Category Archives: Parenting

This is the stuff about being a family that is not necessarily specific to adoptive families – it’s just the strange and weird world we found ourselves in as a family.

Poster With P.A.C.E. principles in visual format

P.A.C.E. Yourself

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P.A.C.E is an acronym that represents an approach to therapeutic parenting, as devised by Dan Hughes and it came to my attention as I searched for a way to help Bubbles.  I first dabbled in empathy (see my post Putting Out Fire With Fire).

That led me to read Dan’s book “Attachment Focused Parenting” which opened my eyes to a whole new approach and style of therapeutic parenting.

Bringing Andy Along

The poster started as a way to summarise the ideas from the book and various websites that I had visited. Then it grew from a rough sketch into something more.

And in its creation, I cemented what I knew (which wasn’t much) and added to it, because there is nothing like teaching (in poster form) to test your understanding of an acronym. As I explored P.A.C.E, and as our family struggled with the traditional approach to parenting, the ideas burrowed beneath my skin.

P.A.C.E. expresses four ideas (underscored with LOVE) that Dan (God in the eyes of many struggling adopters) Hughes has discovered over decades of working with families:

  1. Playfulness – being spontaneous, in the moment, using a sing-song storyvoice, learning to live and play in their worlds to defuse tension
  2. Acceptance – telling my children through words and importantly tone that I love and accept them, if not their behaviour, however angry or frustrated or annoyed or hyper they get.
  3. Curiosity – avoiding judgement and being open to discovering what they are feeling and why they feel that way, and being prepared to be influenced by what we hear. We step into their world for a moment, and dive deep to discover their truth.
  4. Empathy – by matching their intensity, tone and pace, by opening our hearts to reflect their feelings, we assure them that we are listening and that we are doing our best to understand. We look to understand them.

Work in Progress

It is a few years since we first encountered P.A.C.E and whilst we try our best, there are times when my tone is less than playful, when I am too exhausted to step into their world, when I am all out of empathy.

But having a reminder (the P.A.C.E. poster) on the kitchen  wall, helps to remind us of how we can parent on a good day.

Admitttedly, the other day, my daughter caught my frustrated tone and came out with this verbal reminder:

‘PLAYFUL, Mummy. Remember the P in P.A.C.E…’

The poster can be downloaded to print in A4 for personal use – for a small donation. Larger sizes for schools and for distribution can be purchased to embed therapeutic approaches – just get in touch

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Sobbing is Self Care

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I grab my coat and move with my back to the rest of the diners, unwilling to draw attention to my movement as I leave the restaurant. I walk into the adjacent garden centre, down the path, past the perennials and shrubs, away from onlookers or the hardier plant-browsers.

I reach the end of the path, towards a cold blue sky, lush green rolling hills, a wintry landscape that is beautiful and Not. Enough.

With two hands, I raise my fur-trimmed hood over my head, burying my face in its cosy warmth. Hiding from the world, from the distress within. Trying to lose myself in a hug from my hood. I feel like a kid lost in the playground, hiding from the bullies, fists over my mouth, scared, alone.

I crumple my face, willing myself to hold it together, but this landscape gives me space, gives me permission to be real, honest, true and tears well up in my eyes and they pour down my face in blotchy welts as my mouth screws up in a ugly crying.

I sob, my shoulders heave, I am crying not quite in public.

Too tired to hold them back anymore…

No One Thing

If you asked me why I was crying, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Not in so many words. There was no single thing that tipped me over. No angry, annoyed or frustrated outburst, no stubborn refusal, nothing deliberate or unkind that I could finger as the tipping point.

Somehow this Sunday, this final day of half-term slid away from me this morning, and my mental plan to go for a long stomp in the glorious sunshine got lost in getting dressed and doing things (I can’t tell you what, I don’t even know) and before I knew it, it was 11am and too late to go out before lunch. So I was already fuming a little as we drove here. Angry that I had been up since 7am and had done nothing.

Not nothing – you know how it is – but nothing to fill my bucket.

When we got here, already a little tense, the children whined a little, wriggled a little. Bubbles didn’t like the books the restaurant had to read – and we (or she) hadn’t bought anything else. She complained about the chicken, then the broccoli. He complained that the roast potato wasn’t crispy. I ate my salmon salad. They ate most of it and didn’t spill their drink.

Yet somehow, something or things chipped away at my happiness bucket until it was empty. Achingly, desperately, hollowly empty.

I had bitten my bottom lip half way through, as they continued to poke their food. I had turned away, tried to distance myself, tried to breathe, to focus on the view, staring at it, hoping the hills would drip cheer into my bucket. Hoping that my obvious unhappiness would change the state of play, or at least just get through it intact.

But it wasn’t to be… And when it all became too much, I slid out of there to cry out sight.

Are You Okay Mummy?

Some minutes later, I hear the patter of their feet, running down the path, growing louder, coming in my direction. My tears are not yet done, but the urgent tidal wave of distress has ebbed a little.

  • “Are you okay Mummy?” asks Bubbles curiously
  • “Not really” I answer truthfully
  • “Oh” she says, disappointed, unclear what to do next
  • “Let’s go play” she suggests to Nibbles

My shoulders sag a little lower.

