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!