Author Archives: Emma Sutton

Festive Fear for All The Family

So Christmas (Easter, the Summer, end of term) is upon us again. Tis the season to be jolly, or in our family, tis the season to go a little bit bonkers and have a mini meltdown in a crowd.

Tisn’t The Season To Be Jolly

I love the whole trees, fairy lights, magical side of Christmas (Andy is on the Grinch side of the Christmas divide, but this blog is not about him) and we (okay, I) imagined that the children would love it too. So when they joined our family, we attended lots of Christmas fairs and events with the kids, to immerse them in fun, goodwill and festivities.

But last year, after a fairly bad tempered tree festival, we began to wake up to the fact that these events more often than not deteriorated into crossness, frowns, stomping off and accusations of ‘You are mean.’ We were treading a tightrope across an emotional minefield.

Spontaneous Is Not Fun

From a child’s perspective these events can be:

Noisy – there is often loud music and voices clamouring for attention
Crowded – being jostled amongst teeming throngs of tall giants isn’t much fun
Confusing – do we drink hot chocolate or have cake, listen to the choir or have a lucky dip? They want it all and that’s hard to handle
Overwhelming – sounds, sights, smells of food, choices, raised emotions in the people around them, all add up to a sensory assault and rapid overload

These events are different, special, OUT of the ordinary; yet ordinary is what my kids thrive on.

Adopted Children Love Routine

Routine might sometimes be synonymous with boring yet that’s what my children need. They feel safe and happy cossetted in a warm blanket of cosy predictability. Our family is happiest with a simple routine:

Getting up at the same time every day and doing things in the same order. The kids beg for breakfast in their PJs on a weekend, but it can throw the whole morning when I ask them to get dressed afterwards
Walking the same route to school – when Andy walked them once, Bubbles tugged on his arm and shouted ‘You are Going the Wrong Way!!!!‘
Having predictable meals/ mealtimes/ bathtimes/ playtimes/ bedtimes

Christmas is the Anti-Routine. It is a sparkly curveball that wrecks their safety, and threatens their fragile sense of safety and security. So it’s no surprise they don’t react with giggles and glee.

School Timetables Fear

Schools, nurseries, playgroups, churches etc, organise festive feasts of fun. Event after event after event to celebrate religious festivals or Mothers’ Day, Easter bunnies or ends of term. Discos, film nights, singing, dancing, storytelling, plays, performances, sports, clubs, painting, drawing, snowflake cutting, bake sales, fundraising events and more.

Events that are designed with the best of intention, but that create anxiety and fear in adopted children, traumatised children, kids who have experienced upheaval, abuse, violence or loss associated with this time of year, children who are introverted, or SEN, or autistic (the list goes on).

For Bubbles and Nibbles, these events trigger anxiety, discomfort, uncertainty and more. Even if they enjoy the final event, the countdown can be agony. Bubbles will fret for around two weeks before a performance – two weeks when her learning is reduced, when her trauma mask starts to slip, when her emotions are as unstable as TNT.

A Carol Concert of Fear

Bubbles is singing at a carol concert this week. She loves to sing and be part of the choir.

Knowing full well that this was going to trigger her anxiety, I’ve been telling stories about the concert with her, sharing how the audience will be smiling, how her teacher will be looking out for her. Yet I missed something, because I forgot to step into her world. As we walked to school today, we chatted about the concert, and one fear eclipsed them all:

‘The church. It’s big and scary‘ Bubbles told me.

She blew me away. Because not only had she expressed her fear out loud, she had added new detail to it, something that I wish I had known earlier. For we could have visited the church together (in advance). Wandered up and down its aisles, got used to its size and shape in the light of daytime. We could have looked for toilets or exits, seen the doors and the pews, seen light shining in the windows. We could have made friends with the church, and in doing so, taken some of the surprise (aka fear) out of the concert.

Festive Fun is Family Fun

So we are starting a new family Christmas tradition. A Christmas focused on each other. On our relationships and connection, on our energy and well-being.

We are avoiding all the Christmas fairs and events in our local area (which started in November for heaven’s sake). There is little sign in our house that Christmas is approaching – there are no decorations up yet, no obvious signs of the festive season, and as little change to our routines as we can manage with the exception of Rudolf (our own little mischief maker).

Our children have their solid Sundays – a park run in the morning and a swimming lesson before tea bookend a simple day of family time. There may be a trip to the cinema, some tablet time and a walk but not much else.

We are learning to put predictability at the heart of our family and our festive season, for that is where the most fun will be had.

Fun can be simple, easy, calm.
Fun can be cheap, low-key, at home
Fun can be a picnic in the lounge, baking in the kitchen, dens in the bedroom, bubbles in the bathroom, a Theraplay game for one-on-one time, balloons in every room of the house

The heart of family (and festive) fun is creating a sensory experience that my children are comfortable with from start to finish.

How do you ensure your children have fun (not fear) at out-of-the-ordinary events?

The Trauma Mask

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“She seems happy” says Hazel* (from school), as she sits on a table with our social worker Mo*. We three are discussing how best school can support Bubbles to feel safe and secure.

I sigh deeply and remain silent, shaking my head a little.

Bubbles, like many traumatised children, lives her life behind a mask. A mask of control, of pretence, of keeping her feelings and emotions hidden. The mask only slips when she feels safe – when she feels secure enough to express the inner conflict of her world.

“Is Bubbles happy at school?” Hazel asks, her tone a mix of bewilderment and concern.

What should I say? There isn’t an easy answer.

A High Functioning Traumatised Child

Bubbles achieves in school. She is meeting expectations in all areas, exceeding them in reading. She tries really hard to do what she is told and what is expected of her. She tries (so hard) to please and be recognised and rewarded in school.

To all intents and purposes she might seem like a model pupil. She is what I call a highly functioning traumatised child. Yet a deep dark secret lies beneath the surface.

But in holding in together, the truth leaks out as clues

The way she can tip into anger or frustration with a single misplaced word
Her reaction to friendship issues, to rejection taking it beyond personal into a slight on her very soul
How any stress or frustration shown by an adult will stress her out ten fold (by taking perceived safety from her)
Her chewing (raw, powerful grinding)

At a recent assembly I watched her chewing (as my heart went out to my amazing girl). It wasn’t just a curl of hair that strayed near her mouth; Bubbles was stuffing great handfuls of hair into her mouth and gnawing it with gusto. When it wasn’t her hair, it was the shawl I had crocheted for her. Yet minutes later, when I gently asked her if she was anxious, she denied it and seemed surprised that the shawl was wet.

