A Gay Family Friendly Trip...or Just a Family Friendly Trip?

This post originally appeared as a guest blogpost for We Are Family Magazine:

In a previous blogpost I talked about the difficulties of visiting countries where homosexuality is illegal, in our case Singapore but whereas others have a choice as to where to spend their pink pound we do not – Papa’s family are Singaporean and our choosing not to go would be to deny our boys their Grandparents, who are too old to travel, and Papa’s extended family.

But we manage it and continue to plan for our yearly expedition to the city-state.

However, to put the boys sense of travel into perspective we also try to visit at least one gay friendly destination each year and for our last trip we took the short flight over to Barcelona and the travelled further to the beautiful gay friendly town of Sitges – we even had my Mum, the boys Granny with us – so it was a real family affair.

What’s lovely about Sitges is not the nightlife – Papa and I used to partake when we were younger and it is pretty vibrant, nor the culture – there are a lot of art galleries and things to see but it’s the fact that being gay is not something to hide. There are other gay families mingling naturally with straight ones and couples of all persuasions and ages holding hands as they stroll along the beautiful promenade.

Its great for the boys to see that their family is just the same as everyone else’s. I know there are events and holidays run by organizations such as New Family Social in the UK, and they do a brilliant job, but its also good for the boys to see gay families in a ‘real life’ context. The boys made friends with another boy at our hotel – the convenient and friendly Medium Sitges Park – and they were soon playing football on the beach with their playmate’s dad and Papa whilst his mum and I sat sipping a sangria with Granny.

It's that sort of natural behaviour that should be emulated across the globe – its only a shame that it isn’t.

After a week in Sitges we travelled back to Barcelona for a long weekend, Granny had never been and we promised to show her the sights. We decided to stay self-catering at the Serrenia apartments, which were well placed to explore the city – particularly if you have two young children and an… ermmm… older lady with you.

Again, the sight of an inter-racial gay couple and their sons didn’t raise an eyebrow – although one waiter did think that Papa was my Mum’s toyboy – which she was very pleased about, him not so. But the boys loved the tour bus – they weren’t too happy about the churches and museums although they did have a great time at Camp Nou, the Barcelona FC stadium which Papa took them round – whilst I accompanied Granny on a shopping trip.

Mixing the two destinations meant that everyone had something to do and no-one got too bored. Plus finding destinations that are both gay friendly and family friendly can be quite difficult but Catalonia definitely offers it all. We’ll be back!

Rewards in Heaven...

A couple of weeks ago we went 'oop north' to go and see Granny.

My Mum is also the carer for my Nan, who is still going strong at 91 - although she is convinced that any day now she'll be saying farewell to this earthly life - although, to be fair, she has been saying that for thirty years - but I guess at 91 you can be excused. However, she keeps giving things away - buy Nan anything new and guaranteed you will have to go and buy it back from the church jumble sale at a fraction of the cost you paid for it. Some people in that village have found some pretty amazing bargains I can tell you.

Anyway, whilst we were there the time came to 'do' the supermarket shop. Nan finds walking difficult, so I've set her up on online shopping - but she won't have it - I've even told her about the cute young delivery men from Waitrose, but she prefers Sainsbury's and they're not quite as cute.

Anyway, my Mum takes Nan weekly to their local Tesco - which is enormous - and this week was no exception and we had the two boys in tow as well. The boys aren't known for their love of supermarkets and they were led to the car protesting their innocence and pleading to be allowed to stay at home - I was reminded of the scene in 'Tale of Two Cities' when Dirk Bogarde is proclaiming 'tis a far, far better thing... as the little seamstress is led to the guillotine.

But they duly got into the car and off to the land of Tesco we went.

KC decided that if they helped Nan and Mum (Granny) with the shop then they could probably get back to the TV quicker and may even get a treat for their trouble - my Mum has Sky, we don't - apparently our lack of TV channels is tantamount to abuse.

We went into the store and Nan produced a list. My Mum had warned us that Nan takes a long time debating over most of the products on the list before eventually buying the same items she buys every week, but I guess when your are in your 90's you can do as you like.

KC was brilliant with Nan, he ran backwards and forwards collecting her items on the list, only for them to be rejected, but undeterred he then took them back and reselected the requested item in the right size, or colour... or whatever.... It was good exercise for him and, as he suffers from severe dyslexia, it was also a useful way to put into practice all the extra support sessions he is given in school.

I was so proud of him and Nan was equally impressed. She patted him on the head, "You are a good boy," she said, "You'll get your reward in heaven."

KC looked at her, "In heaven?" He looked at me...

"Do they have DS Games in heaven?" he asked.

"In your heaven I imagine they do," I replied. He gave a big grin and immediately went back to helping Nan with her shopping.

Mind you, this weekend is Father's Day and TJ has already been complaining that he has to buy two presents instead of just one. I told him he could get something for us to share - "But you don't like football!" he cried.

"I meant for Papa and I to share," I told him, "Not all of us."

"Well, that's not fair," he said. So I've booked a family trip to see Jurassic World on the Imax screen on Sturday night and will await my football themed present on Sunday, which TJ will then happily play with all day - still at least it will keep him occupied.

An NSPCC Assembly????

So this morning I was walking the dog when I bumped into a doggy walking friend. Our only connection is that we both walk our dogs at the same time every morning and we got chatting about the normal mundane things that dog walkers discuss.

Despite having 'chatted' for over two years the lady finally asked me what I did for a living. "I was a teacher," I told her (I never say I used to be an actor or anything like that - that leads into huge conversations regarding the fact that not all working actors are mind blowingly famous - and anyway, I haven't done it for ages... adoption enforced 'resting', I like to call it..) 'And," I added, "I'm going back to work in September at my sons' school."

"I'm going to be running an assembly at that school next week," she told me cheerfully. "I work for the NSPCC and we go in and talk to children about domestic abuse and the fact that children can use Childline etc."

She must have seen the colour drop out of my face.

"It's ok,' she said, "It can be a bit full on and some children do get upset but we've only ever had a few actual disclosures."

I decided to come clean. I told her that our children are adopted and that our eldest, who would be attending the assembly, had only recently come out of therapy to help him understand his past and the 'parents' that they would be discussing could very well be the birth family he experienced.

She listened and advised me that maybe my son should not be taking part. I agreed and went home to speak to the school and find out why I knew nothing about this.

I wrote a long email to the Head, also including the fact that the genetics lessons (see previous post) had also caused some upset and asking if the school could keep me in the loop about such things - I asked he if she could let me know when the assembly was in order that I could find a reason for KC not to attend that day.

I wasn't at all happy.

But I was also wrong.

The Head had already decided that KC wouldn't take part, she was waiting for confirmation of the assembly and then she would arrange for KC to be doing something very important that day, which would mean he would 'unfortunately' miss assembly. Once everythin g was in place, she had intended to give me a call...

She also took my point about certain classes, such as family trees and genetics and would have a quiet chat with all the staff because, obviously, it didn't just effect adopted children but also those with single parents or those in care.

She was completely open and lovely and thanked me for my openness (I don't think you can hide much when you are the only gay family in the school - but there you go.)

But it also goes to show that it really is worth talking to the people you meet every day... properly!

Genetics Class - Nature v Nurture

KC is doing genetics in school.

This has led to some interesting dicussions revolving around his birth parents. KC and his brother share the same birth mum but have different birth dads - so suddenly I find myself at the receiving end of questions like: 'Which of my birth parents gave me my learning difficulties and which of them gave TJ his - I'm guessing it must be our different dads - what do you think?"

How do you answer that?

I never want to apportion blame to the birth parents for any of the children's genetic faults - and there are a few. But these are things that couldn't be helped and wouldn't lead to a child being taken into care, so I choose to recognise them as 'gifts' from the birth parents, a different way of seeing the world. I point out that the boys both have different colour hair and different colour eyes from each other and that their additional needs can be seen in exactly the same way - they are unique to them and its what makes them unique.

