Crawl spaces and other such crap.

Last night, while I was clearing out my tool room; I finally decided that I was probably not going to begin using the expensive, plastic commode chair that was ceremoniously foisted upon me by a well-meaning therapist last Autumn. The particular therapist who had the commode delivered to our house was so intent upon providing us with this wondrous piece of helpfulness that she even arranged the financing and payment.
So,the thing was delivered; several years after Blue has been toilet-trained in my household. I tried it, but the "footrest" is a flimsy plastic ledge that will not hold his weight. Thereby, he cannot step up into the thing. The straps and all their velcro take longer to put in place than the reason he is being strapped in in the first place. And the best part is that the thing won't fit in my washroom over the toilet. Thus, something that requires a ceiling-mounted lift, and a renovation in the house; has gone the way of no-thanks.
I understand very well that many persons with CP cannot bear their weight. I also understand that the parents of these people (like me) aren't getting any younger; but my particular son can still bear his weight and step around the house. Why would I, or ANY parent of a boy like him, begin using machines to do one of the few things he can do for himself? Because I have a plastic contraption with velcro straps onto which I can winch him, I suppose. Not on my watch.
That`s what conductive education did for my family. It taught my son and me and Roxy how to function in a normal house. So, last night I opened the trap door on my back deck and wrestled the commode into the dry, dusty crawl space. And that is something about which neither I nor my son give a crap.