When Life Gives You Lemons,
Make the Lemonade
Celebrating the Power of Play for Every Kind of Mind
On surviving a relentless week, the magic of Leatherhead Market, and why ten minutes of stillness can change everything.
Some weeks don't ask for your permission. They just arrive — full throttle — and carry you along whether you're ready or not. This was one of those weeks. And if you're reading this while nodding quietly to yourself, I suspect you know exactly what I mean.
It's Sunday now. The first real moment I've had to stop, sit down, and simply be. I want to share this week with you — not to complain, but because I think there's something honest and important in naming what it actually feels like to keep all the plates spinning when you're doing it for your family, your kids, and a community you care about deeply.
The Week That Ran Away With Itself
What was supposed to be a gentle bank holiday Monday with my mum became impossible before it even began. By Tuesday I was on the train to Cambridge, and Wednesday brought an intense client workshop — thoughtfully broken up with lunch and a little punting on the river (Parker's Tavern, above — worth every second), but make no mistake: being on for a client all day is its own particular kind of exhausting. It demands that you be instinctively reactive, emotionally present, and professionally sharp all at once.
Thursday blurred into Friday. I worked through the nights. I was cooking dinner, keeping the house running, making sure my mum didn't feel left out, and getting my child to every after-school activity. Flying by the seat of my pants doesn't quite cover it.
When the week implodes, routine suffers — and that's okay
Weeks like this can be especially destabilising when you have a child who relies on routine and predictability. If your structure fell apart this week too, please know: you didn't fail. You survived it. Picking up the routine tomorrow is not failure — it's resilience in action.
By Friday afternoon, I was finally able to give a few hours to Made in Cobham — and honestly, it felt bittersweet. Four whole days had passed without being able to do the work that fills my cup. Thinking about new designs, exploring what might genuinely help a child who struggles to focus, finding new ways to reach our community. This work isn't a hobby. It gives me real purpose. And when I can't do it, I feel that absence keenly.
"If you run something of your own — a small business, a creative practice, a community project — and you've had to shelve it this week, you'll understand this particular kind of grief. It's worth naming, rather than pushing it down."
Saturday at 5am — and Every Second Worth It
Saturday began at 5am with the printer running before the sun came up. And then came Leatherhead Market — and I could genuinely write a whole post about what that place means to me.
For those who haven't visited us there yet: it is therapeutic. Not just for me, but for the conversations that happen in that space. People stop. They talk. They share what their child is going through. Parents of children heading into exams were picking up fidgets this weekend, and it was such a privilege to listen, advise, and suggest tools that might make a genuine difference over the next few stressful weeks.
Fidget tools in the exam room — what you need to know
Fidget tools aren't a distraction. For many neurodiverse children, they are a regulation aid. Keeping hands gently occupied can free up cognitive capacity for focus and recall. Here's how to approach the next few weeks:
- Choose quiet and discreet: Small, silent, tactile tools work best in exam conditions — nothing that clicks loudly or spins visibly.
- Talk to school in advance: A quick word with your child's teacher or SENCO before exam day prevents surprises and significantly reduces anxiety.
- Practise at home first: Build the fidget into homework or reading time so it becomes a familiar part of their focus routine before the pressure is on.
- Build in decompression time: A walk, a snack, something unstructured after each exam. Recovery is part of the performance — not an afterthought.
I'll also confess: I played with our new peas-in-a-pod design all day Saturday and flatly refused to sell them. Some of you will have laughed at me — and rightfully so. But they're on the printer now and making their proper debut very soon. Watch this space. 🫛
The Flowers Under the Table
Mid-morning at the market, I found a bunch of flowers tucked underneath my table. A wonderful regular — one of those people who quietly notices others — had brought peonies straight from her own garden. Look at them. They are currently blooming on my kitchen windowsill, and every time I catch them in the corner of my eye, I feel a rush of warmth that genuinely catches me off guard.
Small, unexpected kindness can completely turn a week around. For the neurodiverse families in our community: connection is protective. Whether it's a fellow market-goer, a WhatsApp group, or a kind word from another parent in the car park — those moments of being seen matter deeply, especially after a hard week. Don't underestimate what you offer when you simply show up for someone.
Making Time for the People Who Matter
This week I also helped photograph a friend's 50th birthday — what a joy to be behind the lens, capturing real moments of celebration. And today, instead of sitting alone while my child got a lift home, I sat with a friend, drank coffee, and we talked for a proper hour. We put the world to rights the way only good friends over a hot drink can. I came away lighter than I'd felt all week.
That image says everything, doesn't it? The calm that comes from something soft, warm, and present, whilst visiting a new school. No agenda. No expectations. Just connection. For many of our children, this kind of sensory, tactile calm is one of the most powerful regulation tools there is — and it reminds us why play, in all its forms, matters so deeply.
You cannot pour from an empty cup — here's how to start filling it
- Schedule rest like an appointment. You would not cancel a dentist visit. Don't cancel your ten minutes of quiet. Write it down, set an alarm, protect it.
- Name the one real pain point. Carrying the whole list at once is exhausting. Identifying the single biggest issue reduces the cognitive and emotional load considerably.
- Capture the good moments. A voice note, a photo, a line in a notebook — small recordings of joy add up to something meaningful over a week.
- Say yes to connection when it's offered. Community is not a nice-to-have for parents of neurodiverse children — it is often what makes the difference between coping and not coping.
A Final Word for This Week
When life hands you lemons, make the lemonade. Not because it's a tidy cliché — but because the alternative is standing there tasting something bitter, wondering why nothing improves.
Even ten minutes a day. Even just naming the one thing that's the real pain point and letting everything else wait. Even flowers on a windowsill, left by someone who thought of you.
You are doing more than you give yourself credit for. Take care of yourselves this week. Look forward to seeing you soon — at Leatherhead, or wherever we pop up next.
Celebrating the Power of Play for Every Kind of Mind
"Look forward, take each day as it comes — and when life gets a little too sour, choose to make something sweet from it."
With love and a fidget in hand
Made in cobham