KC seems to 'get' that but then he told me that the teacher had told them that their are 'made up 50% from their mum and 50% from their dad' - he looked at me, "But she didn't say anything about you, do I get anything from you?"

I felt as if I was about to be drawn into the whole nature versus nurture debate, which is so popular with psychology students. I decided to go with it.

"Well," I said, "You've now lived with Papa and I much longer than with your birth family or your foster carers and you've grown up a lot in that time. So, the gifts you received from your birth parents we are now using those to make you a more rounded person."

I felt satisfied with that answer - he looked confused. I went on...

"Think of it this way, when a puppy is born to a wolf (he likes wolves at the minute) then that puppy can't do anything and if it was left by itself it would probably die, even though its birth parents have given it the instincts it needs to survive."

"Like hunting," he chipped in.

"Yes, like hunting," I said, liking where this was going. "So the baby wolf needs to learn how to hunt, but the mummy and daddy wolf are too busy to teach him. So the baby wolf looks for a family that can help him and he meets a dog who lives in a nice house but hasn't got any children of his own." (I apologise for comparing children to dogs here - but I wasn't intending to make the conversation a blog piece at the time and I was thinking off the cuff - so to speak). "Well, the dog then takes the wolf puppy in and teaches him lots of different tricks and things - all of which use his instinct..."

"Like when our puppy chases sticks?" he interrupted.

"Yes, just like your puppy chasing sticks and the wolf puppy grows into an adult who doesn't really look like his adopted dad but who can chase sticks just as well as he can and can do lots of other dog things like ..." and I floundered a bit..

But he took over, "Like rounding up sheep or hunting criminals and being a police dog - or an army dog that looks for bombs?" he was in his stride now.

"Yes," I said relieved, "Just like that - but the grown up wolf is still using the gifts he got from his birth parents - he has just adapted them in order to work alongside his adoptive family."

KC seemed to like this analogy and went to his room to do his homework - although I'm not sure if his science teacher will appreciate the drawing of a wolf dog looking for bombs.

A little later KC came down the stairs and said, "I do know one thing I get from you..."

"What's that?" I asked.

"My beautiful singing voice" And he proceeded to belt out the chorus to 'Bills' by Lunchmoney Lewis (I believe its number one on the hit parade...) in a key previously unheard of by mankind.

I nodded and took it as a compliment - which in many ways it absolutely was!

Puppies, Pants and err... Putting on Weight!

This blogpost was supposed to go up last week but I made the 'mistake' of changing my internet provider which left me with intermittent internet for a week - although hopefully, its all clear now and I won't have to keep popping out to Starbucks to send out emails.

Anyway, last week I was in the supermarket with TJ when I suddenly felt a cold draught around my crotch area. We were in the chilled section so I initially placed the blame on the half price cheese at waist level but as we moved on I noticed that the draught was getting distinctly stronger and that TJ was staring at the back of my trousers.

"You're wearing pink underpants!" he exclaimed.

"So?" I asked him, assuming you could see the top of my pants over my trousers - I'm so down with the kids.

"Everyone can see them!" he squeaked, "There's a massive hole in your trousers!"

I tried to turn around and see what he was talking about - and ended up looking like a large dog chasing his tail in the middle of a packed supermarket. I ran my hand down the back of my trousers and felt, to my horror, that there was nothing there - just a huge gaping hole where trousers had once been.

By now, we had nearly finished our weekly shop so I told TJ to walk behind me as we navigated our way through the checkouts and practically ran back to the car.

When we got home, I raced upstairs to see what had happened.

Our lovely puppy, now a year old, had been left on her own in our bedroom and had decided, as she was obviously missing me, to eat her way through three pairs of trousers which had been left out after ironing. But she didn't chew the trouser leg or anything like that - no she went for the crotch on all of them. Obviously, I hadn't realised when I got dressed that morning and throughout the day the hole had been simply getting bigger until it finally gave way in the chilled aisle of Sainsbury's.

So the next day I decided to go to our local shopping centre and treat myself to some new trousers and probably some shoes, oh, and a couple of shirts as well.

There is something about being a lone male in a clothing store that makes you a magnet for all female staff - I'm not saying I'm gorgeous or anything but I think the assumption is that we men are incapable of choosing anything for ourselves and that once we have a nice lady telling us how good we look that we will then go ahead and spend a small fortune. Actually, that is pretty much the case...

Anyway, I had two ladies helping me and once we started discussing our children we all became life long friends for the next half hour.

So I selected some jeans and chinos (well, I am in my 40's now as everyone keeps reminding me) in my size and took them to try on.

I came out of the changing room so the ladies could have a quick look. Afrer a few minutes of 'humming and hahing' the older lady suggested that I might like to go a size larger. I was dumbstruck, I've been this size for as long as I can remember.

"Maybe it's the cut of the jeans,' the younger lady suggested, "Try on the chinos."

So I went back in, slightly self consciously, and tried on the chinos. I came out for the scruitnization - the ladies now thought they were on daytime tv and were handling a make-over.

"Yes, they're a bit on the snug side as wel,' said the older lady with the younger nodding. The older lady turned to her colleague and asked her is she could find the same trousers in the next size up.

I looked at her, "Surely they will 'give' a little" I said, "Don't these stretch in the wash?"

"Yes,"  she replied, "But not as much as you want them too." and she went off to the fat man trouser section to help the younger lady look whilst I stood there close to tears - well, the trousers were a bit on the tight side.

So I bought two pairs of trousers in the next size up - and left the store devastated! I went to another store to buy my shirts and left the shoes as I was too traumatised. I was in such a state that I had to go for lunch - just a little something to help me get over it. I had a burger.

On the upside, I 've decided to go back to work in September... so that gives me a few months to lose weight!!!!!!

Oh, and from now on - I'm only shopping online!

More Life Story Work

It's been a busy old week, mainly because TJ has gone back to school after the Easter break, although KC still has another week off - one of the perks of sending the boys to separate schools is the different holiday dates. KC's school is fee-paying, which means that we are essentially paying for him to have longer holidays, hmmm...

I'm not sure why it seems to be so much more work having one child at home instead of two. It's probably the sudden need KC has to be entertained by me - whereas I can usually say, "go and play with your brother," I now have to find things for him to do - if I left it to him to entertain himself he would never prise himself away from the TV.

So, yesterday, we decided to go for a long early dog walk. We dropped TJ off at school and then off we went on our treks. A few minutes in and KC asked me what his mum looked like. I stopped and looked at him.
"Where's that come from?" I asked.
"I just couldn't remember what she looked like?" he replied, "I sometimes imagine she is dead, then I don't have to think about it so much."
"Your Mum's not dead," I told him, "Why don't we go back and look through your life story book, I know there's a lot of pictures of your birth mum in there."

He told me he would like that very much and after the dogs had been suitably exercised we went back.

We went through his book together - the pictures of him as a baby, pictures with his birth mum and her partner, KC's birth father. Then we came to the part of the book that I hate, and which I think he has avoided - you may recall from a previous post that I had 'edited' these areas' for TJ. But KC wanted me to go on. "We need to talk about it," he said when I asked him if he was ready.

I won't go into detail here - mainly because its not my story to tell but what I can tell you is that KC was honest and open - not pulling any punches. Telling me about his abuse and the bits of it he remembers. He looked at me and said, "How come I can remember all of that but I can't remember what she looks like?"

I can't tell you I had any great words of wisdom for him, or shared any earth shattering revelations - I just sat with him. He didn't cry or get emotional he just looked through the book again. Then he gave it back to me. "Put it away," he said, "I don't want to look at that anymore."

But, as I said before, that's the importance of life story work - it enables the child to share their experiences with you - but by using the book they aren't talking to you directly about what happened - it's as if they are talking about the character in the book - the child they once were.

