A Big Bold Move

Well it would appear that we are spectacularly shit at 2 year plans. At the beginning of this year g and I decided to begin saving for the big move, with the hope that we would be ready to relocate in Summer 2019.

The universe had other plans. Some serious saving and a brilliant run of overtime means that we will be living in Forres in September. As in next month!

Our house sold in a matter of days and the house which we saw online weeks ago waited for us and our offer was accepted the same day we viewed it.

I'd love to tell you all about my beautiful new home. But unfortunately, in our infinite wisdom we have bought a smelly, minging, old ladyfied mess of a place. We will of course be moving straight into and attempting to live in it, with a toddler and a pre-teen with Asperger's, while we make it the beautiful family home I know it will be, eventually.

There is just the small matter of a new kitchen, 2 new bathrooms, new floors, the complete decoration of every room and the whole heap of other things including stoves, decking, patio doors and the like. The to do list thus far runs to four pages of my A5 notebook.

I am beyond excited. Terrified and daunted but mainly excited.

I'm hoping that inbetween all the cleaning, DIYing, haemorrhaging money and probably tears over our pig headed stupidity that I might get to write about the process. Well if I'm walking headlong into a probable breakdown it might be fun to bring a few spectators along for the ride.

Read the small print

Facebook is responsible for all manner of evils and I must admit that I've only kept my account open so that I can be a member of the Tatty Devine fan page where all the best acrylic jewellery gossip is to be found - I'm not going to mention the sales page because I am trying to forget that I know about this and stop spending every penny that comes into my bank account on plastic jewellery.

I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I updated my status on there. Once in a while I'll have a scroll down my newsfeed and be a bit nosey.  I normally just end up upset that the Mum who I thought I really liked from puff's toddler group is a raging fascist or struggling with conflicting feelings reading PR'd statuses of how perfect someone's life is when you know all is far from perfect and who are they trying kid?

It was on one of my periodic, this programme I'm meant to be watching on tv has got boring but I can't be bothered committing to doing anything else, newsfeed scrolls that I came across a friend's post about a free Autism course. Brilliant I thought, this friend also has children on the spectrum and I read a bit about the course, the provider and was impressed enough to sign up, without really reading the small print at all, let alone carefully.  My programme had probably got interesting again and I do have a spectacularly short attention span.

So the next time I saw my friend I thanked her for sharing the link and asked her if she too had received a rather hefty package containing the course materials.  Through her mirth she explained that she had read the small print and was canny enough to realise that committing to undertake the course within the timescales set by the college or receive a bill for the cost of the course (a quite hefty bill I might add) might not be in her best interests. I on the otherhand was going a particularly fetching shade of green at the thought of the wrath of g if I received a bill from the college for not handing in my homework.

My grand schemes of completing the course in my one time or even of just accessing all the resources and not bothering with the pesky assignment stuff have been scuppered, spectacularly so. I am now studying to a timetable for the first time since university - which was a long time ago!

To add insult to injury the course is no walk in the park.  It is really indepth and requires me to find a quiet space and dedicate some proper time to it. Not an easy task when you have an ASD tweenager and a hooligan toddler on the rampage.  That said I quite like it.  I have had really positive feedback from my tutor for my first two assignments and in a recent meeting with smudge's school shut the headteacher down instantly by speaking like someone who knew exactly what they were talking about, that felt good!

I will be making sure that I stay away from Facebook, it just raises my blood pressure anyway. I'm also resolving again to read the small print. But really this is turning out ok.  I would never have committed to doing to the course had I known about the financial implications of not completing it on time but I kinda like using my brain in this way again and learning more about a condition that smudge will have her entire life can only be a positive.  Even though I could do without the side order of panic at when I'm going to get it all done.

Summer Holiday Blues

This is a post that's been rumbling around my head for a while.  Since maybe the 27th of June, the first day of the Scottish summer holidays!  It's a hard one to write, I feel disloyal to my girl.

ASD is a bitch in many ways but she bites us the hardest during the summer holidays.  Smudge adores school, the routine and structure it brings to her world, the carefully monitored social interaction with her peers and the stimulation.  Smudge is clever, far more so than she yet realises.  The loss and structure and routine means the summer holidays are far from the relaxed lazy affair I envisioned pre-kids.

