The future’s special

The Diary of a Not So Ordinary Boy

There are times when I am really proud of my kids.  A lot of the time I am exasperated by them (particularly when they are refusing to eat my lovingly prepared lasagne) , or exhausted by them (early mornings, anyone?), or nothing-much-at-all-they-are-just-there-cluttering-up-the-house-with-their-shoes by them (that’s a good one, that is), but sometimes, every so often, I am proud of them.  It doesn’t tend to happen upon receipt of school report/at parents’ evening (certainly not enough to make me want to publish it on Facebook), neither do I feel it especially much when they take to the stage, although those moments are nice (well, my children on the stage, that is); no, I feel it most when I see them around people with disabilities.  That’s when I feel most proud of them.  That’s when I feel that in some way I might actually be doing a reasonable job at this mothering…

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