Then TJ came in from school and he'd been playing football today - how do I know this? Because I went downstairs to find his football boots on the dining table.

"Why are your boots on the table?" I asked erm.. 'heatedly'.. I decided not to go on about it being bad luck or anything (although it will be for him if he does it again). His reply?

"Well, they are covered in dog poo and I could see that the floor has just been cleaned, so I didn't want to get that dirty."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry - luckily our bonkers Turkish cleaner was in (hence the cleaned floor) and she was able to get the mess cleared up whilst teaching us all some very interesting Turkish words (which I don't think I will repeat should we ever go to Turkey).

Four Go On An Adventure....

(This post originally appeared on the BAAF website but I'm reposting it here for those who missed it.)

30 March, 2015

Last weekend we were lucky enough to receive a weekend’s stay at a remote castle, well tower really but to the boys it was a castle, courtesy of the Landmark Trust who had given a number of properties for use across the country by various charities. BAAF was one of those charities and they offered this gift to us which we gratefully accepted.

 When I first told the boys they were non-plussed. “What do you mean there’s no TV?!” exclaimed KC to which TJ added, “And if there’s no internet then how can I play Minecraft?” – his current addiction.

 I told them we would be able to take our dog and we could go walking and exploring the countryside, as well as playing games together and reading. All of this fell on deaf ears and the boys decided there and then that they were not going to enjoy this.

 Papa came in through the door and I excitedly told him our news, that we had been selected to enjoy a stay in a Landmark Trust property. Papa was equally excited until I told him how remote it was, “No internet? No TV? Then I’m not going!” he pouted.

 Good grief. At this point I decided that I would go by myself with the dog – at least she would have a good time.

 But soon enough the weekend came around – Mother’s Day weekend as it happens – which is always a difficult time for us. No matter how much they deny it I know the boys will at some point be affected by the whole obsession that schools have with Mother’s Day in the week prior. KC’s school had held a ‘Celebration of Thanksgiving for Mum’ and TJ’s schools had held a simpler assembly – but still focusing on the gratitude the children should feel towards their female parent.

 This year our youngest decided that he wanted to ‘remember what his birth mum looked like’ – although I’m pretty sure his memory is through his life story book. So we went and got the book out – the only difference being that where in previous readings I edit out any of the bits that might be too upsetting, now he can read them for himself, which brought up a lot of unhappy memories for him.

 So the castle trip was ideally placed to take their minds off the mother’s day shenanigans as they happened.

 We loaded up the car on the Friday after school and headed off on the two hour journey to the depths of East Sussex. We were told the house was off the beaten track and.. it certainly was. We followed the excellent directions and suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a huge expanse of empty space confronted by a huge tower with the windows lit up like eyes glowering. TJ immediately wanted to go home. “It looks like something out of Scooby Doo!” he exclaimed, “How is this a holiday?”

 But we went on in and inside it was warm and welcoming with tea things laid out on the table. The boys found the old spiral staircase at the back of the tower and rushed up to the roof to look at the stars and then to find their bedroom.

 The next morning in the light of day the place just seemed beautiful. No traffic noise, no Saturday morning kids TV blasting, just bird song and the cries of children shouting “I’m hungry!”

 We made a full English breakfast in the beautifully equipped kitchen and then headed out for a walk across the Downs, stopping to watch the barn owls teach their young to hunt. It was magical.

 By Saturday night we were exhausted and just made pizzas in the oven before settling down together to play a game of monopoly, which no-one won as everyone was so tired and the boys soon drifted off to their beds whilst Papa and I opened a bottle of wine and sat by the roaring (electric) fire.

 By Sunday we were all totally relaxed into this new way of living. I suggested going out but the boys wanted to stay and play football and ’knights’ in the grounds. Papa and I were only too pleased to oblige.

 The weekend was over way too soon but by the end the boys wanted to go back again, not bad considering they didn’t want to stay at all.

 But the real beauty of the trip was that it allowed us time to be a family. As every adoptive parent knows, creating a familial bond is possibly one of the toughest things you can do. The boys, as siblings, have their own special bond and sometimes we, as parents, can feel pushed out. But this trip allowed us just to play, without any of the distractions of modern day life – but just be together – whether it was walking, playing games or preparing food. Our eldest boy even found doing the washing up a brilliant way of passing the time – we have a dishwasher and he had never had to wash dishes before. It turned out he was very good at it and each mealtime he would wash and I would dry and we would chat. It’s the little things like that that bring a family closer together and this trip definitely facilitated that.

 Thank you Landmark Trust and thank you BAAF!

 

(photo posed by model and provided by the Landmark Trust)

 

Mother's Day... again

Yes, its that time of year - the one many adoptive parents dread the most - Mother's Day....

Well, dread is a pretty strong word, but we have had some pretty poor experiences in the past - you only have to look at the blog post from last year, "Happy Gay Dad's Day' to know why we were a little worried this year. It's on the list to the right and generated a lot of response.

TJ's school teacher however, gave me a quick call to let me know what they were doing this year and to make sure it was okay with us.

Except she called at 7am!

"Is it too early?" she asked. "No," I lied, still brushing my teeth.

Anyway, she went on to tell me that TJ had made a card in pink with flowers but rather than giving it to us he was going to give it to his Granny - "Was that ok?" she asked. "Absolutely fine," I replied.

In a way the school being extra careful is such a relief. No unpleasant surprises this year.

But then TJ came home from school. 'What did my Mum look like?" he asked. I resisted the urge to correct him and say birth mum but instead told him we could get out his life story book and find a picture of her if he liked. (Or we could look on Facebook where he could see her in her drunken glory partying with her mates - I opted for the life story book.)

In the past I have always edited the book as I read it to him. Omitting the bits that might be difficult for him to hear or would require further explanation - particularly over her treatment of his brother.

But now he can read - yes, school have been doing a good job and he is coming along nicely. Unfortunately, that meant he could also read the bits I was trying to skip, which then led onto a long chat about many of the meanings of the words used. But we got there and by the end of it he was just sitting quietly, snuggled up under my arm.

"I don't know why I have to be grateful for her?" he suddenly said, referring to the mother's day 'gratitude' assembly that was coming up.

"Well, I'm grateful to her," I replied, "Because without her I wouldn't have you."

He smiled and then skipped off to play lego. As he ran down the stairs he shouted up, "I've made a mother's day present for Granny this year - I didn't do anything for you, sorry."

I smiled back at him. "I don't mind," I said, "Just do double on Father's Day okay?"

LGBT Adoption and Fostering Week - Thank You

Well, I've had my break and now its back to work.

And what a week to come back to work on - the launch of LGBT Fostering and Adoption Week which highlights the great work being done by groups such as New Family Social, BAAF and Adoption UK.

Coming back from Singapore, where being gay is still illegal and the idea of adoption by same sex couples a mere fantasy it seems strange to suddenly be over run with positive gay messages and stories of gay families.

It made me think how lucky we are - and that we should never take that for granted. Our children may not see themselves as lucky, after all why would they?- no child wants to be removed from their birth family, for whatever reason, no child wants to go into foster care and no child wants to wait for their forever family. It is we, the adults, who are the lucky ones. We have been able to adopt two amazing little boys and make them our own. we have been able to give them their forever home. After all, by the time they came to us they were considered 'unadoptable' by the social workers - they were both over 4 years old, both boys, both had suffered unspeakable abuse, both had different needs and they were a sibling pair.

Who would take that on?

Well, we did. There are times I think we must have been mad - but by struggling through the crazy world of adoption together we have become a strong family unit. Yes, there are times when the boys will say they hate me, or they want to live with another family, or they hate each other - its all documented here. But there are also times when we just sit together, when we are quiet and a little hand will put my arm around his shoulder so he can have a hug - he would never ask for a hug - but I know he needs it. It's moments like that that make everything worthwhile.

