Diary For The Owl's Mum
My 4th attempt at keeping an appointment with physio happened yesterday. The poor girl rang me almost every week to ask where I was and my answer was always with an apology. Making it there virtually on time and finding a precious parking space, with the disability issue being raised once again! I walked into the the room with rapturous applause -- in my head of course! I was faced by a very relieved looking physio who set about opening my file right at the point of no return.
I sat gingerly upon a seat made for primary school kids and stared at a huge rubber ball wedged firmly under a table. There were a lot of "Mmmm's and Err's" Finally she turned and began. "Bad back, poor mobility and muscle wastage," she said, but besides that I was okay!
"We need to work those muscles she said" Little did she know that an hour previous to my appointment I'd been chasing a chicken all over the field in my muddy boots, any faster and I could have gained qualification for the olympics. I never caught it but the excercise was far more intense than sitting upon a ball which followed. "You really need to excercise more." Her warning as I struggled to keep my balance. (Actually I was quite stiff from my earlier exploits). "Your leg muscles are wasting away."
I sat back in the chair and discussed a work out plan -- me needing a work out? I think not. Did she realise how much I work out during the day? I must sit for half an hour between doing housework, picking my dad up from home, taking Steph to college and doing what I like best, preparing evening meal -- not! As well as running about like an headless chicken all day, I have a weekly show on the radio to prepare and thinking about this seriously, I probably do more excercise in one day than the physio does in a whole week!
I have other issues that take my time at the moment, one which I will write about when it's all over. So all in all I'm a pretty busy woman and, yes -- I do now need a diary.
My task today is making things for Brownies, a programme of the Girl Guides. I'm now the mother of a Barn Owl and if you're confused by this, so am I. My daughter is a young leader in the movement if you can call it that. She's was on pack holiday last weekend and gained her status during her time at camp. There are several "Owls" or leaders and by all accounts Steph is at the bottom of the tree about to work her way up! No wonder I'm the mother then, I must say in the light of things that I'm now officially a proper twit! Or is it twoo!