Tag Archives: adoption

TP pie chart for a day

You Are More Therapeutic Than You Think

Leave a Reply

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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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*
  3. 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.
  4. 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.

 

 

Facebooktwitter
An adoptive family on their 5th birthday

Five Lessons in Five Years as a Family

Leave a Reply

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.

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

P.A.C.E. Yourself

2 Replies

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

Facebooktwitter

In Eight Months on Twitter, It Has Given Me

Leave a Reply

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

Facebooktwitter

Hell Yes – Adoption UK Conference

2 Replies

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.

Facebooktwitter

Adopting Siblings – Bravery Optional

Leave a Reply

‘That’s brave’

It wasn’t the first time people had said we were brave to be adopting siblings, but coming from a social worker during our preparation groups, it filled us with foreboding.

  • I didn’t feel brave
  • I wasn’t sure I wanted to be brave
  • But I did want to adopt siblings

Was brave shorthand for that’s crazy?  Out of seven couples at our prep groups, we were the only ones considering adopting siblings.  Really?

I was shocked.

To us it seemed logical. We wanted a family, not an only child.  We knew that siblings were harder to place and so why not invite a set of brothers and sisters to join us? Did they know something we didn’t?

Both Andy and I had siblings and knew we wanted at least two (me), if not three (Andy, who would be going to work) children.

Do You Need To Be Brave?

Four years later, I can answer this question honestly.  Was it brave?  No.  It was definitely hard work taking on two toddlers at once.  They arrived and turned our life upsidedown in an explosion of nappies, spoons, toys and routine.  Even simple things like bedtime or a meal became logistical headaches. And then there was the lack of sleep from two children waking at different times, for different reasons for many many nights.

It was hard.  It was tiring.  It was exhausting at times, but it wasn’t brave.

It Was Joyful

Right from day one, the relationship between Nibbles and Bubbles is crammed to the rafters with joy.  During introductions, she was chasing him around the park, as he tottered in tiny circles and she dashed this way and that, more steady on her feet.

He was besotted with her, and everything she did was magic.  The way she looked after him, hugged him, helped him reach things, pretended to read to him, fed him – it was a cornucopia of sibling love and caring.

It Was Giggly

Put the two of them in swings.  Swing them as high as you can.  Then listen.  They would blow raspberries, sing, make nonsense noises, and giggle their heads off.  I recorded them time and time again, because I knew that this time would pass as they gained words and new ways to make each other laugh.  Listening to it now, it still makes me laugh uncontrollably.  So cute.

There isn’t a day since we adopted them when they haven’t made me laugh.

It Was Love

When we first saw their photos and information during matching, both Andy and I knew. Don’t ask me how I knew, but it was like an angel (or God if you wish) shouted deep into my soul and heart that these were the children who most needed me to be their mummy.

Their love for each other is huge.  Enveloping. Magical.  They love each other to the moon and back, then Aunty Sally’s and back and even to the splash park if they remember.  She always wants a hug from him as she goes into school and has to say goodnight each night to her wonderful brother.  Add that to the love they get from us, from their foster family Ken and Mary, and from everyone lucky enough to be a part of their lives and the love that surrounds our family has never been so ginormous.

To Sum Up…

But if there was one word that summed up my experience of adopting siblings it is adventure.

A great big, hair-raising, heart-racing, breath-taking rollercoaster of an adventure, a proper Indiana Jones style adventure, which has taught me a great deal about myself, about strength, about siblings, about friendship, about connection, about laughter, about playfulness, about love and most of all about life.  And I am still learning, every single day.

So let me take Helen Keller’s words and re-write them anew, in honour of the fantastic siblings that have made my life incredible…

Adopting [siblings] is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.

These four and a bit years have definitely been a daring adventure.  Packed with new experiences, new places, new faces, new giggles, new joy, new love and more.  Long may it continue.

If you are up for an adventure, perhaps you might consider adopting siblings too?

To celebrate National Adoption Week (16-21 October 2017), the Kindle version of my book is available for just £2 (in honour of the two incredible children who have made my life into an even more daring adventure).  Get yours on Amazon here

 

Facebooktwitter

Two Plus Two Equals More – Adopting Siblings

Leave a Reply

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?

Facebooktwitter

Is The Future of My Family Bleak?

Leave a Reply

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?

Facebooktwitter

Siblings Are Sophie’s Choice

Leave a Reply

As I walk away with Nibbles, a hollow feeling invades me. It starts small, in an ignorable way, but with every step it grows, louder and more insistent until it’s almost painful.