I can't help but think that the boys are lucky to live in a tolerant society whre they did get an opportunity to experience a family life - whatever that family make-up may be. If we hadn't been able to adopt them I think they would still be in foster care, actually I don't think it - I know it.

So thank you to everyone who fought to make LGBT adoption a reality in this country. I thank you and one day, our children will thank you - they may not realise it today but one day they will acknowledge that the alternative to 'having two dads' may just have been too awful for them to bear.

So, today I'll let them shout at me and 'hate' me for not letting them play their computer games at the breakfast table... but at the same time, I'll be thankful that I have the opportunity to experience the ups and downs of parenting.

And to anyone who is thinking of adopting - I strongly urge you to give it a go!

The Waiting Game...

We're off to Singapore tomorrow for Chinese New Year - off to see the in-laws and have some quality time with family and friends...

But before that I have to submit my fourth assignment for my psychology degree - god bless the Open University.

It's not due in until next week but I know that if I say "I'll do it when I get there" or even less likely, "I'll do it on the plane," then I know I am lying to myself.

So I set aside a whole fortnight to do it. Which co-incided with my waiting for an important phone call to be recieved... Sometimes I wonder why I swapped acting for writing - you still have to wait for other people to make decisions - but with writing it takes a lot longer! (Well, in my limited experience anyway).

So I decided that I would get my assignment done nice and early and get it out of the way - the same advice I give the boys on their homework... Perhaps I should have limited my screen time as well, then I wouldnt have been checking my emails every two minutes, logging onto Facebook and Twitter, or playing Candy Crush Soda... (I blame my Mum for bringing that one to my attention - save the bears!!!!! No, that's not a cry to a gay superhero...)

The first week tootled on by - I had washing to catch up with, dogs to walk, cakes to bake - (Sometimes I do think I am turning into Martha Stewart - without the big hair or criminal record of course). Anything except my assignment. But that was okay as I had a tutorial to go to at the weekend  and that would solve all my issues with the assignment - 'I'll do it after that,'  I told myself cheerily and went back to popping the bottles.... Candy Crush Soda ones...

I went to my tutorial - it was lovely. We had a good catch up and a chat and then I came home with the smug sense of self-satisfaction that I had actually been into an educational establishment... and poured wine to congratulate myself.  Just like real university.

But then it was the weekend so I knew I wasn't going to be doing any writing.

Then it was this week... we were going to Singapore on Friday, I had better start to think about packing. Oh, and I still hadn't heard anything. 'No news is good news" I cheerily told myself not believing it for a minute. No news is no news! But I was going to keep myself occupied. I had the whole week to complete my assignment so I sat down to do it.

There was a lot to do... 

I'd better have a good think about it...

The dogs need walking and I'd better nip to the shop.

You get the picture... three days of avoidance (not the tax kind - just the work one)

Then it's today - we fly tomorrow. I haven't packed.

I haven't done my assignment.... 

I haven't had a phone call...

Oh well - I think I'll take the dogs for a walk to take my mind off things....

Anger Issues...

So TJ's angry phase continues...

Yesterday, he decided he would like to eat his lunch in class - during a lesson.

Obviously, his teacher wasn't having any of that and she told him to put his lunchbox away, he did - but only after throwing a chocolate biscuit at her...

After he had thrown the biscuit he then ran out of class and ran away from school. Luckily the Head saw him from her window and raced after him - although, as the school gates were locked, I'm not sure where he would have gone. But TJ often finds places to hide if things don't go his way.

Like the time he fell out with Papa at a major shopping centre and told him he was going to look for a new family - so he ran and hid in Marks and Spencers. It was 20 minutes before we and the entire shopfloor staff located him. When I did find him I just held him as he sobbed into my arms.

Likewise, yesterday, after I had chatted with the Head Teacher and TJ had apologised to his class teacher for throwing a biscuit at her, as soon as we left the building TJ collapsed into floods of tears.

Something's going on.

Then I remembered a couple of things - well, to be honest, my Mum reminded me - Mum's are good at that. Whilst we are 'celebrating' the fact that it was four years this week that the boys were placed with us permanently, TJ may not see it as a cause for celebration - it reminds him that he is different from his friends, that he is adopted and it's an unfortunate reality that in school he is now reaching the age where being adopted means that you obviously weren't wanted by your 'real' family and that his friends are likely to be reminding him of this - especially after the fall outs he had last week. It could also explain his anger towards me - I'm not a 'mum' but I do 'mum' stuff. At 9years old everything is gender specific - we fight against it, naturally, reminding him that girls can be good at football and boys are allowed to play with dolls etc - but, as I am learning, even in this day and age, not all parents do the same thing. I've heard other Dad's (and I'm ashamed to say it does seem to be the fathers who are guilty of this) telling their sons not to be 'sissys' or to 'man up' - I love that phrase. I wonder how much of this is then being repeated to TJ by their sons.

I think further investigation is required - but it does make sense.

Also, we are due to visit Papa's family in Singapore next week for Chinese New Year - as my Mum pointed out, despite all the excitement of going away and seeing his grandparents, deep down TJ hates leaving home - he would stay in the house all day if he could - or at least only go as far as the park. I guess my Mum is right (she'll love me for saying that) - everytime we leave home, no matter where to or for how long, TJ gets upset - he can't cope. Deep down he must associate leaving home with being moved, either from birth family or from foster carer to foster carer. No matter how young he was when he was taken into care the memories of 'leaving' are deep seated.

So, whilst lots of lovely friends told us to 'celebrate' our four year anniversary together - to celebrate our life as a family - we didn't. They don't need reminding that they came to live with us - that might only remind them that in order to do so they had to leave somewhere else.

We'll find other things to celebrate - Chinese New Year seems the most obvious - although I think we will have to keep it low key - too many people just overwhelm him...

KC on the other hand - he loves the attention - but maybe that just masks something else... (actually, I don't think so - I think he just loves it!)

Sometimes we can be guilty of reading too much into our children's behaviours - but sometimes we get it right...

Or rather Mum does.

I'm Busy Doing Nothing...

So I've just had a meeting with our youngest's lovely headteacher.

He has had a bit of a difficult week which resulted in him falling out with another, boy. He has had a brilliant term - I know this because I have barely had to go into school since September, which is unheard of. Anyway, I won't go into details but suffice to say that TJ came off worse in the fight and had pulled out the 'I'm being bullied' card - which then had to be investigated. He's not being bullied - but he is being a little bit aggressive, especially over things that 'belong' to him. Like the football he kicked from a boy two years older - not a problem, except the boy was holding it at the time - and he retaliated.

So, the Head and I agreed that the best way forward was to get the two boys to apologise to each other and shake hands and be friends again - sometimes, the old fashioned ways are still the best.

But she also wanted to talk about the incredible progress TJ has made, both emotionally and educationally - he is doing really well. In many ways the 'scuffle' was a positive thing as TJ was showing that he was becoming more assertive, an individual and more of a 'normal' (for want of a better phrase) little boy.

I was quite relieved. Although he is being a little swine with me...

Last night he, KC and myself were chatting together in the car and KC asked who was cleverer, Papa or me? To which TJ immediately answered, 'Papa, of course, he has a job and goes to work - Daddy doesn't do anything."

I think my jaw nearly hit the floor - doubly so when KC reprimanded his younger brother saying, "you can't speak to Daddy like that!"

To which TJ replied, "But it's true - he doesn't do anything - he just sits at home all day."

It's funny because rather than get cross I went back to a similar conversation I had with my brother about our mum, she stayed at home as well - I think most mum's did back then, but we assumed that she did nothing as well. It's only now, as a parent, I realise just exactly how much she did for us.

