Monday 28 December 2015

This Year

Christmas is the time I consider the year gone and the year ahead. Right now the house looks like a blend of an explosion in a tinsel and  a derelict children's play area after a brawl. Not good but that's Christmas. The worst of it's over now so as I languish in the netherland between Christmas and New Year my mind drifts to the year that's been.

It's been a mixed year with the children, I re-calibrated my expectations in that regard many years ago so there's no abiding sense of disappointment or loss. It is what it is and we do what we do.
There have been some interesting  moments, a bit of police interaction which was very positive, an Initial Assessment by children's services which was interesting (the second in 12 months) and we instigated the assessment of needs out of curiosity. I feel sorry for my Post Adoption Social Worker she has to put up with me and my unauthorised use of her as a monitoring and logging tool. She'll no doubt rue the day I got her email address, bless her.

Otherwise I've been here there and everywhere. Met load of fascinating people. Mixed in all of the work stuff there have been some high powered meetings and speaking opportunities, all very la dee dah.

However, the most profound moment was the day I posted on living with violence. I uploaded the post teatime on a Thursday and by 7pm I was being told to tweet the link and pass on the details. My phone buzzed without ceasing for the next 48 hours with hundreds of notifications as people messaged me, emailed and spoke of their experiences, fears and circumstances. Many heartbreaking and distressing stories were passed to me. But it's stuck with me and re reading it I'm not sure what provoked the response in my post as the issue seems to have been touched on by many organisations and bloggers before and since but I seemed to hit a nerve on that day. It's lingered long in my mind and was a remarkable few days. The reality is that adopters care for children who can easily be categorised as 'at risk' but in doing so many of us put ourselves 'at risk'. Thought provoking stuff.

Lots of other stuff of course, the DfE, the ASF, moving house, Sarah came home, work and the long summer without internet access at home all made up a remarkable year.

As for the future, well, we keep on keeping on. There are plenty of opportunities and lots of work to do. I'm aware of the gaps in my knowledge and understanding and am hoping to develop that to inform all that I do in the home first then professionally. One of the key issues facing this community is the efficacy therapeutic interventions is close to our families heart and I am convinced it will become the issue that many will wrestle with increasingly in 2016. More importantly I see that the voices of adoptees are often the quietest and least heard. We've work to do.

Of course at home there will be hard days, good days and the odd and unexpected easy days. We'll see what comes our way here at Coates Acres.

I wish you all blessings for the coming year.


Albums of the Year:
The War on Drugs - Lost in the Dream
Ozzy Osbourne - Tribute

Books of the Year: 
Maya Angelou- I know why the caged bird sings (I've not finished it yet!)
The Cruel Sea - Nicholas Monserrat

Film of the year:
Whiplash

Blogpost of the Year
Suddenly Mummy - Seven Stages of Being dumped with a Stranger


Thursday 10 December 2015

Little Boy

I've been ahead of myself and written up a blog recounting the protracted and somewhat tense negotiations this weekend in relation to Flossy's desire to ring Childline. Of course it's the same old same old and perhaps a little formulaic, a little too predictable. As it was unravelling and reaching it's head butting crescendo, her not me I hasten to add*,  I couldn't help feel that it was blogging gold. What a strange perspective.

But then I got a text whilst on my commute that knocked the wind out of my sails.

"How long was I in care for, I'm filling a form in for Uni'

It was Ginger.


I sat teary eyed in the carriage, how had that happened? How had that little boy 20 months old, totally besotted in equal measure with Mrs C, his new mammy, and Thomas the Tank Engine turned into this 6 ft tall man on the cusp of university and adult life. More than that it was a reminder that he wasn't always part of my life and he traveled a rocky road to our life.

I sent back the dates from the last century of the beginning and end of his LAC journey. A lifetime ago for him with no personal memory just secondhand stories from us and his big sister and pictures in a book.  I recalled the vulnerability and the strain I felt in those first years when we formed a family. The challenge of his initial disinterest in me and my failings, my mistakes and insecurities. How that thawed and I grew up a bit. Grew up a lot, I was 27 when he came into my life with his big sisters.

The memories flashed round my head, the days we did this and he did that, the fun the tears and the laughs. What a sentimental fool I was being, if it were not for the other passengers I would have wept.