There’s A Hole In My Bucket

If my happiness is a bucket of water, there are things that fill the bucket and things that drain it. And its clear to me that I haven’t been filling it fast enough to cope with the holes that riddle the metal and leak drips and streams from it.

Andy comes and gives me a hug and somehow his kindness touches my soul and more tears come out and I sob that I just wanted a nice meal out and why can’t we just enjoy a meal out when I don’t and. and. and have to cook and. and. and the kids play and are kind and. and. and… when did life become so hard?

He doesn’t answer, because there are no answers. Because sometimes all I need is to know that he is here and he cares.

We go for a walk, where I am the sullen reluctant one. Nibbles holds my hand and that slight touch, that connection helps me remember that sometimes my bucket is full and overflowing, even if now is clearly NOT one of those times.

  • “Is your bucket is full yet?” asks Nibbles
  • I laugh, a little cynically. “About a quarter” I say, more graciously, knowing it is nearer 10%

Do What Needs To Be Done

There’s a parenting mantra about doing what needs to be done – to feed your kids, change their nappies, get sleep, to get through the day. But we need to ensure that on that list is the things we need to do for US.  To fill our buckets. To notice when they are dangerously low.

And if they become empty, to deal with that feeling too.

Sometimes sobbing is the best self-care.

A chance to express how hard parenting can be, a chance to be honest about how strong you are in this moment now, a chance to let go of the pain and let it out.

Because being strong, pretending to have your sh*t together all the time, that’s what can break you.

So go on, have a sob on me.

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Putting Out Fire With Fire

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When emotions run high, when the screaming starts, when her feelings burst out of her body in cries or stomps or wails… I see red. Red for anger, for danger.

And I try to fight the fire with water. Soothing the flames with the cooling quench of water.  Taking the heat of the situation. It seems logical, but it doesn’t work.

Petrol On Her Fire

The most provoking thing I can ask my child is to “please calm down.” Worse still when I use a soft soothing tone. I am fighting her amygdala with cool, calm logic, without realising that those two parts of the brain are not on speaking terms.

When I do that, her anger increases, her cries get louder and things go from bad to OMG!

Fighting Fire With Fire

When I visited the Thrive lead at her school, she gave me some advice. Advice I had read a few hours earlier in Dan Hughes book “Attachment Focused Parenting” yet I was struggling to get my head around it.  She offered me practical examples, acting it out, and suddenly the light came on.  I could see how it might work (then felt the tears well up when I recognised my own inadequacy as a parent).

Perhaps there was something in it.

So after the visit, I tried it. Fighting fire with fire. Not exactly. I wasn’t reflecting back her anger or frustration, so the emotional element was removed. But I was copying her volume, her intensity, her pace and tone.

The Impact Surprised Me

My opportunity came soon enough…

“He is SOOOOOO ANNNNNNOYING!!!!!!!!” she uttered crossly, after several months, still holding on at the top spot in the list of most commonly uttered phrases.

Before my meeting, I might have asked her curiously and gently “What is wrong?” or “Why do you say that” and received an exasperated “ARGHHH” in response as she stomped off brimming with stress.  But I didn’t.

“I can see how annoyed you are” I said quickly, sharply, echoing her own tone and pace and moving closer to her. When she didn’t bite back, I carried on “Little brothers can be annoying.”

For once she didn’t bite back or spit out more anger. This was going well.

“Let’s dance out our frustration together?” I suggested; my tone still intense, sharp, animated. I grabbed her hands whilst looking at her and commenced a pogo dance to de-stress.

We bounced a few times, then she looked at me and her face broke into a smile. And it was over before it even began.

Was It a Fluke?

After months of feeling like I was losing the battle for my daughter, for a happy family, this felt like a real achievement.

For the whole of last weekend, Andy and I responded with intensity when her brain dove into flight-fright-freeze mode.

  • “I can see how frustrated you are“
  • “You are angry about this“
  • “I know you don’t like me“
  • “It is annoying, isn’t it?“
  • “Life can feel so unfair“

Always short. Always fast delivery. Loud, but not shouting. Intense, but not emotional. Nine times out of ten, she responded well.

Within minutes the situation was calmer, and she would be out of the adrenaline-fuelled reptilian brain state.

Empathy

“YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME” was spat with predictable regularity whenever Bubbles’ amygdala got in on the act. Even as I strained to hear every garbled noise that issues from her foaming mouth.

But not last weekend.

Her brain is not interested in logic or rational argument. It is not in play in these moments.  Her brain is reduced to emotions, and I wasn’t matching hers.  Her amygdala interpreted my lack of reaction, my soothing manner as not caring, as a disconnect between us, perhaps even as betrayal (a provocative word perhaps, but only through the filter of your logical brain).

How could I listen to what she was saying and not be moved, not be equally frustrated, not be similarly annoyed? Bubbles was searching for connection (isn’t that one of those tenets of trauma, that all behaviour is the search for connection?) and I wasn’t creating one.

But by matching her intensity, our connection was being forged rather than broken. She could feel the empathy in my response.

Connection Is Everything

Right now I feel I have been given a parenting upgrade, to version 2.1 (not the 3.0 I might desire but it’s going in the right direction).

I continue to work on matching her intensity, although I don’t always get it right and yesterday I fell into the trap of soothing, then had to ramp my intensity twice as far to recover the situation.

