Do You Wear Your Heart on Your Sleeve?

I have been accused of this many times in the past and the accusation has always been founded an is one which I would never deny. To deny it for me would be to go against my personal integrity. I value openness and see the ability to be open about their emotions and so make themselves vulnerable as an incredible strength.

A little trivial example of the need for openness:
When I was soon to be married I went with my Mum to our hairdresser to decide how I would wear my shoulder length (then) hair on the big day. I was absolutely convinced that cascading curls would be just perfect, and although my dead straight and exceptionally thick hair had never been keen to curl I was sure the hairdresser could manage it.

She tried. With a lot of products, and curlers, and tongs she created curls of a sort. I looked in the mirror and I felt as if my hair had been removed and replaced with someone elses. The style was HUGE, it was impossible to explain quite how big. However not wanting to let the hairdresser down after all her hard work I said it was "Fine". Sandy the hairdresser also expressed her opinion then that it was "Fine", and indeed that was also my Mum's choice of word to describe it. It certainly wasn't fine!

When I got back to my lovely fiance that afternoon, he very kindly remarked that we "...would have trouble fitting it in the car, and through the front door" between laughs! (Hmm that's openness for you...) So I eventually plucked up the courage and told Mum who told Sandy and then announced that they were both relieved because it was "too big, and just didn't suit you". Arghhhhhh! If we had all been honest like my fiance we would have saved ourselves the worry!

There is of course a negative side to this, in that the method in which one choses to display this openness may cause offence in others. It is something that needs to be dealt with with great sensitivity. Mum and Sandy didn't want to upset me as I had my heart set on curls so they left me to work it out for myself.

I now literally wear my heart on my sleeve in the form of two of my tattoos which mean the most to me. Alpha and Omega to remind me constantly of the Lord my God the beginning and the end of all things, and a memorial for my Dad.

I also use a basic principle of not saying anything at all rather than telling a lie, but always speaking out on issues which I feel matter, not just to me but have a wider goal.

Our Father in Heaven...

My Dad died when our small son was only 2 years old. In order to talk about this man whom Little Bear knew very little about, but the people he is closest to in the world loved deeply, we started to refer to Dad as Grandad-in-Heaven. This serves two purposes, it reminds him gently what had happened to Grandad and also distinguishes him from Grandad-in-Salisbury. This title for my Dad has stuck.

I was nattering to Mum on the phone the other day, and as Dad was a huge football fan (despite his lifelong Leeds support) the conversation came around to Andy Grey. It was at this point Mum saith unto me "Your Father-in-Heaven would have been really pleased with his sacking, he thought he was an arrogant s***e"

I had a split second pause whilst I worked this one out, I can tell you!

You see this is my father in Heaven, I couldn't comment on our Father in Heaven's

feelings about Andy Grey!

Dog Walking

 We are very lucky to live near a huge park/nature reserve - great for days filled with winter sun and doodle dashing! I thought I would post some photos of this afternoon's walk.

Monty entertains himself and me by running backwards and forwards for his ball!

There are some wild ponies who call the park their home, and now that Monty is unlikely to cause a stampede we can pass them safely and even stop for photo opportunities. They are very beautiful and extremely brave (although they had been driven into our path today by some tree felling further into the park).

Acceptance

Yesterday was our screening visit. The first visit to prospective adopters, to establish lots of things really. It checks whether they are who they say they are, whether their home is appropriate, whether they have considered all the aspects of adopting a child and are sure that they wish to proceed, and it covers many bases.

As we are already adopters we were less daunted by the prospect of this visit than we had been the first time around and felt ready for all it might throw at us, or so we thought.

I was looking at this through rose tinted specs I feel. Imagining already what life would be like with this other child and avoiding the uncomfortable feelings it stirred when I thought about what could go wrong.