The time has just gone too damn quick and I can't go back and savour the moments that the 44 year old me knows that the 27 year old me should have done. Of course that's the advantage of age and experience. So, it dawned on me that I've less than a year to savour with my little boy, I need to give my head a shake and slow down, pause the moments and be with my son. This man that I feel so proud of, not like me in so many ways, but such a part of me and my life.

Its a reminder to me that I need to slow down and savour the moments with all my children. Of course I exclude the Childline moments, maybe.



*In her defence I think it was accidental, though it still hurt.





Thursday 3 December 2015

Tectonic Plates

Over the last few weeks I've been playing a game. I slide up to people I know, brighter and wiser people, and all nonchalant like, when they least expect, it I ask them:

'So, what do you think about adoption?'

What interesting things people say. They normally ask for clarification 'why, what do you mean, eh?' Then we talk, I ask few questions and they give a few answers and the things people that have said to me have been very interesting, very interesting indeed.

It's not a game. My views have shifted, slowly like tectonic plates from the naive ill informed enthusiasm of 18 years ago to now. The trouble is that I'm not sure what I think, I am but I aren't.

Riding up the country gave me time to ponder, but I came up empty, more questions than answers.

The money that changes hands and the business, the dogma and the ideology, injustices and punishment, the challenges and recruitment, the expectations and the promises, the hopes and the dreams, the realities and the wonder,  the adopters, the families, the children, the love. I've not even mentioned human rights and parental responsibilities.

Increasingly I struggle to articulate my thoughts in words and though I can offer to demonstrate my views through expressive dance there's too much to say.



In no way am I turning my back on adoption and I am certain that I love the children in my life I've been given to parent. I even struggle to say my children these days. Perhaps that's a reaction to the US adoption month stuff that floats around the internet. Perhaps that's too much airy fairy social worky thinking. Perhaps it's all too much airy fairy social worky thinking.

Of course my views are informed by my relatively narrow experience and the experience of those I come into contact with. But there's a yearning to know more. So, blog about nothing but that's what I'm doing now looking for more understanding and nuance. I worry that my views push beyond my knowledge and into opinion that I become an empty vessel, hollow but loud. So, if you seem me slide up to you prepare yourself I might expect you to give account of your views.


Wednesday 2 December 2015

EAG Adoption Support Group: Education

The quarterly DfE Expert Advisory Group rolled around and this time the focus was on education. Crickey, release the floodgates. Without doubt one of the topics that I'm sure any parent, adoptive or not, will be able to share an opinion or two on usually with gusto. 

To start with we touched on the meeting that the Adoption UK's Adopter's Voice programme had held at the DfE and Sally D and I fed back from that. 
We then moved onto the main focus of the meeting and with Peter Sandiford giving feedback from the PAC UK's survey on education.  Our special guest, Gareth Marr,  followed this with a presentation on thoughts and benefits of the Virtual Schools incorporating adopted children into their remit.  Both very good and helpful, to be honest they were preaching to the choir and we all saw the benefits that could be actualised if the Virtual Schools did this. Certainly Gareth's charismatic presence added weight to the argument and it was a pleasure to have his experience brought to bear.


It's clear that in the short term that no edict will be issues to make heads of the virtual schools incorporate adopted children into their virtual schools. However, some have and  this has been found to be beneficial for the adopted children and as was noted if it benefits one child in a classroom then it is likely to benefit all the children. 

One of the key roles of the Virtual School is to train teaching staff and I find the argument that in training and equipping schools to support and accommodate adopted children they will develop a skill set that will benefit all children. So, to sell it to schools re frame the training required as part of a range of necessary teaching skills in supporting pupils in relation to loss, separation, bereavement, trauma and, finally, attachment. The number of children that are impacted by these events far out number adopted children. I'm thinking divorce, separation, children of those incarcerated or in the armed forces, bereavement, those experiencing abuse or living in a violent home. A range of experiences but the reality is that if schools see the bigger picture they are more likely to be able to incorporate specific children's needs as well as histories and home contexts.

In no way was the meeting derogatory towards teaching staff and it was acknowledged the challenges that they face in the context of Ofsted requirements and increasingly punitive behaviour contracts and  the like. Lots was discussed and there is more to be unpicked and that will no doubt be done over the next few months and added into the pot.

