Mid fit for Mog's new wheelchair today. Since she appears to have shrunk several inches since it was cast, this took a little while, as cushions were first lowered then chopped shorter, mysterious wings which had appeared over her shoulders were clipped back, and a headrest was er liberated from another chair in store to make it fit.
It's good this communication thing. Mog's still got the Brownie Promise on her switch, still frowning at anyone who dares to suggest changing it for anything more useful like "Hello" or even"Oi YOU! Pay attention to me!" which is generally one of her favourites. So, clearly, we were checking that the mount would fit onto the new frame. And that the frame would fit through the doors, it being a good few inches wider than her old wheelchair. Happily it's both shorter and narrower than the buggy she's in at the moment, so pushing her around the house ought to be a dream again.
We shifted the headrest, discussed extra padding. Mog told us she wants it soft and snug, not loose. I pointed out that if she had it a bit loose, she might have space for a headswitch again, since she does seem to be turning her head a bit more these days. Big frown and legs kicking mightily, happily not quite concussing the hapless wheelchair technician who was attempting to shorten the footplates. Mog likes her foot switch. Point taken. Big grin, and her right foot pounding the footplate - "You'd like a switch for your other leg too?" Yes.
We'll look into it.
And then time for the most important bit of all - as far as Mog is concerned anyway. Choosing the colours of the cushion covers. I go through all the colours with Mog. She rejects school uniform blue, but declines to comment on the rest. I go through them again. She rejects red, after I point out it'll look evil with her purple tops. We go through the rest again, and the other blues are rejected. Another cycle, and she weeds out the pink. Eventually we are left with purple and black. not the subtle, tasteful, charcoaly grey/navy black she's had for the past six years, a solid, uncompromising,
Mog has, up til now, been fairly silent. Yes, there was the welly the
Mog sulks, and hits her switch. I tell her she has to be older. She says no. The tech says he can't actually embroider them onto the cushions anyway and he wasn't serious. Mog hits her switch repeatedly to ask for her talking book. She has a question. "Why not?"
She's still not having a skull and crossbones motif on her new wheelchair though. Why not? Because I'm the meanest Mummy in the whole world ever.