The touching sight of her anxiety led me to action: whilst school had been hesitant when I had previous suggested one, that day I bought her a chewigem pendant to bite in school and at home (Bubbles was delighted). Her chewing isn’t the issue; anxiety is the issue. Bubbles isn’t present during her anxiety. She is stuck in flight or fight mode (when her amygdala – what we call Amy – is in charge). Sometimes she simply doesn’t even remember being anxious or angry, as if her brain has blanked it out.

And because she doesn’t know she is anxious, she won’t tell you she is either.

Her Mask is Safety

Bubbles problem is simple: she doesn’t feel safe. Her early years were sufficiently chaotic and disorganised that she learnt that the only way to be safe was to be in control.

To take charge of every situation
To do what she is told to avoid anger or violence or harsh words
To deny her own emotions for they were too painful

She Yearns For Love

To her teachers and the staff, she seems a happy, cheerful model pupil. Like a swan. All elegant gliding on the surface, but beneath the water, her insides are churning like crazy.

Her need for love, for praise, for acknowledgement, for recognition competes with her anxiety. Bubbles sits and practices her times tables, her handwriting, her reading because she wants someone to notice her and smile.

A little eye contact and a smile mean the world to her.

Yet shame is just beneath the surface. A harsh word and her world crumbles. She tries so hard, exhausting herself every day holding everything tight, holding her world together, taking control of every tiny aspect of her life, losing the carefree years of her childhood.

The Mask Falls Away

At home Bubbles feels safe.

She can express her raw, intense emotions without being shouted at, without incurring the attention of the class, without being shamed. The mask falls away and I see just how much keeping it all together during the day costs my little girl.

I am humbled that she trusts me enough to express her rage, her anger, her intensity – and writing this the guilt rises up at the times when I didn’t react with empathy. On a day when multiple things have gone wrong, her rage can last two hours.

Homework is hard. Not because she is lazy or doesn’t care. Sometimes she cares too much.

Sometimes (after a good day) she has energy and enthusiasm to spare and aces her homework, which builds her fragile self-esteem
After a hard day, when her anxiety left her running on vapours, then it triggers rage because it feels too hard (and rocks her self esteem)
If her anxiety is still sky high, then it triggers shame because she can’t remember her spellings or times tables.

Her battle is real, every school day. Yet somehow through all of this, she still manages to absorb information, to learn, to have moments of fun and friendship.

But when you ask me if Bubbles enjoys school, I don’t really know what to tell you.

* not their real names.

This blog is an excerpt from Emma’s forthcoming sequel to her book “And Then There Were Four” that charts the struggle to learn to parent her adoptive children therapeutically, to get support from school and the adoption agency and to educate herself and others in the needs of her adopted children. It will be published in 2019 and entitled “Hugging the Cactus”.

The Crochet Conundrum: Sanity versus Presence

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If you follow me on social media, you will have seen a lot of photos of crochet lately. Have I lost the plot? Am I creating crochet orphans of my children, as my attention is drawn to the magical combination of hook and wool?

What’s with all the crochet?

Crochet Keeps Me Sane

I revived my crochet in the hope of skipping over the snacking-hour that has me dipping into highly calorific nonsense the minute Andy takes the kids to bed. And it is hard to crochet and each cheezy dibbles at the same time (unless you are using orange wool).

But in it, I found much more than just a distraction from biscuits.

It is utterly absorbing – my mind gets a rest from all the thoughts and problems such as my mum’s health problems
It is relaxing – it is a flow experience that takes over for minutes or hours at a time
I create something unique – an original combination of wool, hook and pattern that is practical (in winter at least)
It is fast – as someone who is undeniably impatient, I love making something in just a few hours (unlike books which takes years to mature)
I am learning new skills. Today I learnt how to start a double-crochet chain and it felt amazing to nail it (even if it’s not going to make my CV)
It gives me something productive to do in those few moments where I would be twiddling my thumbs or checking my phone for the umpteenth time

The Hours We Wait

As a parent, the hours of waiting (when I’m purely there in my capacity as a Bouncer) seriously add up

At the school gate – as they race off and play with their friends until the door opens
At the swimming pool – we are there way too early (soo excited to go swimming, even ten minutes of shivering as we wait cannot dull her giddiness), and it takes ages to pull skin-tight leggings over damp post-swim legs
At mealtimes – waiting for them to finally finish the plate or declare that they can’t eat another bite (unless there is pudding)
At the playgym or park – when I am there to ward off Stranger Danger, to rescue them (less often nowadays) or ferry them to the toilet

Parenting can often feel like a hundred waits a day – all strung together. Nibbles and Bubbles are at an age now when they don’t want me to play tag with them in the school playground (Mum! No! How embarrassing!), but I have to be there.

Now I get to add a few more rows to a hat or scarf, whilst looking up like a less-nervous meerkat occasionally to revel in their play, in their games, in their swinging or balancing as the sun catches my face.

Sanity Versus Presence

Recently I commented to Sarah Fisher (author of Connective Parenting) that I was concerned that my Parental Presence was suffering as a result of my current crochet fad. Parental Presence is the true gift of your unwavering, undivided, unhurried attention that lets them know that you care, that they matter etc.

Her reply (which inspired this blog) was “Ah the balance of sanity vs presence”

How can I be sure that my crochet (or tweeting, or next hobby) is positive for the whole family, rather than just positive for me?

Do I still pay attention to my children? Am I emotionally available to them when they need to be heard, listened to, to talk, to share, to ask for help (or do I tell them to go away as I. Am. Busy?)
Do I ensure that I give my children my undivided (hooks down, wool out of sight) attention at both the start and the finish of each day?
Do I wait for my children to decide that they do not want my attention/ energy before I pick up my hooks/ phone etc?
Do I spend more time (when the kids are around) with them or with my hooks?

I haven’t always got it right (I told Andy that I was busy just last night, counting stitches as it happened). And that last one had me responding with an Oh (followed by ouch) which tells me that recently the balance has been in favour of crochet rather than them.

Yet the truth is, that whether I am ready for them to grow up or not, Nibbles and Bubbles need (and want) me less and less these days.