So, in summary a positive EAG meeting group discussion. 



Tuesday 1 December 2015

Day 4: To Northumberlandia

12:49 am and day 3 had creeped into day 4. I was laying in the swallow barn in a barn, eating Hula Hoops and trying to read my copy of The Cruel Sea I'd lugged 306 miles up the country. My mind dotted around conversations and thoughts from that evening with Amanda B to the pondering that I'd indulged in as I rode. If anything I've come away more confused than ever. There appears to very few certainties in the realm of adoption with nuance and questions in direct opposition to dogma and historic practice. 

We slept late and took a lift to the nearest bike shop after I've fixed yet another puncture.

After a quick fix we headed off into the rain. In all my days cycling I've never been so cold with the wet. Zippy weeped with joy as his rear mech unravelled, stood under a bush I pushed my skills to the limit while he ate yet another snickers and giggled. 
23 miles later we drew up to my old friend's, D & D. As adopters of 15 children they are legends and caught Mrs C & I when we fell. Top draw people. 
True to form they fed us and dried out our clothes, two hours later we set off on the last leg wrapped in plastic bags, classy.
The last leg through the industrial landscape of County Durham and Tyneside was in stark contrast to the central London landscape we'd set off from. The temperature dropped and we slogged past the iconic northern landscapes.

Then we arrived in the dark, Mrs C a Colour Carwen and Lotty welcomed us an we were relieved.

We said some words, I threw my parliament green mud at her face. Northumberlandia is a thing of beauty but to many who live in her shadow she's a symbol of corruption and greed.

We prayed and then we took our last trip less than a mile to my home. 


Zippy is an awesome companion. Tensing to Hillary, Oates to Scott, Golum to Frodo. I swear if he offers me one more Snicker I shall not be responsible for my actions.  

Monday 30 November 2015

Day 3: Into the darkness

Like an over keen puppy Zippy announced that he'd got another puncture over the breakfast table today. So, as he settled in for another round of toast, tea and croissants I toiled on his mobile thorn catcher.
I can confess that the delicate balance of our relationship had deteriorated somewhat and his chirpy attitude had worn very thin.

With hope in our hearts we set off with our eyes on the sky and minds on the hills. The morning flew by and with the wind on out backs. It's impossible to not be cheered at the sight of Zippy ordering a cubic yard of chips then consuming them to the amazement of all bystanders. So I have to confess to feel a slight warming of my frosty attitude.

From York we climbed to the North Yorkshire foot hills where disaster struck on a particular speedy dissent my spoke snapped. Hoping that I wouldn't lose my registration I seconded the local toilets for a makeshift repair shop.


Then onwards and upwards into the blackness we headed for the Open Nest's secret mountain hideaway. A stunning, though nervous ride, through the dark night was the highlight and lowlight of the night.

Then we arrived to an evening of thoughts, chat, and plotting.

98 miles in the hardest of circumstances.

Tomorrow 95 miles on a broke bike. Without battle there is no victory.


Saturday 28 November 2015

Day 2: Wisbech to Retford

In theory this was going to be the 'easy' day but the fates had a different plan. As did Zippy who proactively sought out every thorn he could find in Lincolnshire.

With hope in our hearts, prayers on our lips and thought in our minds we set off.

The cold wind was on our backs but as we slowly headed West we caught the stout 16 mph head/cross wind. 50 miles into a headwind is no fun and the Fens flat landscape had promised an easy ride but in reality it gave us no respite from the wind.

Hours of grind and even Zippy's cheerful disposition dissolved and we drew back to our own inner worlds as we slogged out the miles. If you cycle you know it can be a marvellous place for reflection and I did plenty of that, writing imaginary blog posts that I'll never publish, gnashing my teeth at the injustices.

By the time Zippy was on is third puncture I confess to have become somewhat miffed and this was exacerbated as he napped while I fixed it. If we remain friends it will be a miracle.

One of the thorns


We finally arrived at 7:30pm , totally done in and 100 miles nearer to our destination.
Tomorrow we head for The Open Nest in the mountain top hideaway.



Anyway, must sleep.