It seems to be working.

Wish me luck.

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Walking on Broken Glass

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“What did you learn at school today?” I asked as we walked home, hand in hand.

“We learnt about willow plates” Bubbles replied.

“What’s a willow plate?” I ask, curious.

But uh oh, I’ve stood on a shard of something I didn’t see coming.

“I WAS TELLING YOU….  ARGGHH” (she pulls out of my hand, angry, defiant, stomping) “WHY DON’T YOU LISTEN? …” (her breath is fast, her heart pounding “I FEEL LIKE…”

Glass Where I Least Expect It

There are times when I anticipate an outburst. The bits that she finds tough – pretty much any time when life isn’t her favourite movie with bow-wrapped gifts and so many sweets it must be Halloween.  When screen time is up (even if it’s teatime and its her favourite meal), or she is asked to do something she doesn’t want to such as (her latest parent-induced horror) Brush. Her. Hair.

Those I can prepare myself for, hiding my good mood and optimistic outlook into a secret corner of my soul, so that I can bring it out later, still smiling.

But it’s the WTF? moments that I struggle with the most. When I am skipping along, snuggling under a blanket of pretence that our family is fine and dandy and that this is just a normal day.

I Know It’s Not About Me

My mind, my brain, rationalises these outbursts. It reminds me that this is not about me, it’s not an attack on me, it’s not because I have done or said something wrong.

And yet I still feel like a bad mother for not avoiding these incidents (by being psychic?)

And no, it’s not about her either. She is doing what her brain has been programmed to do. She crosses into fight response at the click of a neuron. She doesn’t mean to do it, she has no control over it, and even though I know all these things, I feel like somehow this is my fault.

Just another flavour of parenting guilt.

Things I Don’t Do

There are some things I know (through experience and research) will only make things worse:

  • talking to her
  • cuddling/ touching her

That is not to say I won’t talk to her about it later, but right now, she needs space and time to calm down (without my ever asking her to calm down because that provokes escalation).

The Glass Stings

This week her outburst triggered something new in me. It reminded me of my first marriage, of living with someone who was unpredictable and at times abusive.

That feeling of living on a knife-edge, of walking over a minefield, never knowing when I might say or do the wrong thing to tip him into a rage or a sulk or worse.

My daughter never lashes out physically (and I nearly typed “yet” because that is the fear inside me, that there is worse to come). At the moment, her outbursts are vocal – screaming anger as she rages at the world.

I never realised until today, that one of the barriers to my parenting Bubbles effectively is the way that her behaviour stirs up those echoes of the past (things I thought I had left firmly in the past).

This Is My Choice

And I feel guilty for even suggesting a hint of a comparison with a spoilt grown-up who should have known better.

For starters – I love my daughter dearly.

When she is calm, her loving kindness is as infinite as the sky. She will wrap her arms around me, stroke my back and fill me with love until I burst. She is bright, loving, helpful, loves books, is creative, inventive, sings, dances and more.

I chose her nearly five years ago, based on scant information. And even knowing what I know now, having experienced how her traumatic early experiences have affected her, I would chose her again.

Because sometimes being a parent you are cast as Bruce Willis in Die Hard. and you’re going to have to wrap your bare feet in a tee-shirt and walk over that broken glass, because it’s the only way out.

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In Eight Months on Twitter, It Has Given Me

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a partridge in a pear tree… It didn’t, it gave me far more than that.

First Steps on Twitter

For years, opening twitter was like walking into a noisy pub, filled with bubbling conversations, all talking at once, threatening to overwhelm and deafen me in one fell swoop. I didn’t get it; so would post and run.

In April, I swapped white noise for a focus on the adoption and fostering twitterati. Overnight twitter made sense. As I reflect on 2017, a course by First4Adoption (encouraging adopters to blog and share their experiences) was a seed that blossomed into something magical.

The Joy Of Being Heard

Not everyone listens with the intent of hearing you. All too often, they are waiting for you to catch your breath and tell you about their day or to dismiss your concerns with ‘all children do that.’

I wish I was connected on twitter in those first few discombobulating months, when Nibbles didn’t sleep, or when Bubbles was angry and rejected me, when my life was a stranger and I had no idea if things would turn out okay. For those immersive, intensive first few months were lonely beyond belief.

Now I know that someone is always listening, that help is just a tweet away, eliciting perhaps a simple (yet powerful) *hugs* to a more involved response via personal message, and I never need to stew over anything. I have an outlet to be heard.

A Hug of Connection

One of the first questions I asked on twitter was about adopters relationships with foster carers, since we had an ongoing relationship and I wanted to know just how far out on a limb we had wandered.

Turns out, not far at all. I had lots of responses, many having experienced excellent long-term relationships with foster families, some wishing their foster carers would keep in touch and yet another that stuck firmly in my mind: ‘We hope that her foster carer will walk her down the aisle.’

That first question and answer session was enough to convince me that I was not only in the right place, but had now tapped into a world of experience that would benefit me in ways I could not even imagine.

The Helping Hand Of Those Who Have Gone Before Us

Yesterday I received illuminating advice to change toothpaste as it might be aggravating (if not causing) my daughter’s painful, recurring mouth ulcers.

