Bittersweet...
It was back to the dentist yesterday for my final appointment. The one where I get my smile back. When I'd given a gummy approval to my lovely dentist (he with the sense of humour) he ushered me out with the words, 'Nothing to eat or drink on that side for twenty four hours. After that try and avoid eating on that side if possible'. This is the equivalent of someone giving me a fabulous birthday cake (fat chance - I've made my own already) and then telling me that I can't ever have a slice.
Well needless to say, I came out of the dentist's and went straight into the café opposite and had a cappuccino and a Bakewell Tart. I did try not to eat on the new tooth, tilting my head at a 45 degree angle, using gravity to encourage a left hand chew, but drinking the cappuccino proved impossible, so I spooned it in.
It was then back home to put the finishing touches to my birthday cake. A few bones, and some rickety fencing and it was done. Or was it? I toyed with the idea of adding some feet (I'll post a picture of this up on facebook on Friday), so started squishing some white and pink icing together. This was in-between feeding the dogs, walking the dogs, stopping the dogs from killing each other and treading on Reg every time my hands went anywhere near the work surface. He's always on the look out for manna from above...preferably cold chicken or bread, although to be honest, I think he would eat absolutely anything that found itself on the floor, be that cling film, cucumber or a Tupperware lid.
Daughter number one is still in residence (it's half term) and had offered to cook dinner last night. While she was wandering up and down the worktop with various vegetables, I was trying to mould the feet and talk to son number two who was having rather a rotten day. As I put the phone down, I realised that I had eaten one of the feet while I'd been listening to him. Not to worry, one would be enough. Then daughter number one, who had also been having a tough time trying to work around my mess, suddenly said, 'Did you want that foot?' Well just as well that I had decided against it as she'd chopped it in half and eaten it. So my cake has no feet.
It was a minor milestone for Reg yesterday in that he didn't shred any carpet, or sharpen his teeth on my oak furniture. Of course, the bloody big piece of wood across the bottom of the stairs is a great help, as is the calming plug-in. I have also sprayed every bit of the house with anti-chew spray.
When I did this yesterday morning, I grabbed a pear to eat on the way to work.
Note to self - Wash hands after using anti-chew spray.
I looked like a cat with a furball till lunchtime...
Well needless to say, I came out of the dentist's and went straight into the café opposite and had a cappuccino and a Bakewell Tart. I did try not to eat on the new tooth, tilting my head at a 45 degree angle, using gravity to encourage a left hand chew, but drinking the cappuccino proved impossible, so I spooned it in.
It was then back home to put the finishing touches to my birthday cake. A few bones, and some rickety fencing and it was done. Or was it? I toyed with the idea of adding some feet (I'll post a picture of this up on facebook on Friday), so started squishing some white and pink icing together. This was in-between feeding the dogs, walking the dogs, stopping the dogs from killing each other and treading on Reg every time my hands went anywhere near the work surface. He's always on the look out for manna from above...preferably cold chicken or bread, although to be honest, I think he would eat absolutely anything that found itself on the floor, be that cling film, cucumber or a Tupperware lid.
Daughter number one is still in residence (it's half term) and had offered to cook dinner last night. While she was wandering up and down the worktop with various vegetables, I was trying to mould the feet and talk to son number two who was having rather a rotten day. As I put the phone down, I realised that I had eaten one of the feet while I'd been listening to him. Not to worry, one would be enough. Then daughter number one, who had also been having a tough time trying to work around my mess, suddenly said, 'Did you want that foot?' Well just as well that I had decided against it as she'd chopped it in half and eaten it. So my cake has no feet.
It was a minor milestone for Reg yesterday in that he didn't shred any carpet, or sharpen his teeth on my oak furniture. Of course, the bloody big piece of wood across the bottom of the stairs is a great help, as is the calming plug-in. I have also sprayed every bit of the house with anti-chew spray.
When I did this yesterday morning, I grabbed a pear to eat on the way to work.
Note to self - Wash hands after using anti-chew spray.
I looked like a cat with a furball till lunchtime...
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