Friday 27 November 2015

Big Ben to Northumberlandia: Day 1 (setting out)

With hope in our hearts and porridge in our bellies we set off before dawn. I had been a little distressed the night before as  I'd snapped a spoke and been unable to true the wheel. So it was all a bit wobbly, physically and emotionally.  Zippy was also concerned so I tried to lighten the mood by announcing that my training had consisted of eating pies and thinking about cycling. He was not impressed nor was his concern eased. I’m slightly worried about Zippy.

We went to Parliament Green and I stole some soil to take back, a symbol, and off we set.




By good fortune we arrived at the door of Condor Cycles at 8am and they kindly had it fixed and had us back on the road by 8:35. They even gave us free energy gels when they heard that we were stupid enough to be attempting to ride to Northumberland.

So onwards. The rest of the day consisted of city, towpath, hills, rather smashing cycling paths in Cambridge and a slog through the Friday night commute in the dark.

Zippy did fall off but I blame that to the 20kg of Snickers that he has in his back pack, it clearly unbalanced him. He was attempting a rather flamboyant 180 aerial manoeuvre that would have made Evil Knievel baulk and he hit the ground like a bag of hammers. Honestly, I could hardly breath as I laughed so hard, I think I may have soiled myself. My social work training is good for something, and I like to think my empathic response was evident as I checked his snicker supply for damage.
Anyway he was fine and he is a splendid companion and in no way am I annoyed at his endless enthusiasm.



108 miles.


Lots of thoughts about the state of the nation, time is something you have when you cycle and my mind is full. 

So far I've a great title for a blog, no content, just a title without any content.

Thursday 26 November 2015

Day 1: The route

Not including the distance from Zippy's pad to Big ben (9miles)
Day 1: It's many things but it's not a gentle start. Zippy claims that this is just a 'warm up' but clearly has has no idea what he's talking about. His capacity for optimism is only matched by his love of Snickers bars and Ale.

Zippy and the Anchor (me) head home.

Seven years this month ago I left work, it's a long story so I'll not bore you with the details in essence we were unraveling, failing and at the time it was doubtful that we were going to be able to keep going. Our LA had contracted Post Adoption Support with an agency that had gone bust and we'd just been through a two year legal battle that we kept losing only to win at the 11th hour.

We were broken.

So,  left work as financial insecurity seemed to be the obvious route to fixing the issue. Then I did the next best thing got on my bike.

I set off one November lunchtime and headed south, each day I stayed with friends old and new adopters and family. Eventually, 10 days later,  I arrived at Parliament having travelled nearly 600 miles as I'd zig zagged across the country on my way. Why did I go, well that's the big question, I think it was desperation. Having seen the outrageous treatment of my daughters by the 'system' I felt I needed to do something and to make a pilgrimage to the seat of all power seemed to be the obvious thing to do. So that's what I did, a kind of pilgrimage, wth the full backing, endorsement and promotion of Mrs C I headed off and prayed for justice. At the time it as a truly miserable experience, I arrived at Parliament Green in the fading light with saddle sores, wet and cold on a dark Sunday afternoon, said a prayer (God, I'm sick and my kids are traumatised, please do something), shook my fist at the sky and the houses of parliament and then got the train home.
It just seemed like the thing to do so I did it.

Of course there's more to it than that, the people I met and the things I thought, but that's the bear bones. The problem is that over the last seven years the nagging thought that I should cycle home festered inside.

So, like a man with no grasp of common sense or regard for weather, distance or practical realities thats what I'm doing.

Big Ben to Northumberlandia (the naked lady is only a mile from my house)





This time I'm taking a trusty companion the immutable Zippy.
414 miles, 4 days, two bikes.

Thursday 19 November 2015

Unresolved narrative

It's been a hard week for a load of different and mainly external reasons. Of course it goes without saying that I can't say what, when, who, how or why. Of course I can confirm that they're all related directly to the early lives my children and their route to my door. I'm not down or depressed. I just am.

I was speaking to a friend about something or other and he noted that some folks he knew struggled with what I wrote sometimes as there was, as he said it, 'an unresolved narrative'.

Well if it makes you feel any better so do I.

I write what happens, what I see and what I think. Of course I filter and edit it but it's an account of our lives from my perspective. Other perspectives are available of course but I feel that I'm fairly representative of a large number of parents who care for children who have experienced trauma, loss, separation and have travelled through the care system.

