Posted on July 22, 2025

Welcome to the latest post in my Summer Holiday Series—a light-hearted chronicle of chaos, cuddles, and caffeine-fuelled survival—as a full-time wheelchair user and father of three energetic small humans: Lily (10), Harry (6), and Hallie (2). This is our first summer holiday navigating this new chapter together, and what a start it’s been!

Today’s theme? Lovebirds, trampolines, and salad-based revelations.

A Slow Start… With Pastries (Because I’m Not a Monster)

The day began the only way any respectable British summer day should: slowly. Think less “early riser” and more “professionally horizontal.” A leisurely breakfast of pastries, toast, and strong coffee set the tone—because in this house, carbs are love, and caffeine is survival.

My youngest, Hallie, managed to butter both the toast and her eyebrows. Harry was deeply suspicious that pastries aren’t, in fact, a major food group. Lily, mature beyond her years, merely rolled her eyes and reached for the Nutella like a seasoned veteran of chaotic mornings.

The Aviary: My Slice of Feathery Freedom

After breakfast, we headed out into the garden to visit one of my greatest passions: my aviary of lovebirds.

This little sanctuary is more than just a hobby—it’s my retreat. A gift from my father-in-law and brother-in-law, who kindly and skilfully adapted it to be wheelchair accessible. Thanks to them, I can continue caring for my feathered friends independently, and share the experience with my children, who love helping out.

We have three breeding pairs, and one solo queen: Coco. Her partner sadly passed away while I was in hospital, but she remains very much the monarch of the aviary. Think of her as the Margaret Thatcher of the bird world—tiny, commanding, and not afraid to peck.

Cleaning the Aviary: Now Featuring Shoulder Perches and Interrogative Squawks

With our usual enthusiasm (and a slightly questionable broom), the kids and I rolled up to the aviary. The birds, as always, took it upon themselves to supervise—perching on our heads and shoulders like feathery foremen.

Cleaning quickly descended into a sort of chaotic ballet. Hallie attempted to mop the concrete with a strawberry. Harry claimed he was being “chosen” by a bird who clearly just wanted his snack. Lily, the ever-reliable organiser, tried to manage logistics like a miniature operations commander.

Feeding time included the usual spread: a mix of seeds, slices of apple, strawberries, cherry tomatoes, and kale—which the birds seem to genuinely enjoy. They’re clearly healthier than most of us.

A Surprise in the Nesting Box

As we went about our chores, I noticed that two familiar faces were missing—Peaches and Arlo.

Now, I know my birds like I know my children’s snack preferences (Harry: chocolate, Hallie: whatever I’m eating). So I called their names, and sure enough, they emerged from the nesting box looking decidedly smug.

A quick look inside revealed the reason for their sudden reclusiveness: three tiny white eggs. Yes, Peaches and Arlo have officially taken their relationship to the next level.

Lovebirds typically lay one egg every other day, and can produce a clutch of between four and six. The female will then incubate the eggs for around 18 to 24 days. Which means—just before the school term starts—we may have new arrivals in the aviary. A beautiful start to the summer.

An Afternoon of Chaos: Cousins, Trampolines, and Soggy Nappies

Later, the garden became significantly louder as my sister-in-law and her brood arrived. Cue squeals, trampoline chaos, and water fights that were more targeted ambush than gentle play.

The children bounced, splashed, shrieked and sprinted until the garden felt more like a zoo crossed with a music festival.

Lunch was served outdoors—a warm summer’s day practically demands it. We enjoyed a simple salad spread while chatting and laughing in the sunshine. Somewhere between “pass the crisps” and “don’t drink pool water,” something shifted for me.

An Unexpected Revelation Over Salad

Watching my children play, laugh, and conspire against the adults, I had a moment of clarity.

For the first time since becoming disabled—since seizures, muscle spasms, tremors and wheels became part of daily life—I realised: my children don’t care that I can’t walk.

They care that I’m there. That I’m still joining in. Still up for adventure. Still giving enthusiastic (and entirely fictional) names to baby birds like “Flapjack” or “Sir Pecks-a-Lot.”

Disability hasn’t removed me from their lives. It’s simply changed the angle from which I see them. And that angle, from my chair in the garden sunshine, felt like the best seat in the house.

Cider, Silence, and a Summer of Possibilities

As the sun dipped and the garden settled into its post-chaos hush, I sat quietly with a cold cider in hand. The trampoline had stopped boinging. The pool was silent. The kids were finally tired.

And I thought about that little white egg in the aviary this morning. That fragile, perfect symbol of new beginnings.

Whether my renewed sense of hope came from the cider, the sunshine, or that feathery promise of life, I don’t know. But it reminded me: every summer tells a story. And this one is going to be a good one.

Until Next Time…

From lovebirds to laughter, wheelchairs to water fights—this summer is off to a flying (and slightly flappy) start.

If you’ve enjoyed this post, follow our Summer Holiday Series to stay updated on all the adventures, mishaps, revelations, and possibly a bird-related drama or two.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Maybe sunburn. Maybe jelly in the pool. Maybe both.

Feathers up, forks down, and don’t sit on the strawberries. 🪑🪶