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Bedtime Stories

....I’d share some of the books that have helped our family along the way as we wrestled with tangled feelings and attachments, not adoption books per se, just beautiful stories. So, this is not exactly a review, not exactly a blog, just some thoughts on the healing power of story. 

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Get Real

'I thought these are your real parents, no?' 

'So you are not real brother and sister then?' 

I guess most adopters have experienced questions such as these being asked of us or our children at some point. It's frustrating to say the least and at worse it can feel insulting and indeed be quite painful, even so I am surprised at some adopters reaction to it. 

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My sons smell.

I am sorry to disappoint anybody who thinks this blog will be about teenage boys and their personal hygiene habits - or rather the lack of.

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Growing up.

I left my nearly 10 year old daughter at home, on her own, for the first time last week.

 I knew she was tired and that a 10 minute walk to collect her sister from a local playdate would be met with moaning and groaning, so I gave her the option of staying at home whilst I popped out...


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Who Loves You?

As I hope most parents do we tell our sons that we love them every single day - often multiple times a day - and by now (almost 6 years as a family) we are pretty sure that they understand it and believe it.

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An Almost Mistake - Maybe

A recent weekend away with a friend's son threw up moral dilemmas that I was not expecting. How we parents have to interpret other families' norms, how our own standards clash with those of the culture we're parenting in, and how innocent assumption can lead us into treacherous territory.

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Not in front of the children.

We were getting to the end of our assessment and panel was rapidly approaching, it had been long, intense and surprisingly emotional. We had a great social worker who we felt we got along with very well and who we found to be professional and very capable.

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7 Years

My mother lived to just 62, far too young of course and her death seemed illogical and unjust at the time. However, just how young she was is only now starting to sink in - more than 16 years later.

I'm 55 this year, just 7 years younger than she was when she died. 

7 years! It will fly by...

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Gold Tooth.

A greasy winter’s day a couple of years ago I was walking down the street, as you do, pushing a newly arrived Jack in his buggy and my goddaughter by my side. My little brand new family and hers were heading off for some half term shenanigans.

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