Last night we lost our beloved Charlie.

He has been living at Aunty Christian’s Home for Retired Furballs since the wedding, and having a high old time of it.  There have been gentle walks, sleeping on sofas, long chats with his comrade-in-arms Nino, and treats aplenty.  It’s been the perfect spot for an elderly gentleman to spend his time without the constant boisterous attentions of our two Chaos Monsters.

He loved them all dearly and we can never repay her for the love and kindness she showed him over the last few months.

On Thursday afternoon we received a call saying he was having difficulty with his legs and kept collapsing.  Something was obviously very wrong.  A trip to the vet confirmed this, and whilst she had her suspicions about the cause, the only way to really find out what the problem was would be to submit him to surgery that he probably wouldn’t survive, and if he did would mean a long and painful recovery, with no guarantees that the surgery would actually be successful.

Not something any of us believed to be in his best interests.

So we tried steroids and painkillers, but last night he deteriorated rapidly and we had to make the hard and terrible decision to let him go.

We are heartbroken.

He was the best dog.  Kind and generous and loving.  He adored children and didn’t bat an eyelid when they played motorbikes with his ears or tickled his toes.

He had a mischievous sense of humour and a boundless zest for life.He was partial to a meat and potato pie and never knowingly missed a curry supper.

He was adored by everyone who ever met him.

And all this despite being abandoned by his previous owners who beat him to within an inch of his life with a claw hammer.  But he never held a grudge about this.  Mr S rescued him and lovingly nursed him back to full health.  Charlie repaid him with a magnificent temperament, a loving heart and total devotion to us all.

Goodbye Charlie Bear.  We love you.

Mr S has long held a wish to try his hand a throwing pots.  Our local adult education college runs evening courses but because of his work schedule it’s not something he can commit to.  So, for his birthday I surprised him yesterday with an afternoon pottery course.  And I joined him!

We started off with tea and scrummy homemade cakes at the most charming little tea rooms on the way to the pottery.

Oh goodness.  The cakes are to die for! You can just see Mr S’s Bakewell Tart peeking out.  It didn’t last long, I can tell you!

Then we headed off to the pottery.  At this point he didn’t know what I had in store for him.  His nearest guess had been horse riding, but, as I pointed out to him, this would be a gift for me not him.  And I’m just not that mean.

As the sat nav turned him into the driveway to the pottery the penny dropped, his face lit up and I knew I’d got it right.

We started the day by making a tile of clay with a little picture on it, then cutting it up.  Quelle horreur!  The pieces were than turned into a pieced bowl with little balls and wiggles and swirls of clay.

And after that they turned us loose on the wheel.

I am so rubbish at this!  I have no feel for the clay at all.

Mr S, however, is to the manner born.

And, with a smidge of help from the delightful Kathy

This is what he made:

He’s thrilled.

I’m proud.

He’s already talking about going back for a full day on his own next month to really get his teeth into this with a view to putting a wheel and and a kiln in the garage!

Result!

It’s over 3 years since we started our adoption journey and I have to tell you it’s not for the faint hearted.

First there are the endless meetings where your life since birth is investigated and discussed.  Then there are the decisions that make you feel like the lowest form of scum on the planet.  Whaddya mean you don’t feel that you can cope with a child with physical/mental/emotional difficulties.  What about foetal alcohol syndrome?  What about drugs?  What about abuse?  You come out of that one feeling very grubby indeed.   But then you astonish yourself when you reflect on it and realise that maybe Christopher Robin was right…you are braver and stronger than you ever imagined.

Panel is like the worst maths test in the world. Ever. With Russian grammar tagged on.  Oh and that nightmare you have where you’re naked and they’re coming to get you!

But you jump through these hoops because no matter what you are feeling it pales into insignificance when compared with the challenges and traumas that the little people who are waiting for you have faced.

And so it goes until the day you meet them.

And hold them in your arms for the first time.

And every living second of it is worth it because they steal your heart away with one small smile.

But then there is more paperwork.  More waiting.  More delay.  Until finally everything is in place and the adoption order is made and they are yours.

Then you meet the judge and you are finished.

On Friday we met the judge for The Boy.

We are finished.

Our adoption journey is at an end.

It was worth every single step.

Today The Boy is 2.

As Daddy had to work and Granddad was holed up in the hospital having fallen from the loft yesterday (he’s bruised and sheepish but thankfully not broken, and he’s home now) birthday celebrations were a bit muted.  However, breakfast at his favourite cafe in the park with Grandma, Nana, Button and Mummy more than made up for it all.

And, of course, we get to celebrate again all together once Granddad is fully recovered.  Bonus.

Obviously there were gifts for the birthday boy

But the best gift of all is one he is oblivious to for now.

The courts ratified his adoption this afternoon.

He is officially ours.

We are overjoyed.

When he first came home The Boy was not a happy soul.  In the last 10 months he has blossomed from a fractious, tearful and restless child into a happy, cheeky and fun loving soul with a sense of humour beyond his years. And a startling way with the ladies! He can cock an eyebrow better than James Bond!

Both our children have astonished us with their resilience to their rocky start in life.

Today we have much to celebrate.

The Boy’s adoption hearing has been postponed till Thursday.

I’m a basket case!

Fingers crossed.

C’mon, own up!

Who did it?

Who stole the last 22 months?

‘Cos I simply can’t come up with any other reason than time theft to explain just how my gorgeous girl turned 3 this week.

On Wednesday we celebrated en famille with “chips and sauce” (tomato ketchup to the uninitiated) (I know, I know, but she’s 3 and she knows what she likes!)

Whilst the cake was greeted with dramatic squeals of joy, her gift of a very pink bicycle rendered her almost speechless and the opportunity to try it out was taken in the hallway, to her great delight.

On Saturday we donned frocks, threw open the doors and invited friends for coffee and cake (with the odd glass or 3 of wine thrown in for good measure, but obviously only for the grown ups).

I simply cannot grasp that this smart, funny, fearless little girl is the quiet and challenged girl who came to live with us nearly 2 years ago.

Every day she astonishes me with her charm, her cleverness and her ability for withering cheek!

She’s so tiny for her age but she makes up for this in spades with her personality, and I count my blessings every day that she found us and filled our lives with so much joy.

I am honoured to be her Mummy. I know Mr S is the proudest Daddy alive.