I write to make me feel better, to get the dirty water off my chest. I'd love to write about all the warm hugs and beautiful moments that blossom out of difficult experiences. Perhaps I do but in different less obvious ways, I think I find hope.

Today as Mrs C and I returned from our recent sessions with one of the massive's therapist I confessed that I didn't know how all of this is going to turn out for us as a family. Not the immediate but the long term. Not depressed just pragmatic, what does the future hold? I never thought that we'd retire to the seaside, see the grandkids once a week for a slice of Battenberg cake and a Wurthers Original, crikey no.  But I'm not sure how in the medium to long term some of my children's adult lives are going to play out. Our journey so far indicates that for some it will be ok but for some it's not so clear,  so our narrative is unresolved, but can anyone's be resolved?



This week my heart skipped as I walked through the shops, Lotty's 10 year old hand took hold of mine and we walked and talked. Her hand felt small but it was just so natural with an easy familiarity that was precious. Big deal, you say but I'm her dad and I'm the proudest dad in the world because she loves me. I also know that in 5 years this time holding hands will not happen.

Sometimes I hold onto that second in time when my hand is held because in that moment my narrative actually feels pretty much resolved.

Thursday 12 November 2015

Roll the dice

As I try to open a rather awkward container with an inappropriately knife, usually implausibly sharp and outlandishly pointy and more suited to hacking bamboo down, I think:

'This is a stupid act, this will end badly'

So, no surprise when I nearly have my thumb off, blood gushing and the sounds of family members screaming while others pass out. And I think to myself:

'Yup, that's exactly what I thought would happen'

I weigh the short term benefit, in that I can't be bothered to pick up the scissors, against the risk of pain. Sometimes I win and the awkward container is subdued by my flamboyant lack of regard for personal safety. Sometimes I lose and we re enact a scene from a Crimean War field hospital.

The Xbox

I weigh the benefits of an hours peace and calm against the potential for the prowling, pacing and simmering dysregulation that may befall the rest of the day.

For a few weeks lately things have been ok in relation to Flossy's Xbox time.
We've put the usual safeguards in place.
We give the allotted amount of time leading up to meals to have a positive reason to come off.
We give clear expectations around appropriate behaviour after coming off.
We cross our fingers.
We give 10 minute warnings, then 5 then 1minute.
It was working, not perfect but was easily offset against the hours peace we managed to get when Flossy played on the Xbox.

The hour, or so's, peace is sometimes a self care moment, or more often an opportunity to get on with some jobs, housework, make dinner etc.

But then that all changed, the usual control measures were no longer effective, dysregulation, name calling, insults, fights ensued. What happened? Then we realised the broken headset was fixed. The relative safety was encroached by school friends through the microphone. Overstimulating social interaction invaded the relatively controlled environment of our home.
The hour of necessary respite with her playing on the Xbox is followed by four hours of raaaagh.

So we pull back, consequences, boundaries re tightened, headsets and Xbox withdrawn. The hour of peace is alluring, convenient and needed but it comes at a cost.

Everyday it seems we weigh benefit against risk and cost. We roll the dice and somedays we win somedays we lose.

Roll the dice

As I try to open a rather awkward container with an inappropriately knife, usually implausibly sharp and outlandishly pointy and more suited to hacking bamboo down, I think:

'This is a stupid act, this will end badly'

So, no surprise when I nearly have my thumb off, blood gushing and the sounds of family members screaming while others pass out. And I think to myself:

'Yup, that's exactly what I thought would happen'

I weigh the short term benefit, in that I can't be bothered to pick up the scissors, against the risk of pain. Sometimes I win and the awkward container is subdued by my flamboyant lack of regard for personal safety. Sometimes I lose and we re enact a scene from a Crimean War field hospital.

The Xbox

I weigh the benefits of an hours peace and calm against the potential for the prowling, pacing and simmering dysregulation that may befall the rest of the day.

For a few weeks lately things have been ok in relation to Flossy's Xbox time.
We've put the usual safeguards in place.
We give the allotted amount of time leading up to meals to have a positive reason to come off.
We give clear expectations around appropriate behaviour after coming off.
We cross our fingers.
We give 10 minute warnings, then 5 then 1minute.
It was working, not perfect but was easily offset against the hours peace we managed to get when Flossy played on the Xbox.