This is far from a cry for the summer holidays to be shortened.  By the time June rolls around smudge is exhausted.  She manages to keep a lid on her ASD for the main in school.  Presenting as socially awkward, more comfortable with adults and very rule focused.  Which in some ways makes her a model pupil.  Unfortunately, the trade off for these wonderful report cards is a home life that sounds like we react mediaeval battles in our living room.

We accept the inevitability of meltdowns.  Meltdowns are put simply ASD tempter tantrums.  Understanding and navigating life is hard for smudge, her anxiety levels are constantly through the roof and she takes out her frustrations where she feels safest and most secure.

These meltdowns involve a lot of screaming, insults, threats and occasional violence.  They can last for hours and we are yet to find any reliable method of brining her back out of it.  Distraction can work.  Loud music is a double edged sword, it can push her further over the edge or have her dancing and laughing.  Giving her a drink with a straw was a wonderfully effective method until she realised what we were doing and now it's a great way of getting juice thrown at me.

The summer holidays unsettling her further means an increase in meltdowns, as good as daily.  Instead of using the break from school to go off on grand adventures we are forced to make life very small, very secure and very easy for smudge to predict and navigate.

I am exhausted.  Counting the days until she goes back to school.  Pretending that I've forgotten it will get worse before it gets better, settling back into school and adjusting to a new teacher is far from pain free.  Felling guilty as hell that it seems like I want rid of my darling girl.

All I really want for her to be calm and happy.  To not be sat in tears wondering when I last heard her gorgeous wee laugh.  

When walking the walk involves limping

For years I have been looking forward to being a little old lady with a walking stick.  Bear with me.  I have no plans to be a darling old wifey never without a sweetie to share.  I'm looking forward to being a complete bitch, untouchable because I'm wrinkly.  The walking stick my weapon of mass destruction.  Ideal for sticking into the spokes of passing bikes, hooking 'accidentally' around ankles and bringing down anyone I don't like the look of and perfect for banging on the counter top when I feel customer service skills aren't what they should be.

Well it would appear I should have been more careful with my wishes.  The universe has decided not to make me wait too long before I get my stick and it's looking like I might be practicing my menacing as soon as it turns cold.

Last October I jumped off a rock onto a dry river bed and managed to completely knacker my ankle in the half metre drop.  I knew straight away it was serious.  The crunch went right through my body and the pain was so bad I couldn't even swear!

At A&E I was told that I hadn't just broken my ankle.  I'd broken it in 3 places, with shattering and dislocated my talus.  While my childhood wish of a stookie was coming true it was going to have to wait until they manipulated the dislocated bone back into place and filled my ankle with metal to hold it together. 

Through the fug of morphine based painkillers and anaesthetic I do remember the Consultant telling me what a mess my ankle was and that this wasn't going to be a 6 weeks in a stookie and then skip off into the sunset injury. 

I spent 10 weeks, off my nut on painkillers, in a cast and started physio on Christmas Eve.  I have got lots better since December.  But I still don't have a dull range of movement, I'm still in considerable pain and my ankle still swells impressively when I spend too long limping on it.

I hoped this was because some of the metal work needed to come out.  Unfortunately, CT scans have shown that the damage to the joint between my tibia and talus is pretty extensive and probably won't get any better.  In short arthritis. 

So my ankle is never getting better.  I have to learn to accept that there are lots of things I can't do or can't do the way I used to, running after the kids will be figurative rather than literal and all of a sudden my stubborn inability to give into pain is going to prove very very useful.

There are plus sides.  I am no longer able to hoover the stairs.  My DM boots are still suitable footwear and now I get to wear them with everything and shrug if g questions my dedication to 90's grunge.  But most importantly I'm confident I can totally pull off a walking cane and I've been looking for an excuse to buy a bowler hat for years....

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My Joyful Things

As a massive fan of Ninja Book Swap when Bex tweeted about Parcels of Joy I knew it was something I really wanted on board with.  Much as I enjoy getting parcels, I prefer sending them.  Choosing things I think people will love, cracking open the stationery supplies and annoying the Post Office coven by expecting them to help me and refusing to let their scowls erase my "I'm going to beat you into submission with my sunny optimism" grin.  What's not to love?