What Have I Done?

It is the first day of the new term and as capable and organised as I am, I cannot physically be in two places at once. Yet Bubbles starts at junior school today, Nibbles is at infant school and the schools are half a mile apart.

I have abandoned Bubbles in the playground with the hurried consent of another mum.

Abandoned

I have let my “never be late” religion (if you’ve read the book, you’ll know) override the sort of mum I want to be to Bubbles.

I want to be stood with her.  I want to hold her hand and look into her eyes and embed the “it will be okay” thought that sits on the tip of my tongue (perhaps I need to hear that more than she does).

My legs feel like lead. As if every step towards Nibbles being on-time is a betrayal of my daughter. As if I am putting him first, that his needs are more important, demonstrating a blatant form of (blasphemy coming) “favouritism”.

I want to turn back. My gut screams “turn back” in order to untwist the knots within it. I almost turn back. Not just once, but a few strides later, then again as I wrestle with the blisters between my actions and my conscience. I tell Nibbles that I have made the wrong choice, but he reminds me “we don’t want to be late” and I heed his palliative words.

With one of me, and two of them, I cannot be there for both of them at every single event.

Sophie’s Choice

I remember when we’d first adopted the children, and Andy had gone back to work.  Whenever we left the house, I’d be faced with impossible choices, created by the unsafe limbo between the car seats and the shopping trolley, or the car seats and the front door.

I would unbuckle my strap, and get out of the driver’s door.  And open the door nearest the pavement and ask myself – who do I unstrap first?

  • In the car seat, strapped in tight, they were safe and secure.
  • In the hallway, they were safe(ish) and secure.
  • In between those places, in the seconds it took to unload the shopping or their sibling, they were at the mercy of some child-snatcher (or their birth family) who might swoop down the second my back was turned and steal them

Which One Would I Pick?

Whichever child I picked, what did that say about me?

For one would be held tight in the loving arms of their mother and the other one left abandoned in the car, with the door open, the car unlocked, vulnerable and defenceless.

Did I pick Nibbles because at least Bubbles could scream loudly and kick up a fuss that I could understand?  Or because he was youngest?

Or did I pick Bubbles because she was more confident on her feet and could be left to toddle up the path on her own, so I could look after Nibbles who needed me more, whilst effectively abandoning a two-year-old to a solid stone walk-of-death?

The Choice Haunted Me EveryWhere

  • Which child to pick out of the bath first, whilst leaving the other to drown?
  • Which child’s nappy to change first, when they sychronised their poo-xplosions, thus leaving the other child swimming in their own filth?
  • Which child to carry to the safety of the car whilst the other walked out, unsupervised, in front of a two-tonne lorry?
  • Which child’s plate of food to pass first whilst delaying the other for a few seconds of screaming, bawling, “I am starving” distress?
  • Which child to run to first if they played piley-on in the park and both hurt themselves, whilst trying in vain to wrap myself around both and “there there” them in equal measure?
  • If both screamed in different rooms at the same time, who did I run to first?

And everytime I chose I would ask myself if I had chosen that child too often already, if they had already won the “favourite” crown from their sibling, if Bubbles had picked up on the disparity with her observation of every minute detail of my barely adequate parenting.

Like she did with “maybe”. Informing me one day that it never meant “yes” and it always meant “no” and I knew then that she would pick up on every single thing I said and did.

Why is it so hard?

I Denied My Needs As Her Mum

Yet was it really Bubbles that needed me on her first day at school?  I worried she might get upset, that she might be scared, that she might need me. And I let those fears gnaw at me all day after I failed to turn back.

She was smiling and happy at the end of the day, excitedly sharing her day, liking her new teacher (because she rides an electric bike to school) and delighted with her lunchboxes with notes from mummy saying “I love you, have fun xx” and a host of (nutritious) food she loves.

Maybe I’m not ready to let her go. To let her grow up. To let her not need me anymore.

The truth is that I wanted to be stood beside my little girl. To be there for her. To squeeze her hand and let her know that she mattered to me more than a late mark. I am ashamed now of my order of precedent – that an unblemished record of zero late marks made to choose to leave her on that first day.

I will never have that chance again. To be there with her, to stand alongside her proudly as her mum.

I feel bad because I denied what I truly wanted to do. I wanted to turn back. I wanted to recognise my mistake and act on it. To show her (and him) that when I make mistakes, I mend them. But I didn’t.

