clothes shopping in a wheelchair

I don't like taking the kids clothes shopping. As Catherine gets older it's becoming a little easier, but I still avoid it as much as possible. It's time to dust off my soapbox and clamber up for a rant about wheelchairs and shopping centres. First of all, the width of the aisles is not terribly helpful when Christopher's arms and hands have a life of their own. For some mysterious reason kids' clothes racks tend to be particularly squashed together. Finding a safe place to park him while Catherine and I make dashes up and down the aisles is always an interesting challenge.

Having found several armfuls (armsful?) of clothes that look okay, we grit our teeth and head into the hell of the changing rooms. At least nowadays there is such a thing as a disabled change room, which - as you might be able to spot in the photo - is in the female section. Fabulous fun for a teenage boy..... NOT!

Once the disabled change room has been vacated by the previous customer (an able-bodied young woman), Christopher and I head inside while Catherine scoots into an empty stall nearby. I sweep the used tissue, clothes hanger and clothes tags onto the floor so I can lift him onto the change bed. Interesting design. At least this change room has a bed - on previous occasions our only option has been the floor, which does not bear thinking about.

We eventually emerge from the change rooms looking a bit frazzled (at least, that's my excuse for the hair-do, and I'm sticking to it). Frozen yoghurt with mango or wild berry topping time. Catherine spots a sign "The Dress to Impress" in a shop window and quips "I don't know how you'd impress a dress, anyway". Christopher wonders whether I will pay him to use his photograph on my blog. I love these kids! We eat maccas in the car at the beach and watch another dust storm approach in the far distance. Time to head home and rejoice that clothes shopping is over for another six months.