My Wonderland

I’m not unreasonable. And up until recently, I was one of the cool parents!   Dante’s friends practically worshipped me in primary school. I was the mum who ran all the good fundraisers. Dominos, Krispy Kremes, sugar on demand. I didn’t just bring cupcakes to birthdays I brought full-blown sugar platters that could send a fairy into cardiac arrest. Back then, I was fun. Respected. A walking vending machine of joy. His friends still come and give me hugs!  Now I’m the oppressive regime enforcing a brutal dictatorship consisting of two chores: Empty the dishwasher Take out the bins That’s it. That’s my entire wish list. And yet, somehow, this small ask launches him into a full-scale uprising. Every chore is a negotiation, every request is a debate. “Why do I have to take the bin out?” “Kaedyn’s plate was in the dishwasher, that’s basically his job.” “I didn’t even eat today, so technically I produced no waste.” Clothes? He’ll get to them. Eventually or have...

Today, something unexpected happened. The NDIA announced a big cut to physiotherapy rates across Australia. Here in WA, it dropped from $224.62 to $183.99 an hour. That's more than $40! For years, we searched for the right physio for Kaedyn. Not just any therapy, but a place where he feels safe, understood, and even happy. Where therapy isn’t just a task but something he can be part of. With Ben and lately Kal, Kaedyn has found that. Therapy hasn't always been fun; sometimes he would cry just knowing he had to go, but he laughs in sessions now. He’s challenged in ways that help him grow. He’s proud of himself. That kind of progress isn’t just physical; it’s about feeling valued and seen. But now, with these cuts, the future feels uncertain for so many of us.  These small clinics, these therapists who care deeply, can’t keep going if funding keeps shrinking. It means fewer appointments, fewer resources that benefit our kids, and the therapists we love just have to walk away...

Dante is my oldest son, he's turning 13! And while everyone else might celebrate it as the beginning of the teen years, I’m here sitting with the quiet truth that his childhood is over, not in a dramatic way, but in a way that hurts if you look too closely. Because Dante’s childhood wasn’t just bikes and birthday parties. It was therapy clinics and hospital corridors. It was me wrapping him in cotton wool cause I was terrified something bad might happen to him. It was watching his brother’s legs get braced in AFOs while his own questions went unanswered. It was learning to entertain himself in the corner of a room while the spotlight was on someone else. It was missing out. Quietly. Repeatedly. Without complaint. He’s the boy who gave up Saturday sports so we could all go to inclusive games instead. The boy who learned to cheer for someone else’s milestones while tucking away his own. The boy who carried the emotional weight of our family’s reality before he had the words to compre...