tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-116692492024-03-18T20:58:58.057+00:00Rowan Stanfield's BlogBreakfast in Bed is the everyday adventures of Rowan, aka @Rowstar, writing about adoptive parenthood, outdoor adventures, food, live music and other favourite pursuits.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.comBlogger299125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-7306384818661908352024-03-18T20:58:00.000+00:002024-03-18T20:58:00.694+00:00No one Sings Like You Anymore: Goodbye David<p style="text-align: justify;">When I look back on my life so far, and think about the most fun times I've had in it, David was usually there. We met half a lifetime ago, working at UCI cinema in Sutton, during my university years. He was one of the first people I clicked with there, someone who shared my twisted sense of humour and quirky outlook. I remember one of our first conversations, in the staff minibus home one night after a late shift, when he said I had "hypnotic eyes". It didn't feel like a chat up line, though. Dave was just like that - he said what was on his mind and gave compliments without agenda. I can't remember what I said in return, but from then on we bonded and quickly became firm friends, usually to be found loitering outside the cinema screens bantering, while trying to avoid watching The Nutty Professor for the umpteenth time. We spent a lot of time together outside of work, too. He would come over to my student digs, and we'd go down to the local video store to rent a movie, or just drink a few beers and talk nonsense into the wee small hours. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qxtr_un6kd9z7WQUV1nq29PuZWxcXiRbMALnmuBqB3ZIwOOl4jmNPTH0N5VknOhfer6DqkCKMESv1P7ihaPFVJrNOSFg1sOcsL2MyU6xNmF6I5nVGKAjBrLt_-SIbf45Ru2ELV0OUn-0e5789vryYu3Htl0h8I1X-hXu7Jl5UAwn2EVuhLkSTw/s1164/ro--david_385730698_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1164" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qxtr_un6kd9z7WQUV1nq29PuZWxcXiRbMALnmuBqB3ZIwOOl4jmNPTH0N5VknOhfer6DqkCKMESv1P7ihaPFVJrNOSFg1sOcsL2MyU6xNmF6I5nVGKAjBrLt_-SIbf45Ru2ELV0OUn-0e5789vryYu3Htl0h8I1X-hXu7Jl5UAwn2EVuhLkSTw/s320/ro--david_385730698_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>My 24th birthday party</i></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I finished uni and left London, eventually ending up settling in Brighton for a while. I lost touch with all my university friends, but the cinema crowd stuck. David loved it down by the sea, and came to visit whenever he could, especially if there was a party in the offing, which there very often was. Mostly fancy dress occasions in those days, and though Dave rarely got organised with a costume, he was wonderfully game for letting himself be dressed up as whatever I could rustle up for him at short notice. Some of the classics included Shirley Bassey, The Wicker Man, Baron Samedi and Jimi Hendrix. He embraced these eccentric glow-ups and he loved every minute of it. They were the best of times, with the best of people and he was always at the heart of it.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj409E0jXgBeqXxgZS74xaKLjAWdXvW6IVAOTpTu1P_8zOINz15AVwBNVZU4wrIe0qVYdi-9UsApdx9lvKS6AHHSUjupI5uLIJ2n0MaBkANtAcnH561SdPD6A0IyHvr5he-LmOh9jf-KYlsj81sIxhVxyVlL_aiKV_z5NWQ0fcuzVsCKVWmodxT9w/s940/album-cover_406787800_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="940" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj409E0jXgBeqXxgZS74xaKLjAWdXvW6IVAOTpTu1P_8zOINz15AVwBNVZU4wrIe0qVYdi-9UsApdx9lvKS6AHHSUjupI5uLIJ2n0MaBkANtAcnH561SdPD6A0IyHvr5he-LmOh9jf-KYlsj81sIxhVxyVlL_aiKV_z5NWQ0fcuzVsCKVWmodxT9w/s320/album-cover_406787800_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Eastbourne, late 90s</i></div><p><br /></p><p>Although Dave was irreverent in his humour, he could be extremely sincere and open with his feelings towards those he loved. He had a big heart which he shared generously and widely, and was well loved in return by a wide circle of friends from different areas of his life. In recent years our texts were positively soppy, and I loved that. I can only remember one serious falling out between us over the years, a bust-up at a party which was no doubt skewed by intoxication. But we quickly made up a day or so later after some heartfelt emails back and forth. It felt too hard to do anything else. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_J4IuehAD7E3fKFvlzu2aeQySGvsi_mjhPtpfyN7ux1Xpkh04unE5FOv8W8WalIeHIwpig8eY407KxDgHF9C5u-bwn-MH4qHH24Y9xzOZsxOpZ7WzeouTtUdYERDzoSAh-Q0OkHynDnUZ4Agfwjtou87grGJ09tyttZRpDkQgf89MBT26LYSMA/s4032/PXL_20240312_095026085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_J4IuehAD7E3fKFvlzu2aeQySGvsi_mjhPtpfyN7ux1Xpkh04unE5FOv8W8WalIeHIwpig8eY407KxDgHF9C5u-bwn-MH4qHH24Y9xzOZsxOpZ7WzeouTtUdYERDzoSAh-Q0OkHynDnUZ4Agfwjtou87grGJ09tyttZRpDkQgf89MBT26LYSMA/s320/PXL_20240312_095026085.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Brighton, early noughties</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p><br style="text-align: left;" /></p></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I regret that Dave and I hadn't spent any time together in recent years, since the parties stopped and my life in Eastbourne became consumed by two kids and the daily drudgery of middle age. Our lives became out of step somewhat. But we kept in touch and the fondness between us never cooled. We had made plans to get together this year, after a few abortive attempts to meet during the pandemic, and had discussed going to a comicon together (as long as I came up with his costume, of course). How sad that we now never will. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHtnxetLq6RD7ml_bhGf786MKkPfiKEaMJe8xWHoNeD6HOuxv456-LG_hvPyb-e5ZyUWDSI-LaJPhv0Kdt-SZHFuEHiy7747XAbJPuDUrS2zuo2gX_RrGA6rBVQHFjj5T6z0hiPHpP1A6K2BJMefjo0618wSXxOBDQ8Cy0rt-akZscd1uIUescdA/s604/FB_IMG_1710177768562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHtnxetLq6RD7ml_bhGf786MKkPfiKEaMJe8xWHoNeD6HOuxv456-LG_hvPyb-e5ZyUWDSI-LaJPhv0Kdt-SZHFuEHiy7747XAbJPuDUrS2zuo2gX_RrGA6rBVQHFjj5T6z0hiPHpP1A6K2BJMefjo0618wSXxOBDQ8Cy0rt-akZscd1uIUescdA/s320/FB_IMG_1710177768562.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Greatest Hits Party, 2008</i></div><p><br /></p><p>The news of David's sudden and unexpected death has utterly capsized me. The thought that I could never again have a Dave hug, or share a stupid joke that only he would appreciate; that he won't get to grow old and disgraceful with the rest of us, it feels so painfully unfair. The grief has left a hollowness, like a little part of me has gone with him - the shadowy former self that I carried around in the years since we stopped hanging out all the time, of a carefree girl with a twinkle in her eye, finding a kindred spirit and holding onto that feeling inside, waiting for it to reignite. But it won't, because he's gone. And so has the girl. Perhaps she's out there somewhere with him, laughing til it hurts and watching the sunrise together in the great unknown. Yet here I am still walking and talking and acting like a fully functional human. They can't see it - the empty space - but it's there, filled only with yearning for the conversations we'll never have in a felled future that might have been.</p><p>David, without you I am less than me. I will never stop loving and missing you, or the person I was when I was with you.</p><p>"In my shoes</p><p>Walking sleep</p><p>In my youth, I pray to keep</p><p>Heaven send</p><p>Hell away</p><p>No one sings like you anymore"</p><p><i>(Black Hole Sun, Soundgarden)</i></p>Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-62649395226923495232022-09-05T11:26:00.001+01:002022-09-05T11:26:54.978+01:00Trauma Parenting and LonelinessLast night I barely slept. Tears soaked my pillow in the wee small hours, as I attempted to stifle any sound for fear of disturbing the happily sleeping body next to me. Several times I got out of bed, trying to break the insomnia cycle, to banish the toxic cycle of intrusive thoughts. But pacing around in the bleak silence of a slumbering household, those thoughts continued to fold over and over in my mind. <div><br /></div><div>This summer has been hard. The past eight years have been hard, but <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.com/2016/09/school-holidays-with-adopted-kids.html?m=1" target="_blank">summer holidays amplify all the tribulations</a> of family life. We are