They are more independent, more self assured, keener to do things on their own. Bubbles loves to spend time at her (new) desk in her bedroom, reading, writing and more. Nibbles loves to play, but often on his own rather than with me. And in that gap, in that new space in our family, I have rediscovered a love of crochet. I just have to make sure that it doesn’t nudge the other fledglings out of the nest, like an oversized cuckoo.

So I am setting out my stall in front of you, my audience, as you are my witness:

I choose both – my kids and crochet, parental presence and sanity.

What To Write In Letterbox Contact

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Letterbox Contact is a regular (in our case annual) letter sent between adopters and birth parents, via the adoption agency.

It’s a letter than may never be read, or may be read and treasured and read until it’s as fragile as a butterfly’s wings.

The first letter I sent was an agonising battle between being too personal (leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to our front door) or being as bland and impersonal as a tabloid horoscope. I didn’t even know how to start (Hello.. Dear Birth Mum, To Whom It May Concern – an experienced recounted in squirming detail in my book).

Now on my Nth letter, I have settled into a bit of a pattern, which I am sharing with you.

Why Do I Write?

We agreed to write as part of our adoption process. It’s part of my duty to my children and to their birth parents.
Our children willingly engage and are involved in the writing, and whilst they want a response, the lack thereof does not create obvious additional trauma. If it did, the choice would not be as easy to make.
It feels like both the most and the least we can do – I imagine how I might feel as a birth parent estranged from her children and how desperate I may be for information. Whilst we do not know if the birth parents receive these letters from the agency, I know they will be kept on file in case the birth parents get in touch later and at least I have done what I was asked to do.
I was and still am a bit of a teacher’s pet when it comes to doing what I am told and doing my homework, so I write it and hand it in on time, like the goody-two-shoes that I am.

Whilst we do not receive responses to our letters from their birth parents, we continue to write every year. I keep copies of both the letters and any drawings we send in a folder that Nibbles and Bubbles will get to read and keep when they are older.

What NOT To Write

All adoption agencies will provide clear guidance on what NOT to include, but generally it is information that might reveal a specific location, such as:

Place Names – I might write that we went to the seaside, but not name the resort, or that we visited a castle, but not which one (even if it is hundreds of miles from our home address)
School Information – I write what year they are in, but not the name of the school (nor do I include names of teachers, classes, colour of school uniform, out of school clubs, or anything that could help them track the children to a specific school)
Photos – in our agreement, photographs are NOT included in letterbox, for some they are

What To Include

There are five main elements to my annual letterbox that I feel gives a rounded view of the children, whilst accepting that as a few pages of A4 the letter will always fall short of what a birth parent might wish to receive:

Facts and Firsts
Favourites
Experiences
A Specific Story
A Drawing or Handprint

Facts and Firsts

Here I might write about how tall the children are, their shoe size, the school year they are in (or if they are now attending nursery). When younger, it might be the size of their clothes (now in size 18-24 months!!) or other relevant information to give a sense of physical growth. Factual information about their life and their current routine that gives an overview of the child.

In addition, I add their developmental milestones or Firsts. So things like first words, tying a shoelace, learning to spell their own name or to ride a bike, reading a book aloud, baking a cake or similar. These are the notable changes between the years and bring to life the child’s development.

You might want to think beyond things they learn in school such as reading & maths, and include personal skills (brushing their teeth, getting dressed), home skills (baking, washing up, helping with DIY), physical skills (riding a scooter, handstands, running) and hobbies (sewing, painting, Lego, Meccano, making a den, or computer games for online Whizz Kids).

Favourites

I love to include information about the children and their favourite things each year, which change as often as the people they want to invite to next year’s birthday party! I might talk about Nibbles’ favourite joke, or Bubbles’ favourite book, or their favourite pop music (such as the Spanish song they currently sing incessantly without really knowing the words so it is a weird Burrito-infused earworm), the Floss, TV programmes, movies, food and more. It gives an insight into what the children really love about life, and the birth parents might note their own favourites amongst these things.

Experiences

This is the bulk of the letter – a bit of a “what have we done this year” overview – where holidays, day trips (but never school trips), unusual experiences, birthdays or Christmas get summarised in a few paragraphs. I don’t boast, but aim for a mix of unusual events and regular routines, like going to the library, going for a swim, meeting friends, having sunday lunch with family. It gives them a flavour of what their children have been doing over the year, both ordinary and extraordinary.

A Story

I then go from the generic to the specific – adding a short story that uses direct quotes from the children, to add a level of intimacy to the letter. It’s likely to be a specific incident that has happened recently and I tend to focus on things that made me laugh.

I include quoted lines from the kids, using their words and sentence structure. So years ago, I might have told a story about Nibbles, as I was busy tidying up and he zoomed his toy car under the kitchen table. He turned to me and pointed. As I ignored him, he sidled behind me and gave me a gentle shove on the bottom, saying sternly to me:

“Car Mummy. Get it. You get it Mummy”

His tone had me doubled over in laughter, whilst I commented that I was too big and he had to get it. He responded by patting me again and repeating “You get it.”

I believe (or hope) that having a tiny glimpse into their children’s lives can help them feel connected, even at this physical distance.

A Drawing or Handprint

In our Letterbox agreement, there is no provision for photographs of the children. We sometimes therefore include a drawing that the children their own time drawing – without much guidance, although I tend to discourage them from drawing a picture of their family (as that might be rubbing things in rather). You might also like to include a handprint, footprint, or outline of a hand that is coloured in.

Final Words

As I am writing the letter, I let Nibbles and Bubbles know that it is Letterbox time.

(This year I asked if they knew what letterbox was. Bubbles responded “I know what A letterbox is”!! But quickly clued in when I mentioned writing to their birth parents.)

I ask them if there is anything in particular they would want me to tell their birth parents, and ensure that I include that (if not on the banned list). Once the letter is written, I let Andy have a read through and see if there is anything he feels needs adding, removing, amending or other. When we both feel that it is a good reflection of the year, I read it out slowly to Nibbles and Bubbles gauging their response.

Finally I ask them “Is there anything else you would like to ask or tell them?” Sometimes they come up with a question or add something specific, sometimes not. We shall see what happens this year, but as they grow older, their involvement in the process, and their editorial influence will continue to develop.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

Whilst I strive for honesty in Letterbox, I do shy away from discussing some of the trauma-related behaviours that our children experience. I haven’t mentioned therapeutic parenting or PACE as I don’t want to cause distress or hint at blame.