Why?

Because I didn’t want the grown-ups, who had already seen me leave, watch me come back, as if Bubbles isn’t strong and brave enough to be left alone.  I worried more that the mums and days would think of me if I turned around than what my daughter thought of me. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Never Again

If I had that day again, I would go back. Even just for a few seconds. Just until I was certain she was okay, to let her make the decision, to let her grow at her own pace.

When I get that feeling that I’ve chosen badly, or wish something was different, I will do what I can, as soon as I can to change that decision and mend it. There and then. I will show my children that I am fallible, human, that I don’t know everything and don’t always get things right, and I will show them how to change their mind and learn. Regardless of what anyone else thinks or says or mumbles to others under their breath.

For I didn’t deny her needs that day.  I denied mine.

Facebooktwitter

I Came Out Of Your Mouth Mummy

Leave a Reply

In the year or so that the children had been living with us, we had taken lots of opportunities to talk about being adopted, what being fostered meant and where they came from – what is known as “lifestory” work.

An Organic Process

It turns out that there are lots of times when you can chat through what is happening and use it to reiterate and help embed their understanding of their lifestory.  Without making a massive song and dance about it.

  • It’s Bubbles’ birthday. How old are you now?  How many birthday’s have you had now then? Can you remember what you did last year and who you were with?
  • Christmas. It snowed last year, when you were with Ken and Mary – do you remember building a snowman? What presents did you get? Shall we see if we can find any photos of Christmases you have had in the past?

Whenever they expressed an interest in their lifestory books, or the ones we gave them to introduce ourselves (post matching and before introductions), or the ones that Mary made about their time with their foster family we would go through them and look at the photos and answer any questions they had.

When I asked Bubbles about her lifestory, she replied confidently that she used to live with [BM and BD], then with Ken and Mary, now she lives with us.  I would feel glad that she understood what is a complex sequence when you are just a young child and by asking an open question, I could correct any errors that had crept in.

Sometimes, she would ask me questions about her birth family and foster family, and I would answer as best I knew.  We started simple and built up depth as she got older.

But Just Because Bubbles Understood…

I imagined that because Bubbles was clued up on her lifestory, that somehow Nibbles would be too.  He seemed to understand the various characters involved and even if he had no real memory of Ken and Mary, the way Bubbles did.

I presumed, naively as it turned out, that he was similarly well versed in his lifestory. Then one day, we are walking to pre-school to collect Bubbles and he blurts out something that bursts my bubble.

“I came out of your mouth, mummy”

I stop in my tracks.  A smile spreads across my face as I imagine a very wide mouth and then I shudder a bit at the thought of the aftertaste.

“No you didn’t sweetheart” I reply.  Then I wonder which bit of ignorance to tackle first.

“Babies don’t come out of ladies’ mouths, Nibbles, they come out from their tummies” I say, without explaining the exact exit route in much detail as I segue straight onto point two. “And you didn’t grow in my tummy, you grew in [BM’s] tummy.”

And of course, there followed an organic lifestory lesson, where I clarified just how all these names and people fitted into his short lifespan and how they would fit in his future.

It’s Not Just About The Books

Many adopters are given lifestory books by their social workers, and they can be useful in those early days, when adopters are finding their feet as parents, as a prompt. I have sat down with my children and read these lifestory books through with them, and they like them mostly because the books are about them.

But for me, the best lifestory opportunities arise in everyday conversation.  When we are going to visit Grandma and Bubbles adds “she’s your mummy, mummy” and then we have a quick chat about the mummies in their life.

When you first adopt children, getting lifestory work right can feel like a big deal. How do you broach the subject? What do you say? What do you hold back until they are older? How often do you read their books? I remember feeling afraid of getting the lifestory bit wrong and affecting our relationship further down the line.  But I needn’t have worried.

Lifestory work happens all the time (not every single day, but frequently).  And the more we, as adopters, can relax about their history, the more our children can relax about it too and see it as no biggie.

When we make it just part of their story, it’s just history.  Like where you lived when you were one, or the houses you have lived in.  It becomes a part of who they are and where they have come from.  It isn’t a big deal, it isn’t something to be afraid of, it is just pieces of a jigsaw.

And I guess it is working.  Because last year, Bubbles asked to take a photo of Ken and Mary into school for Show and Tell, and talk about who they are and being adopted.

I couldn’t have been prouder.

How do you use every day prompts to remind your children of their lifestory?

 

 

Facebooktwitter