collectively thrown by the lack of routine and the pressures of filling endless days. And this year I have had the onset of perimenopause - and with it crippling anxiety and mood swings - to contend with as well. Today is the last day of this seemingly infinite slog, and the past six weeks have come crashing down on me. </div><div><br /></div><div>This family we have made: four broken souls with loss and grief in their hearts, finding each other, stumbling through together and trying our best to make it work. So much love, but so much hurting, too. In the beginning there was more support, but that has faded, especially since the pandemic when everyone else has been riding out their own rollercoaster. </div><div><br /></div><div> Sustaining friendships while parenting children with trauma is hard. You are spent from absorbing all their angst, exhausted from helping them just get through the day in a world which overwhelms them. Others don't see it because often to the outside world the kids smooth over their emotions and behaviours, to fit in. But at home it flows freely: all the pain and disconnectedness spews out and envelops the nearest other beings, the ones whose love can be trusted. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvh48UCgUM6Zk16KODurlVe6YrN66QWYXlre_B432h-HYYqk1TH7CKHgA-tT2-cA53iB6280z4AHn6Wh0CculMKUMArUcF_GpUuIinuuuR1skhy-13VzP8FRaOfhWibxCTwGjczkjjYVSIY7fEnJfbobLz6M3wMORV_JwZaQPxyVJJQQAVA4/s1080/20220905_111802_0000.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvh48UCgUM6Zk16KODurlVe6YrN66QWYXlre_B432h-HYYqk1TH7CKHgA-tT2-cA53iB6280z4AHn6Wh0CculMKUMArUcF_GpUuIinuuuR1skhy-13VzP8FRaOfhWibxCTwGjczkjjYVSIY7fEnJfbobLz6M3wMORV_JwZaQPxyVJJQQAVA4/w284-h284/20220905_111802_0000.png" width="284" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You have nothing left to give, and when you do see people, it is hard to connect. You feel like you're no fun to be around. So friendships inevitably wither, leaving behind an aching loneliness, more loss and grief to ride out. You torment yourself looking at photos online, of friends who used to include you, having fun without you. You understand why they have left you behind, because you haven't been a good friend, you haven't been there for them when they needed you. Because you couldn't. But still it is painful and you wish you could slip back into that carefree, comfortable zone. Being at the front of people's minds, top of their invite list, instead of a sad and depleted person who brings everyone down. You want to be a good friend again, you try to find that person inside. You want to tell them you still love and think about them, and need their friendship and support more than ever, but you don't know how to ask for help. Instead you bury it all down and and take a deep breath. </div><div><br /></div><div>You wonder how you'll keep going, but somehow, you do. Because the children need you. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fN-Sg1NBg2Sd8Hcv6-mu7Prsa0FTbglkYbwYCr4g-34IWVsVTttilEjRC9jGqp9I1gFkB7O2C3SSeNDEsL-zazwwcS78hFo-i3alRZsMOR9GX9aHgd2-OY8sIv2qqfLnyVp3S7ysUUSUHmGYTnAqHLhzwazE1Az0ROltsstJmVh5WzQzW8s/s1080/20220905_111735_0000.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fN-Sg1NBg2Sd8Hcv6-mu7Prsa0FTbglkYbwYCr4g-34IWVsVTttilEjRC9jGqp9I1gFkB7O2C3SSeNDEsL-zazwwcS78hFo-i3alRZsMOR9GX9aHgd2-OY8sIv2qqfLnyVp3S7ysUUSUHmGYTnAqHLhzwazE1Az0ROltsstJmVh5WzQzW8s/w285-h285/20220905_111735_0000.png" width="285" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>A scant few hours of sleep eventually found me. I woke with the sun, feeling hollow and raw. Hoping for a good day to heal the pain. Reaching for some hidden inner strength and a second cup of tea. He goes off to work and I am left alone with it all again. What will today bring? A spark of spontaneous joy? An unexpected hug? Some sibling harmony? A text from an old friend? I can but hope. But meanwhile, the show must go on and it will.