A Blue Peter Hensinger

I got tired of holding Mog's head for her on Sunday, and wedged it with a rolled up scarf. Her Sunday School teacher came up to me and told me she didn't know Mog could sing, she hadn't heard her before. She ate a lick of bread sauce and one of custard at lunchtime. And she kicked me at bedtime. Yesterday, I sent her to school with the same rolled up scarf. And she opened her eyes, and joined in with the lesson. And kicked the bus driver.

Today we went to the wheelchair clinic, and they have ordered her a Hensinger Collar. Which looks to me to be pretty similar, but without the ability to unroll at crucial moments. Amazing what a difference having her neck supported makes - even when she's not obviously struggling to breathe I suppose it must have been more of an effort. I do hope this makes things properly better for her - would be great if something so simple solves so much.

And, because she somehow wriggles in everywhere even if posts are most determinedly not about her, a photo of Little Fish from yesterday once I'd worked out how to immobilise her let her do the washing up without sending it flying.
It's a serious business, cleaning up after Mumma.

She sat cleaning the spoons and forks, I cleared up the worst of the rest of the house. This morning our cleaner came, and I went out and hid in a carpark with a cup of coffee and an iPhone. I then collected the girls from school and went to the wheelchair appointment, taking the last parking space in the whole carpark. We came home later to a house that was gleaming and sparkly with all surfaces clean, all floors clear, all toys pushed to the edges of the rooms put away tidily. And Little Fish elected to play with a puzzle and sit quietly with me to do it. Things were looking good, strong possibility of a house still clean and tidy by bedtime.

And then our friends called in, and their children and LF emptied the ball pool.
Sigh.

They did all have fun though. And sane adult conversation was good too.
Tia