Lambs, Poo, Snot and Cuteness

We've been having the perfect weather for lambing so far and the ewes have been making the most of it. Unfortunately, I've been streaming with a full-on cold and it's floored me. The Farmer has coped of course, but it's left me feeling guilty for being no use to anyone. I have one of those very unattractive red noses, pale complexion and bags under my eyes that could be used to fill a wheelie bin. We have a lambing assistant who came to help on Tuesday and Wednesday, but she starts properly on Saturday and will be with us for just over 2 weeks. She's blonde and beautiful. The Farmer is old enough to be her granddad but he likes having her around, lol. In the meantime, enjoy these photos; I haven't taken many yet but once we bring the sheep in at night I'll be able to get some pictures from the night sheds. I'm on Twitter using the hashtag #lambwatch if anyone wants to join me - @CrystalJigsaw

Happy in the field, enjoying the glorious weather.

"Come in number 9" A little bit weak but getting there.

Visiting time in Maternity Ward 1

Cute and cuddly. 

Learning to Live Again

Most of us have something we'd like to raise awareness for and sometimes we find it incredibly tough to encourage people to read our posts, take notice of our pleas and listen to our reasons for wanting to raise awareness in the first place. Some of you know that I had a particularly difficult twelve months between 2009 and 2010 where I had several epileptic seizures. And some of you know that I had to go through the very frightening procedure of an MRI scan (my 3rd) and other tests in order to have my brain examined. Believe it or not, they did actually find my brain, even amongst the masses of sawdust, but to learn I had a different kind of epilepsy to the one I had been diagnosed with twelve years previously was an intense moment, especially as I'd resorted myself to the fact I had a brain tumour. It's just epilepsy, I told myself, over and over again. I can live with this. I might have to change my lifestyle but I'm used to doing that. I've done it before when I was first diagnosed in 1999. In the years of living with epilepsy I've given birth to a healthy daughter, lost my dad, moved to another part of the country and started a whole new life. I live with epilepsy every day. But I live to tell the tale.

I don't want to ram my issues with epilepsy down your throats because I understand this is a condition that many people are deeply afraid of. I don't want to scare folk, make them think they too could suddenly have a seizure out of the blue and then find themselves relying on anti-convulsants just to make sure they wake up in the morning. We don't have locks on our doors inside the house for obvious reasons. Not just because Amy has autism. I'm supposed to announce to the pool attendant that I'm epileptic, just in case they need to know. I can't watch programs that contain flashing images, or the news that shows camera flashes. I don't go to the pictures because I find it too straining to look at the big screen in a darkened room. I don't drink alcohol, or have caffeine in tea and coffee; I can't drink energy drinks because they too contain caffeine and too much caffeine will cause a seizure. I can't eat grapefruit because that too can affect people with epilepsy. Such little things, yet they are huge points on my list of things to remember.  

Today is Purple Day - Global Epilepsy Awareness Day - 26th March 2012. If you'd like to know more about why today is celebrated, here is a little more detail: Epilepsy Action

Plagiarism on the Internet

In recent weeks I've again been hearing about blog posts being illegally copied. Whether any of mine have been I don't know. Some of you may remember the angst I went through last year when a significant number of my posts had been used on someone else's blog and passed off as her own. She changed a few words here and there to make it look authentic, but my regular readers knew instinctively that the posts were mine. I expressed my disgust, made a considerable amount of fuss on various social networking sites and eventually the offending blog was deleted. Whether the fact that it was deleted by the blog author is a good thing I don't know, but it just goes to show that Blogger did absolutely nothing to defuse the situation. They answered my report of abuse by asking for further evidence but when I sent it, they never got back to me. Extremely poor in my opinion, and if Blogger can't even be bothered to do anything about it, then it isn't going to stop the thieves is it. But the fact still remains that plagiarism is a crime. When someone has worked hard on writing a blog post or an article only to find it passed off as someone else's work, it can be particularly demoralising. And for me as a writer, it was.

But now I've heard about several posts that have been copied, branded about the Internet, and used illegally by people who obviously don't give a shit about copyright. Something that has really irritated me about these latest findings is that none of the plagiarisers have apologised for their actions, even though some have admitted they copied the work. It sickens me to think this is happening more and more. Images and words are being taken and it's pure and simple theft. Why don't people realise that when they publish a post on their blog that is someone else's work, that they should either a) ask permission to use it, b) ask permission and link to the original post, or c) have some decency and not use it at all. It isn't funny, it isn't big, and it certainly isn't something to be proud of. People involved with plagiarism should be removed from social media with immediate effect. They don't deserve the joy of having a blog.