The hour, or so's, peace is sometimes a self care moment, or more often an opportunity to get on with some jobs, housework, make dinner etc.

But then that all changed, the usual control measures were no longer effective, dysregulation, name calling, insults, fights ensued. What happened? Then we realised the broken headset was fixed. The relative safety was encroached by school friends through the microphone. Overstimulating social interaction invaded the relatively controlled environment of our home.
The hour of necessary respite with her playing on the Xbox is followed by four hours of raaaagh.

So we pull back, consequences, boundaries re tightened, headsets and Xbox withdrawn. The hour of peace is alluring, convenient and needed but it comes at a cost.

Everyday it seems we weigh benefit against risk and cost. We roll the dice and somedays we win somedays we lose.

Wednesday 11 November 2015

Saturday 7 November 2015

Challenging Behaviour Top Trumps

I like conferences and training. Though the conference and trainy bit can be hit and miss, ranging from excellent to dire, it's meeting other people on a similar path that feels the most rewarding. Chewing the fat, crying on shoulders and sharing tips and tricks.

Of course, you meet at least one person who you can't help wonder how they managed to get approved as adopters and one person on the edge of firebombing their local adoption office.

One of my favourite bits is when we all play 'Challenging behaviour top trumps' in the breaks. There's always someone who starts with a relatively modest,

'Oh, we have challenging bedtimes, sometimes I have to get really firm'. 

Sensing an easy victory another will come in.

'Well, I must tell you that Tarquin spontaneously combusts at the mere thought of bedtime'

Not to be outdone a bystander will add.

'Combusts? Once when we tried to get Petula to bed she held a three day rooftop protest that had to be quelled by the local branch of the territorial army'

And so it goes on, the anecdotes slowly getting more extreme, we laugh and our mouths are agog at the scale and scope of the challenging behaviour. Of course someone wins, my friends true story of having cement poured down their toilet usually wins.
But all the losers walk away feeling much better and thinking 'Crickey, I thought I had it bad, little Franella seems quite tame by comparison'. In fact it was quite productive for the losers and they can pick up tips, tricks and the number of the local TA.

Of course there are other break time activities including my personal favourite, 'Stupid and Insulting things my Social Worker Said Snap'.

The best bit being that we're in environment where we can use shorthand, not have to start at the beginning and can share our fears, joys and journey with people who get it. The 'games' are a therapeutic and  important part for all the above reasons. Of course, everywhere parents meet, playgrounds and playgroups, similar games are played. It's a parent thing.

So, in light of this I wish all of you at the Adoption UK conference a smashing day and next year they should formalise the games and give out awards.

Saturday 31 October 2015

Adoption Sunday

#adoptionsunday

I wholeheartedly believe that the Church has within it's DNA the mandate to care for children and young people in the looked after system as well as those on the fringes those going into the system and leaving. Not exclusively of course but within the context of all the other 'stuff' we should be up to, we've even got a bible verse for it. However, and it's a big however, I'm also aware that we have totally screwed this up. I choose my words carefully, but I look back and within living memory I see that the church's actions reflect a complicated history, yes meeting a need but also perpetuating that need through moral policing. As late as 1970 the church was complicit in sending British 'orphans' to the far side of the world. Other actions have taken place and having watched Philomena recently I am  shamed at what was done in God's name, children removed from parents in the name of I don't know what. That legacy remains very much alive.

The biblical adoption narrative and stories in the bible feel, to me at least, as almost irrelevant to contemporary adoption. The systems and legal routes that we have built are not relevant to that narrative. Of course we are called to love and accept children but there was no Social Worker for Moses or Jesus adoption stories. When I see the adverts in my twitter feed for Adoption Sunday I get nervous. Nervous as for every child that 'needs' adoption there is a family that probably want their child back. I'm under no illusion that unspeakable acts are committed and some parents cannot and don't want to care for their children. But the context of adoption is shifting before our very eyes and that picture is ever more complex with less support for families, injustice and wrong decisions remain a possibility. The church's mandate is to protect and support the vulnerable  regardless of where they find themselves and with at least 30% of mothers with children in care system living with mental ill health it's time that the church made amends to the families that lost their children.

