My adoptive life seems to have been a series of me jumping through hoops, participating in assessments and addendums to assessments, of me writing stern letters and making petitions to people who have power over my life, social workers of varying strains, panel members, guardians, IROs (Independent Reviewing Officers) and judges. I'm constantly answering questions and submitting information and waiting and waiting and waiting.
Perhaps they should include 'Advanced Bureaucracy for Beginners' in the adoption preparation course, I think that a working knowledge of the current social care legislative framework would have come in useful as well as a brief introduction to Education policy, curriculum, SEN and housing and liaising with the police while we're on. I knew my Social Work degree would come in useful, I also knew I should have applied myself a little harder in the research module. All the flaming neuroscience journals I try to digest to make sense of the inner workings of the kids is tiresome.
I told you I shouldn't blog when I'm melancholy. I've always believed that opinions are much more effectively received when requested rather than rammed down the throat.
I had thought I'd write an 'aren't the holidays tricky' blog. It feels like a cheap shot, the low hanging fruit of the blogging subject tree so to say. It's the tricky third week, we could go either way. The first flush of enthusiasm is waning and we're entering into the middle weeks of attrition, the end remains persistently further away than the beginning.
Anyway, I've put the letter off for another night, I've not sure I've got the emotional reserves to open up a war of diplomacy and attrition with another group of professionals. I've read the small print and I can wait a year, I'll do it tomorrow night, I will, I will, I will.
I'll write that other blog it at the end of the holidays, if we survive.