Footloose

It's the six-week summer holidays.

Let the complicated jigsaw of work/childcare/clubs/activities/child-swapping with friends/rejuvenating evening gins begin.

And let the absolute exhaustion of co-ordinating all of the above while negotiating the demands of MS hit me like a ton of bricks.

Because while there's no mad-rush-out-the-door for morning registration or finding PE kits (in the cupboard? in the washing machine? on the cat?) or helping with maths homework I JUST NO LONGER UNDERSTAND - there is somehow the requirement to fill the days with fun and exciting stuff.

Days of stimulating summer plans that my daughter will remember for years to come.

Halcyon memories that she can recount to her own offspring while smiling a wistful smile and - perhaps - wiping away a tear of happiness while vowing to recreate them for her own little darlings.

Endless moments of magazine perfection which are out of the grasp of most families, never mind those of us hosting a chronic illness.

It's a summertime struggle to balance the emotional desire to offer every possible opportunity for my daughter while battling the physical demons that stamp all over the reality.

Maybe I should just stop reading articles that showcase frightfully well-turned out families enjoying adventurous outings then picnicking picturesquely. Wearing tasteful outfits and nibbling on superfood salads without spilling the vast majority down their fronts.

Because our six-weeks are way more likely to consist of getting too hot and over-tired in the local park, having to have a lie-down after taking on too much, batting stinging things away from sticky juice spillages, cramming in work, a fair few pj-and-tv-and-collapse days, sudden calls for help from friends or family and quite a lot of unhealthy treats "because it's the holidays."

 And maybe that's okay.

Maybe it's okay to just cut myself some slack for the summer and view the six weeks as a melting pot of mayhem and exhaustion and last minutes and ice-lollies.

That's not a bad memory for my daughter to have is it? A jumble of fun tied up with some help when we need it.

Plus the ruddy footboot is finally off, so that's got to be a good thing.

:: Footloose by Kenny Loggins