</div>Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-50271357023276637122020-09-21T19:57:00.001+01:002020-09-21T19:58:19.188+01:00I Don't Want To, But I Will<p>I don't want to distance from my friends</p><p>I don't want to wear a mask to the shops </p><p>I don't want to go without hugs from family</p><p>I don't want to santise my hands all the time</p><p>I don't want my kids to miss out</p><p>I don't want to skip celebrating birthdays</p><p>I don't want to acquiesce </p><p><br /></p><p>But I will</p><p><br /></p><p>I will do all this</p><p>And whatever else is asked of me</p><p>If it makes a difference </p><p>If it speeds relief</p><p>Because there are greater things at stake </p><p>Than my own wants and needs</p><p>And I won't use the failures of politicians </p><p>To excuse my own behaviour </p><p><br /></p><p>Through this unimaginable ordeal</p><p>I will teach my kids about </p><p>Endurance</p><p>Determination</p><p>Selflessness </p><p>Courage</p><p>I will conquer my own fears</p><p>And soothe theirs</p><p>I will help them understand the value</p><p>Of the greater good</p><p>I will hold them extra tight</p><p>And love them extra hard</p><p><br /></p><p>And when it is over </p><p>We will know that we did all we could</p><p>Not for ourselves, but for each other</p><p>For those we love</p><p>And for the beautiful world around us</p><p>We will remember that we did it together </p><p>That we strived and persevered</p><p>It wasn't easy; but we tried</p><p><br /></p><p>And you? </p><p>When it is over</p><p>When anguish gives way to clarity </p><p>When the mist evaporates</p><p>And the clouded mirror</p><p>Reveals a crisp reflection once more</p><p>When your former self stares deep</p><p>Into the eyes of the new you</p><p>What will you know of each other? </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-59450580497669406862020-07-29T22:59:00.001+01:002020-09-07T20:35:53.185+01:00Creativity in the Face of InsanityPandemic. Sounds like something that someone else lives through. Someone in a book or a film. Not us; surely not us. Yet here we all are, four months into a calamitous and daunting existence, socially distanced from our friends and family, watching from afar as livelihoods crumble and people unravel amidst the uncertainty of it all.<br />
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I spent the first few weeks of 'lockdown' soldiering through with a calm, practical, maternal mindset. Making sure we had enough food, keeping the children exercised and entertained. When we knew we just had to stay home to keep everyone safe, it was simple and straightforward. Not nice; but easy enough.<br />
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Then the rules started to change, and I began to feel a fizzing anxiety creeping in. Suddenly we were allowed to go places again and see people, if still maintaining our distance. But everyone seemed to be responding differently to the new rules, and it felt horribly confusing. Friendships suddenly felt fragile and precarious. The sensation of unknown adventure which we'd managed to maintain at first was quickly fading, to be replaced by the harsh realisation that this wasn't as temporary as we'd assumed. And with that, came a bleak feeling of claustrophobia and unease.<br />
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Right now, I am up and down on a daily basis. Some days, the sun will be shining and the kids just being kids in the great outdoors, and everything feels OK. Then I remember I still can't hug my mum, or go to the theatre, or enter a shop without a mask, and the weight of it falls back down on me like a ton of bricks.<br />
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The only way I've been able to quieten my frantic thoughts is by channeling my mind into creative pursuits. It doesn't always work, because the motivation ebbs and flows, much like the optimism. But with the help of willing collaborators, I have been able to at least complete a few little fun projects, which feel like an achievement under the circumstances, and will be something to look back on in years to come when we talk about what happened.<br />
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The day that we decided to lock down as a family (a week before the official lockdown), I had the idea to start a family podcast, which would record this unusual time for posterity. At the beginning, we were recording our activities and thoughts daily, but as time has gone on and the lockdown has eased, it has become more like once or twice a week. But listening back to old episodes is a reminder that family life has carried on in all its gritty, silly, ordinariness. And that is a comfort. Here's the latest episode. You can click on the title 'Bouncing Before Breakfast' to find the rest.<br />