Mobile Memories

I took it out of my bag for about half a minute while I switched it off. I was waiting to check-in at Newcastle Airport, standing in what felt like a never ending queue of excited but frustrated tourists. Just Amy and me, wishing time would move a little quicker and we could skip past the formalities in order to begin our holiday in Cyprus. It was summer 2006. My mobile phone had a stream of all those wonderful photographs we parents take of our kids, not wanting to miss a moment of them growing up. I remember putting the phone back in my bag before turning to Amy as she demanded my attention, anything to take away the boredom of queuing up. I reckon it was then that it happened; the second someone snatched away precious memories that I'd cherished on a little mobile phone. There were people everywhere. Walking among the queues, darting to the loos, kids screaming, babies wriggling, toddlers running in all directions whilst frantic parents were quickly losing the will to live. It was utter chaos. A morning of disorganisation that could probably have been avoided if only a few extra check-in desks had been opened up.

I didn't realise it had gone until I was sat on the plane, finally relaxed and starting to look forward to the week that lay ahead. I frantically thought about the last time I'd seen it, where I'd been, what I'd been doing. I desperately tried to recollect faces around me, anyone standing a little too close, someone who looked suspicious. It's not something we should do, accuse people of theft; for all I know it could have fallen out of my bag. But I definitely remember zipping the bag when I'd put it back in. Passports and tickets were in a separate compartment. I guess it doesn't take long for a thief to whip something out of a bag without the person knowing, especially if they're pre-occupied with a child. I wanted so much to assume I'd dropped it, to think that once I arrived back at Newcastle Airport I would go to 'lost property' and claim my memories.

I had a lovely holiday. We went to stay with my mum and her partner for the week, they had a villa out there for a month. I forgot about the phone until I made my enquiries on my return to the airport. I walked away from the desk, disappointment etched on my face. I was determined not to let it spoil my holiday. When I got home I reported it to the police and they gave me a crime reference number. But I never heard back from them. Someone, somewhere, has that little Samsung mobile that contained beautiful images of my beautiful daughter. I imagine they wiped it or put their own Sim card into it, but what they really should have done was return it. I assume they would have known it belonged to a doting mum. Six years on I still feel sad about losing that phone, not because I'd paid a lot for it because I don't think I did, but because of the memories on it. And also because of the pity I feel for whoever thought it was okay to keep it.

This post was inspired by my good friend, Pauline Barclay, who recently found a mobile phone and contacted the owner to hand it back.

Bringing My Thoughts to the Surface

Are you a thinker? I've always been a thinker. I even start loads of sentences off with 'I think' and it must bore folk to the brink. I think everywhere; in bed, stood at the kitchen sink, on the loo, in the shower, at my desk, yet I so often wish I had the audacity to think out load. There's such a lot we could say to each other if we allowed ourselves to speak more, instead of just staring into space and clogging up our thoughts. These days, I spend a relatively large amount of time thinking up a blog post, and I find myself scrapping ideas quicker than I can say "that's shit". I really envy those who can just write an article or blog post about what's truly on their minds, even if it means a few cringes along the way. So instead, I'm going to list some points below with some of my (less ranty) thoughts, and if I ever find a back bone, I'll treat you to a post with some really ranty thoughts.

Family Issues:-

1. Why do men never put dirty washing in the linen basket? Does the Farmer really think I want to handle his skids?

2. I so wish Amy wouldn't shout at her Nintendo 3DS. Can't help feeling sorry for the virtual pets she has.

3. I love my mum more than life itself, but when she knows I work from home, she still insists on ringing me during the day and says, "I don't have anything to tell you." *goes cross-eyed*

Social Media Issues (I'll restrict this to just a few as I could go on for quite some time)

1. I can't help 'thinking' that Twitter, Facebook, Google plus and many other platforms are killing off blog comments. Would love your views on this...

2. Blogging is not a competition, it is (supposed to be) a pleasure.

3. I'm thrilled to be on various blogging lists and am actually chuffed that my little corner of the Universe is acknowledged for all the hard work I do; ranks and Top 10's are just awesome. Especially if I'm on them. *smiles wickedly*

4. Have never been able to work out why people on Twitter RT (retweet) their #FF mentions. I mean, it's nice to be mentioned but really, doooo stop.