I'm also a huge believer in spreading a little kindness and the great things that can be achieved with little acts.  J.R.R. Tolkien explains it perfectly:

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The things that bring me the most joy are of course people not things.  That said, people come with a side order of stress headaches, or is that just the people I associate with?  So I'm going to focus on the things that bring me joy that could potentially fit through the letterbox and wouldn't object to being stuffed in a box and posted.

I did try and write this in sentences and paragraphs but one of the things that brings me joy is list making.  In the spirt of joy I even broke out the bullet points.

• Purple Its been my favourite since I learnt the word and I am still as determined to make everything purple as I was when I was 3.  My bike, favourite DMs, satchel, purse, best fountain pen, hair, youngest child's buggy and lots of my other favourite things are all purple. 
• Stationery Actually this is probably an addiction, but an addiction which brings me lots and lots of joy. Bring me all the notebooks, washi tape and pens. I won't actually use them I will just hoard them and go look at the hoard and feel happy and content.  Then maybe a little guilty that I haven't used anything, but that passes quickly.
• Toadstools no idea where this mild obsession comes from.  I have quite the collection spread around the house, from salt and pepper shakers to fridge magnets. Need them all.
• Salt and Pepper Shakers Love me a bit of kitchen kitch.  One of the all time best things g has ever bought me is the Cookie Monster and cookie jar set - he will probably never understand me but g knows how to make me smile.
• Wonder Woman my heroine.  When I grow up I want to be Wonder Woman, the only thing holding me back is my inability to grow up.
• Sunflowers My wedding flowers.  I never fail to smile at their sunny yellow amazingness.
• Fairy Tales Adore Red Riding Hood in all her guises.  But also like the weird and wonderful and because I'm a patriotic wee soul traditional Scottish tales of Selkies, Kelpies and the like.
• Rainbows This list does nothing but demonstrate that I am basically an overgrown toddler and of course rainbows and all their pretty colours appeal.  The fact that they also go hand in hand with puddle jumping may be something to do with the attraction.
• Knee High Socks A completely practical new obsession.  After knackering my ankle I can't really do ankle socks.  Unfortunately, I have a calf girth that only an East German shot put champion would envy and it is a struggle finding any that fit.  Also where are all the pretty knee high socks? I can only find boring and plain ones.  I like my socks with a side order of mental and enough colours to counter the fact that every other stitch of my clothing is black.
• Coffee I'm not sure I can put it into words.  Without coffee the world is a bleaker place for me and also for everyone who has the misfortune to come near a decaffeinated me!
• Capybaras They just make me happy in a way that I really don't want to understand.  I do love them I do!

I could go on.  I haven't mentioned stars, zombies, celtic mythology, maltesers or acrylic jewellery. This might be why the Post Office coven can't dull my sparkle, there really is quite a lot of joy to be found.

It's been a while

So, I haven't blogged in a wee while.  Is there a cut off point for when a wee while becomes fecking ages? Does 12 months class as a wee while or fecking ages?

Life has been getting in the way of living somewhat.

Recently I've been missing putting my musings somewhere other than my notebook.  A couple of months back I had decided on a new direction, title, theme, etc before something got in the way and distracted me.  The idea is still floating around and I might change, but for now I'm going to see how this goes again.

Who knows, I might even blog again before Christmas... 

Hitting the reset button

Well I've been a bit quiet for a while!  With 2 it's a lot easier to pretend that I'm far too busy. Of course I'm only fooling myself, and then only because I have my fingers in my ears singing 'la la la' to drown out the voice of reason.

I seem to have bought into the delusion that being a good Mum means completely sacrificing my needs and desires. With one child this is lunacy. With two children and an 8 year age gap it is dangerous. I'm not daft, I know this. So why has it been so easy to slip into these bad habits?

I am the first to preach that a happy primary carer is more important to a child's well being than anything. More important than the sex or sexual orientation of that primary carer, whether the child was breastfed, looked after while parents work or what the latest Daily Mail scaremongering is banging on about now. A happy (in this case) Mummy makes everything else possible. It's just when it comes to practising what I preach it goes a bit, ok a lot, wrong.

I haven't been making time to do many of the things that make me feel good. Spending the days catering to the every whim of two tiny tyrants at the expense of me. So when the kids are finally tucked up in bed I'm spent and then vegetating in front of the tv. Binging on trash. I'm not saying anything against trash tv, my love of it runs deep. So deep that I managed to watch an entire season of Once Upon a Time in 3 days. Whilst still being that 'no tv during the day' parent. Yep that's 22 episodes and approximately 17 hours of tv crammed into 3 evenings. Well, I say evenings but there were some pretty late nights going on there.