Yes, I am studying and writing - but I enjoy those things and to TJ, it must just look as though I am playing on the computer. I enjoy cooking, as does TJ, so he doesn't see the preparing of meals as a chore. I'm quite tidy, as is he - so to him, I simply do the things he likes.

I told Papa about it and he was furious, really angry. Mainly because I didn't react. But I'm learning to choose my battles - one day, I may have to go away for work or to study and TJ will see exactly what I do - my getting cross with him would only have fed the argument he obviously wants to have.

Am I avoiding it?

Possibly - but my being called into school shows that he is going through a change of mood at the moment - and my rising to the bait, isn't going to do anything to lessen that.

Maybe I should have been cross - but instead I can write it here and get it out of my system.

On another note the Head Teacher also told me that, although she adores KC, taking him out of school was the best decision we could have made for TJ. Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing so its nice to have it verified by a professional who know both boys.

Likewise as we travelled to KC's school this morning he looked at me and smiled, a truly joyful smile, "I love my school." he said simply.

Despite all the challenges that lie ahead for him, getting the SEN in place, a specialist school twice a week - he does truly love it there - so maybe we made the best decision for him as well.

Statutory Assessment - the forms!

And so the quest for support continues - now it's learning support for our eldest.

After meeting with the school and then with the local education authority and, oddly enough, chatting with the virtual headteacher for our area, everyone seems to be in agreement that KC has additional needs that cannot be met by the school alone.

Everyone agrees, but I still have to get the paperwork in (as do the school) and even then there is no guarantee that an assessment will be even made - we are simply requesting the assessment at the moment. The Head teacher said to me in our meeting that they have other children with 'statements' in school - but none of them are as severely in need as KC - this is his third school in three years - why has no-one picked up on this? Which was also her argument.

But I can also see that KC has been battling his own demons, coming out of care and into an adoptive family is a tough journey. Then having to deal with his past and therapy for his behaviour, triggered by memories of his past abuse. Of course, as he settled so he found it easier to share his feelings, although often not in an appropriate way - and that was a learning curve for us as well.

Now, I think he has finally found a school where he is genuinely happy. Lots of sports, drama, creative activities and within half a term of his being there school has placed him into a specialist programme for dyslexic children - he attends there twice a week with another boy from his year group, so he even has friends...

But, it was incredibly emotional for me - to sit down and chat with a head teacher who 'gets it' - who understood what KC is about - her SEN teacher was also with us on the chat and she previously worked at our adoption agency, it really is a small world. After finally being listened to I thought I was going to cry - I just kept saying 'thank you'. The Head told me this was going to be a long hard fight but that KC needed the input - he is so far behind his year group - which can be due to so many factors. But, he was polite, cheerful, very worried about me (apparently) and a lovely little boy - was it really the same KC?

She is going to fight with me to get this little boy everything he needs so he can simply take part in class. The gaps in his education are huge - probably due to missed opportunties in his early years, although they can't rule out other factors such as undiagnosed Foetal Alcohol Syndrome - or something similar.

I told her I had fought for the boys from the minute they arrived. Getting their promised post adoption support to actually materialise had resulted in three stages of complaint with their placing authority and my working with the local Government Ombudsman. We eventually ended up in court.  Nothing about this adoption had ever been easy. She didn't seem surprised, I think the SEN teacher had filled her in on adoption practices.

I came out of the meeting with mixed emotions - pleased that KC was at a school that understands his needs and is willing to help him  achieve his potential but also angry at myself and the previous schools who had missed it - perhaps I should have pushed harder. And already exhausted from the next round of obstacles I know are going to be placed in our way to prevent me from getting the funding for the educational support this little boy, who has suffered so much and yet continues to come through it all, needs!

What Happens To Me When you Die?

"What happens to me when you die?"

That was KC's little gem of a question over breakfast this morning. I wasn't really prepared. I'm doing the Dryathalon for Cancer Research and am finding waking up in the mornings with a clear head quite unnerving (that was a joke by the way - before I get told off!...).

He carried on munching his toast. 

"What do you mean?" I asked him, "If I die, which I hope I won't, then Papa will look after you, won't he?"

"But what if he dies too - what if there's a really big car crash and the car explodes and you and Papa are both killed. What happens to me?"

I was a bit taken aback by the vivid description of our death and his seeming ability to be unfazed by it. I loved the fact that he wasn't at all upset by the thought of Papa and I being destroyed in a fireball but worried more about what happens to him afterward - and, I noted, there was no mention of his brother - just him.

But, I guess thats the joy of being ten - life is all about you. Mind you, I know quite a few adults who still think like that.

I looked over at TJ who was now staring intently at me over his bowl of cereal. I could see they were both waiting for an answer.

"Well," I began, "In the, hopefully, unlikely event that Papa and I should both be killed in a car accident then you will probably go and live with your Aunty and Uncle in Manchester (my sister) or with Aunty and Uncle in Singapore (Dylan's sister). And Granny would want you or even your Godparents, Fairy and Furry."

"So I don't have to go back into care then?" KC asked.

"No," I reassured him, "You have a family now - not just our family but a whole extended family that includes Grandparents and Aunties and Uncles and cousins and lots of people who would happily look after you should anything happen to Papa and me. No-one would see you go back into care. Ok?"

KC seemed happy with this answer and TJ went back to eating his cereal.

I don't know whre this sudden insecurity had come from. Perhpas it's a sign of his willingness to accept that this is a forever home and yet, at the same time, he questions what happens if the two people who offer the forever home disappear - as so many people have in his life. After all, most children don't even have to consider the difference between their 'home' and a 'forever home'.

"If you do die," TJ suddenly piped up, "I think I'll choose to go and live in Singapore - I don't support Manchester Untied so I won't live there."

I was about to tell him that I don't think he would actually get to choose and that I'm pretty sure there are more Man Utd fans in Singapore than there are in Manchester but decided against it and just nodded as the two boys weighed up the various pro's and cons of living with the various family members. 

Again, I noticed sadly, there was no remorse shown about our demise. 

I hope they at least come to the funeral.

I blame the Prime Minister....

Well, it's been a while... but Christmas is now well and truly over.

The boys are back at school, Papa is back at work and I am back to normality. If normality includes having three Open University assignments to be completed and handed in within the next two weeks - trust me to choose to do three courses at once, I thought I was being productive...

Christmas was great fun in the end. I got the dreaded flu bug and was knocked off my feet for the first few days, then I handed the baton onto KC who in turn passed it onto his 91 year old Nan. That caused great concern but as Nan said, 'It'll take a lot more than a few germs to make her miss out on all the sherry!"

We all blame TJ, who in turn blames the prime minister. Let me elaborate.

Just before Christmas we were lucky enough to be invited to 10 Downing Street for the Children's Christmas Party, hosted by Edward Timpson, the children's minister. He mad a brief appearance towards the end, I think he felt safer if he let the parents have a few glasses of mulled wine before he showed up - although the lady I was chatting with was practically lying in wait so she could demand to know more about her children's adoption support. I wouldn't have crossed her, with or without mulled wine.

But, actually he was very pleasant, even though he looks about twelve. The boys had a great time, they met the 'real' Father Christmas (because as TJ told us, the Prime Minister wouldn't have a fake Father Christmas in his house) and watched the reindeer play in the garden. They met Paddington and one of the princesses from Frozen (I think that was who she was meant to be). Anyway they loved it and afterwards Papa and I decided we needed to eat some proper food - the canapes were lovely but incredibly small (austerity canapes?) -  although the boys filled up on sandwiiches and crisps. So we walked into Chinatown for dim sum. On the way TJ decided he didn't feel very well and by the time we got home he had a raging temperature - and so the flu came to visit our house - hence TJ blames the PM for our family illness. I'm sure Nanny would approve.

Apart from that Christmas was fun. We had my Mum, Granny down to stay along with her ASBO dog - which meant that the cat had to go to the cattery and our older dog spent most of the time hiding under the bed. the puupy loved ASBO though and the two of them spent the holiday period play fighting and generally getting up to no good.