What am I proposing? Do we need to repent? Is that enough? I don't know, I'm just making this up as I go.

But on this Adoption Sunday my mind is with my children's 'other' family members, grandparents that never saw grandchildren again, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters that lost their children. Morally and ethically complex, murky situations, they challenge my notions of forgiveness, redemption and who is right or wrong. I can't help but consider how they may feel on Adoption Sunday.
 
For the first time since records began we have more adopters approved than children waiting to adopt (that's another blog). So where do we look this adoption Sunday? Of course we pray for the children, but what else do we pray?




Thursday 29 October 2015

Decisions Decisions.

I'm under no illusion that the decisions we make for our children will be open to a revisionist scrutiny  on the couches of some therapist or other. They will illuminated by the clear light of hindsight and a full knowledge of all the facts. In many ways I'm still not over my mothers decision to cut my hair between the years 1974 to 1993. My therapist says some things can never be undone and I will never get over it. I'm sure that my children will no doubt bear similar burdens, though I hope not.

We've recently vexed over the choices that face us in relation to schools without end.
Do we jump out of the learning stream that we're in its inevitable march towards our local learning factory, a school that several respected professionals turned pale when we mentioned was the destination. Perhaps designed and acceptable for cookie cutter children, I'm confident there's no such a thing, but it's not a place for my little girl. It's not a place she'll feel safe and I'm not sure it's a place she is safe.
So where do we jump to, into a different stream, a three tier system with a middle school as a half way house that would stave off the leap to big school and the challenges that brings. But to do that  I have to pull all of the little ones out of the current stream and set them in the three tier system to tie up the logistical challenges. Lotty's and  Flossy's lifelong friends will be left behind, not an easy sell.

One a transition to safety without the protective factors of friends vs a transition into danger with the protective factor of friends. Oh, and to add to that there are no places at the moment, we know we have priority access as 'previously looked after children' *. So do we cross our fingers and  hope that a couple of appropriate spaces open up between now and September.

The Twitter machine told me that "you choose the staff not the school" and as we chatted to the SENCO in the middle school by the end of the first sentence I knew that she 'got it'. More than that she got it and knew what we were going to ask  before we asked it. A trauma aware school.

So last week we made our choice and filled in the form and now we wait. My children don't need a learning factory they need a safe place. When, and only when, they feel safe then they can begin to think about learning. The middle school it is.

It's our best guess with the information that we have. We might be wrong and the implications may be long term. Of course the decision will be open to scrutiny in the years to come but that's the nature of parenting, adoptive or otherwise.


*not a nice phrase

Friday 23 October 2015

Step back

I'm just done in, the emotions I feel during National Adoption Week are mixed in normal circumstances but this year NAW has felt like really hard work.

I don't need to run through all the stuff; the adverts, campaigns and general media hype that sits in sharp contrast with our family's sharp multifaceted adoption reality. At times during this week I've felt outrage, cynicism, hope, confusion, joy, love, gratitude and a rainbow of other emotions as I've watched usual barrage of media hoopla through various formats.

My mind has raced for a week with issues, the number of approved adopters vs children to home; the lack of adoptee representatives, the dogma, the history, the pain of loss, the desperate need, the politics and my role in all of this.

In the middle of all the hoo ha Mrs C and I planned a school visit considering moving from a two tier system to a three tier hopeful that a middle school will stretch out more pastoral school environment. Before we went I was overwhelmed with isolation as we weighed the pros and cons of the various options. After days of representing tother people's views I was almost paralysed with confusion when faced with this significant decision for us. I just needed some help from someone to walk me through this choice. I've read the blogs and taken advice but the buck stops here, we needed to make a decision and the next thing I know I'm throwing up in the toilet. Ok, time to step back, tune out and stop.

So, no blog this week just this, I'm stepping back, loading up Twuffer and going to potter on.

I say this with the utmost sincerity, look after yourselves.


PS Just for the record I really am not an Adoption Champion, I signed nothing and completed no form ;-)

Wednesday 21 October 2015

Feedback: Adoption Support Mental Health Roundtable Event

First of all I'd like to thank everyone who responded to my request for people's views and experiences of CAHMS in relation to their adopted children.

