After the day I had today, I am officially getting the key to the City. A blue key that will open doors for us.
Literally!
We are in tier 4, also known as, absolutely-no-where-to-go zone. We had to get out, so realising that every park was going to be heaving I just said “stuff it”, pulled on my mask and hoped the outdoor air would blow any new covid mutations in the opposite direction.
It went well.
The boys scooted, scaring innocent bystanders with their Tommy Hawk style swerves, making them jump the required two meters in distance. I sweated as I ran to try keep up, screaming “STOP!!!!” in the same amplification of voice and tone as shouting at a thief running off with my bag! Arms and legs waving like a frantic lady unable to control her brood.
I make a mental note that Ugg boots were not the right shoe for this type of occasion!
But this was the norm for us. There was no stress, just fresh air and stares from the public who are not use to our unique family quirks.
The playground was crowded, but with sufficient space. So everything went smoothly, from shouts of “RHYS, DONT PUSH THE LITTLE GIRL” to “RHYS GO” when he had been sitting at the top of the slide for five minutes, a queue (not socially distanced!) formed behind him. He didn’t care!
It was all going extremely great until, “TOILET!”
I didn’t have the travel toilet with me, so feeling like we had been swinging and sliding for a sufficient length of time, I summoned the troops and we scooted up the hill to the amenities.
THESE TOILETS ARE LOCKED FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY said the sign.
Little do they know what is safe, when your six year old is screaming “TOILET” and does not do such things behind a bush!
There was only one option. “READY, STEADY, SCOOT” I shouted, and the boys pushed off from the ground and scooted like I have never seen before. The half mile race commenced. They swerved around the ankles of the slow walkers, dodged ducks and even did a few bunny hops over the not so smooth parts.
At the end of path, the transition into the car was record breaking, and the spinning of the car wheels, as we took off, made me feel young again.
But we didn’t make it!
The car seat was the worst hit, and Rhys struggled to accept the situation, crying “Jeans wet!” until I got him cleaned up and changed.
So I now have a key in the post on the way to me. A magic key that will open every disabled toilet in Britain.
Not sure about you, but that is a pretty magic key in my opinion.
🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑🔑
RADAR keys are available to people with disabilities and can be purchased from your local council, www.disability.co.uk or many other distributors.
