Playing in the Park, Knuckles and Pigeons.


Easter can be so exhausting as an adult – your child, hopped up on sugar, racing round the house or whining that they can’t find the rest of the eggs and they give up. Encouraging them to continue can only lead to more whining, which really isn’t what you want. Thankfully, this year, we were blessed with beautiful weather – which we decided to take advantage of.

As I’m feeling exceptionally sore, we decided to take the wheelchair down to the park with us – a walk of about a mile which I simply couldn’t do – I could barely walk across the road. The trip there, however.. was frankly a nightmare. Uneven paths tipping the wheelchair to the side, sections entirely without paths which left my having no choice but to walk with my crutch so that the wheelchair would actually move.

On the way there, we came across a pigeon who was injured. Now, I don’t particularly like pigeons, but I hate to see an animal suffer, and its wing was badly hurt, with feathers sticking in all directions. My phone has no credit left, so I yelled out – across the busy street – to a gentleman who was clearly using his phone. I asked him to call the RSPB, the protection agency for birds in Scotland. To my dismay, he made a completely rubbish excuse and carried on walking. I was left with no choice but to leave the bird where it was and hope no harm came to it, as it was a fair trek from home.

Continuing on, we made it to the park, which had a gigantic duck pond  on first entrance and was very scenic. Daffodils bloomed everywhere and, despite my urging that they be left alone, my son couldn’t help but pick me a bunch. There were plenty there, so hopefully it wasn’t too bad a deed to accept them. I now have them in a vase on our dinner table.

After a short trail, we made it to the play park we’d been aiming for, and let Damien burn off as much of the excess sugar energy as we could, before the cooling air and approaching night sent us home, looking for food and comfort. On the way back, I looked for the pigeon, wondering if I could perhaps wrap it in the cardigan I had and take it home to be looked at. Alas, it was nowhere to be found – thankfully, that included the middle of the road. Hopefully, someone else saw its plight and made the phone call I couldn’t.

Back home, we all flopped down in a mess of tiredness and contentedness, trying to deal with a Damien whose mood had dropped low as a result of a sugar crash. An hour later, after food, he was straight off to bed and pleased to be doing so.

Sometime during the day, I picked up an injury. I have a tiny cut on my finger joint, but I don’t think that’s what’s wrong with it. It’s swollen, and the joint doesn’t feel right. Now, I can move it, but it feels stiff, but not arthritic. It’s also bruised. Odd, right?

Anyway, it’s been a long day which has been satisfying; very glad we went out or D would have been going spare. As it is, he’s worn out and ready for a sleep.

I think I am, too.



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