My Wonderland

 Well, today was chaos… the good kind. The kind where you're sprinting between appointments like a travelling circus act, but somehow it all works out. And by the end of it, your heart is full, your kid thinks he’s a rockstar ( he is ), and you’re somehow still functioning despite running on absolutely no caffeine. But let me backtrack. Because before we talk about the magic of today’s new OT session, there’s a shadow that deserves its own spotlight first... On the way to Little Bodies, Kaedyn asked me a question about his old beloved OT. “Mum, why do you like Julian so much?” How do you explain a person who didn’t just do their job? They changed your life? Julian wasn’t just Kaedyn’s OT. He was part of our family. He still is! We all hold so much love for him, his wife, and his kids; they are every shade of warmth and brilliance. He showed up. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, practically. Kind. Grounded. Generous with his time, his memory, his spirit. ...

There was a time when therapy felt like war. Not the inspirational movie kind. The real kind. The one with screaming, resistance, heartbreak, and me standing in the hallway taking deep breaths as I fought back tears, telling myself this is good for him. Kaedyn has hated therapy more times than I can count. And honestly? I’ve tried to black out most of those sessions.... #PTSD But this year… something changed. Kaedyn started asking questions, and so we started having some pretty big conversations. The kind no parent really wants to have but knows they have to . The ones that pull no punches and leave your heart sore for days. “If you want to walk, buddy… you have to want it. You have to fight for it. You’re allowed to hate it—most people would. But five or ten years from now, you could be walking with a frame, or a stick, or maybe even unaided. That future? It’s yours to shape. We’ll help you, but we can’t do it for you.” I didn’t think it had sunk in. He’s 11. His world revolves ...

Kaedyn has a brand-new set of wheels!!! an Offcar Quasar in champagne gold, with a sleek white e-fix controller. It’s stylish, strong,nand totally him. Straight out of The Tortured Poets Department. Taylor would be proud! But like everything in additional needs parenting, it didn’t appear overnight. It took months of planning, stress, phone calls, and tears. We started shopping in April 2024. Not because it was urgent yet, but because I’ve done this before. I know the signs: the slouch, the tight fit, the unsupported legs. This is Kaedyn’s fourth wheelchair and I’ve learned the hard way what happens if you wait. And yet, even being early… we were still too late. By early 2025, the old chair was dangerous and I had already acquired an $8000 quote to repair this single problematic wheel. I checked it before school one Friday and realised that wheel was about to fall off. If I hadn’t looked, he could’ve ended up injured. I cried in the car, I cried on the phone. (What can I say? Emotional...

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...

We talk a lot about inclusive cities or smart cities. Buzzwords like accessibility, universal design, and diversity are tossed around in policy documents and press releases as if they’re already achieved. But here’s the truth: If your city doesn’t have adequate Changing Places facilities, then your city is not inclusive. It’s not accessible. And it’s definitely not modern. Changing Places are fully accessible bathrooms designed for people with complex disabilities. They go well beyond standard accessible toilets and include: An adult-sized, height-adjustable change table, a  ceiling hoist system, e nough space for a wheelchair user and multiple carers, a  privacy screen or curtain.  In short: basic dignity. If you’ve never needed a Changing Place, chances are you’ve never checked whether one exists nearby. But for families like mine, our entire day hinges on finding one. And even then, we are bracing ourselves. Because like most parents of a disabled child, I don’t just h...

I want to talk about something that happens more than it should. It’s not always cruel. In fact, it’s often well-meaning, just curious kids (and sometimes adults) trying to make sense of the world. But for children with disabilities, these moments stick. They sting. And they shape how safe they feel in their own community. If your child has ever walked up to another and asked, “What’s wrong with your legs?” “Why do you wear those things on your feet?” “Why does your iPad talk for you?” or worse “Ew, what’s that?” “Why do you walk like that, it looks weird.” “That’s gross.” This post is for you. And if your response was to laugh nervously, or say, “They didn’t mean it like that,” or “They’re just a kid,” this is especially for you. Because when you defend the comment instead of addressing it, you aren’t protecting your child, you’re reinforcing the idea that cruelty is allowed as long as it comes from a small mouth. And if you’ve ever reached out to gently pat their head with a soft “aw...