This morning I had a bit of a revelation. Unfortunately, it was less of the sun breaking through the clouds and more me completely loosing the rag with smudge. Not proud of this. Still falling victim to the tingly nose and wobbly bottom lip when I think about my shouting. But that's the killer about focusing completely on the kids. When they are little shits there is no way to explain it all away. 

Because, lets face it little shits they will be. Sometimes rarely, often not for very long. Sometimes because they have ASD and it's the summer holidays and plans change they can be quite spectacularly big shits. 

Even then I don't want to be 'ragey mama' I want to be calm and zen and floaty hippy skirted, lentil weaving mama. Except I'll probably stick to jeans and I'm still not sure I actually like lentils.

So I'm going to be a bit more selfish. I'm going to float through the day by remembering to take 15 minutes in the morning to meditate. I'm going to look dreamily at the clock and panic about what to feed everybody with because I've spent the afternoon lost in a book while the kids go feral. And I'm going to blog about all the fun I'm having and how much better family life is when I look after me.

And when I get it all wrong and scream like a banshee. I can blame all the time I spent neglecting them. Rather than feeling like a complete mug.

Guilty Pleasures

I don't really feel guilty about pleasure.

That said. I don't drink, smoke or partake in legal or illegal highs, or lows. The things that bring me pleasure are nothing to feel guilty about.

When I'm neglecting everything and everyone, sorry kids, with my nose in a book I am taking care of my mental faculties and setting a great example for the kids to read more.

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My coffee is fair trade so the more I drink the better for farmers in South America. If anyone ever works out just how much Cafe Direct Machu Picchu coffee I consume there will be a Peruvian village hastily renamed "Boobellinaville".

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Some may say my stationery hoard is out of control. I know how much people appreciate a handwritten note. Those cards, notepaper, stickers and washi spread joy and random acts of kindness.

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So there will be no guilt as a side order to my pleasure. Really I'm doing it all for someone else.

Self care Sunday

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Meditation is one of those things I've been trying to do for years. It has featured on my New Year resolutions, on and off, for over a decade.

If I meditate at any point after lunch it's not meditation it's a nap. But I'm not a morning person so before lunch I'm running around like a loon trying to find that extra hour I slept through. Bit of a disconnect there.

So I've been trying to retrain myself to be a morning person. Going to bed early and getting up at an ungodly hour (6am) to meditate, write and blissfully drink a cup of coffee before it goes stone cold or gets a toy dropped in it. 

The days that I manage to get up and get downstairs without waking up a child to bring with me are wonderful. The sense of achievement and calm really does last me all day. 

Now can someone just tell puff so that the wee terror starts sleeping through the night again. If I'm spending 2 hours in the middle of the night cuddling a baby who refuses to be horizontal I can't be held responsible for switching the alarm off before the first chime and grabbing some much needed shut eye!

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What day is it?

So I signed up for BEDM full of ideas and with reams of notes about the first few posts I was going to do.

The one thing I neglected to do was to work out what day it started on. Yeah I managed to spend all of yesterday unaware that it was May Day and under the impression that April had somehow grown at 31st. Nope I never did learn the 30 days rhyme.

In fairness this has provided a pretty good introduction. The internet equivalent of running in late, trailing chaos and apologies. Which as my friends and family will testify sums me up.

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The unsent letter

Today we had a visit from Puff's Social Worker. It was a planned visit so the house was clean, tidy and staged to create the impression it looks like that all the time. She brought a letter with her. From birth mum for when Puff is older.

Having a tiny bit of self awareness made me realise I didn't want to read this with an audience. A good choice; it reduced me to tears in the first sentence. 

The sadness, regret and promises to never forget her beautiful wee girl are heartbreaking. Even more so when you take into account all the missed opportunities and choices I might find easy to label stupid.

It won't help birth mum to get a letter from me but it doesn't mean I don't want to write one. I just won't be passing it to a social worker to get to her. 

Dear ****

We share a daughter. The little girl you kept safe and warm for 9 months is right now tucked up safe and warm in her bedroom in my house.

The tragedy of circumstances that led us to be here does not escape me. Yet I am unable to look at this with anything other than unbridled joy. 