Poor Granny still had a cough though, which I then got, followed by KC and then TJ. Poor Papa, at one point he resorted to watching the television with the subtitles turned on as he couldn't hear it over the noise of our 'hacking'.

But, all is back to normal now. The boys are still a bit stunned by the sudden going back to school - in fact they both look decidedly hung over each morning , as if they can't quite believe what is happening. Mum and ASBO have gone home and I have finally managed to get the house back to normal, although I imagine I will be finding pine needles well into August.

Next stop - Chinese New Year!

Carols, Coughs and Gas...

I hadn't planned to write this as today's blogpost - in fact I had almost forgotten about it and to be honest, I'm not actually supposed to be here. At this very moment I'm supposed to be sat in the school hall with three hundred other parents all desperate to get a look at our darling children as they murder some Christmas Carol or other - as you may remember from last year's post (or was it the year before) the school carol concert is usually quite comical - for all the wrong reasons. Instead of craning to see my 8 year old belting out While Shepherd's washed their socks (that never gets old) I get to see him close up as he sits on my lap coughing and sneezing... it really is quite unpleasant. Maybe I should have sent him to school and then I could see him coughing and sneezing from a distance - although that would be irresponsible as he would infect the rest of his class.

It wouldn't be so bad if KC wasn't at home as well. He broke up last week and has been driving me bonkers ever since - he's bored, there's nothing to do, can he watch TV?... again. Of course everything I suggest we do together is 'boring' - my ten year old has suddenly turned fifteen.

But last week we had a bit of a scare - I went into my eldest son's room and smelt something very strange. Odd smells are normal in a ten year old boy's room - I know this after sharing a room with my particularly smelly brother for many years - I, of course, smelled only of Giorgio Armani - the after shave of choice in 1985!

However, this smell was very strange - a sickly sweet odour that could only mean one thing - gas!

We recently had a lot of alterations to the house and most of them involved KC's room which is directly above the car port, where the main point for the gas is. I rushed downstairs and got the carbon monoxide monitor which immediately went off. We panicked.

I immediately opened all the windows and called the emergency gas number. I followed their instructions, turned off the gas at the mains, opened all the doors and waited for the gasman to come.

To be fair, he arrived within the hour, not bad for a Saturday afternoon, and came straight into KC's room. "I don't know what that smell is?" he said, "but I don't think it's gas. What worries me is that your carbon monoxide alarm keeps going off."

He took out his own monitor, it said everything was fine but, unfortunately for us, the gasman wasn't prepared to take any chances, and he had a flight to Tunisia to catch at 7pm (I know he told me... many times!) So he shut everything down and told me to call a gas repair man to check on the problem.

You try getting a gas repair man on a Saturday evening - it wasn't going to happen. So we were facing a weekend without heating or hot water.

Then I had a brainwave. I called the builder that did the work on the room. He immediately called his mate who did the plumbing and fitted in the radiators. He promised to be round straight away. As luck would have it, he lives around the corner from us.

So he came and checked everything out. There was no Carbon Monoxide and no gas leak. He checked our carbon alarm. It was dated 2009 and, as we were then told, after five years it would begin beeping to let us know that it needed to be changed. They only last for five years apparently. So that was why it had gone off - it just chose to go off when I placed it in KC's room.

But that didn't explain the strange gas-like smell - we were all puzzled. Then KC came into the room and immediately looked sheepish.

"What have you done?" I asked him.

"Well," he said, "You know that you told me to clean my rugby boots? Well, I did and then they were wet - so I put them on the radiator to dry - and I think that's what is making the smell."

I looked at the radiator which had now cooled and there on top was balanced a pair of rugby boots. I didn't need to smell them - we could all smell them, a strange mixture of over heated plastic and boy foot sweat... It's amazing that once you know what a smell is then you can pinpoint immediately where it is coming from.

The plumber howled. I sighed with relief. "Emergency over!" I laughed.

"Yes," agreed the plumber, " Now that'll be a £75 weekend call out fee," he laughed.

I didn't.

Christmas Cheers!

The problem with Christmas is that it seems to take ages to get here and then suddenly everything seems to happen at once - and at the same time! (not unlike the storm bomb that the UK is currently experiencing - such a great phrase, 'storm bomb' - it makes great headlines!)

Well, we are currently experiencing a Christmas bomb - I'm not sure how we are managing to fit everything in - in fact, sometimes I don't actually know which event I'm attending. I'm guessing this is how members of the royal family must feel - hurriedly moving from one mind numbingly boring event to the next, making small talk and shaking hands whilst simultaneously wondering if they remembered to set the Sky plus to record 'Casualty' - or perhaps thats just me.

Whilst having the boys in two separate schools has made life so much more bearable in many ways, it's at this time of year that it becomes manic. We have two of everything to attend - carol services, Christmas Fayres (both spelt with in a jaunty medievial fashion - in fact they both pretty much had exactly the same things on offer, although the posh school's one priced everything at double the state school.)

Actually, one really nice thing is that this has been the first year since the boys came to us that they both seem completely immersed in the whole Christmas experience. They wrote proper full-on 'lists' to Father Christmas - completely selfishly asking for everything they have ever seen on telelvision -and then adding a few more. Previously, we have taken a peek at their lists only to find them having barely anything on them - and never anything of value - as if they weren't worthy of asking for nice things. Last year KC asked for stuff for the pets as he 'didn't need anything'.

So I was heartened to see the 'full on' list.

I know it's hard, and I am in no way knocking foster carers, who do an amazing job, but Christmas must be so difficult when you have children in care living with you alongside your own family. For the boys they had an 'allowance' of £20 each from social services for the foster carrer to buy them a Christmas gift - they were with their final carers for 2 Christmases, and I know their foster carer bought more for them - but it can't be the same sitting with another family on Christmas morning and knowing, deep down, that you are not really a part of it. And I'm sure that the boys must have missed their birth families at that time - perhaps they still do, or rather they miss a memory of what they think it was like - fuelled by television shows. I do know that KC is very wary of people being drunk at this time of year.

However, I found out that TJ ripped his list up and decided to change it. He has decided only to put on the things he wants the most - so Santa will get him the right toy (a Nintendo 3DS). I know this because he told the hairdresser last night whilst he was having his hair cut. It was the first I had heard of it - luckily Santa is able to fulfil that wish.

KC, on the other hand, is on the cusp of 'getting it'. I think his list this year is a test - seeing just how much loot he can get if he 'still believes'. He has just turned 10 now - so he has already decided he is too old to actually see Santa, but he has agreed to go with his younger brother.

We put the Christmas tree up this week and as we did so I pulled out all the things they had made over the past few years. KC took one look and demanded that everything he had made be taken down as it was 'rubbish'. I know this is how he views himself. So I insisted that everything went on, despite his mumblings that he hated me, and a little later I spot him out of the corner of my eye just looking at everything he has made.

He is in a funny place - Christmas does that...

But tonight I shall be attending his end of term drama club play (he is worried he might have stage fright - he's a reindeer - but I've told him it doesn't matter, I'll be there anyway and I shall clap really loudly for him) and then we race straight over to the cathedral for KC's carol service - he is still angry that I signed him up to be in the choir, although he loves singing he didn't want to do it in front of everyone.. because, (yes you've guessed it) he's 'rubbish'. I've told him it doesn't matter I shall sing much louder than him anyway.

And where is Papa this evening whilst I am running from place to place? At his works Christmas party!!!! I miss those - actually going out to meet people and drink and have fun - and not talk about exam results or little Lucy's ballet classes (she's doing ever so well...)

Oh well - I'd better start practising 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' - something tells me I'll be belting it out a few times in the next week or so!