I am not even sure whether or not to mention some of the struggles they have had that are perhaps neurotypical – such as Bubbles’ experience of being bullied in school. So forgive me for a slight whitewash to my letterbox, but I feel conflicted about sharing the dark sides of our lives with their birth parents when they receive so little.

Maybe the content isn’t perfect, but I continue to write, to share stories and snapshots into the lives of these children with their birth parents. Because I believe that for now, it is the right thing to do.

My Little Pomeranians

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Apparently the names that I use online for my children are derogatory, or so an adoptee told me today.

The adopter saw a tweet where I mentioned Nibbles and Bubbles and was irate..

Bubbles and Nibbles? Are they Pomeranians? This is how APs [adopted parents] refer to us. Cutesy disrespectful little names that make us sound like housepets. Or AD4 (adopted daughter age four. AS is adopted son). We are people, not furniture to “place” or accessories to wear like badges.

When I explained that they had pseudonyms to keep them safe, the person remained unforgivingly angry at me.

Perhaps they would like me to use my children’s given names? To leave a digital trail for their birth parents to find them?

There Is Nothing…

.. I would not do to keep my children safe. I am fiercely protective and beautifully proud of my children and all that they achieved given their adverse starts in life.

I have and will continue to do everything in my power to give them a family that loves them and undo the damage that they experienced both before they were born and in the early months and years of their life.

At times I need support, someone to listen to my life, someone who understands the unique challenges of being an adopter. That is why I am on twitter (as well as to offer the same to others when they need it). If you are there to judge me, then please unfollow me. When I try and talk to you, open your mind and listen, rather than tell me that I am only on social media to “exploit my children” to get “sympathy hugs and congratulatory back pats.”

She Is Not You

You shout that your opinion counts because YOU ARE AN ADOPTEE.

Yes you are an adoptee. And as such your personal experience of adoption is unique. And possibly a world apart from that of Nibbles and Bubbles. Not all adoptees are alike, not all adoptions are alike and not all adopters are alike.

It seems I am your enemy based entirely on the fact that I am an adopter.

Today has been tough. I have cried buckets today, so I sought out my twitter family for support. And in amongst the support I gave, came your vitriol.

Bubbles raged today. A symptom of what happened to her before we met, when she lived with her birth parents, when her body, mind and soul were neglected. In those first vital months, when she should have been loved, nurtured, cherished; when she should have learnt that the world was a safe and loving place, she was neglected. Instead, her experience taught her that she didn’t matter, that however hard she cried, no-one was listening, that no-one cared, and her needs went unmet. She learnt that the world was a place of danger, that everything was a potential threat; she learnt to be vigilant and constantly alert.

She should have been cuddled
Her cries should have bought help, comfort, love
She should have been fed when hungry, changed when wet and put to bed when tired
She should have learnt that the world was a kind and loving place

Her brain didn’t learn how to control stress, her hippocampus did not learn that if she cried that comfort would come and so it didn’t need to be high alert all the time. That experience should have happened over a thousand times in her first year of life. But it didn’t.

You know nothing of this, because this is not your experience. I respect the needs of adoptees to express their experiences, to share their dismay in the process, their disappointment, their rage.

But stop treating adopters as the enemy.

I am not your enemy. I am willing to learn from the mistakes of the past. Providing you are willing to listen without judgement.

I will continue to keep my children’s identity a secret. I will continue to parent them in a way that builds their self-esteem, that redresses some of the neglect they suffered, that slowly but surely trains their hippocampuses that threats vary in nature and to respond appropriately. To help her stay regulated so that she can be the kind, loving and generous girl that I love and adore.

My children know their life story, they know their parents’ names, their identity, the reasons they were adopted. They are in touch with their foster carers, and I will help them find their birth parents if and when they chose.

There is nothing I would not do to protect them and I am sorry if those pseudonyms offend you. I am not going to change a thing.

Ice Ice Baby Please Please Sleep

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The lounge door opens. We pause the TV (just in case). It’s TOO hot Mummy. I sigh. I am rapidly running out of ideas. Bubbles really needs her sleep and last night, the hottest night of the year so far, was a particularly protracted bedtime – instead of lightly snoring at 8pm, she came down to complain umpty-seven times and was still awake nearly an hour later.

Some children might cope quite well with less sleep, but tiredness is a big trigger for emotional dysregulation in our house, so I do everything I can to help them sleep. Here’s some of the things I have and will be trying.

Ice in the Room

Keeping the room as cold as possible helps enormously:

Close the curtains during the day to stop sunshine warming the room through the windows
Once the sun is no longer shining directly in, open the curtains and the windows to the max
Ensure that the air has room to flow – that means leaving their door open (and tiptoeing around at night), but an open window with a closed door doesn’t work
Use a fan to circulate air and cool the skin (cue complaint about the noise!). As an added bonus Fi (@wilmawasmycat on twitter) suggested putting bottles of frozen water in front of a fan to provide air conditioning. One to try tonight.

Daytime Ice-child

For daytime cooling off:

Hoses, water pistols and even a sprinkler. We don’t have a sprinkler, but Michelle (@Reader5Michelle on twitter) said that it was the best £20 [she] had ever spent for summer fun. So I might have to invest (if I can silence my water saving eco warrier) because it is hilarous and cools us down. I might use the hose in the meantime…
Paddling pool – this is the time of year when even straight-from-the-tap paddling pool water is acceptable to my kids. So let them soak, splash and more to keep cool during the daytime.

Nighttime Ice-child

We have a standard bedtime routine with TV and stories that keeps the children’s emotions and energy at an even keel and this is even more important on hot days (for ours, running around outside in the heat and then coming in for bed simply wouldn’t work).

