Jelly bean tears

Overheard, from the front room:

“Can you get our sweet day sweets when you go out Dad?”
“No. You had them yesterday.”
“No we didn’t! We didn’t get any in the end!”
“And we haven’t had them for weeks.”
“Tom, we’re like getting a bit old for “sweet day sweets” bro…”
“Well it ain’t “sweet day” now.”
“You’re 19 and saying we’re too old for sweets when you had them till you were at least 16???”
“Yeah. Well, come on, you did get a lot of added benefits being the youngest…”
“Yeah, like playing ’15’ games when you’re only THIRTEEN..”
“Yeah! And the rest!”
“Er, what you doing Tom?”
“I need some tears.”
“Eh, what?”
WHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA… I need to test my tears.”
“I need to test my tears for sweet stuff. Kids’ tears should taste like jelly beans. And sweet stuff.”
“Not vegetables.”


But I’m right back with Willy Wonka… singing Pure Imagination.



Tears (and disabled children)

One thing that seriously naffs me off, is when people talk about parents of disabled children experiencing bereavement.  I think it’s careless, pat, unreflective and unhelpful.  Some may, of course. Fair enough. But I suspect an awful lot don’t.

I think the everyday rules and sense of order, predictability and certainty disappear when you find out you’ve landed a speshy.  These rules/order revolve around ‘mainstream’ lives, not the lives of families with eel children.  And I think there is a sadness. A deep sadness, that is made up of all sorts of different things. Anyway, this got me thinking about tears and how much I’ve cried since LB was born.

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