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One of my first video projects was a topical parody of a Gilbert and Sullivan Song 'With Cat Like Tread', which I wrote and produced with the help of members of Eastbourne Gilbert and Sullivan Society:<br />
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This was followed by a silent movie style short film, also featuring G&S friends: </div>
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All of this was making me miss performing, and a few weeks into the lockdown, I had the idea to do a play reading with some fellow thesps via Zoom, which I recorded and published as a radio play. It was really fun, so we did a few more. You can listen to them all on Soundcloud:</div>
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<a href="https://soundcloud.com/rowstar" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Rowstar">Rowstar</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/rowstar/sets/radio-drama-recorded-during" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Radio Drama Recorded During Lockdown">Radio Drama Recorded During Lockdown</a><br />
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Singing has always been therapy to me, and I've tried to make time to use my voice while stuck at home. Lucy and I enjoyed learning this duet from Patience, and performing together virtually:<br />
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I also co-wrote this Covid-themed Mikado spoof with Adrian, although I still don't know why he decided to wear goggles:<br />
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My friend Erika (who lives in the US) had her 40th during the lockdown, and requested that people send her videos instead of presents, so I came up with this:<br />
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I'm conscious that all of this output seems fairly frivolous in the face of the global situation, and I've been trying to figure out how to express my true feelings about it all, in a more sincere way. I think it's going to take a while to process it, and to find the words to adequately articulate how it has felt, and the effect it has had - and will continue to have - on our lives.<br />
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Meanwhile, I hope these small offerings bring a smile, if nothing else. I've taken great pleasure in seeing other people's creativity explode all over the internet over the past few months, proving that although the arts industry may be drastically battered and bruised by what has happened, nothing will stop human beings creating and performing. It may take a long while for life to get back to normal, and for the arts industry to recover, but theatre will endure; it <i>will</i> find a way.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-80834580589489763462019-03-31T22:43:00.002+01:002021-03-14T09:12:07.040+00:00Reflections on Mother's Day I wake just before six, the tiniest prick of discomfort behind my eyes. A little too much to drink last night, perhaps. I know what day it is, I know I should feel happy and hopeful, and yet anxiety prevails. The kids are up already, playing and pottering in their rooms. Soon they will peek around the door, and the day ahead will unfold. But for now I exist in a state of dreamlike detachment; floating without purpose; a blink away from sleep. Existential preoccupations creep into my semi-conscious mind, filling the ethereal void. It is here that the least welcome thoughts present themselves, rudely demanding to be addressed. Wearily, I brush them aside, to be replaced with more practical, domestic concerns. Time passes and I drift in and out of sleep.<br>
