“Shall we get some food?” asked my husband as we walked out of a successful bowling family outing. We were all on a bit of a high from a family activity that had gone to plan. I looked up to see what he was referring to and saw a burger restaurant was in front of us, it was a takeaway, sit-down-if-you-want type of establishment. I assumed we would grab some food to eat on the

“Rhys, what colour?” I ask. “Red” he replies, and I help him hand-over-hand to lift the red bowling ball from the rack. We lift it together onto the guide, and after a joint chant of “Ready, steady, go” Rhys pushes the ball forward. It makes a perfect direct line forward to the central pin securing a strike. Rhys’ calves demonstrate their power as he springs up and down in excitement. The movement of the ball

I sit down with my phone and Google the forest area we plan to visit. There are some lovely photos of the area, but I am looking for a specific one. It doesn’t need to be pretty or taken in the perfect light for submission for an annual photo award, but it does need to show the venue and its distinct characteristics. I find the perfect picture of the entrance, the lettering depicting the venue

Tomorrow when you drop your child off at school, dressed in their something spotty for BBC Children in Need, there may be a child in line, in their school uniform. Naturally we think about the parents. How they have forgotten or sadly, in some cases, just do not care.I hold my hand up as being one of those parents. Hopefully not the one who doesn’t care, but the one who has forgotten. I will even

“Rhys, hand” I ask as we walk out the house, my hand held out for him to take hold of. He continues to walk forward ignoring my outstretched grasp. I grab the sleeve of his coat as he darts past me. His hands are hidden in the sleeves and I try to pull one out, but he resists and contracts his fingers into a fist. Our routine is planned and executed in the same way