I have to admit, it’s been far too long since I even felt the need to write my thoughts down. I’m not sure why, but my brain hasn’t been doing its usual churning that often results in the need to write something down to clear my head. Anyway, the last 6 months have been… interesting…
This has been the longest time away from this blog I have had since I started writing it 4 (!) years ago. The reason for the absence has multiple facets, but they can be summed up in one word: Transitions. Since I wrote my last post our family has undergone a number of transitions. Some went more smoothly than others. Unfortunately the others have caused me some issues. I’ll start with the one that went smoothly, Eldest went from reception to Year 1 at school. He didn’t exhibit too many signs of anxiety, there may have been a bit of
There are lots of words which have negative connotations for people. This particular word seems to generate enormous offence from my son if it is ever directed at him. That word is ‘Naughty’. For my son that is the worst thing in the world to be called. He hates it. To have it applied to him sends him into a horrible negative spiral of shame. It is particularly evident when the word is used to apply to something he has done when he’s trying to be helpful. He has seen grown-ups doing it, so he’ll do it too, he’s helping.
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.
I have written before about my expectations and thoughts on what in the adoption world is currently called “contact”. My views haven’t changed a great deal, but it is something that I am forced to reflect on twice a year when I write a letter to my children’s biological parents.
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.
It’s impossible, you can’t control it, stop worrying about it. I say it to myself many times most days. Yet my subconscious brain refuses to listen. It’s there gnawing away at my conscious brain causing me anxiety and stress. Unnecessary, yet ever-present.
My son hurts. He tries so hard to follow the rules, to do the right thing. He doesn’t always get it right. He used to spread his hurt to others. Backwards headbutts, hitting, kicking, biting, hurting. Now he tries to stop himself; it’s a visible struggle. When he does wrong, especially when it’s accidental, his instant reaction is to lash out. He’s learning to contain it, to control it, but his anger, his shame has nowhere to go. He screams, he cries, he thumps his hands up and down, until he contains them in his mouth. He doesn’t hit, he