The Trappings of Success

I just this minute got home after going to a book signing by Lisa Faulkner, a regular re-tweeter of my blog and an adoptive mum. We chatted (very briefly) about how we need more positive stories out there about adoption. My blogs are always overwhelmingly positive, but that's because they reflect my experience from the approval process down to the children we now have. I want my blog to be honest, too, because it's not all plain sailing. Going from being a carefree couple with no responsibilities to being mums of two in a matter of days knocked us for six. So this blog is about how a trapped finger helped our little girl, who didn't like me very much, see me as her mummy.

One of the scariest aspects of adoption is worrying if your children will like you, never mind love you. If you've read any of my other blog posts you'll know that our love for each other as a family is now overwhelmingly strong. But it wasn't always so. We have a boy and a girl and whilst in foster care our son was the one social workers had concerns over. He was in therapy and displayed some fairly bad behaviour. Our girl was happy, attached to her carers and a seemingly easy child. All the work pre-placement was around how our son would cope with adoption and how we would cope with him. Well, from day one that boy fitted right in. It's like the tension and anxiety he was carrying around with him just lifted from his shoulders. He was warm, funny, loving and happy to be loved by us. We felt very attached to each other fairly quickly and surprised everyone, especially the professionals. Our happy little girl, however, was having a more difficult time. 

She loved her foster home and had been there for 3 years, more or less. She was too young to understand why she was leaving this happy home. Her tears in the car on the day she came to live with us still tug at my heart when I think about it. She developed a nasty case of shingles from the stress of it all and we spent many hours at the doctors and the hospital. All the while our son was getting stuck in at school, making friends and happily forming a secure attachment to us both. Our girl was really struggling with me. I’m the main carer and took a year off on adoption leave so it was me that had to say no to things. She found this very hard. One day she looked me in the eye as she threw a finger puppet we were making on the floor. I asked her to pick it up. 'No', she said. I asked her if she would pick it up if her foster mum asked her and she said yes, I would. I had to go to the sink and look out the window because I was so close to tears. She would push me away at bedtime and wipe off any kiss I gave her. She was a tough nut to crack but I had to persevere.

Then one day, something terrible happened and it changed everything. It was Halloween. Our boy was a reluctant vampire and our girl was the cutest witch with the greenest face you’ll ever see. We were on our way to a party when I closed the front door behind me. Our girl just stood still with her hand on the doorframe, not making a sound. I told her to come along and get in the car but her face looked so pained. That’s when I saw that the entire tip of her finger was shut in the front door, which was now locked. I panicked as I tried to get the keys and dropped them on the floor. Eventually, with shaky hands I opened the door and her finger was bright white and flat as a pancake. After the initial silence of shock she now began to scream with all her might. I was terrified. What had I done? This might sound dramatic for a trapped finger but as we were struggling to get on I thought this was going to make things worse.

I called another mum who was also going to the party and she offered to take our son while I took our girl to the walk in centre to see if it needed treatment. Thankfully, they said it would just be sore but nothing was broken and she would be fine with a spoonful or two of the pink stuff. We went home, the two of us, and she cried and cried on my knee. I held her so tightly for an hour or more until she felt calmer and it had stopped hurting and just as I asked her if she would still like to go the party, it was as if something somewhere just clicked. Between us, it just clicked. Even though I was the meanie who trapped her finger I was also the one who took her to see a nurse, hugged her and stayed with her until she felt better. I can remember the exact moment when she looked at me as if to say, ‘Okay. You’re all right. You can be my mum.’ We shared a smile and went to the party. She stuck close by me until the party games started and even then she kept checking I was still there. It felt brilliant.

So, is this a positive story? I think so. It certainly had a happy ending. I wouldn’t recommend causing your children any sort of harm to get them to love you but that trapped finger changed everything for us. I’m also a lot more careful when I go out the door these days. 

As for Lisa Faulkner, she does wonders for the image of adoption by speaking about it in her new book as well as in interviews. She’s right. Positive stories about people’s experiences are so important for people thinking about going through adoption. I think it’s fantastic that someone in the public eye is so open about their own experiences. Her book’s pretty marvellous, too. 

You can buy it here, if you like: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Recipes-My-Mother-Daughter/dp/0857206168/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1331563398&sr=1-1

Letterbox contact

The name of my blog is ‘positive about adoption’. That’s because I feel extremely positive about the process and about my adopted family. It’s also because I don’t think there are enough positive stories out there and there are two many doom-laden Daily Mail articles putting people off. However, recently a reader through Twitter asked me to write about letterbox contact. I explained to her I thought I would find it too hard to write about it. Her comment back was that if we found it hard it would give a balanced view of adoption. This is a totally fair comment, but it’s more complicated than that.