And just as we get school out of the way my mother will arrive - with her ASBO dog! (I've booked the cat into a cattery already - at least he will have a peaceful Christmas...

Puppies, Grapes and Leaving Home...

It's been a hectic few days, which resulted in my missing my weekly post - hopefully I can make up for it this week!

It's been mainly the dogs that have caused us worry this week.

Our eldest dog, the toothless Cairn, managed to grow an ulcer, on her eye, it wasn't pleasant. Poor thing. After two weeks of treatment at the local vet he decided that we were going to have to see the specialist, so we drove thirty miles to the nearest pet hospital and they decided to operate there and then. The ulcer was removed and a contact lense placed on the eye to help it heal - I never realised they made contact lenses for dogs - luckily we had maintained her insurance as the bill would have ensured that Christmas was cancelled otherwise.

On the same morning the puppy, bonkers Cocker, decided to get into the fruit bowl and consume about half a kilo of grapes - I blamed the boys to begin with then found all the stalks under the coffee table. Whilst the vet was looking at the toothless Cairn I mentioned in passing what the puppy had done. I laughed... he didn't. 'You need to bring her in as soon as you get home," he said with a worrying tone, "That amount of grapes is potentially fatal."

I had no idea that grapes were so toxic. So I raced the puppy back to the vet and she stayed there all day having her stomach pumped and being induced to vomit.

It was a fun day in the Williams' household that day.

The vet continued telling me that it wasn't just grapes that were toxic to dogs, but raisins and alcohol as well - especially fruit cake. She had better not go near my Christmas cake - after three months of being 'fed' I think there is more brandy than fruit in it.

And now it's advent!

Both boys have dealt with Christmas with difficulty over the past few years - can you believe this is their fourth with us! It's also the first one where it feels like Christmas is coming.

TJ won't allow anything about Christmas to be mentioned before December the first - he gets quite angry when he sees people put their decorations up before then - I think he may be a member of the advent police.

Both boys have their birthdays this month as well, so despite being very expensive, it's also quite emotional for them both. Add to that the fact that they came to live with us just after Christmas, then seeing the tree go up can trigger off quite a few emotions.

This weekend, TJ decided he wanted to find a new family. One without any children where there would just be him. For most children I'm sure this is a usual occurence, I remember running away when I was about 9 and going to my friends house and eating jam sandwiches. I was home for tea - but at least I showed my parents I was serious about going.

But for TJ its different, he has had a few families, birth, various foster and now his forever family. But what is forever to an 8 year old? If TJ wants a new family then in his mind that is a reality that could actually happen.

We decided to treat it with humour. He presented me with his packed bags first thing in the morning, I asked him what he was going to eat. He decided not to leave until after breakfast.

After breakfast he remembered it was Sunday roast dinner - chicken, his favourite, he decided to stay for that. In between KC was jubilant, TJ was going and because letters to Santa had already been written then KC would also get all of TJ's presents. KC was practically pushing his younger brother out of the door.

I could see things were going too far. So I took TJ upstairs and sat with him. "Why do you want to leave?" I asked, "You know that we will all be very sad to see you go?"
"No you won't," he said quite calmly, "You are always telling me off and making me do stuff I don't like - like tidying my room and homework."
"Everyone has to do those," I said, "Even in this 'new' family"
"They won't," he said, "Because they want a little child and they will love me and give me everything I want."

Suddenly I thought I was being blackmailed.

"Well," I said, "Think of all the things we already do for you - cooking your meals, buying you clothes, taking you to football and to the park - and playing with your brother - won't you miss all that?"

He thought about it. "I'll come back to visit , " he said, "And I'll come back for Christmas."

"But what happens if your new family move away - or we do?" I asked him.

He thought about it - but didn't have an answer, then KC popped his head around the door, he'd obviously been listening in. "You're not really going are you?" he asked his brother. Even in KC's mind it was a real possibility that his younger brother could leave.

"He's coming down for lunch," I told him deciding this conversation was coming to an end.

We had lunch and at the end of it TJ made his announcement."I've decided to stay," he declared, "because Daddy is the bestest cook in the world."

This morning he shot out of bed with a spring! "It's advent!" he shouted, "Where's my calendar - I want to eat chocolate!!!!"

So the way to man's heart is definately via his stomch!!!!!!

A Tale of Two Sickies...

It's never fun when your child is ill.

It's doubly worse when they are both ill at the same time... as we found out.

Over the weekend TJ came down with a particularly nasty chest infection - he is very small for his age so his little body doesn't cope very well with infections. Add in his asthma and this weekend was set to be pretty bleak. He has a home respirator and spent much of the weekend sitting in front of the TV while the machine whirred alongside him. To be honest, its a pretty annoying noise and KC soon got fed up - but as I pointed out to him it was either the whirring of the respirator or TJ's coughing that interrupted his movie... and, anyway, I pointed out , if TJ gets any worse we are all off to the hospital to make sure he is ok. KC decided that the whirring wasn't that annoying after all - and turned the sound up on the TV.

TJ copes well with illness, he was born prematurely and since his birth and diagnosis of a genetic disorder he has been in and out of hosptial for most of his young life. To a point where I am trying to keep him away from hospitals and doctors as he seems to revel in going. It's as if the attention that he gets from them makes up for something missing in his life - either that or the attention takes him back to his early chidhood and he finds comfort in it. We could hypothesise all day, but my gut instinct tells me that his obsession with doctors is not a healthy one.

He spent the whole day asking if the doctor had called and were we going soon to see him. As it was, once I had managed to get through, the doctor couldn't see him until Thursday anyway and I didn't want to risk a weak chest at the local A and E unless it was a genuine emergency, so we decided to wait and see. As it was the respirator did the trick and he went on with life. Although even once he was better he still wanted to go to the hospital - just to make sure.

KC on the other hand, is never ill. Never. So when he woke up on Monday morning with a sore throat it was a bit of a shock for him. I found him in the bathroom in floods of tears, convinced that he was going to die. "It's just a sore throat," I told him, "It'll get better in a few days."

This didn't reassure him, "What if it gets worse and I can't eat - then am I going to die?"

"You are not going to die," I said as I administered the Calpol.

"But my friend says that the doctors will put a camera up my nose," I don't know who this 'friend' is but I could kill him for the amount of dumb advice he gives out.

'Nobody is putting anything up your nose," I said, "besides I don't think my phone will fit up there!" i thought some humour may diffuse the situation... it didn't - he just eyed my phone warily.

So now my youngest has skipped off to school happily informing his teachers that he is really ill but if he gets worse then Daddy will pick him up. Whilst my eldest lies on the sofa watching endless cartoons and drinking water whilst moaning that he may never eat crisps again... well, every cloud has a silver lining.

Politics in School

Handling issues at school is always tough - particularly when it concerns politics and what your child is exposed to.

I don't want to come across as too political but let me explain.

We live in an area that is about to have a by-election, thanks to the defection of our MP to UKIP and this has led to an explosion in political activism across the area.

We are called two to three times a day, either by opinion poll companies or the political parties themselves all trying to ascertain which way we are going to vote - Papa now tells them all he will vote for them, just to get them off the line. I tend to stay and chat - well, its nice to have a grown up to talk to during the day. I've had some lovely chats with some of the most unexpected people - then I tell them that they are wasting their time as I already know who I am voting for.

Just last week the man from UKIP called and KC answered. 'There's a man from You Kick (sic) on the phone and he wants to talk about his by erection,' KC shouted - I hid a smile and asked him to tell the man to hold on. I kept him there for a good ten minutes whilst I put away the washing and then hung up the phone. You can tell I'm not a fan.

Last week over on twitter there was a hash tag caption #Ask Nigel Farage and someone had placed the tweet '#AskNigelFarage if he saw a mixed race gay family with adopted white kids would he have a coronary?'. It made me smile - after all, we are that family. What didn't make me smile was the barrage of homophobic and racist abuse that came after it. 'The gay marriage bill can be overturned', 'these children can be taken back' etc - all sorts of really upsetting stuff - I don't do twitter a lot but this made my blood boil.