5. Some people are so me, me, me. #justsaying 

6. PR emails should be professionally worded and shouldn't start with silly bollocks such as "Hey, Crystal, how are you today?" Makes my finger hit the delete button. Pronto.

7. Bitchy blogging, bitchy tweeting and bitchiness in general needs to stop. Period.

8. And just getting back to that PR thought; no, I won't advertise your company on my blog for nothing. Go and pay someone like everyone else has to.

Parenting Issues

1. One day I will look back on my life and realise I made a difference. For now, I'll just roll my eyes and let my pre-teen daughter get the frustration of puberty out of her system. (Another how many years of this...?)

2. I so wish people would check their kids hair for nits, just every so often.

3. If folk think it's okay to stare at me and my daughter in a condescending fashion, they should find themselves a mirror and realise how ignorant they look. Not to mention ugly.

If you have any gripes you want to get off your chest, please feel free to leave them in the comments section. Interaction is what blogging is all about; let's try and bring back the spark that used to light up this wonderful world of the Blog.

My Family

I'm Tanya, I'm 4 months old and I'm exceptionally cute.

My owners don't feed me, I have to hunt for my own food...

This is Bonnie and Meggie; they take it in turns to sniff my butt...

Here I am with Jessica. She's 9 and can be a real grump. Though she is my BFF.

This is Sparky with Meggie (they're such a pair of posers).

Jessica is teaching me to read; she's quite clever really.

I found this fabulous hiding place the other day...

Bonnie is pretty obsessed with me but she doesn't scare me one bit...

This woodpecker was quite a meanie eating all the nuts. I must have words...

Jessica is so self-conscious. "Yes, your bum does look big in that."

A Child is for Life, Not Just for Christmas

These light mornings are definitely suiting me more than the January ones did. I think I suffered from the winter blues this time. In fact, I reckon I've been suffering for years but just haven't put two and two together. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm turning into a miserable and unsociable old hag, and I have to admit it worries me. It's hard to remember what my life used to be like as I try in vain to recollect my 20's when I strutted my stuff through the office in a short skirt, tight fitted blouse and a svelte size 12 figure. I haven't let myself go on purpose, but I can see a decline in my appearance. The problem is, I need the motivation to do something about it, and living where I do, it's an almost impossible task to undergo. With ones hand stuck up a sheep and ones child having a meltdown because her Nintendo 3DS has run out of charge, being that slim brunette who discussed forecasts and shipments with the Czech Republic, feels more than a lifetime ago. I think I can honestly say, it was me in another life.

I don't miss those days of high powered executive going home to an empty flat, but there are times when I think about them. I'm a nostalgic old bugger I know, but they were good times and not ones to be forgotten. Pre-child is part of who I am. I didn't have many friends back then and was probably just as unsociable as I am now, but I didn't sit in a lonely office thinking out loud, banging my fingers on a keyboard and hoping the right words would appear. I didn't have a hundred and one things clamouring to reach the surface, only to be forgotten about when the word 'school' flashed up on my phone. Back then I used to say I'd never have kids. I had no intention of getting married - been there, done that and was pretty depressed that it hadn't worked out.

How quickly our lives change when we have kids. Many people, some I know personally, have this deluded vision that their social life will continue, their freedom will not be a thing of the past, and life will tick along quite nicely as they scour through their little black book for a suitable babysitter. It doesn't quite work like that however. The room you keep for best turns into a playroom; the stairs turn into a toy hazard; the fridge turns into soft cheese and formula, while your sex life turns into when you can be bothered.

And once that bundle arrives that has changed your lives for good, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Can't Take It? Don't Write It.

I recently read the most horrendous book review that had me cringing on behalf of the author. My first reaction was sympathy towards this person because I know how I would have felt should my book have been so poorly reviewed. But when I read through it again, I realised that the reviewer was actually doing the author a favour; she was giving constructive criticism in the form of feedback. It was negative feedback nonetheless, but the reviewer had taken the time to read the book and offer their opinion. The reviewer was polite in the approach they used; they attempted very graciously to make the author see that she could do better, and they also made a point of saying they wished the author success with their next book. The fact that the author was shocked to see such a bad review and made it very clear in her response, did unfortunately take away the reviewer's optimism for any future sales. What the author failed to do was thank the reviewer for spending three days of valuable time reading a book she hadn't really enjoyed.