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Now it is seven o’clock and I hear the shuffle of small feet on the landing, the opening of my bedroom door. Here is my son; daughter close behind. It is Mother’s Day and they excitedly present me with a home made card, which both have signed. A year ago the youngest would have struggled to write his own name; I reflect on his progress with some quiet satisfaction. On the surface, the mood is a happy one, and their expressions of love and gratitude sincere, and yet an unspoken tension is building. Invisibly it clings to us, its jagged edge perforating the expected simplicity of the moment. While hugs are exchanged, and downstairs tea is being brewed, this silent emotional onslaught continues to swell.<br>
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I wonder whether to say out loud what I know is on all our minds, to expose the elephant in the room. After a while, and a few sips of tea, I do. Although I am without question their mum, I did not give birth to these two; there was another mother before me who is still out there somewhere, and today she is more present than usual in our lives. I reassure them that it’s OK to be thinking about her, and that I understand it must be a difficult day for them. But my validation is awkwardly dismissed. They don’t want to be reminded. I understand that, too.<br>
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Breakfast is next: bagels and chocolate spread. The morning skitters along in a muddle of feelings as we do our best to embrace the occasion. No plans have been made; it is down to me to decide. I contemplate an adventure - something out of the ordinary - but check myself. On days like this, simple and familiar is best.<br>
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We go to Michelham Priory, where everyone is usually at ease. And the familiarity does seem to bring temporary relief from the pressures of expectation which have so far tainted the day. We laugh at the ‘dead daffodil festival’ (nature won’t be tied to a marketing calendar, it seems), eat a hearty lunch, buy some books from the second hand shelves in the cafe, bump into friends, and wander through the house and grounds.<br>
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While the children play in the playground, my thoughts wander back to a time before them. At some point I decided to become a mother, but I never fully appreciated the extent of what that would actually entail until now. Here I am, tied to these two dependent beings, carrying all their baggage and filling plenty of my own along the way. But there is love, too, and fun, and happiness and affection. In spite of the angst and the tension and the sometimes seemingly relentless conflict, my heart is full. If only that were enough to keep us all afloat.<br>
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A quick stop in Alfriston to buy a book for my own mum, and then home. The confines of the house seem to re-ignite earlier frictions. The kids are getting weary, and my late night is catching up on me. We scramble to get dinner ready, and I send the eldest on an errand to Waitrose for supplies. She comes back in tears because it was closing and she couldn’t find all the things in time. My fault for sending her against the clock. Pangs of guilt (oh, motherhood) as I attempt to assuage the upset. Then back to the cooking.<br>
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5pm. My mum arrives and I hug her for longer than usual. I need it. Need to feel connected and safe. Her presence brings comfort to all, and dissipates some of the lingering unease. The kids’ relationship with Nana is less complicated, and they happily relax into being with her, glad of the distraction. As bedtime approaches, the weight of today begins to lift from our collective shoulders. Stories and kisses and cuddles, and lights out by eight.<br>
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10pm and a door opens upstairs. I go up to see who is awake. It is the youngest, apparently disturbed by mysterious shapes in his room, made by the glow stars. As I go to lift him up and take him back to bed, he sighs sleepily “I love my mummy”, and my heart explodes into a thousand sparkling fragments. This is motherhood; not the cards or the flowers or the breakfast in bed. This sleepy gift of a little boy’s love, unceremonious and indubitable. This is all I need to know that I am a Mother.
