currently in the machine, makes it about a fortnight's worth. Oops. Sorry guys; you'll have them back by the end of term.

A short pause to admire the flowers we bought last weekHow is it that the flowers I buy last a fortnight or more, whereas the flowers I pick wilt with the setting of the sun?

More tidying, and this discovery
Little Fish appears to have turfed the Rackety's doll out of her wheelchair, and decided that Little Jenny Wren's creation stands in greater need.

A shared shower, and two girls posted into pyjamas and ready for snuggles bed. And a less pleasant image to finish with - Little Fish's foot
The original pressure sore is healing nicely. So how is it that tonight she suddenly seems to be developing another one underneath? She has not worn her splints nor slept in her sleep system nor worn shoes for weeks, she doesn't even wear socks since they seemed to cause problems with her shin. She is wearing soft fleece slippers and that's all. I'll spare you the shots of her stoma, which is now bleeding freely and bubbling with orange gunge.

And now Little Fish is sleeping peacefully, Mog is not, has been in bed for a while and is heading for a dose of sedative any minute now. After which, I need a bath; my legs do not enjoy strimming!
Tia