It doesn't make any sense to me that an author, or indeed anyone asking for a review on their product, will require feedback but can't seem to accept it if it's negative. Unless that feedback is downright rude and nasty, then it should be read as constructive. There is always room for improvement, no matter who we are. In this case, the review was polite and informative, and far from being unnecessary. None of us like to receive negative feedback and none of us like being criticised, but it happens. We all have the ability to take it on board, hold our head up high, and move on. If we don't, we may never improve. And those who think they don't need to improve aren't living in the real world. I suspect the author I read about assumes they are above the rest of us, which made me wonder why they felt they needed a review in the first place. On some occasions I have read glowing book reviews and the author still feels put out because they didn't get five stars on Amazon. None of us are perfect. But we're all capable of trying harder. Personally, I'd rather read a review on a product or book that tells me a little about what is being offered. After all, when we're about to part with our money, we like to know what we're going to get in return. Don't we?

In The Heart

I spoke to my dad the other night. As I looked at his photograph on top of my mum's television cabinet, it was as though he was really there, really looking at me and really smiling. It was an incredible emotionally charged moment for me as his face came to life through the glass frame. My dad; my hero. Whenever I go to stay at my mum's house near Bolton, I always tell myself I'm going to make time to go to his grave. I want to kneel at the stone that clearly states his name and imagine the shell that is his body lying just a few feet away from me. But I haven't been for many years now, because I feel closer to him when I'm here, at home.

His home was always his favourite place. He loved his holidays and his weekends away with my mum, but he was always glad to be back home again. I'm just the same. I'm proud to have inherited this from the man I will always aspire to. Going to his grave is just a trip somewhere; it isn't his soul that is buried beneath the earth. I was telling Amy about the photographs my mum placed in his coffin before it was locked and about the people whom he continues to visit. It made her feel comforted to think this man she cannot physically remember is so well known in her heart, and that he visits when we need him. She likes to talk about him. She enjoys listening to me telling her about him.

I used to think being with my mum would make me feel closer to my dad, but it doesn't. It makes me feel closer to my mum. Which is exactly how it should be. I admire my mum's courage immensely. She was a broken woman when he passed away in 2001, yet now she is looking forward to a future with her partner, a man she adores. Her dreams will come true. She's 69 this year. And she looks amazing. She's happy because she has some wonderful memories. We might be two hundred miles apart but we'll always be together. Just like me and my dad.

Little Corner of Google; My Blog

Since the removal of Google Friends Connect on non-Blogger blogs, subscribing and keeping up to date with your blogging buddies has become so much harder. I know many people who are tech-savvy will disagree with me, but for someone like me who finds technical jargon and fiddling about with subscriptions, buttons and feed burners excruciatingly difficult, I'm worried that my little corner of the universe known as Crystal Jigsaw has started to feel the pinch. I've said often on this blog that I don't understand why these huge corporations such as Google for example, have to keep changing things that do actually work. If it 'aint broke, why try to fix it? Jobs for the boys perhaps, or maybe the big cheese at Google had nothing to do one day and decided he'd make life difficult for all his users in order to receive millions of queries (and complaints) that would keep him occupied. Not that he'd answer any of them of course. But what's ruffled my feathers about all this nonsense is how so many lovely bloggers have had to almost beg their blogging buddies to subscribe to their blog in an alternative way, other than using GFC. We all have our own circles of friends in the world of blogging, and I have a couple of blog rolls that I use regularly. I'm subscribed to and am following so many blogs, the amount would make your eyes water. I can't get used to Google plus at all - have tried, and failed. I like Twitter and Facebook, and I like to announce my little blog posts on a couple of websites. In the five years I've been blogging, it's been an enjoyable activity. Now I fear it's going to turn into a full time job. Unpaid. Simply because we won't know who we're following and who we're not, therefore the blogs we've always enjoyed to read will slowly disappear from our radar.

A blogging friend of mine, and someone who has more technical knowledge than I could ever dream of, Nickie at Typecast, has devised a really helpful series of blog posts to show bloggers the various options of keeping up to date with each other's blogs. So many of us care a great deal about our blogging hobby, and I'm certainly no exception. We all have so much to do in our lives these days and changing subscriptions to blogs can get very time-consuming when things worked just fine the way they were. I'm all for progress, hey, I'm a little fish in a humongous pond, but let's keep in touch; please don't forget about my little corner of the world, this place where I've been slowly gaining confidence in myself for the past five years; the place that's gained me two 'Blogger of Note' awards. I won't beg. But if you want to subscribe to my blog, there's a place in my sidebar at the top where you can enter your email address and get posts delivered to your Inbox. If ya don't ask, ya don't get!