But my children and I have personally benefited from advice this year on topics as diverse as planning holidays, anxiety in school, how to spend pupil premium, approaches to regulate emotions and more. You have saved me hours of searching online for advice that might not be relevant in an adoption situation.

And in return I have shared my advice or thoughts with others too – memorably with a family whose child was unsettled on that first exhilarating night. The twitter voices used different words, but sung one song: comfort him. Reading them, my heart responded with joy, for I knew that that chorus was a warm voice in a dark, strange place, bringing succour to one concerned adopter.

Normalising The Strangeness

Adoption is a world of strangeness. And before you all start, yes it is full of things that other parents experience too – like a child pouting over a sprig of cauliflower, or a nappy exploding, or a tantrum in a supermarket. But in order to protect our children, we are often forced into a level of secrecy or anonymity that creates a distance and a not-normalness that people can be quick to dismiss.

I have no birth stories to share, no secrets on how to breast feed, no miracles for sleeping in the third trimester. But I have stories about choosing a toy, creating an audio book, writing letterbox contact, about panel and matching that I want to share with others too, so they can feel that this strangeness is normal.

A Tribe of Understanding

The second someone tweets that they too have experienced the same thing, that they understand what you’re going through, that they have come out the other side at least partly intact, I breathe again.  Because it means that there is a solution for the complexity I see before me.

It might not be a simple, wrapped up neatly in a bow solution like changing toothpaste. It might be a drip, drip, drip, month on month, year on year solution that scares me a little. It might take more energy than I can imagine to change the situation, yet simply being understood, having someone acknowledge what is going on, to nod their head in recognition, is a powerful healing in its own right. *hugs*

A Voice In A Choir

At the Adoption UK conference, I met (and sorry, ignored) some of the adoption twitterati – it was wonderful to meet them in person, to put a face, a shape, a tone to the letters online, to share a smile that is more than 🙂 and see the twinkles in their eyes.

It was a connecting experience and I loved feeling surrounded by a larger tribe, a huge chorus of voices, to be part of something bigger than me. Twitter gives me that experience in microcosm every day and I love it.

I might be just one voice. Just one adopter sharing my experiences, sometimes asking for help, sometimes giving it, but a mere eight months after starting again on twitter, I have found a community that sustains me in ways I could not have imagined this time last year.

Thank you to all the friends and connections I have made this year on twitter, for your advice, for your support, for your encouragement, for your links and blogs and podcasts.

I love you

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Instant Dismissal

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Four words.

Four words that would provoke a collective groan/sigh from adopters. Four words that tell us that you aren’t listening, that you aren’t interested in our concerns and that you don’t want to admit that my child is not like other children.

Four words that write dread on the heart of a parent desperately trying to get help.

“All Children Do That”

  • Gah!
  • How dare you?
  • Are you even listening to me?

A statement that isn’t even true. For the only things that ALL children (around the entire world) do is breathe, eat, drink and communicate.

The global nature of those four words sends shudders down my back, because one adopted child is not the same as another one.  How dare you lump every child into a one-size of policy, one way of rewarding or redressing behaviour, one way of motivating, one way of teaching them fits all.

I suppose that treating a class as one amorphous mass of children enables the teachers to feel able to cope, perhaps to kid themselves that they are doing their best, even if they are failing individuals within that group.

Not that every global (never, always, all, none) statement is detrimental – when we changed our language in line with advice from the fabulous Helen Oakwater to say our children’s birth parents ‘Couldn’t look after any child’ it removed any hint that our children were part of the reason they were removed, so in that instance, global is great.

A Category of One

But my children belong in a category of one. Yes they are both adopted, yes they were both separated from their birth parents and then from their foster carers. But they are fundamentally different characters, and as the eldest, Bubbles was with her birth parents for longer, and experienced more neglect.  It is likely that her brain is not wired the same as children who experienced care, love and attention in those first few months.

So whilst other children get frustrated, giddy, find Christmas overwhelming, meltdown in the middle of town, the reasons behind them and therefore the solutions for them are not the same. As a society we may have realised that corporal punishment is no longer acceptable, but we are a long way off having P.A.C.E. embedded into the way adults respond to children in schools and nurseries.

‘All [nouns] Do That’

Imagine attending a doctor’s clinic with a strange rash on the back of your hand. It is itchy, painful, dry, and it is driving you crazy. You have rubbed on a bit of hand lotion. When that didn’t work, you tried slathering it in E45 cream, and whilst it got a bit better, it has started to get worse again.  Clearly there is no easy answer to this rash and you might need something a bit more specialist. So you go to the doctor, someone who knows about these things and might be able to prescribe a cream to mend the problem.  But they only half listen, and then declare:

‘All hands do that’

What? Would you be happy with such a generic response, such a dismissive response, such disregard for your pain and suffering?

Me neither; I would be fuming. Livid. How dare she not take my pain seriously? ‘But my other hand isn’t like that‘ I might retort, only to watch a slow head shaking as if I am the person who is out of order wasting this person’s valuable time.

If it’s not okay for a doctor to dismiss the uniqueness of a patient’s experience, how come it is okay for adoptive parents to hear this time and time again?

Woe betide the next person who tells me ‘All children do that’ when I reach out and admit that I don’t know how to help my child, when I am desperate for someone to listen to the challenges that being an adoptive parent brings, when I just want to be heard.

Because the truth is that all children don’t do that.

