Time marches along, does it not? I am a bit fried, what with being all busy and so on. And so, I have picked a fragrant nosegay of recent events to tell you about. Let us not expect any cohesion, logic, or sense in the following but proceed bravely nonetheless:
- Adoption meeting no 2.
Similar to meeting 1, but now with a bit more lolling on the padded seats, and franker expression of opinions. Members still funny and human, sadly no robots or automatons present, bunny (though hope springs eternal). Our social worker had been summarily seconded elsewhere and we had a less twinkly, more laconic one, who seemed a tad put out at the change in her plans. Still, you know, we all warmed up after a bit. We have piles of stuff to do on our family trees and Media Watch, scrapbooks and writing. I am pleased to report that I am the class swot after years of reading adoption blogs on the interweb. Can I have a yay for "wasting" time surfing?
(Oh yes, Andie wanted to know about the process. This 6 part adoption preparation course is a mandatory part of the approval process in Ireland. After this, we'll have our home assessments with the social worker, and should be given our declaration after that, presuming we don't turn out to be KRAY-zee or prove to keep a family of electric eels in the bath. Onward then to an agency that deals with our country of choice. Not sure as of yet which it will be. Someone mentioned the requirement to spend around a month abroad (in the case of Mexico) getting to know your child. Good idea, eh? And what an adventure. I used to speak reasonably okay-ish Spanish, until Italian took over and turned the Spanish into something akin to a bastardised Argentinian dialect. In the landfill that is my mind, a sludgey layer of decomposing Italian covers the rusty old corrugated iron sheet that is my Spanish. But I feel confident with a bit of effort and the vigorous application of language tapes
(Oh. Lightbulb! I suppose they have Spanish MP3s now, the young people. ) it can be dusted off.
[Insert short adoption daydream here, set in Mexico, this time]
- Spent last weekend at DrupalCamp, buoyed up by frequent trips out for coffee and scones. Alongside the open sourcery of Drupal ran a Medical Negligence Conference and a French and German Teachers Association summit.
I bring you The Modern World, in one university's weekend activities!
Drupal people are friendly (unlike the Medical Negligence people, who looked rather peeved). They go around on bikes and are like cyber-hippies. They are clever and creative! They share! And are all Community vs The Man-ish. So that was fun. And we even did a bit of that networking thing that we usually find so embarrassing.
- It's hailing. I mean, there are hailstones falling from the sky. Not that someone I refer to as "it" is greeting me.
- What else? Oh yes. Our economy melted down.
Britain: So, Ireland. I think you better have this. Go on. Look, it could happen to anyone!
Ireland, putting hand out: Ah no, we couldn't! We're grand. Everything's under control! No, really!
And now the IMF are coming to sort us out, which sadly we really need, and therefore has to be a good thing. It's just so utterly disheartening that our lively creative little country has been reduced to this by those feckless dingbats we have in power and their inability to wake up already and do something about the banks. Up the revolution, I say.
- A 6-week break from The Time (aka Fighting the Commies) came to a close this week. (I enjoyed the hiatus. Ah, the feelings, they are mixed. And now with the exciting progress on the adoption front? Very, very mixed). There was no chance of my being pregnant, what with being away last month, and the whole monogamy thing. All the same, it took the purchase of a cheapo peestick to bring on the action. No sooner had I got home with it in my hot little hand, than bingo! Action stations! I don't know what this means. Maybe I subconsciously believed that I had been magically impregnated by an alien in Florida, and this phantom pregnancy could only be dispelled by the waving of the peestick.
A lucky escape, let's call it.