You can also use these tricks to cool them down to help sleep come more easily/ quickly:

A cold bath or shower – preferably as close to bedtime as possible, so either move their existing bath or shower nearer to lights-out or add an extra dip just beforehand
A cold flannel or sponge – on the forehead, the back of the neck, over the skin for a light wash. Where possible, leave the moisture on their skin as its evaporation will cool the skin. Removing the clammy sensation and making them feel fresh can make a huge difference and give them a window of coolness in which to fall asleep. If they don’t like the feel of a flannel, ice-cold water in a spray that leaves a fine mist might suit them better
Ice on the skin – whilst it makes Bubbles giggle and wriggle, often an ice cube rubbed down her spine, over her forehead and on the back of her neck is even better than a flannel
An ice-water bottle. Hot water bottles are so, like, winter, don’t you know. But the same bottle filled with cold water (and ice if you have any leftover from your G&T) is something tactile they can keep next to them as they try to sleep. It lasts longer too, so they don’t pop down to tell you how hot they are every ten seconds
A cold drink – some sips of cold tap water can cool your child a little
A small pieces of ice to suck on – my kids both like to suck or chew on ice, so it’s both a treat and can help them feel they are doing something to fight the heat. It might be a sense of control over the heat that matters most

Ice Their Mind

Much of the problem with a hot night is not the heat. It’s our thoughts and how frustrated we get about them.

Bubbles: It’s too hot

She is not really telling me it’s hot, because I know it is hot, and she’s already told me five times in the last twelve minutes.

As tempting as it is to reply: Just Go. To. Sleep that is about as useful as telling her to calm down. I need to read behind the lines, to the words she isn’t saying, to what she really wants. The least I need to do is respond with empathy:

Me: It must be very frustrating feeling so hot when you want to sleep.

It might be that she wants a specific technique – so I might ask How can I help? And she might admit she wants a cold water bottle.

But these are some useful techniques that apply just as much (if not more) on hot days to help my daughter (particularly) calm down:

Calming her thoughts. Our brains cannot hold two conflicting thoughts at once. So if we can replace the I hate the hot weather, it’s too hot thought with something more helpful that will calm us, that will shove the other one out. As we walked to school today, we talked about how it is often our thoughts about a situation, not the situation itself that keeps us awake. Perhaps thoughts like I love the sunshine. This is just warm. I can fall asleep quickly and easily will work? We will be testing these tonight.
Calming her breath. Sitting alongside her for a few minutes and just breathing slowing together in silence can help her to relax a bit.

Today has been another scorcher of a day, and tonight is forecast to be hot. I have bought another cold-water bottle so the kids won’t fight over them, I have some plastic bottles 3/4 full of water in the freezer for my homemade air conditioning and we will be talking through some more positive thoughts before bed.

Wish us luck…

What techniques have you found to be useful in helping your children (and adults) to get to sleep faster on a hot muggy days?

You Are More Therapeutic Than You Think

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You think you’re getting it all wrong. You feel like a failure. You want to be a fabulous therapeutic parent (TP) but you messed up. (Again.) You ask yourself When Will I Get This Right?

You rate yourself as a rubbish parent. 1 star. On a good day. (Blah blah woe is me blah)

But you’re already getting it right, far more than you give yourself credit for.

Look At Me! Look At Me!

Over the ten days of half-term, we experienced some testing days. Perhaps 3 of them. Or in other words, 70% of the time things went okay or better. Oh, I thought. It felt harder than that.

There’s more. The tricky days weren’t entirely awful. There were whole hours of peace, calm, playing, reading, eating, walking within those days that were okay. Even the hard days were good about 70% of the time.

So it would be more accurate to say that half term was ~5% awful, 95% not-bad, good or surprisingly good, occasionally jaw droppingly cute. Yet it didn’t feel like that.

Why not?

Apparently we are hardwired to remember bad times up to three times more than good times. Helpful? Nope. Those not-so-good memories bounce around our minds, jumping up and screaming Look At Me! whilst the lovely ones melt into the past like steam off that cup of tea you made- gah, cold again?

Savouring My TP Genius Moments

I am a TP genius for at least 12 hours a day. (Go Me). Yes, my kids are asleep for those hours, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that I am brilliant then. And there’s more: when my kids are at school (6 h/day) I’m also a TP Goddess.

It’s time that I recognised that for the vast majority of my day, I am kind, patient, wise, generous, quirky, fun and more. Sometimes I am these things when the kids are around.

Pie to Decimal Places (There’s Always Room For Pie)

Being realistic (see pie chart above), I average:

Genius 5% of the time. This is the parenting equivalent of a getting an unexpected pay rise at work, another week of annual leave whilst going to a 4-day week. Rare as something affordable in Smiggle, but wonderful when it happens.
Good/ Great 20% of the time. I am calm, patient, playful, curious etc. Note: this is not assessed by how my children behave but how I behave towards them*
Okay 50% of the time. Not perfect. Mostly calm, maybe a bit flustered. But normal, everyday parenting level of competence. I didn’t nail it, but I didn’t break it either.
UnTP/ Umm 25% of the time. When I will tut and say That could’ve gone better. Let’s look on the bright side – I created a learning experience, a chance to flick to the relevant page in Sarah Naish’s A to Z of TP and get value for money out of my TP Encyclopedia.

*Too many times I’ve judged myself badly because my child was dysregulated or defiant. I cannot control them (believe me, I tried); I can only take credit for how I behave (which is a double edged sword the times they are adorable and cute).

Instead of judging myself against an expert (Dan Hughes) with over 40 years experience, based on some ridiculous idolised version of a Therapeutic Parent, my aim is to be the best version of TP Emma I can be, knowing that I am flawed in lots of quirky and interesting ways that make for better blogs and books.

Give Yourself Credit

Here’s what you can do if you find yourself wallowing in self doubt:

Stop aiming for being a living embodiment of Dan Hughes, Kim Golding, Ghandi or whoever you most admire in the world of adoption, therapeutic parenting, NVR etc. You are you. That is enough. No-one gets it right all the time
Start recognising how far you have come
Start celebrating the big, small and microscopic wins
Start focusing on all the times your little cactus flowers

Being a TP is hard enough without you getting all judgemental on yourself too. So give yourself a break. Remember this:

YOU. ARE. AMAZING.

Therapeutic Parenting Evaporates In The Heat

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‘Go and get your hoody’ asks Andy in no uncertain terms, for the Nth time (where N is a large number). Nibbles had already refused several times.

Where We Went Wrong #1 – asking more than once

Nibbles heard. Nibbles understood the request. Nibbles is not about to suddenly change his mind however many times we ask him to do it. We’re all ready to go out to a spring fair at a local village and the temperature of our family has started to heat up. Nibbles is cross and stubborn. By asking lots of times and getting the same response, Andy is now … cross and stubborn (snap).