Then I went into school to do my voluntary work and whilst there I overheard the lunchtime staff chatting about the election - they were all of one mind - 'I'm voting UKIP cause there's too many bloody foreigners here." I may have paraphrased but that was completely the gist - you know the sort of thing. I couldn't keep quiet. "I'm sorry,' I said (I don't know why I began with an apology), "But my partner and TJ's dad is from overseas and I really don't want TJ hearing this kind of thing - would you mind keeping your opinions to yourselves?"

I hope I was that polite. I was met with dagger looks. "It's because of the foreigners that my husband can't get a job," I was told, quickly followed by, "the Labour and Tory government's just let anyone in, they don't care," and my personal favourite, "I'm not racist, I just don't think we should let any more of 'them' in."

I watched as the children filed by into the dining hall and realised I was not going to win this argument.

But as I watched the children I wondered not only about my own son with a Singaporean Papa - but also about those kids of any non-British ethnicity who ran the risk of overhearing such views - how did they feel? After all, whatever your politics children don't have any choice and I'm sorry - but using the word 'immigrant'  or 'foreigner' instead of more unpleasant terminology does not suddenly make racism or xenophobia ok.

In certain circles, UKIP is making both racism and homophobia acceptable (although I am sure they would deny it) and I don't believe that a primary school is a suitable place for this to be discussed. Especially not in front of my son.

The Unexpected Post...

Today's post was supposed to be about the success of National Adoption Week, about the National Adoption Awards and the fun we had followed by a successful presentation to would be adopters with the LGBT group Spectrum at Barclays.

I say supposed to be...

As I was putting my notes together this morning there was knock at the door - the postman - he usually delivers the registered letters and parcels for everyone in the street to me, as I'm the only one at home all day. We joke that I run the sorting office for the entire street. Its not a funny joke but we make it every time.

But this time I had to sign for a letter for myself and Dylan (I'm using his name now - so he doesn't feel like chopped liver). I sat down and opened it and onto the kitchen counter fell a picture of a beautiful little girl. I then opened the rest of the letter. I didn't need to read it. I knew who it was.

It was the first picture we had seen of the boys' sister in nearly 5 years - the only picture we had previously was one in their life story book of a grinning baby.

As I said in a previous post, the social workers had managed to misplace our contact agreements and as far as the sister's family knew we didn't want to have anything to do with them. However, that has all been resolved and we agreed to swap photos and letters once a year. I had sent mine off last month and today theirs arrived.

It was a lovely photo of a beamingly happy little girl who was the mix of both of her brothers - she had KC's incredible hair colour - the hairdresser is always telling him that 'people pay to have their hair coloured like yours!" and TJ's cheeky little grin.

I looked at the photo of the little girl with a fat dog in her lap and cried. I just cried - ridiculous - but there it is.

I am one of three - myself, my brother and our baby sister - just like our kids. My only thought was - what would have happened if my brother and I had been separated from our sister (whom I love dearly).  We are even similar in age gaps.

Of course, the sister is completely happy and probably blissfully unaware of two brothers she has never met - but to the boys? I'm not sure - they know about her. We have talked about her and they have asked after her. Now we shall sit down with them and chat about this picture and how happy she is without yet knowing if and when they can meet - and should they meet? Would it be more damaging? Are we going to get family jealousy - 'Why didn't I live with her parents?' etc - is this constant sense of insecurity peculiar to adoptive parents alone?

I'm forever concerned that my boys will one day wake up and realise that I'm a fraud and have no idea how to be a parent.

As National Adoption Week has focussed on siblings this week I think it is also pertinent to look at those that can't be together and the incredible job of the adoptive parents to manage that contact - as was said at the awards on Tuesday, brothers and sisters are all we have once our parents have gone - they are our immediate family and that bond will and should always remain.

To be honest, I don't really speak to my brother now - he distanced himself when the adoption went through - whatever his reasons are I know one day we will all need each other again.

But for now...

I think I want another child...

Maybe I'm just being sentimental...

Maybe...

A Sibling Pair - Guest Blogpost for BAAF

The original transcript for this Blogpost can be seen at http://www.baaf.org.uk/blog/sibling-pair

Three years ago we made the biggest decision of our lives. We adopted two boys - two brothers, or as the social workers like to refer to them, a sibling pair.

To be honest, I’d never really used the word ‘sibling’ prior to coming into adoption. I never referred to my own brother and sister as my siblings but there is a lot about adoption that is new to us.
For some children being adopted with their siblings is not the best option. I can see the reasoning in some cases, the child needs to learn to attach to their new family, and dysfunctional sibling bonds need to be broken and re-built.  Also just as importantly, a child is far more likely to actually be adopted if they come on their own due to a shortage of adopters who are willing and able to adopt a sibling group.

We know this to be the case. When we adopted our two boys they had just turned 6 and 4 years old. We knew that we were our older boys last chance of adoption with his brother. Had we not come along when we did then he would have remained in care whilst the family finders set to work on an adoption plan for his younger 4 year old brother. An adoption plan that didn’t include him. An adoption plan that would have seen them separated – but would have been a realistic option for the younger boy – after all 4 is the average age at which most children are adopted in the UK.

The boys have a younger sister – she had gone into the care system at birth and was easily adopted – the chance of having a baby was just too good an opportunity for any adoptive parent and the sister went straight away into an adoptive placement.  The idea of adopting her alongside her brothers was never even considered. The boys never met her. The only contact they ever had with their sister after they went into care was seeing a picture of a smiling baby in their life story books.

But, after much soul searching and ‘can we do this’ chats – we decided that these two boys were going to be ours and that we would be a family. We also asked that there be some form of contact set up with not only the birth mother but also their birth sister.

This was agreed and we had two lively little boys placed with us.

Our lives changed.

Adopting siblings has its ups and downs – the boys have an incredible bond that often seems unbreakable to us. Often the younger will still turn to the older for comfort rather than coming to us and we have to accept that. We had to learn that the elder boy was always going to be the youngest boy’s first point of call.  The boys had shared a difficult past together but they had also come through it together. They did everything together – our job as adoptive parents was, and is, to let them realize that they are individuals. That they are both worthy of their own lives, believe me, the lack of self worth is paramount in many adopted children, particularly those from abusive backgrounds.

We put the boys into separate schools – not just to break a dysfunctional bond, but also to give them time to be themselves. It was tough for both of them at first but now, two years on, everyone agrees it was the best move. The older is loving sport and drama and making his own group of friends – he is no longer constantly running after his brother or checking that he is ok. He has finally stopped parenting and is enjoying being a child.

The younger took a little more time to settle without his brother constantly by his side. But we were prepared for that and his school was amazing – they totally supported the idea and completely supported the youngest boy in his transition to a school life without his brother as a crutch. Now he skips into school ready and eager to learn and to meet his own group of friends. Where he was once shy and reliant on his older brother for everything he is now confident and popular, his life is one steady stream of playmates and parties.

We often laugh that their social lives are busier than ours.

But now they have social lives – they come back after each day at school and chat with each other about mundane things such as what they both had for school lunch, what they studied or played. We are no longer caught up in life that is built merely on their past together.

We have kept in touch with their sister and through regular exchanges of letters and photos.  We see her grow up happy and healthy and the boys are often asking after her. 

I hope one day that the can finally meet their sister – but only when everyone is ready.

Adopting siblings is hard work but it is incredibly rewarding. To watch them play together, have fun, even fight – as boys often do, usually over the most trivial things, to see them grow into (for want of a better phrase) normal fun loving children is a joy. 

To anyone considering adopting brothers or sisters I would only have this advice - look at the children as individual beings – not as a ‘sibling pair’.