She will grow up always knowing that both her Mum's love her. She will know she grew in your tummy but you just couldn't look after her so social work found us. 

She is a much wanted daughter, sister, granddaughter and niece and will grow up surrounded by people who only want good things for her. She will know to count you as one of the people wishing her the world and sending her love. And in time she will be told of the incredibly brave decision you made in signing the paperwork.

I'll keep your letter safe and when the time is right will be there to help her understand the love that went into the writing of it.

Thank you.

Currently

As my lack of recent posts might suggest I seem to have misplaced my blogging mojo. It might have been put out with a dirty nappy, sterilised with a bottle or just have run away from the chaos. So when I read Bex's Currently post a wee lightbulb appeared over my head and I'm unashamed to be rocking the copycat vibes.

Reading

I'm reading loads at the moment - 6 books so far this month, boom. But I'm not going to talk about any of them, brilliant as most of them were.

I'm loving is It's Time to Sleep, My Love. It has a panda on the front cover so of course smudge wanted to buy it for puff and I'm so glad she caught me on a weak willpower day. It is such a lovely wee story to read to a sleepy baby and the illustrations are beautiful.

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Hysterically, smudge heard me reading it to her baby sister and was a bit put out. Her new bedtime routine is a chapter of something age appropriate and this - she's 9 years old!

Watching

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SOA baby. 

I love the escapism of a Californian Motorcycle club and have to admit that despite the fact he definitely looks like he is need of a long bath and a good scrub Jax Teller might play a small part in the attraction of this show! 

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Listening

My November Prudence and the Crow box came with a mix CD. It's in the Kitchen CD player so I can dance around singing into a wooden spoon as I puree all the veg a growing baby consumes.

Recommending

Not really recommending more of a forcing everyone to agree with me on how brilliant they are by buying all the small children I know Blade and Rose leggings. Puff now has a few pairs of these and I am awestruck by just how good they are. They look amazing, are lovely and warm and just fit so much better for small wigglers than ordinary lycra leggings. I would love to post a picture of puff rocking them but all I can manage is a blurry fuzz - she just refuses to sit still!

Loving

Still loving winter and the boot wearing opportunities it provides. I did have a momentary wobble about what I am every going to wear on my feet when summer arrives. It didn't last long, I remembered I live in the west coast of Scotland, summer is months away and surely I can put up with non-boot footwear for 3 days. My purple DM triumphs are still going strong and I fall more in love with them every time I wear them. Which seeing as they seem to be surgically attached to my feet at the moment is saying something.

Making

I made the most delicious Herby Cobbler for tea on Thursday. Seeing as I'm the only one who enjoys lamb I decided to be wonderfully unselfish and substitute the lamb for stewing steak. Served with mash it was a perfect tea for a cold night and worth the faff of the preparation. 

That said, next time I'm substituting the baby onions for a couple of normal ones sliced!

Anticipating

I've got a really busy week coming up - something fun in every box of the next weeks filofax page. Brand new babies to visit, catching up with people and generally opportunities to drink coffee and eat cake. The best kind of week then. 

Bye Bye 2014

So it's the last day of 2014. I sat last night scribbling a list of all the good things 2014 contained and was gratified to find it incredibly easy. 2014 contained more than a few amazing experiences.

Of course it wasn't long before I found something to feel guilty about. Default setting. Why didn't I blog about more of these things?

So on the last day of the old year I'm leaving behind all the guilt. I'm going to make sure 2015 is bigger, better and bloggier.

Acts of Wisdom

Way back in the pre t'interweb days all the cool kids read Smash Hits. Well all the cool kids in my incredibly rural and backward primary school containing only 38 pupils did.

Smash Hits contained posters to adorn my room with Bros, Jason Donovan and Madonna, song lyrics so that I could torture my family even when I was listening to my walkman and celebrity interviews asking a lot of pop stars about cheese.

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In one Pulitzer worthy article I read all about the healthy teeth of Kylie and Jason. It left quite an impression. I made a solemn promise that like Kylie I would have such healthy teeth I would never need a filling. Cue a life long obsession with teeth brushing and a competitive streak that it appears is absent in all other walks of my life.

I was doing pretty well with my pledge until my wisdom teeth. Three of the pesky blighters needed to be pulled in my late teens and early twenties because there just wasn't room for them in my mouth and teeth growing in side ways is less than pleasant. But my top right one grew in straight and since there was room for it the dentist decided that he had tortured me enough, it could stay.