Where We Went Wrong #2 – not focusing on our own emotional regulation/ staying calm

I then join in the unTherapeutic Parenting (unTP) by getting annoyed that Andy is not being very therapeutic.

Ah! Sweet, sweet irony.

Which Basket Is This In?

Having read Sarah Fisher’s book on Connective Parenting, we are trying to focus on the few things that truly matter. Trouble is Andy and I haven’t actually decided which TWO things to concentrate our efforts on, or shared our ideas to be certain we are both focusing on the same things. So whilst we both agree that there are certain things we need to care less about (like the way the kids eat their meals, nose picking, nail biting etc), we are far from a united front.

Where We Went Wrong #3 – not being certain what matters and what doesn’t matter. Is defiance in the small basket or not?

I get fed up with the fact that things are clearly starting to escalate, so go up to Nibbles’ bedroom to get his stupid hoody. Andy sees it, glares at me, is incensed and throws it back upstairs because he is Not. Backing. Down.

He raises his voice and demands Nibbles get his frogging hoody because whilst it hasn’t worked for N times, it is going to work on the N+1 time. *facepalm*

Stress Accentuates The Senses

When we are in fight, flight, freeze, flop, fandango mode, the adrenalin creates lots of changes in our body, including heightening all our senses – our bodies tingle, our sense of taste and smell are keener and our hearing is more sensitive to every little crackle of the tiger in the forest. An already loud (raised) voice becomes louder still, overwhelmingly so.

‘STOP SHOUTING AT ME’ yells Nibbles, and then promptly bursts into tears.

I roll my eyes and say something to Andy in an exasperated tone about him not being very calm or therapeutic, again not exactly pouring oil on troubled waters.

By now everyone, except Bubbles who is dealing with this rather well, is huffing and sulking and not in a good mood. I dry Nibbles’ eyes, give him his darn hoody (how can an item of clothing cause so much strife?) and shuffle him off into the car before the day is laid waste in a volcanic explosion.

Repair

Once we’re all strapped in our separate seats, with zero eye contact, the danger is over and emotions start to dissipate. I apologise to Andy for talking to him in that manner. He grumpily accepts. I also apologise to Nibbles.

As we drive off, I suggest to Andy that telling Nibbles he wasn’t shouting is arguing aka escalation. He huffily replies that he was just stating a fact and then I suggest that if Nibbles thinks Andy is shouting, then Andy is shouting. Andy is not about to concede and I suggest that splitting hairs on a technicality with a six year old is Missing. The. Point.

Letting It Go

I turn on the radio in the hope that some music will release the static tension in the air. I stare out the window and wonder why we (I) keep getting it wrong.

‘It feels like losing’ says Andy when we are half way to the fair.
‘I know it does, but it’s not’
‘It feels like it’

(repeat the above several times)

And by the time we get to the fair, it’s all over and we have a pretty good day out, with the kids laughing their socks off at a Punch and Judy show, hot dogs in the sunshine, the kids spend pocket money on slime, Bubbles gets some clip-on earrings to her pure delight, and we all come home happy.

Therapeutic Parenting is not like parenting. It involves a whole new mindset, a whole new approach, we have to let go of everything we experienced in our childhoods and try something that at times feels radically different. We both had parents with strict rules and boundaries and loosening those for our children goes against decades of conditioning.

Sometimes being TP is about letting go, letting go of our own need to be in control, letting go of our need for our children to behave a certain way, letting go of predictability, letting go of our own ego. It’s not easy, but the evidence so far is that it is worth it.

Next Time?

At the end of the day, here I am, the kids upstairs on their tablets, looking at how we might handle it differently in the future. Because this is one of Nibbles’ challenges to us at the moment, can we learn to deal (therapeutically) with his oppositional behaviour and defiance?

There is not clear answer to that yet, but here are a few thoughts we had when our brains were calm.

1: HELPING HIM. ‘Let’s do it together’ The simplest, easiest solution. Nibbles hates being on his own, or doing things on his own. If one of us had just offered to go with him, this whole thing could have been over with in seconds. Stubborn? Us? *whistles and looks at the floor*
2: WAITING. We could have decided to do something else (e.g. reading a story book, which both the kids love) until he was calm and ready to fetch the hoody. The fair wasn’t going anywhere, so did it really matter that we left at that precise moment?
3: NATURAL CONSEQUENCES. We could have just got in the car without his hoody. I think our reluctance to follow that through is fear of him being cold (and then unbelievably whiney). The thing is, we had a fleece for him in the car, so he wouldn’t have frozen (and it was a balmy 18 deg C anyway).
4: EMPATHY. We could have used sharp, staccato phrasing at a similar volume to empathise “It’s rubbish. Getting Things. Hoodies. That sucks.”

Ah hindsight. Funny how all these much better solutions arise when you are sat down at a computer not being shouted at. Which is why being CALM is the most important thing of all.

Sarah Naish in her fabulous A-Z of Therapeutic Parenting states that being calm is the biggest challenge of all. It is for us – do you agree? Please comment below and share your thoughts.

Five Lessons in Five Years as a Family

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Five years’ ago today, Andy and I sat nervously in the car, like cops on a stakeout, waiting for 10am, for an awkward handover on the doorstep, for our family to begin in earnest.

We Started With a Wobble

That first morning, as Nibbles and Bubbles navigated the high nets at soft play, I stared in awe and undisguised wonder, bubbling over with novelty and what-have-we-done? fear. It was a pinch me moment; we were finally a family; tonight they would sleep at our house.

Five years on, I’ve learnt a few things:

#1: Love Is Everywhere

When Nibbles first said Love you, Mummy he took my breath away. There is a tenderness, a gentleness and a connection in so much of what they do that shouts I love you.

When they had nothing, they gave me things – sticks, stone, leaves, blossom, now it’s notes or drawings
They care about me. When I was poorly, Bubbles fetched me a toy, blanket and read me a story; Nibbles gives me an emergency hug when he thinks I need one (with unerring accuracy)

They hug and kiss, they share their inner worlds with me (even rages, with a vulnerability and openness that takes my breath away), they look delighted when I collect them from school and when I’ve been away, they gush with love and cuddles as if they store it up when I am not here.

From turning up my favourite song on the radio, to giving me first lick of his ice-cream, love is everywhere and everyday in our family. It’s woven through all our stories too.