 

 

 

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Hell Yes – Adoption UK Conference

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Being an adopter, being a parent can be a lonely business, as you struggle with the change in your identity, battle for the right support for your children and immerse yourself in learning about parenting, trauma and attachment. Yet I was still nervous at attending my first Adoption UK Conference this weekend. I had no idea what to expect…

Four Hundred Fold

The room was packed with around 400 adopters, educators and social workers, in what can only be described as cosy seating, but we smiled as we bumped arms and legs. The speakers were incredible, knowledgeable, inspiring and more. And every so often they would tap directly into the mood of the room, and be rewarded with a simultaneous groan, sigh or laugh from 400 people, like a warm hug of shared experience.

When Nicki Campbell told of people asking if he’d ever searched for his ‘real’ mum, the room rolled its eyes and tutted, murmuring our assent as Nicky corrected their language, stating that his (adoptive) mum is his real mum.

When Daniela Shanley’s (of Beech Lodge School) slide said “Can I have a word?” we groaned, and felt that blushing embarrassment as she described the walk of shame.

The experience of the people in that room, their struggles to be heard, their fight for support for their children, their desire for their children to be given the same chances in life, just being part of that crowd of warrior woman and men was an inspiring and uplifting experience.

A Little Bit In Love

Amongst a host of incredible speakers, all of whom blew me away with their insights, their research, their experience, their passion and more, there were three that stood out on Saturday.

First was Sue Armstrong Brown, the new CEO of Adoption UK. Despite almost disappearing behind the lectern, her voice and passion carried straight to my heart and I fell in love with her a little bit.

She argued that “adoption needs its champions to be heard” and that instead of just improving the current (flawed) system, we needed to create one that reflects modern adoption, one that is fit for purpose.

She wove in shocking statistics from Adoption UK’s research (summarised in this infographic) whilst never once admitting defeat or feeling bowed by the challenges ahead.  Whilst adopted children are 20 times more likely to be permanently excluded from school, her mood and tone was one of a fight that we will win.

All Behaviour

Then Daniela Shanley blew me away with her dedication to providing a school to suit her child, even if that meant she had to build it herself after being told “this school is not for your son, and there is no school for your son.”

She connected with all the parents who have ever been told that their child is naughty, difficult, disobedient and more. She challenged us to look at adopted pupils in a new way, through different eyes rather than judging and excluding them using inflexible and rigid policies about journals or swearing that are not the right fit for their needs.

If you are thinking “we can’t do that” then look at her school’s behavioural policy (based on Dan Hughes PACE approach) or email it to your child’s school to show them just what can be done to support adopted children whilst maintaining standards.

This quote sums up her ethos:

All behaviour is communication, even when they are kicking the sh*t out of a filing cabinet.

If only all teachers and schools looked at pupils holistically, investigated the triggers that led to a situation, and were more curious about what the child was trying to express before they lent so heavily on policy, judgement, isolation and exclusion.

From Head to Adopter

And finally, I have to mention Stuart Guest, head of Colebourne Primary School in Birmingham. The only man (after my husband of course, better put that in) who made me want to move my life to Brum lock-stock and barrel just for my kids to attend his enlightened school. He introduced his children thus:

These are eleven, seven and four…  we were never very hot on names

How I laughed throughout this presentation. His entire persona of friendly dad, come headteacher, come hater of baths gave him a humanity that I fell for. Never mind thinking constantly “going to use that one” in reaction to the simple, practical tips that he and his wife use daily.

These three speakers stole my heart in different ways that day.

#tissuetribe

The final session of the conference was emotional and unforgettable. Four young adoptees (age 16 to 21) shared their stories and experiences of school. Their prepared answers to questions about how they felt about school, bullying, whether or not they reached their full potential was not easy to listen to, but it highlighted just WHY the changes are so necessary.

Midway through a clear response, a quiver started, C’s words started to stumble and catch, and she turned to her mother for comfort, shaking her head as she couldn’t continue. And every heart in the place reached out to her, felt for her, was there with her, as we recognised the tough times that some of us also experienced in school or that our children are experiencing today.

It was soggiest of the tissuetribe moments. I was overcome by the struggle, the truth of their school lives, and overwhelming desire to be part of the force for change, to be part of the tidal wave that would change the experience of adoptees in the future.

Hell Yes

But it wasn’t just the speakers who inspired. I bumped into a friend of mine (I sometimes forget she also adopted) and stupidly asked her with surprise “what are you doing here?”!  I caught up with some of the lovely adoption twitterati (although their flower/ trainer/ sunset profile pictures don’t make it easy to recognise them, and I ignored a few for which I am sorry), and chatted with many others in snippets or more.

It was hard to wrench myself from the warm enveloping hug of being with a tribe of understanding. As I sat on the train home, I summed up the day with my final tweet:

Today was my first conference – would I recommend it? Hell yes!

The conference was a clarion call to adoption warriors from all parts of society. Adopters, adoptees, teachers, heads, virtual heads, governors, parents, pupils, local authorities, agencies, post adoption support and Adoption UK to work together to create an educational system where all looked after or previously looked after children get the support and help they need to reach their potential.