Forgive me for not giving a blow by blow account of what was a long and very detailed meeting with a wide range of professionals, professors, doctors of this and that, NHS types, civil servants, Social Workers, Sally Donovan and me.  Edward Timpson, the Children's Minister, came at the beginning of the meeting and the fearful look in his eye of a man being stalked was not missed by me. This was the third time I'd been in a room with him in 24 hours and the second time involved a hug and a selfie.

The views and contributions by the attendees was excellent with Professor Jonathan Green's presentation on delivery models and the rationale behind them being a high point. His description and explanation of adoption as being such a high indicator of risk for children's mental ill health was reassuring for me as a parent, he clearly 'gets it'. Discussion around the alternative eco system of adoption interventions was excellently summarised by Professor Peter Fonagy acknowledging their ability to engage and work with adoptive families in ways that engaged and acknowledged the challenges we all know.

Sally and I had been given the opportunity to share the views and perspectives of adoptive parents. We both were overwhelmed by the responses that we had received when we put out the call on social media but we realised that the messages were  in the main critical and raw. We'd both been impacted at the difficult and distressing stories we'd heard. So the challenge was how to maintain that honesty and still make it palatable to those who work in this field. I struggled to add much more to what had been said to me so I gave a brief introduction and read out a representative sample of direct quotes (see below). All thought provoking stuff and quite different in tone from the content prior to that. Sally followed this pulling together key themes and messages that adopters had passed onto her. These resonated with what others were saying and it was received well.

So where do we go from here? It's clear that there is desire to implement accurate assessment of children and families that links to then identifying appropriate and effective interventions. Serious considerations is being given to the formation of regional CAMHS (Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services) that specialise in serving adopted and children in the looked after system. As you can see there's an awful lot to go at there and not all without controversy but there appears to be a move across the stakeholders in relation to making positive changes to the current system.

Those are my selected highlights. I'm encouraged and hopeful, not words I use lightly, so take heart and thank you for your help.



Quotes 
‘Our needs just too complex for CAHMS, is my guess. Tried a bit of everything, then time was up, case closed’

‘Emergency CAMHS services must be improved to give parents of young children genuine out of hours support and there must be a recognition of the real level and prominence of child on adult violence and access to funded safe holding training for all adoptive parents.’

‘Social Workers, including those in CAMHS, must stop blaming and disbelieving parents who are traumatised by parenting traumatised children without support! I could go on...’

‘find staff who know how to work with children, the old chestnut saying 'wont engage ' should not be allowed to pass their lips. Try something else then!! Talking therapies with children who suffer with anxiety, seriously do they think they are going to work!!’

‘We need a clear referral pathway to CAMHS; fast initial assessment of needs and support for the whole family in terms of emotional support and helping parents with practical strategies and advice for helping/managing the child’

‘My GP was clueless and not at all interested or helpful. Adoption support did agree to refer although this took 3 months from me contacting them.’

‘My daughter has issues around attachment, guilt and loss about her past experiences and birth mother. This affects her behaviour and learning. However, she is not eligible for work with CAHMS as her behaviour is not severe enough to meet their criteria’

‘Intervention is not happening before crisis point. Educate schools that pretty much every adopted child needs mental health support within the school environment, and that we are not neurotic parents, we just fear, and in many cases know, that the behaviours that happen at home will, in time, happen at school and this will affect friendships and how well they can succeed to the best of their educational ability.’

‘In my doctors surgery they hesitate to refer any child to CAHMS as they know the waiting list is so long. We are failing a whole generation and it's so sad’

‘For me CAHMS have been a fantastic service. Help when needed for both S and me (as support/somewhere to offload). We have had a huge waiting list each referral to get through, and are now 10mths into waiting for art therapy - but I know when we get to the top of the list (very soon now!), that the service will be fantastic. However, support from PAS, both here and where we originally adopted has been horrendous.’

‘We will never, EVER work with CAMHS again. I honestly believe that in its current state my local CAMHS does more harm than good for adoptive families. They insist a square peg must fit into a square hole, what they offer is what you get, regardless of suitability.’ 

‘….it has taken us 6 months to finally see someone who has any clue about being able to help us.  It was 4 months from urgent GP referral to seeing anyone at all. It needs to be less than a fortnight. Now we we have found someone to help, I think what's being offered is excellent.’