Continued from: The Mother’s Day Exclusion The teacher was standing on the school gate, apparently the person given the duty usually performed by one of the absent leadership team. I was nervous, so I asked one of the mums who we are friends with to come with me so that I wasn’t a lone voice. The conversation started like this: “I’ve been asked to tell you that the school will respond to your letter, but because neither the head nor deputy head are in until after half term it won’t be until then. They didn’t want you to think they
Mother’s Day this year has been an interesting time. It’s the first year that it has really been something we’ve had to acknowledge in our household because it is the first year that one of my sons has been in an institution (his school) that decided to create an event around it. Previously they have been at a nursery who tended to do anything (cards etc) on a day when they didn’t attend, avoiding any conflict with our family. So, an invitation arrived from the school inviting us… oh wait… not us… Addressed to “Mums”…. to their Mother’s Day lunch
As adoptive parents sometimes when we see a glimmer of progress it is often combined with a feeling of sadness. It is an odd feeling to be sad when you should be happy. The reason for this is often the signs of progress are things which other children never have to face, things which never even cross their minds as being an issue, yet can be absolutely massive steps forward for our children. This could be something as simple as reacting in a shy way to a stranger where they would normally go up and give them a huge hug.
New years’ celebrations have always been a bit anticlimactic in my mind. I’ve never celebrated the incrementing of that last digit of the date by one. The transition of 1999 to 2000 was celebrated by me being in bed with flu. There are often too many expectations that come with moving from the end of one year to the start of the next. I’ve never really understood why, in my mind it’s just the start of another day. All the problems that existed on the 31st December are still there on the 1st January, as is everything else. I’ve never
It is that time of the year, the time when some people get all jovial, extra generous and kind, and others get panicky, grumpy and fairly fed up. For others still it is a dichotomous time with some elements that are loved and some that are hated.
I think it is sometimes very easy to think of our adopted children as broken, and the recent calls for extra support to be given probably hasn’t helped that concept one little bit. I don’t think looking at it that way is helpful, our children aren’t broken and to label them a such creates a detrimental stigma. Sometimes, though, they do need a bit of extra help and understanding to meet their potential. Maybe certain processes that work so well for 90% of children need to be changed or adapted to mean that children from a trauma background are able to
As adoptive parents we are presented with what is called a “Support Plan” at a reasonably early stage. Our adoption agency does this shortly before Matching Panel so that the plan can be presented to the panel and forms part of the decision as to whether the parents are a good match for the children. Often the type of support detailed in the plan will vary based on the knowledge and skills of the prospective parents.
Last week my Eldest son started his formal education at the school we chose for him last year after visiting it. Since January he had been itching to start, frequently asking “how many days until I start school?”, occasionally getting himself in a bit of a grump when we replied with a number that was a little too big for him to imagine. We had no doubt that he was ready to start school. When he is feeling secure he comes across as quite a mature little boy, he loves reading and is not frightened to use words that he
Yesterday I was hit with a Kid’s Kindle Fire tablet, punched on the leg and then whacked fairly hard across the face and nose by one of my sons. All done in temper, but all in a day’s work of being a parent to them unfortunately. Especially when they’re tired, which they were having spent the day at playgroup.
My Eldest starts school in September. I know, it’s ridiculous. What ever happened to my little boy still in nappies, not quite talking right, relying on us for pretty much everything without much complaint? He’s still in there somewhere, but the sprout of independence is slowly growing within him. The sprout that parents simultaneously hate and celebrate. A little while ago we had a visit from one of the early years teachers from the school we picked along with one of the teaching assistants. This wasn’t something we had expected the school to do, but apparently it is common practice