After yesterday, I was slightly hoping for a bit of a quieter day today.

Hah.

Up early early to be ready for our carer. Mog woke twitchily, but very loud and happy. We like loud and happy.

Little Fish woke as our carer left, grumpy and grouchy and a little achey too. Complained about my cold hands as I moved her legs around, she's definitely feeling more there which is odd but good.

Off to preschool, dropped her off and then a quick Budgen's run for more cat food. Nothing appetising in their super-reduced section, I am not sure if this is a good thing or not. Did manage to talk to my upstairs neighbour (first time in a couple of years or so!) who explained a bit more about what is not happening in the attic. Sounds not necessarily as serious as it was supposed to be, so I hope that's right and the building isn't about to fall apart on us.

Came home and sat here for a bit before racing off to collect Little Fish once more. Then had a phonecall from school, Mog fitting. Not enough to want to give her emergency meds, but too much to concentrate in class, and not a seizure type they'd seen at school before. So Little Fish and I went to pick her up, then had a quick lunch before heading up to the orthopaedic hospital to collect LF's new splints.

New splints. Little Fish likes the tractors and lorries, and was keen to show the orthotist how she could do the straps up herself. And undo them. And chew the velcro. Marvellous.

Post - another letter about a missed appointment. A report from one of LF's therapists which appears to be about a totally different child. A letter about the appointment we had just attended.

On into town quickly to choose frames for Mog's new glasses, and to find winter shoes for both girls. Mog manages to choose a fine pair of boots in between seizures, and Little Fish decides to pair her tractor and lorry themed splints with a pair of pink polka dotted trainers. It's an interesting combination.

We then want to visit a shop 100 yards away from the shoe shop. Little Fish is in her powerchair, so we can't bump up and down kerbs, we have to find ramps. This entails heading 100 yards in the wrong direction, crossing the road even further in the wrong direction, walking directly away from both shops to cross a different road. We then walk down the hill, past the shop we are trying to get to, to find a third crossing, and finally manage to walk back up the hill and enter the shop. Which then doesn't have the things we needed anyway. To get back to our car, rather than repeat the insanely long detour we try a different detour; this takes us up three different roads, one of which is blocked to wheelchairs by a large lorry and a big red dustbin. Great.

Finally back at our car, we face the ever pleasing realisation that someone has parked illegally on the double yellow lines behind our van. This would be annoying if it had been someone with a disabled parking permit, it is infuriating though when it is someone without one, just a very fancy car which is apparently too important to be parked in the carpark around the corner. They have left no space for us to get our ramps down.

Mog thinks this is funny, and is giggling lots. Little Fish is shouting "silly car, silly car, I not get my wheelchair in my bus". Eventually I manage to inch the bus forwards far enough to get the ramps out, a procedure which involves me leaving both girls on the pavement and me in the car. This renders Little Fish hysterical; she thinks I am driving off and have abandoned them both. We load up and drive home.

Phone calls from a therapist who wishes to see Little Fish at preschool tomorrow, and who feels it is important that I attend the appointment too. Ordinarily I would but I was counting on having a bit of breathing space. Hey ho. Phone call from the therapist who wrote the report I was unhappy about. Lots of upset, an explanation, and a bit of a plan to go forwards. I'm still not convinced though that it is considered normal for a three year old to have speech which is unintelligable to people who do not know the child well. But we do have a bit of a plan for the rest of it.

It's been a ridiculously upsetting phonecall - I really shouldn't have to explain why I get upset that my daughter can't eat, and that very little is being done to teach her how to eat. Because I am getting upset, I leave the girls in the kitchen and come through to the sitting room to finish the call. This proves to be a mistake; I re-enter the kitchen to discover that Little Fish has poured pureed macaroni cheese, cranberry juice and water all over the table, the floor, and her new splints and boots. Lovely.

So, an emergency cup of coffee, and then kitchen rescued, girls fed, various intimate personal care tasks performed, and two girls head to bed both at least a pound lighter than they were before I started getting them ready. Cats fed, emails sent, suction pump scrubbed. It is at this point in the day when I look down and realise my tshirt is inside out. And has been since I got dressed in the dark this morning. I could possibly have gotten away with it if it had been a plain one, but I had decided to go for the semi smart option (if tshirts can ever be considered smart), and found one with a nice patch of embroidery across the front.

Oh, and the zip on my jeans is broken.

I am off to find something silly to watch with a bowl of popcorn. Someone send me some chocolate.
Tia