The meeting started well, and I was confidently describing Little Bear's early experiences with us and how he is now. I was dwelling not on the issues he faces but rather on the support which he is receiving and we continue to access for him. I talked about his knowledge of adoption and his birth family and that is was the understanding on his birth siblings which led him on to thinking about a sibling who might live with us.

Then we his crunch time. The social worker put down her pad and pen and said "How do you think Little Bear will cope with such a big change in circumstances, when he has had such difficulty settling in school, and is so anxious away from you?" We tried to think of responses to that which were positive and realistic but sadly there were none. The genuine answer is "He wont cope."  We were then advised to wait until after September when Little Bear has experienced some changes and there is a sort of proof of his ability to accept change. Time and time again she said "You are doing a good job with LB and I am sure you would be able to parent another adopted child just as well, but in my opinion this is not the right time for LB".

She is correct.

Although with all that in mind I am not sure that there will ever be a 'right time' for LB to share us full-time with another child. He just will not cope. It all comes down to doing the best for LB. He is 100% our responsibility and the most wonderful gift to us as a family. He makes our lives richer and gives them more meaning. There is no way that either of us would do anything to jeopardise LB or our relationship as a family unit. Although it seemed right at one point through my rose tinted specs, it would not be right for any of us, least of all LB. If I am honest I can't imagine another child here with us.

Little Bear has been and continues to be a joy to parent (despite his struggles with peer relationships). He is gentle and loving, demonstrative, so obviously grateful for time spent just being with him. He is clever and very very funny and he is ours.

A few months ago Little Bear had been talking about his two families and how he has two Mummies and two Daddies. After a long pause he turned to me and said "You're my best Mummy". That is all I want to be and all I will ever need.

Ordinariate - A personal viewpoint

I have read many insightful blogs on the subject in the last few weeks, and  feel compelled to write my piece. If it is not completely obvious by now, I am no theologian. I could laugh at the absurdity of the situation (and have) but I have also shed a tear. This is all a bit too close to home for me you see...

In 1978 a young Roman Catholic priest went to his bishop with a dilemma, or rather a decision in this case. He had met a woman whom he knew to be his soul mate, and so not wishing to break his ordination vows he asked to leave the priesthood so that he may be free to marry her. It was an agonising decision, he had felt a strong and persistent calling to the priesthood since childhood and had angered his mother when he followed God's call, and now he was to give it all away for a woman who had captured his heart.

The man was encouraged to attend a specific retreat centre which helped priests who were 'wayward' in all sorts of ways, and was made to feel as if he was committing a grave and dire sin by falling in love with this woman. He refused the retreat and left with a letter from his Bishop assuring him that neither he nor his fiancee (also a practising Roman Catholic) would be welcome in any RC church in his diocese and beyond. The man felt deeply hurt and saddened, but after they were married, he was encouraged by friends to try a church which would welcome them and be a catholic home within the Church of England. It was during this time that their children were born and that the man felt that he still had such a calling from God to ordained ministry that he wished to serve Him in the Church of England.

This couple are my parents. That committed and sincere priest my late Father who served 20 years in the priesthood and is a priest forever.

Dad had a peer in the RC priesthood. A person he held dear, who committed suicide after being treated in the same sort of centre that my Dad was recommended to attend. Falling in love is apparently a 'sexual problem' which needs 'treatment' and the treatment this man (whom I will not name) received led to his depression and subsequent suicide.

So you can see why I find it very difficult to accept that the Roman Catholic church have received with open arms priests who are married, whilst continuing to deny priests of Rome the opportunity to marry, should they so wish.

I feel that celibacy can be a great tool and benefit for those who feel truly called to it. However I do not believe that to be a priest in God's church one needs to be celibate or male for that matter! (That's a whole other blog post, although interesting to note that my Dad was in favour of the ordination of women.)

For me this is the greatest absurdity in a whole heap of absurdity.

Are you taking the mickey?

I'm into banter, I like good hearted friendly teasing, I relish the opportunity to find a joke! That's me.