Joining The Battle Hymn

In the few days since the conference, I have heard phrases and ideas echo through my mind. I have thought about how best to support my children, their teachers and school. I have implemented new approaches and tools at home, with more ideas to be instilled when I get the time to read the slides again. I had a talk with Bubbles about her recent anxiety (chewing through cardigans) that cemented our bond, then used that conversation for a meeting with Bubbles’ teacher, which went well.

I am not the mother I was when I arrived on Friday night, I feel engaged, supported and inspired in a whole new way.

Adopters need a voice.  Adoptees need a voice.  And with the help of Adoption UK and other organisations, all these voices will be heard, and not just in a superficial “that’s nice” way, but in a deeply, heartfelt way such that change happens, such that systems and education evolve. Because the future of these young lives depend on it.  The schools and teachers must educate themselves, such that their policies and procedures embrace adoptees and include them, recognise their specific challenges, steering away from the teeth-gnashing “all children do that” denial of the uniqueness of their early experiences, and help them achieve their potential.

We all deserve to the best version of ourselves. 

I became a warrior that day.

Singing the battle hymn of the adoptive mother.

At the conference, I became part of a choir – four hundred voices chanting in unison, raising our voices to the heavens, to Parliament, to whomever will listen, to the media and more, until the current educational approach to adopted children looks as dated as hitting children with a ruler in Victorian England.

It’s time for change. Will you join the choir and have your voice heard.

I am in. Bring it on.

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Halloween – Heaven or Hell?

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Yesterday I was not in the mood. It seemed so much effort – squeezing the after-school routine to fit it all in, nevermind buying costumes and then traipsing around in the dark.

We weren’t long back from holiday, and I was feeling overwhelmed by everything I am trying to cram into my already hectic life.  And my brain colluded with my mood, arguing convincingly about the ambiguity of taking sweets from strangers, the nutritional impact of all those sweets (hello type 2 diabetes) and the throwaway nature of all that Halloween stuff that would clog the oceans of landfill sites for decades to come.

When Adoption Focus posted a blog from Daddy and Dad who doesn’t do Halloween (read it here) on their Facebook page, I nodded my head in vociferous agreement and wished that I had thought of going out for a meal and avoiding the whole debacle instead.

Negotiation

BC (before children) Halloween meant an annual party with friends, dressing up and drinking – although we weren’t invited this year. All well and good.  Since I had never trick-or-treated as a child (for I was born in the era before we imported this nonsense from the States) I had no fond memories to give me the motivation to go out into a cold dark night with my kids.

So I prepared an alternative offer:  I would let the kids dress up, we’d snuggle down to watch a scaryish movie and they could buy whatever nutritionally bereft pseudo-foodstuffs they liked – no holds barred.  No going out.  No knocking on the doors. Bliss.

I was ready with my offer, and hopeful that I could swing the voters to my point of view.  As I collected Nibbles from school, I began my lobbying by asking him what he most liked about trick-or-treating (confidently expecting that he would say ‘the sweets’).

“Saying trick or treat, Mummy”

And with that, my alternative offer died on its arse.

A Change of Mind

Before school, we’d decided (with some encouragement from me) that I didn’t need to waste money on costumes and they would dress up as ghosts: of Princess Elsa and Captain America.

But when push came to face paint, they’d changed their minds and asked to be Frankenstein’s monster and a witch instead.

“But I’ve only got red, white and black face paints” I wailed, in my unpreparedness for the fickle nature of children who have spent all day comparing notes with their friends about which is the coolest costume to have.

I sponged Bubbles’ face black to be a witch, but she took one look, scared the beejesus out of herself and changed her mind.  I swapped to white and in the end, they both went as vampires – Nibbles had a black cape and ghost tee-shirt, Bubbles had her Elsa dress and witches stripped tights.  Random

The Kindness of Strangers

With tea eaten, tomato sauce sponged off their costumes and their faces repainted where they had rubbed it off, we left the house, torch in my hand and bags to collect their goodies in theirs. I was still somewhat reticent about there being any fun in this endeavour, but knew it would all be over soon enough.

Nibbles was pointing out the positives: “And you get more steps, Mummy” and “I love going for a walk.” I smiled and I blessed his positive nature and wondered where it was every morning when we walked up the hill to school (“it’s too steep“, “my legs are tired“).

Everyone Is Being Lovely

But then we started in earnest.  A knock on a door, a person or child opening it, their welcoming smiles, their effusive delight in Nibbles and Bubbles’ costumes, and the giving.  About three houses in, Nibbles was holding my hand, and he said with undisguised surprise “Everyone is being lovely, and they are strangers.”

I nodded in silent agreement, as tears welled in my eyes and I hugged him and that emotion tight to me.

There is a simple joy in trick-or-treating: their combined excitement as they knocked on each door; their polite thank yous each time they were given a sweet.  Nibbles’ surprise at the kindness of strangers.  The experience buried deep, the tiredness and resistance flowed out of me and I truly embraced Halloween.

I began to really enjoy the adventure – searching out pumpkins and decorations that whispered “come in, you are welcome.” One lady, with no decorations to indicate she was taking part, was washing up at her sink, saw us walk past and beckoned us in.  She was dressed in gym gear and said she was about to go out, but opened her bag of goodies just for us and poured sweets into their hands.  We have never spoken before, but in that thoughtful gesture, I felt a shiver of connection.

