I traveled to England last week, shortly followed by Ville, and within a couple of days we were all sick. Happily the day before it struck I spent the day on South Bank with Ruskin and some of my fabulous siblings, and the first day we felt like venturing out we got some fresh air at Nymans Gardens. Then a day spent meandering around the V & A with only Ville made life sing again and on Saturday we all traveled on the train to York to meet up with five outstanding women that I had been missing for far too long. Yesterday was Neve's first birthday and her midwife came to cuddle her, and I was so busy watching her smiles all day that I forgot to take any pictures. So sitting here a couple of days before Anton gets another ride on the monorail and we fly back to Ville and Matti, and the place that has definitely become home, my head is just full of the best things in the world: free museums, gardens so perfect they make your heart ache, watching Ville and my Dad lost in talk, Neve snoozing in Mum's prized Silver Cross, Ruskin (wow, he is growing up good), hearing the latest chapter in the lives of friends and siblings face to face, railway stations and YORKSHIRE!

A few days ago I met up with a friend I had only met a handful of times a decade ago, and in an interesting twist of fate, has just landed in Istanbul. While we sat in the wonderfully empty, glossy Pera Museum cafe she told me that when we last saw each other I was 29, the age she is now. 10 years. What must I look like to her? I felt the start of tears when she told me that I am just the same. She uses the word energetic. It takes a moment to sink in. The essence of her is identical, completely untarnished, it is a warm clarity, an intelligent openness. We both describe ourselves as tired. I am so bored of using the word about myself but all other adjectives I might use are blocked by the woolly, grey mass of it.

I skip back (not merrily) to what life was like when I met her. It was completely dominated by a shared-parenting arrangement I couldn't get used to, to get out of a marriage I couldn't live with. My part of Ruskin's life being weekends and holidays I had little choice but to qualify as a teacher and work in the same county to ensure I never missed an opportunity to be with him. As it was impossible to find work in the tiny Dales village where he lived with his father, Friday meant a long journey on public transport and foot. Living in York, working in Leeds and fitting days of longing into weekends meant that I was always running. Which was good, as I was terrified of what I would feel if I stood still.

If someone could have told me ten years ago that before the next decade was up I would be able to see Ruskin whenever I wanted and make decisions about his life again, have met a man I could imagine loving and respecting to the grave, have two new children and a step-son just the age to unify the brood, that I would get to travel and live abroad, I could have stopped the tears sooner and smiled more often. How is it only ten years since I felt I had been checkmated before the game had begun. I hope the next ten years will feel as long as the last, despite the promised sunshine.

Of course, life hasn't become less complex. I would also have struggled to believe that I could fight for a year to have Ruskin living with me full-time only to find that being educated in Turkey didn't work for him, and the solution be boarding school in England. Or, after promising myself I would never do it again, raising children far from the support of family (though I did pop back to the UK for two home births at my Mum and Dad's house!). I am hopeful that there will be days ahead that are a bit simpler, a lot more secure and even containing some luxury, but I have a strong feeling that if Ville and I get the chance to grow old together we will say 'Do you remember?' most about what life contains now. We are running, but our arms are full of the best things money can't buy, and moments of stillness nothing to fear.

So, ten years from now? Will we have moved to Finland as we plan? Will we finally have a garden? Will we have our first Grandchild? The only thing that really matters is that our little cast of characters are all still on the stage. What a difference they have made, Ville has made.

10 years on.

Ping, Anton and Neve.

How soothed I would have been by this image 10 years ago. How much it delights me now.

On the bus to the airport the boys struggle to stay awake but Anton is determined not to miss a single car.

Waving Ruskin off after the summer holidays. Till half term.

Neve on the vapur back to Heybeliada.

The children often make new friends on the vapur.

There are usually people on the boats hoping for a cuddle with Neve.

Having lived on a farm in the north of England I know that the suggestion that you 'count sheep' to fall asleep is actually an invitation to lose yourself in the rhythmic, abstract nonsense of words that are on the edge of extinction. It would be no use asking Anton to close his eyes and visualise one sheep after another leaping over a gate. While he loves to count it still requires deep concentration. But sheep counting whispered into the ears of my children beckons them away from current preoccupations ('There are no dinosaurs are there?') and allows me to walk the hills I miss so much. So here it is (one of the many versions at least), lest it be lost:

Yan, tan, tether, mether, pimp.
Sether, hether, hother, dother, dick.
Yan dick, tan dick, tether dick, mether dick, bumfit.
Yan bumfit, tan bumfit, tether bumfit, mether bumfit, gigot.

Leading the children into sleep.

I have put off starting this blog for a long time despite feeling like it was something I really needed because I had, still have, a dilemma. I am not Matti's mother, but the girlfriend of his father, and mother to his siblings, so should I write about him here? On the other hand I am here in Turkey so that Ville and Matti can see each other every week. And so from Thursday to Sunday he is very much part of the action here. I would never use mother language about myself to Matti but we do describe all the children as ours to anyone who asks us. And here in Turkey people often do! This used to cause me great annoyance at times, especially as the questions were often put to Matti as a Turkish speaker. He is our brown eyed boy in an otherwise blue eyed family and people here are not hesitant about asking why.

Being an extra person in a child´s life can be complicated but when I am with Matti it is very simple. I could not possibly treat him differently from the others.  Matti clambers over me all the time and I love it. We met when he was 4 and had no common language and I know that soon he won't remember a time before me or before speaking English. I never ever consider persuading Ville that we should move to an easier country, even on hard days, because I have fallen in love with Matti.

Do I have the right to blog about Matti? Part of me knows that its not a perfect idea but just needs to talk anyway.....I hope it will turn out ok. So if I write less about Matti or am a little more careful in my posts you understand why.

During the first week that I spent with Matti.