What I had neglected to tell him was my new tooth was so far back that I either gagged when trying to brush it or rammed the toothbrush into the side of my mouth giving myself mouth ulcers. Unfortunately, my dastardly plan was foiled when, within a couple of years of it's appearance it was decaying and needed a filling.

I was properly distraught, I had failed my 8 year old self. I got the filling and pretended that I didn't want to invent a time machine so that I could go back and never read the article and make a promise that was destined to be broken. 

So when last month at my check up the dentist said that there was more decay on the same already fillinged tooth and that they were going to need to redo it I was stoic, it still only counted as one failure right? It takes ages to get an appointment for my dentist so I had ages to sulk before I was due back. Sulk and plot.

What is the point of getting fillings on a tooth that I can't keep clean? Surely it would be better off just being pulled? It's not like anyone will ever see the gap. If they are going to have to give me the horrific anaesthetic jags I'd rather it was for something that was going to be permanent.

So I went yesterday and much to my dentists surprise and the dental nurses utter horror asked them to just pull the tooth. The dentist admitted that it made a fair bit of sense and was probably easier than a filling anyway. Needless to say that I didn't tell him all about Kylie and Jason interviews in Smash Hits, I wanted a tooth pulled not a stay in a psychiatric ward!

So today I can proudly say that I have no fillings at all in any of my teeth. Or I could if my face, mouth and head didn't hurt so much that I just want to curl in my duvet nest forever.

Slow days

I was so excited to be able to instagram a photo of me holding our baby girl's hand way back on the 19th of September. I was confident I'd be blogging about meeting her and settling her in within days, if not hours.

I certainly didn't think it would be weeks later. I had forgotten parenting small people makes time speed up to dizzying proportions. Before you can blink it's been 7 days since you've washed your hair. Thank you dry shampoo. Adult conversation on topics other than feeding or poo begin to take on a mythical quality. And downtime is for collapsing on the sofa knackered but in my case still grinning manically. 

The last four weeks have been a crazy whirlwind of meets and greets, laundry, long walks with a buggy and a sulking dog, laundry, early nights and early rises, more laundry and of course getting to know our newest girl.

Puff, for that is her nickname, is an absolute delight. She has possibly the chubbiest cheeks I have ever encountered, this is saying something given the set I see checking my reflection. She is alert and interested in anything and everything. A terrifying prospect now she is beginning to master directional rolling, the cats most of all view this with deep mistrust and have, for now, eschewed sleeping on anything below waist height.

Smudge is well and truly smitten. From day one of the introductions it was clear who Puff favoured and being able to identify herself as the favourite has done wonders for smudge's ability to bond, trust and welcome her wee sister. I am not in the least ashamed to say that the sight of my 2 girls giggling at each other has and still does reduce me to a sobbing, snotty mess.  It's bloody marvellous.

Purple - a love story

In case it isn't startlingly obvious, this is purple cat. I made him on a playgroup trip in 1984. I know that he isn't purple anymore, 30 years sitting in the sun will do that to a mog. But I still love him. I think I remember making him, daubing violet paint onto his tummy. But I never completely trust those early, vague, foggy memories.

What I am convinced of is that his colour was no accident. Purple has always been my favourite and it was only as I cycled down to the shops that I realised that I am less than subtle about declaring my love.

The reason cycling made me realise this is that the duchess, yep my bike has a name, is purple. She matches my hair. Which matches the DM boots that will be surgically attached to my feet until spring. The DM's match my purse. This was all quite amusing. Then I wrote about it. In a purple notebook using a pen filled with purple ink.

It gets worse. In preparation for no2's arrival we have chosen this buggy

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and this car seat

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If I wasn't so utterly delighted by all the lovely purple I'd be thinking of getting help. Instead I'm considering redecorating - what do you think?

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Air Heads

Crafting with smudge can be hit or miss. Her attention needs to be grabbed. If an activity doesn't do this then I can expect a peaceful crafting session while smudge is off doing something else. When I saw the Air Head balloon animals I wondered if I should bother. They were on Achica for £5 and loving a bargain I was unable to resist. For once I am really pleased I have no will power in the face of perceived money saving.