As we walked, I knew that this was a memory in the making.  Something that my kids would remember for ages.  A part of our family’s history.

A few houses down, I said “there’s a pumpkin at this one, let’s try it“.

Nibbles looked around and shook his head.  He asked in a confused tone “where?” and when I shined the torch on it, he jumped out of his skin. “That was scary Mummy, don’t do that!” I hugged him close and giggled silently.

Playing It Forward

And then we came home to wash Halloween off, and as their shoes were kicked off, there’s a knock at our door and I was nearly knocked over as both kids rushed to the door to open it.

They were fighting over being generous and kind.  Asking if they could be the one who gave out sweets.  We marvelled at the costumes of the little ones, used our gentle voices and crouched down to welcome the toddlers who seem unsure, and shared joy in sucrose form.

A meagre few treats, bought in a last minute panic on the way home from school.  And yet the way it lit up their faces was a delight to behold.

The night continued. with more knocks interrupting bathtime (no you can’t go down in the nudey), and during tele time, there were more mad rushes to the door.  And I am bowled over by the extra joy in being generous (and a plan for next year starts to form…)

There was a connection made yesterday, with strangers and neighbours that I hope in my heart might last a little longer.  New people to nod at when I see them walking down my street.

And as the final Treaters turn to leave for the next house, I say “Happy Halloween” and I mean it.

Perhaps all I needed was a reminder that the world is full of kind strangers, that a gift of a sweet can light up a child’s face, and that joy is all around me, if only I am prepared to see it.

Happy Halloween everyone.

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Two Plus Two Equals More – Adopting Siblings

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This year, the focus of National Adoption week is siblings – as around half the children waiting for a family are siblings.

I’m not going to tell you that adopting siblings is easier than adopting one, that would be crazy. It isn’t.

When my husband returned to work I was scared. I felt woefully unprepared to cope with two children vying for my attention. I needed eyes in the back of my head, a nose like a sniffer dog, seven pairs of hands and was worn out by it all.  My life felt like an exhausting roundabout of nappies, meals, tidying up, refereeing fights, supermarkets, naps, bottles, laundry, nappies, trying to understand their sort-of-words, more tidying, another meal, more nappies, baths, stories, bed and more.

When Bubbles went to pre-school for a few hours, I suddenly experienced how much easier one child would have been.  Not just a little bit easier, but soooo much easier.  With just Nibbles, there seemed more space, more time to do things, more time to even think, less to do. So I can understand why you might be thinking of adopting one child.

But there are upsides.  Things that you can only get if you adopt siblings.

LOVE

They’d only been with us a few weeks and Nibbles was upset.  We had no idea why he started crying in the car and nothing we said or did, not even my most soothing rendition of “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt” was working.  Two-year-old Bubbles asked him to “hold my hand.”  She stretched out towards him, touching fingers between the car seats in a moment of joyful tenderness I will never forget (captured in the photo above).  The impact was immediate.  His tears stopped and he smiled.

When everything else was strange, unsettling, weird, when their new home didn’t feel like a home at all, they had each other, they had love and that helped them feel safe.  Their love for each other is massive, unbounded, magical. With siblings you get share a love that goes to the moon and back.

HISTORY

Their lives and the people in it have changed so much in the few years since they were born. They’ve experienced trauma and separations. But one person has always been there for them, always been part of their lives.  We were somewhat late to the party, but Nibbles and Bubbles have always had each other. Their history started and continues together. And through this history, they’ve learnt that you can trust some people to be there for you through it all.

SUPPORT

“What did he say?” I would ask her, all confused. When Nibbles spouted sentences of jumbled consonants and vowels, when I had tried all the combinations I could think of and was running out of patience, Bubbles would often know exactly what he was trying to say.

She was our go-between and not just for translation.  When he was confused and upset in those first wobbly weeks, in a way we could not mend, a big hug from his sister was all that he needed to know that things would be okay.

INDEPENDENCE

Nibbles and Bubbles are inseparable (most of the time). They invent make-believe places and games that take them into the depths of their imagination, with a healthy borrowing from films and things they have read. Together they play, they explore, they invent, they create, they cut and stick. They learn interpersonal skills when they are too noisy or boisterous, don’t play nicely and learn the consequences when they hear the dreaded “I don’t want to play with you.”  They learn to compromise (if often a little late).

It feels safer when they are together, because they look out for each other, so I relax and give them leeway, to stay in the park on their own for a while, to grow to their capabilities (rather than being limited by my fears).  Sometimes their gang of two isn’t open to me, and yet as much as I pout, they are growing faster together.  They need me less and less, because they have each other as a co-adventurer.

GROWTH

With a big sister, Nibbles has run to keep up.  Sometimes literally, sometimes with his words, with behaviour, eating, skills and play. He wants to copy her and she loves to help him with his reading, or things he struggles with (it used to be zipping his coat up), getting washed or showing him how to dry up a sharp knife without hurting himself.

After years of waving her off at at the door, he couldn’t wait to start school, to do the things she has done.  And one day, as I keep hinting, he will be faster than her.

SPEED

We always wanted a family, Andy and I.  Not just a child but a family.  And by adopting siblings, we created a ready-made family overnight.  It wasn’t easy, but it’s what being a family meant to us.  Andy and I were a little family; Nibbles and Bubbles were a little family; and then we became a new family of four.