When I was a child I was so insecure that the accusation 'you can't take a joke' was often levelled at me, along with being reprimanded for 'smart' remarks. Not a good combination. I learned to give as good as I get and am quite happy to be the butt of friend's joke as long as they know they will receive the same treatment, anyone who knows me will testify that I do just that! The longer you have known me the more ammunition you have stored!

It is a sign of friendship for me, a good-natured ribbing, I only tease when I am on safe ground, when I know the person well enough that I can be sure it will be taken well, and when the person concerned knows me we enough to recognise the joke. I make witty (or at least they amuse me) asides and often my humour is self-depracating, and when I use the latter I am not looking for sympathy - just a giggle.

I tend to be drawn to that kind of person, one who can take a joke and return it ten-fold. They become my closest friends - you know who you are... This kind of ability not to take oneself too seriously is an amazing thing as far as I am concerned, and understandably only shared within the closeness of friendship, it makes a person vulnerable.

When I am cross or disapproving, I try not to speak at all. There will be no sarcasm because once I have started I can't stop and it will hurt. If I get on with a person and understand them and that feeling is mutual then the jokes are shared as naturally as the rest of the conversation. If this is not the case I am as clear as I can be, there is no room for humourous asides which may be misconstrued or only funny to one party.

You see, the thing is, my kind of humour has to be shared through mutual respect. Otherwise witty becomes rude, teasing becomes bullying, and people become hurt and that is in no way funny.

NB:Many thanks to Dave Walker for the use of the Cartoon :-)

What's in a name?

I have finally convinced my son to sign his thankyou letters today, we are a bit late but it is quite stressful as this whole learning to write lark is proving tricky for my Little Bear and he will avoid it at all costs.

Anyway, whilst signing his name under duress for the seventh time, the young one turned and saith unto me:

"Mummy, did my Tummy Mummy choose my name?"

I responded:

"Yes Little Bear, Tummy Mummy gave you all three of your names and Mummy and Daddy gave you our last name when you came into our family." 

He nodded solemnly then turned and saith unto me:

"Can I have another sweet?"  

This little interlude is just one of a few recent chats about his adoption which we have shared with Little Bear. All the conversations were short and sweet and all instigated by a question from Little Bear himself. It feels the natural and organic way to talk about his history with him.

It also lead me on to pondering the question I have used for my title, what's in a name?

When I was conceived my Dad knew I was a girl. He was so convinced he chose me name and addressed me buy it when I was still in the womb, singing a little ditty he had made up based on it. He would not be swayed and refused to discuss any other choices. When the midwife announced me arrival he answered solemnly "I know". He had no earthly idea, he just had this conviction.

When my brother arrived my parents decided on a particular choice of Christian and middle names. Dad registered him alone, and the story is that he was unsure of the spelling and so he chose two completely different names. My Dad's names. These had been in my Dad's family for generations and so forgive me if I doubt there was much genuine error in the mistake!

I had my children's names decided when I was about 14 years old. A boy would be called by my father and brother's names (despite not keeping the same surname) because my brother said he wouldn't name a child of his the same. A girl would have been called Louisa after a much loved great Aunt who lived with us for a time in childhood.

These days there are all sorts of names floating around. Traditional names, traditional names with strange spellings, relatively modern derivatives of traditional names, and these also come with strange spellings, surnames now used as Christian names, and of course because of the vibrant mix of culture and ethnicity in this country we also have names which are familiar and traditional in some countries which are becoming familiar and traditional in the United Kingdom. I myself have a first name which reflects my parent's cultural heritage despite being myself born in England.

I am glad that I didn't have the task of naming my son, the name his birth mother choose fits him beautifully. I also think it is such a responsibility, giving a person the first outward strand of their identity. I know of two adults who in their thirties have changed their first names by deed poll for their own reasons, neither had outlandish given names but are comfortable with the change.

Are you happy with your name? In this picture I look as if I am!