You’ll notice I never mention the name of my partner and certainly never the names or any photographs of our children. I don’t mention their ages or anything about where we live or the places we go. Clearly, their safety and happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. I write my blog because I enjoy writing. I enjoy sharing our stories in a humourous way and I love the feedback I get from people who feel it has helped them in some way. It sort of gives you permission to wrestle with your other half (or yourself) on the day of panel.

This is why I have to be extremely careful writing about letterbox contact. I don’t want to reveal any details about their birth family for everyone’s sake. It’s too personal. With that in mind I have given it lots of thought and this is what I have to say. I don’t like it. I realise it is part of modern adoption and it will help us in the future because there is no great secret or story for them to discover. But every time we get the letters we are reminded of the other family. And it hurts a bit. We can’t help it. They are our children now and this is our family.

When we get the letters we always take a week or two to absorb them and find the right time to read them to the children. We are always mindful of what they’ve got coming up. For example, both kids have a sleepover arranged this weekend so we will wait until they are home again and not send them off to their friend’s houses with these thoughts swimming through their heads. We all sit together and I tend to be the one who reads them out. I try to read them with enthusiasm and make them sound light and uplifting. They sit quietly listening and when I’ve finished they slink off to their rooms to play.

There is almost always a change in their behaviour in the week or so after reading the letters. Sometimes they are extra clingy and loving, almost reassuring themselves and us. Sometimes we get bad behaviour. Obviously we prefer the former but we’re realistic enough to know we might have to deal with the latter. We get questions, which we always answer as honestly as we can.

I think if you’re about to adopt, thinking about it or have adopted then letterbox contact is more than likely going to be apart of that. Don’t let it stop you. You might find you feel differently about it. We’re all individuals and deal with things in our own way. If you have any questions talk to your social worker about it. I had a long telephone chat with ours not long ago because I was worried about the content of one of the letters. I will call them again in the future if anything worries me.

Letterbox contact never stops us feeling that adopting our two children is the best thing we ever did. It is what it is and we have to deal with it. It just feels uncomfortable and a bit difficult for a few weeks of the year. It’s still completely bloody worth it.

A watched phone…

We all get big news from time to time. If you get the job you’ve always wanted or a house sale goes through or you get together with the man or woman of your dreams, things that make you feel brilliant. But I don’t think there is anything in this world that feels as incredible as knowing you’re going to have children. And when you’re approved adopters that phone call could come at any time. There’s no way of knowing when it will be and it’s not like you can eat a bowl of chillies to speed it up.

When you’re waiting for that call you can drive yourself a little bit crazy. You know something major is going to happen in your life but you have no idea when. You can still enjoy hung over lie-ins at the weekend and plan holidays without giving a hoot about term times, but every so often you remember this won’t last. It’s a time I look back on with a certain fondness, even though in reality I was probably unbearable to be around.

You see, I’m a big communicator. Whether it’s Facebook, Twitter, texting, blogging, emailing or good old-fashioned talking to someone face-to-face, I like to stay in touch and know the news. Waiting for this phone call from our social worker was beginning to make me turn purple. Every time my mobile rang with an unknown number I practically jumped on it. We had been approved for 3 months and were beginning to get fed up of sleeping in and pleasing ourselves. Then one day, it rang.

My partner was in London with work and I was at my desk. It was a normal day. The mobile went. I jumped up and ran into the corridor to answer it. It was our lovely social worker. She asked if I was free to talk and I could feel my palms going sweaty. She said, ‘You’ve been matched’. I felt sick. She told me all about these two little children, a boy and a girl, and said she would come round next week with more information and their photographs. Naturally, the first thing I did was call my other half. Voicemail. I tried again. Voicemail. And again. Voicemail. I shook my phone in frustration. This was killing me. I couldn’t tell another soul in the world what I knew before telling her and this was the biggest news of my life.

Sitting back at my desk I tried to concentrate on writing a piece about sustainable energy for a construction magazine. As if. I was chewing my lips, sweating, sitting on my hands, banging my head on the desk and being very melodramatic. Why couldn’t I get hold of her? A friend asked me if I was okay but all I could do was nod my head with wild eyes. This was very unlike me. Then my phone rang and it was her. My heart felt like it was going to explode.