Within six months, we had got over the early wobbles and were finding our feet. But when they ask you at Matching Panel why you want to adopt siblings, don’t say “because it’s quick”!

CONNECTION

They share their very DNA.  They don’t look the same, yet there is something in their make up, a connection beyond skin, beyond looks, beyond shared experiences.  They will always have someone to talk to about being adopted (I might want it to be me, and it might not be).  Someone who understands what it is like to be them.  Nibbles and Bubbles know they belong with each other (and now with us), and they ‘get’ each other in a way that only siblings can.

Being with each other, feels like home.

AND MORE…

The way they play with each other is infectious and before you know it, I am shouting “giddy up” as we canter to school on the back of imaginary unicorns.  They might be double trouble, but they’re also double the hugs, double the happy-tears of pride in their achievements, double the joy, double the giggling at jokes too. With a child in each hand, I feel balanced, rooted through their touch to my life at a whole new level. They have multiplied the love and laughter in our home many, many times over.

It wasn’t until I wrote this list, when I sat down and really thought about all the magical and incredible ways that these two lives, these gorgeous people have added to my family that I really understood what it was that we did when we adopted siblings.  I wouldn’t change it for anything. They are my family and I am their mummy and I have never been prouder.

Happy tears.

Adopting siblings is the best thing I have ever done.  Maybe you could consider it too?

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Is The Future of My Family Bleak?

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Yesterday, Adoption UK and the BBC published a survey of over two thousand adoptive parents in the UK.  The results were sobering.

On The Bright Side

An overwhelming majority (percentages not supplied) of adopters said that they were glad that they had adopted.  A bright light after some more troubling statistics.

The Dark Side – Violence

Almost two-thirds of adopters had experienced aggressive behaviour. For some this is serious and sustained child-on-parent (CPV) violence.  I was shocked. How do parents cope with that? I struggle with being screamed at.

Then I remembered a friend whose young birth son was violent towards her over a decade go.  She struggled to get anyone to listen never mind believe that she felt abused by her child.  Has nothing changed?

Is CPV a taboo, a hidden problem in our society, ignited by traumas of all kinds?  Where it is the only outlet for some young people who find this busy, noisy, overwhelming world of contradictions too much to deal with?

And yet despite two-thirds experiencing aggression, only one quarter were in crisis, suggesting that many parents cope (somehow) and do not suffer breakdown. But a quarter is not a figure to celebrate, although it contrasts strongly to other research (over a 12 year period) stating that only 3.2 % of adoptions disrupt or breakdown.

And I wonder if I should have let Bubbles take kickboxing lessons this term.

The Teenage Threat

Being a teenager is no easy task. It is time where young people are trying to answer the question “who am I?” and find their own identity, one which is complicated by adoption, trauma, separation, neglect and more.

There are ten times more disruptions in the teenage years, which tells me that we are not doing enough to support adopted teenagers.

How do we equip all children, including adoptees to deal with the teenage years – what needs to be done before they get there, before the hormones and bodily changes complicate everything so that they have the tools to cope?  What do we need to give adoptive parents so that they can heal their broken children?

Forewarned is forearmed. But is it really that bleak?

A Pinch Of Salt

Clearly an online survey will only capture some adopters.  Not all might have seen the invitation to participate or felt they wanted to. With over five thousands adoptions a year, two thousand responses is a small fraction of those who have an adopted child in their household over the years.

Perhaps those most likely to respond are those parents who are struggling – who most need their voice to be heard, who most need the support systems to wake up to the reality they are experiencing, who most need things to change so that they can mend their problems and stitch their family back together, those who most feel unheard and unsupported in their time of crisis.

Regardless of how representative the survey is, around 1300 families have experienced aggression, and nearly 500 are in crisis, which is too many and means there are many more out there needing help.

Are we as a society content that adopters struggle to get support, to get therapy (one adopter on twitter said the waiting lists were too long for the therapy she needs to help her family – a tragic state of affairs), to get the advice, training, help that they as adoptive parents and their children need?

Shining a light on issues definitely helps – it sparks debate and further research, so that people know the truth of adoption.  But experts, therapies, support, groups, training, they all need funding.  Cold hard cash, if anything is going to change.

Do I Tornado-Proof My Family?

What does our future hold?

My family does not experience child-on-parent violence.  The nearest we come to a ‘crisis’ is when Bubbles can’t find her bunny at bedtime.

Andy and I are truly glad we adopted.

Yet this survey shook me up. Am I supremely naive as an adopter? Am I living in adoption fairy-land, hoping that we will buck the trend and live happily ever after? I want to believe that this will all work out, that our family will be just like other families out there, even if my children arrived through an unusual route.

As I walk the children to school in the morning, hand-in-hand, should I continue our chats about unicorns and the Haka, or start digging into therapeutic parenting to prepare for the coming storm?

Relax, Enjoy, Read

For now, all I can do is enjoy the time I have with my children.  My beautiful, fascinating, surprising, giggle-inducing, warm-hugging children.  Snuggled into the bliss of our family life peppered with the odd tantrum or meltdown over something and nothing.

And yet whilst I sit in the sunshine and read, it might just be a book by Dan Hughes (as recommended by @mumdrah) just in case.

What are your thoughts on the survey?

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