#2: Stories Beat Stuff

We have our keepsakes – her first lost tooth, that thing (we’re not sure what) he made out of egg boxes and glitter, photos galore, but these props simply help us remember something even more valuable – the stories we’ve shared:

When Bubbles got bored of listening to Andy and I debate (aka argue) over how best to teach her to ride her bike and just rode off behind our backs and nailed it
When we took Nibbles on his first bus ride and he just said bus, bus, bus all the way to town delighting every jaded bus passenger en route
Staring at snails waiting for their eyes to pop back out, sand in the wrong places, stirring seaside soup, snipping hair under the table and snaffling pancakes from my sister’s Yurt.

Those stories are our history as a family, our legacy as parents, even if sometimes things don’t go exactly to plan and the story contains slammed doors, tears and rage.

#3: Emotions Are King

We used to ask the children to Calm Down (even though that never works) whilst expecting them to grow out of the tantrums and meltdowns. Now we ask ourselves to calm down and have started to explore why we get triggered. As Sarah Naish states in her excellent book The A to Z of Therapeutic Parenting:

keeping [our] cool is the absolute number one most important response to learn

Yesterday Nibbles was upset and he ran into his bed and hid. I calmly and curiously asked Andy what had happened. I escalated things he admitted with a sigh.

Escalation: another word added to our parenting vocabulary. More join all the time: amygdala hijacking, hippocampus, non-violent resistance, PACE, compassion fatigue, blocked trust. All of them shed light on our children and how we can support them.

It is not Bubbles dysregulation or Nibbles oppositional outbursts that matter but how we handle it. And as they say, there is no time like the present to learn.

#4: The Time is Now

When our children first arrived, people told us to treasure these moments as they go so fast. Fast? Everything took an eternity. Mealtimes were Tolkien. A short walk took for.eve. (come on). er. Yet the firsts and lasts soon mount up:

The last bottle warmed to too hot, too cold, just right temperature at bedtime
The last nap (Andy had to wrench that slice of #metime from my grip)
The last bedtime nappy (celebrated with Party Poppers over the bin)
The first time they won an award at school (and I sobbed in assembly)
The first time they both clunked their own seat-belts in (hoorah)

Nibbles still holds my hand on the way to school and I can still carry them on my shoulders for a short time but I know those days are numbered. I am caught in the dichotomy of loving watching them grow, but wanting to keep them with me for longer. Handover feels like yesterday, and a lifetime ago. All I can do, all any of us can do, is to be fully present, to engage in these seconds as they flash by, to savour it all because it will be gone in the tick of a clock.

So when Nibbles asks Would you like me to show you how Robin goes into stealth mode? on his tablet, instead of picking up my phone and checking twitter, I say yes please because he won’t ask for much longer. As Moloko sung “The time is now”

#5: It Doesn’t Matter

I used to fight every battles on every front until I was exhausted. Until I finally realised (with help from Sarah Fisher’s book on Connective Parenting) that lots of things that don’t actually matter, even if the control freak in me likes to pretend they do:

How Bubbles holds a fork, or bites her fingernails (*cringes*), or Nibbles pokes his nostril, or they way they lick icing off an expensive cupcake before declaring they can’t eat another bite. Doesn’t matter.
All SuperMum nonsense, like washing the bedding weekly, homemade scones warm from the oven as the kids come home, ALL ironing (party clothes excepted). Ditto.
A balanced diet (aka meals we used to eat). If they eat any fruit and veg, that’s a win.
A bit of snot on their face as they lean in to kiss you – that does matter, get a tissue!
SATs, their performance versus school year expectations, whether they can spell, their reading level, their ability to sit and listen to boring stuff without fidgeting – so doesn’t matter. School is tiring, so spelling can wait until we have connected and played and had fun together.

There’s very little that truly matters and I am learning to fight fewer battles and save my energy for the ones that really make a difference.

This Matters

What matters is that I love them, to Ikea and back.

What matters is that I will fight for them, wave my flag as a warrior mum, ask for the help, speak to school until I’ve quote every line of their bullying policy, read all the books, attend all the courses, listen to advice until I have the skills to make my family the best it can be.

Today, as Andy walks them to school, I miss sharing that moment with them, the words we share, the warmth of their hand in mine, their goodbye kisses. Yesterday as we walked, Nibbles told me he was feeling fragile and he just wanted to cry when someone shouted or pushed him. What an honour to share his world, his heart with him, to glimpse inside the world of a child.

Nibbles and Bubbles have made life come alive in a whole new way: a technicolor life versus black and white, sound versus silence, glitter versus drab. The only thing I truly miss is a lie-in. And yet I give it up gladly for all the adventures and stories and love we share together.

My children are incredible. And in the reflection of their eyes, through their heart, I sometimes feel incredible too.

Escalation – A Game For All To Play

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Players – Two: A child who can say “no” and knows how to argue (basic technique is enough, plus a dose of sass or attitude). An adult – works best if the adult is tired, stressed (and/ or poorly), even better if played at the end of one’s tether.
Time – a few minutes to an hour depending on the speed of escalation
Game is over when – either the parent self-regulates (forfeit of game to child), or when either child or adult bursts into tears and sits on the floor with their head in their hands.

This simple game can transform tiny tasks, such as getting dressed or eating a meal, into the sort of story that your family tells for decades to come, that has the adult hanging their head in shame and may even be immortalised on social media channels such as YouTube.

How to Play

Play is generally initiated by the child, however, the game only truly begins when the adult responds by disagreeing to assert control or dominance.

Example: The adult asks the child to do something simple, e.g. brush their teeth, put clothes on, eat breakfast, stop pulling your hair. The child responds by emphatically saying “No” or “Won’t”.

In this manner, the child extends an invitation to the adult to play the game of Escalation, should the adult respond in the appropriate manner.

Possible responses from the adult that indicate that the game has begun:

Yes/ Will – simple, elegant and yet a sure fire invitation to an argument your child will struggle to resist
Oh yes you will (adding “young man” or “young lady” scores 1 for the child as the adult is escalating too quickly, ditto any aggressive stance, hands on hips or finger wagging also scores 1 for the child)

Adult forfeits at this stage if they remain calm, refuse to be drawn into an argument, walks out of the room to calm down or attempts any self-regulatory techniques (breathing, humming, standing still, closing their eyes, listening to a favourite song). If this happens the Escalation Game is Over.