This time I went outside in the bright sunshine and I finally told her our news. She had been on a broken down tube for half an hour and came out to about 24 missed calls. We talked all about it and I told her what little I knew. We kept saying their names over and over again. I couldn’t believe she was in London and we couldn’t just meet up and talk even more about it. How could I go back to writing a piece on solar panels now? At least I was able to tell other people. I called my mum, our best friends and other adopters who had also been matched. Then I ran in and told my colleagues the news as well. My boss might have wanted me to spend a bit more time doing what I was paid for and less time repeating myself to anyone who would listen but he didn’t let it show. When my other half got home we opened a bottle of champagne and started imagining what our lives would be like.

As I write the girl is drawing a picture of her family on her easel and the boy is out at one of the many parties they get invited to. I’m sat here trying to think of something witty to round off this blog, but I can’t so I’ll go for sentimental instead. Somehow, some way, we were matched with the most brilliant children imaginable. It’s not always easy, I do have the odd ‘fisher-wife’ moment trying to get them out the door, but the social workers got this match absolutely right. I never did go back to my job after taking adoption leave, but I was probably a rubbish employee anyway because I never stopped staring at my phone for those last few months.

The Pressure of Panel

There is one word all prospective adopters fear, not triplets, ‘panel’. If you want to become an approved adoptive parent in the UK you have to go in front of a panel. It’s part of the process and one your social workers talk to you about at almost every home visit. It begins to become the event that your entire life hinges on. ‘Panel need to see that you’ve thought of this’, ‘Panel will need an explanation for that’. It’s hands down the most dreaded part of the process. Until the kids move in, of course.

We had the panel date circled on our calendar for weeks. Just looking at it made my tummy go funny. I was excited. I was ready for it. This felt like the final hurdle (until you discover there are a few more once you get matched). The morning of our panel finally came around and things did not go to plan. My co-mummy works at a law firm and a massive, international crisis had occurred the day before. She was in the office until 5am on the day of panel. She didn’t sleep because she was working like crazy and I couldn’t sleep because I was going crazy. When she finally got home I left her to sleep for as long as I could. Panel was at 11am.

Previously a social worker friend of ours had given us some advice. She told my partner not to wear a work suit because they will think she is too corporate and too committed to her job. Ha. How could we admit she had worked through the night the day before? To clear our heads we took the dog for a walk in the local fields and I mentioned I didn’t think she should wear a suit. Well. I don’t remember lighting a touch paper but something just snapped in both of us. We actually ended up shouting at each other and wrestling on a rugby pitch an hour before we had to show ourselves to be respectable prospective parents. And it was all over what to wear. This was the biggest row we had ever had, before or since. It was ridiculous and we both knew it.

Soon our shouts turned to sniggers and we both laughed at just how pathetic all of this was. We ran back home to get ready, me in a pair of trousers and a shirt, her in a nice black suit. And you know what? We were approved. The whole panel agreed we would be suitable parents and we drove away feeling as close to euphoric as you can get without assistance. We went for lunch to celebrate and were greeted with a bottle of champagne courtesy of some gorgeous work colleagues. It was a wonderful feeling. We were expecting children but we could still guzzle the champagne. Perfect!

You have to remember that if you’re at panel, you’re doing well. You got that far. Your social worker and their managers don’t put you up for panel until they know you and your Form F is ready. My advice to all prospective adopters is to try not to fear panel. I’m a panel member myself now and I always make sure I give adopters a knowing and supportive smile when they come in. There is something utterly nerve wrecking about sitting in front of that many people and you can’t change that. But just know they want you to do well. You will be asked a few questions but they are questions you will be able to answer, because they’re about you.

Oh, and don’t worry about what to wear. Just feel comfortable in what you have on and you’ll be fine. As for my co-mummy and me, she is still the main breadwinner in our house but she makes plenty of time for our children and has never had to work that hard since. Which is a good job too, otherwise we might have had to go for round two.

Two mums, two kids, one family

This morning on the walk to school our boy told me he loves it when it’s Father’s Day, because he doesn’t have to do anything and can enjoy ‘free play’ while the other children make cards. I reminded him that on Mother’s Day he has to work extra hard and make two cards while everyone else makes one. He slapped his forehead and said, ‘oh yeah, I forgot about that.’ 

Our two adopted children have lived with my partner and I for three years now and I can honestly say that we haven’t received one single bit animosity or non-acceptance. Not even so much as a ‘tut’ when we walk by. We genuinely forget that we are any different to any other family and I often describe us as a very ‘conventional non-conventional’ family, in that are probably a bit boring. We play in the park, we go out for dinners, we go to museums and we try to remember to get more use out of our National Trust membership every year. So far so very, very normal.