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With g working a back shift and smudge under the weather, Sunday afternoon was the ideal time to create. The kit contains everything you need, all the paper shapes are perforated so we didn't even need to find the interesting place smudge had hidden her scissors and the double sided sticky dots made sticking the appendages to the animals easy. By easy I of course mean that I didn't teach smudge any new swear words fighting with the sticky tape.

I was concerned why this had an 8+ age recommendation but would say this was pretty accurate as smudge needed a fair bit of assistance. Folding some of the paper noses, horns and ears was fiddly and not something she had the patience or dexterity for. Also I've yet to meet a child who can tie a balloon knot. That said I had smudge in fits of giggles fighting with an incredibly inflexible grey rhino balloon trying to tie a knot.

Doing this together was all part of the fun and meant we had a really good afternoon sat on the living room floor making up silly voices for the animals and trying to pick a favourite. The only downside to these is that I now I have a vase of balloon animals on my dining table. I'd much rather have flowers!

Seeing Clearly

I'm proud of the way we have built and are extending our family through adoption. I am happy to stand up and shout about the massive difference adoption has made to someone who desperately needed and wanted a family. I'm talking about me. I was made whole by adopting.

While I remain happy talking about our family's less than conventional start, I am beginning to notice a change in smudge. With friends and family she is proud that we chose her. I've heard her shouting down another child with "my mummy and daddy chose me. Your mum had to take you." But with strangers and when she is less sure of herself she just wants to be the same as all the other 8 year old girls.

Going for an eye test really hit this home. Part of the form that the Optician was working through asked about family history. As I explained that we didn't know about her grandparent's, or even really her biological parents, ocular health as smudge is adopted I watched my confident girl shrink into the chair, her smile faltering.

Smudge wobbled her way through the eye test. No longer self assured enough to trust her instincts. Needing lots of reminding that she was doing brilliantly and that there are no right and wrong answers. My heart was fit to break. My words had done this.

What compounded the misery was my turn. G was on hand to take smudge off for sugar based compensation. Yes, she wanted specs and was not impressed with her near perfect vision. So I was on my own to have my eye test in peace.  At which point the Optician decided that my daughter's history was suitable small talk and even asked what her story is. This is what people say when they are really asking me to shock them with the horror of my daughter's early years.

The tragedy of reasons my daughter needed to be removed from her birth family and placed into the care system is not something I discuss with my nearest and oldest friends. I will not be sharing incredibly private and revealing aspects of smudge's story to satisfy anyone's nosiness.  

I left with a clean bill of eye health feeling wrung out. Filled with guilt that my need to be polite and answer all the questions left smudge hurting. Angry that people believe they have any right to smudge's story. Wondering how I align my feelings of pride that we are a family created by adoption with a genuine desire for normality, acceptance and not to be left feeling like a circus sideshow freak. 

I remain happy to shout about our experiences with adoption. I will not treat it like a dirty secret. This does not mean that I will share sensitive information with nosy strangers. I'm a Mum, my first instinct is to protect my child.

Growing Pains

Whilst I don't have any grand plans to embrace the Good Life and aim for self sufficiency, I do like eating the fruits of my labour. With this in mind I've been gradually incorporating more edibles into our garden. This year adding a herb garden and a couple of fruit bushes.

The herb garden, grown mainly from seed is a roaring success. I've made a mojito cake flavoured with homegrown mint. Smudge was incredibly impressed to be eating homemade pesto with basil she helped grow on the kitchen windowsill. I really must find recipes calling for massive quantities of parsley as it's about to take over the whole patch.

But the fruit isn't as big a success, abject failure might be a better description. My strawberries might not be too tasty given their still green colour.

The plum tree has been in for a couple of years now and has produced fruit. But I'm not getting excited about 1 plum buried so deep in the leaves that it too is failing to ripen. 

Our bargain from Aldi, blackcurrant and redcurrant bushes are looking lovely and healthy. Unfortunately, one naughty starling ate the entire crop. Given that the crop consisted of 3 blackcurrants I wasn't too cross.

The apple tree we picked up at Overton Farm's  apple fair last autumn didn't even bother to blossom so  no fruit from it either. Again it has grown and is looking healthy enough.

I'm planning on working lots of pot ash through the soil to see if this makes any difference. While I'm doing that I'm going to be offering thanks that we live in a time where I can just nip to the shops. It appears that the alternative for me would be starvation, or at least scurvy!