How to Start “Escalation”

The simplest way to start the game is by arguing (oh no, it isn’t). To start, one player disagrees with the other player:

They say No, you say Yes.
They say Yes, you say No.
They say Now, you say Never.
They say Will, you say Won’t.

Clearly you might clarify the argument using additional words or descriptors (such as “No I won’t wear a coat even if it’s snowing“, “Yes you bloody well will, it’s freezing out there and you will catch your death of cold“) but overall impact is one of extended, pointless, going nowhere, exhausting argument.

The argument can continue indefinitely in this manner (minutes or hours depending on the mental will and energy of the players) but is demoted to the lesser skilled Game called Contrariness.

Should anyone agree with the other person (“Yes I know that brushing your teeth is unfair/ you did it already today/ is a pain worse than death“) then the Escalation Game is Over.

Now play has commenced with an introductory argument, play move onto Escalation proper.

How to Play Escalation

Escalation involves verbal and physical ramping up of the situation, until both players are in a clear state of emotional dysregulation, shouting loudly and at its worst/ best spouting all sorts of nonsense (see Advanced Play below).

As a player, your aim is to wrestle control of the situation from the other person and have a clear upper hand. You need to WIN, not just disagree endlessly.

Things you can do to escalate the situation include:

Increasing volume – your aim is to go that little bit louder or shoutier than your opponent at every volley. Do not jump to ear-splitting volume too quickly or you will lose 1 point.
Physical escalation – for adults this includes finger wagging, towering over your opponent in a threatening manner, hands on hips stance. For children this included stomping of feet, wild shaking of arms, angry bobbing of heads.
Hysteria or Melodrama – this involves spitting, head spinning, lying on the ground spinning, lying on the ground stamping arms and legs, rolling of eyes until only the whites show etc. This is Advanced Escalation and is best reserved for trips to busy supermarkets on Saturday lunchtimes.

Bonus points – players are awarded 1 point if a bystander stops to watch, tut or frown. A further 1 point is earned if passersby swerve to avoid you, cross the road or similar (although you may be too involved in play to notice.) 5 points are earned if someone uses their mobile phone to video the Game or a neighbour knocks on the front door to ask if everything is okay.

Your aim here is to be the person who has the last word. 100 points to the person who does.

As an adult, you must never, ever, accept even the slightest responsibility for your part in escalating this situation. It is ALL. THEIR. FAULT. If they hadn’t said no or been oppositional or just done what they were told in the first place, NONE of this would have happened.

If either player fails to get louder, or respond in due time, gives up in sheer exhaustion, or sits down in the middle of Sainsburys for a little cry, they forfeit the game.

Advanced Play

If the game does not resolve in normal play (see above) then play may move onto Advanced Play.

Assuming (and it’s pretty much a given here) that being really loud, argumentative and shouty has not resolved the situation such that your child stops, thinks for a moment (with or without stroking their chin) and then responds “You win Mummy/ Dadda. You’re so right. I don’t know why I just didn’t do it in the first place,” then you may end up in Advanced Play. Even if it’s not on your shopping list.

Here you vainly try to wrestle control back by throwing even more of your parenting weight around (which may be even heftier given all the cake and wine you have been knocking back after days like this).

It’s time to pull out the big guns and start telling them just how you are going to make their life more miserable than this epic row in Asda has already made it. Such that you spout nonsense like:

Wait until I tell your dad/ the vicar/ Nanna/ your teacher/ the dog
That’s IT!! You are banned from your favourite TV show/ tablet/ ipad/ hugging your teddy for the rest of today
As above, but longer duration such as the rest of the weekend/ month/ year/ your lifetime/ until the end of the world as we know it

Since these threats have absolutely no impact whatsoever on your child, who is currently not really listening to you anyway as their amygdala is in charge (as is yours or you wouldn’t really be punishing yourself by taking away the only sane 30 minutes of each day when your child is on their tablet or watching Scooby Doo), things may well go mental at this point.

If you are still in rant mode, then you may even end up in the Annihilation Phase. When you say things like you will hang, drawer and quarter their favourite teddy they were given on the day of their birth/ adoption. Or you will smash their favourite toy/ tablet/ tech into a billion pieces using a coconut. All angry raging nonsense that will only increase your guilt should you not have calmed down in time to avert such a actually-following-through-on-a-ridiculous-threat when you get home.

If you get to this level of escalation, you lose.

In fact, you lost when you started to play this stupid game in the first place. Because

NO-ONE EVER WINS THE GAME OF ESCALATION

Recently I played the game of Escalation in Tescos. I didn’t want to, or mean to, it just sort of happened when I was tired and distracted and just wanted to get home and get something to eat. I was hangry.

I said “We’re going to Tescos” and Nibbles said “No. I am not coming in.” Which was a bit out of character and instead of sitting in the car, calming down and sorting it out before we stepped inside the shop, I made him come out and he made it perfectly clear how little he wanted to be there.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no” he chanted at me, whilst pulling the trolley here, there and nowhere I wanted it to go (grr).
I hissed that he’d better not say “no” again. But he’s too smart to be caught like that.
“Jelly, jelly, jelly, jelly” he taunted instead.
I gritted my teeth, I walked slowly, I tried to engage my brain, but I was fuming inside. I put him in the trolley, until he said “goody” when I quickly took him out again.
Bubbles stroked my arm to calm me down (and offered me an “emergency hug”). She suggested to Nibbles that he had gone “too far now, please be quiet.”
I gradually unravelled in the face of provocation.

Let’s just say that when he threw things at me in the car on the way home, I responded in a way I am not proud of.

It was then that I started to investigate a way of dealing with oppositional behaviour called:

Non Violent Resistance

And I hope to one day write a blog showing how I have effectively used NVR to avoid these escalations that leave me exhausted, guilty and disconnected from my children.

Because I don’t want to play this game anymore.

and then there were four

tales from the land of adoption

Author Archives: Emma Sutton

Festive Fear for All The Family

The Trauma Mask

The Crochet Conundrum: Sanity versus Presence

I choose both – my kids and crochet, parental presence and sanity.

What To Write In Letterbox Contact

My Little Pomeranians

Ice Ice Baby Please Please Sleep

You Are More Therapeutic Than You Think

Therapeutic Parenting Evaporates In The Heat

Five Lessons in Five Years as a Family

Escalation – A Game For All To Play