We genuinely found the whole adoption process to be quite wonderful. We never felt we were treated any differently or ever made to feel awkward. Ironically, the one person who did make us feel uncomfortable was another gay man on the training course. He made a snide comment during an exercise we did on how people fit into the world, insinuating that it would be hard for us to be accepted in our community. Well, he got that wrong.

Of course, when the children started bringing friends home for tea we got a lot of questions. Such as, ‘Where is your dad?’ ‘Why don’t you live with them?’ ‘Where did you live before?’ It went on and on. But we just answered them calmly, honestly and without any fuss. When children have questions they just want answers they can understand. There is nothing unusual about my family to everyone that knows us. I am friends with many of the mums in the playground. I go on school trips to help out. I work with the PTA putting on fundraising events. I embarrassed our children at the school Halloween party by dressing up in a hideous outfit, because that’s what parents do.

From the very first phone call to the Local Authority Adoption Team to our family day in court, our adoption experience has been as close to magical as you can get. Every year we look forward to going to the adopter’s picnic to say hello to the lovely people who helped put our family together. Our children are happy. They get treats. They get told off. They get everything you would want children to have. And they get all of this from their two mums. Shame on anyone who thinks they shouldn’t.

Our not-so-cracking first Christmas

Our first Christmas with our two adopted children two years ago was so ridiculously stressful it was more pantomime than pleasure. And it’s all my fault. At least, that’s what I think. I was so determined to make it their most amazing Christmas ever I practically force fed them Christmas songs from the minute we all woke up, which was 4am, until the minute we all crashed, about 5pm. One of the most wonderful things about finally having your children is to give them a special Christmas, and I think the pressure got to me.

Firstly, we weren’t organised. I thought wrapping presents on Christmas Eve would be really sweet and 'Christmassy'. In reality we were putting together a Castle of Doom that had 147 separate parts at midnight on Christmas Eve with my co-mummy who had the on-set of Swine Flu, but we didn’t know that at the time. The children woke us up at 4am and I thought it would be a good idea to go open the presents ‘because it’s our first Christmas’. This meant we were tired and grumpy, the kids were in an absolute frenzy and the whole event felt like a speed unwrapping contest. They were tossing box sets of books to the side and ripping open the next one. All the while Dean Martin is in the background banging on about how much he want’s to let it snow.

Fast-forward about 6 hours and I’m getting on with the dinner. Something I love to do. I hear a blood-curdling scream. After running up the stairs at breakneck speed I discover our children’s co-mummy holding her eye and crying out in pain. A toy gun that fired plastic discs has cracked her contact lens in her eye. Our little girl is crying because she has had the toy taken off her. It was like World War 3. Do they even know it’s Christmas? Once this was cleared up and the tears, from both mummy and daughter, were cleared up it was dinnertime. My co-mummy couldn’t taste a thing due to being ill, our son gobbled down what he could in 3 seconds to get playing again and our little girl cried when she looked at her plate because she didn’t like any of it.  

Finally, we were rescued by friends and asked to go for a walk at around 3pm. This was my favourite part of the day. There was snow on the ground and we had a sledge. It was fabulous. We got back home around 4.30 and both kids crashed out completely at 5. We carried them up to bed and that was that. First Christmas… done.

Thankfully, I learned a few good lessons from this and last year our Christmas was truly wonderful. This year, we have Grandparents and siblings over so it should be even better. We now have a 7am rule for getting up and more tracks on our Christmas playlist so we don’t hear Mariah Carey 17 times in one day.   I bet I’m not the only adoptive mum who experienced this. The pressure we put on ourselves is immense. I just wanted it to be the stuff that memories are made of. I suppose I did achieve that. We still laugh about it now.    

Adoption stories

Hello again. Long time no blog. That's because I'm not really a 'blogger' as such, but I am a writer.

I am hoping to write a book about the adoption process. The home visits, the training, panel and matching etc. If any of you have any stories you would like to share with me please drop me an email or comment on here. I'm after true stories, anecdotes, quotes and thoughts. Whether they're good or bad, happy or sad, you could help me write a book that gives people a balanced, insightful look into the adoption process itself.

Rather than being an academic style handbook, this is about real stories and positive attitudes. The adoption process gets so much bad press it potentially puts people off in their hundreds, and we need good adopters to give forever homes to the children that deserve them. Have you got something to say? Then please say it to me and it could make it into a book for potential adopters to read.

I look forward to hearing your stories.

Helen x