Leibster Award

I've been nominated for a Liebster Award by the fantabulous Nomad Seeks Home.

Now before you all get carried away, like I did, thinking of glittering award ceremonies, cocktail dresses and gushing speeches this is more of a chain letter linking to lots of other blogs. But it involves listing and nosiness so I am in!

The deal is:

• post 11 facts about you.
• Answer the 11 questions set my your nominator.
• Nominate and link to 11 blogs with fewer than 200 followers. Like Nomad Seeks Home I've gone by Bloglovin followers. 
• Set 11 questions for your nominees.
• And an important one for me - remember to let your nominees know you've tagged them

11 facts about moi

1. Caffeine is my friend. And also the reason that I am able to function at all before 11am.
2. I am a complete night owl and hate getting up every single morning. Ideally I would sleep until noon and not go to bed until 5am. Unfortunately, the school run clashes with this way of life.
3. I can't spell for tofie toffy toffee and still have to repeat b, bat then ball or d, drum then stick if I'm tired.
4. Despite my crappy spelling and dyslexic tendencies I'm a passionate hand-writer. All my blog posts are drafted in a notebook. I can't think properly at a computer screen and am far too easily distracted by twitter and pintrest. 
5. I am the proud owner of a scary long term memory. I have crystal clear memories right back to getting a scooter for my 3rd birthday. Short term is not so reliable and names never stick.
6. Still searching for spirituality. I've explored Christianity, Paganism and Buddhism. Still looking.
7. I have tried (several times) to have serious apocalypse planning discussions with g. His refusal to contribute means he's is an integral part of my plan - zombie bait!
8.  Despite making tonnes of them I hate cup cakes. I have an alternative name that I probably shouldn't tell you here, but it starts with the same first 2 letters!
9. Oh I swear like a sailor. Most of the time I reign it in for the sake of children and my mum. But when I get excited, cross, nervous, etc the air goes a bit blue.
10. I am a champion level procrastinator.
11. I hate coconut. I can tolerate coconut milk, but desiccated coconut is, as far as I'm concerned, the devil's dandruff. The smell of coconut, especially hair products makes me nauseous. 

Nomad Seeks Home's questions answered

1. What's number 1 on your bucket list?
   I don't really have a bucket list as such but I really want to do Christmas in New York. Elf style.
2. Why did you start blogging?
   I've always written. Blogging is about pushing me out of my comfort zone and seeing if anyone can make sense of my ramblings.
3. What's the most beautiful location you've ever found yourself in?
   Last year we holidayed on the Isles of Lewis and Harris in the Outer Hebridies. It was spectacular, see below...
4. Who dropped the screw in the tuna? If you can't answer this then your not around my age, ha ha.
   Google to the rescue. Kenan and Kel. I am obviously an auld bird, because I still have no idea what this is all about.
5. What is your perfect snack?
   Maltesers
6. Sweet or savoury?
   Sweet. I keep trying to quit sugar and falling of the wagon into a packet of maltesers.
7. What is your dream job?
   Published writer.
8. Celebrity crush?
   They haven't changed in nearly 20 years! Johnny Depp and Ewan McGregor.
9. Vintage or new clothes?
   I love the idea of vintage but never find anything fabulous. I compromise with new vintage Lindy Bop or Tiger Milly are current favourites.
10. What is your favourite book?
    Witch Light by Susan Fletcher
11. Have you been to any blogger events?
    Nope, am a newbie and finding my feet first.

My nominees are

Bead it and Weep
Cupcake Mumma
Duck in a Dress
Flat Out Glasgow
Foodie Historian
Glasgow Dragonfly
Glasgow Mummy
Hungry Squirrels
Olive Dragonfly
Plastic Rosaries
Smart Creative

My 11 questions are

1. What was your proudest moment?
2. When was the last time you cried and why?
3. What are you currently raving about?
4. What is your favourite/spirit animal?
5. What's your guiltiest pleasure?
6. What would make it as your weirdest superstition or ritual?
7. Excluding people or pets what would you rescue if your house was on fire?
8. If you don't recognise the number how you answer the phone? Do you have a posh phone voice?
9. What was your last google search for?
10. Where do you write?
11. Lets get materialistic, what have you spent a fortune on and never regretted even one shiny penny of it?