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-83871233186396540282018-09-20T11:08:00.000+01:002018-09-20T11:09:05.940+01:00Four Years On: What is it Like to be an Adoptive Parent?This post has been brewing for a while, but a few things have happened lately which have prompted me to finish and publish it. The summer break is for me the hardest time of adoptive parenthood, when I am the most conscious of being a Different kind of family, and because of that, I seem to spend more time than usual preoccupied with mulling over what it's all about. For much of the time, adoptive parenthood, I assume, feels pretty similar to any kind of parenthood. Many of the challenges, pleasures and quirks are comparable. But underneath the daily normality, lurks a chasm of insecurity, which never really seems to close up. I know that I love my children, and I trust that they love me, but I worry constantly that this fragile bond will fall apart, that I will somehow break it through my own impatience or inadequacy. Whereas for many people the holidays can be a time of family bonding and shared adventures, for us six weeks with a lack of routine and the daily rollercoaster of New Experiences seems to open up this metaphorical chasm and make our family feel less tight-knit. It shifts us all into an uncomfortable pattern of insecurity and anxiety which takes at least another six weeks to wash out again. I have written about <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.com/2016/09/school-holidays-with-adopted-kids.html" target="_blank">the school holiday phenomenon</a> in another blog post, so I won’t elaborate here, but it is the recent shaky ground which has led me to reflect more deeply what it is to be an adoptive parent, and to attempt to describe how it feels as an experience distinct from being a biological parent.<br />
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The Road to Parenthood</h2>
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It is no secret that most people arrive at adoption having travelled down some kind of traumatic road. Whether they are there because of infertility, genetic or medical conditions that make pregnancy inadvisable, or because they haven’t found a partner with whom to pro-create, there is, in all likelihood, a nest of complication on which the adoptive journey begins. And it only gets more tangled as things progress. I am pretty open about having adopted my children, and will happily chat to people about the experience. Mostly they are interested in the practicalities of it all - the application process and all the paperwork you need to complete in order to be considered as adoptive parents. Certainly there were a lot of forms to fill in at the beginning, but that was the easy part. I actually found the application process quite enjoyable - as we were full of excitement and hope for our future family, yes still free from the ties and responsibilities of parenthood. If anyone wanting to adopt is put off by the initial red tape, then they are probably not cut out for the long-haul, and I guess that is partly the point.<br />
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What defines the adoptive parenthood far more is the journey beyond the dotted line: the bumpy, hairpin road that you drive through in a thunderstorm. A road that sometimes never seems to end. And the adoption process does to some extent prepare you for this; at least it tries to. We were given pre-adoption training in <a href="https://www.simplypsychology.org/attachment.html" target="_blank">attachment theory,</a> and warned about some of the challenges we might face in parenting children who have experienced trauma and neglect. But four days of workshops only really scratched the surface, and of course could not predict what our own individual children would be like, and how they would react to the huge transition and upheaval of being adopted. We were furnished with a certain amount of information about our children's known needs, but it is only now - four years on - that we are really beginning to comprehend the long-term impact of their shaky start in life, and to get our heads around what it is they really need from us. Because we haven't known them since birth, we had a lot of catching up to do, and will perhaps always be unpicking the past alongside our kids as they grow and mature.<br />
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Secondary Trauma</h2>
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Much like professionals who deal with traumatised patients on a daily basis, caring for children who have lived through trauma and neglect can take its emotional toll. This is known as <a href="https://www.nctsn.org/trauma-informed-care/secondary-traumatic-stress" target="_blank">secondary trauma</a>, and is a very real phenomenon. My heart is regularly eaten up by the thought of what happened to my children in the past, and the fact that I wasn’t around then to protect them from it. As their mother now, I feel fiercely defensive on their behalf, and am constantly trying to shield them from further emotional harm, sometimes at the expense of my own friendships and mental wellbeing. Before children, I had only really experienced one period of severe anxiety in my life, brought about by bullying in the work place (now there is a blog post I should really get around to writing), but now I am constantly battling inner demons, feeling wracked with self-doubt, and struggling to stay emotionally afloat, while trying to project a veneer of outward composure and stability for the kids. As someone who has always considered herself a Strong Independent Woman, mental health (my own anyway) is a hard subject to talk about. But talk about it we must.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-converted-space">The first year of adoption was a complete black hole for me emotionally. I often felt overwhelmed at the scale of the responsibility I had taken on, and unable to express my feelings outwardly, leading to bouts of emotional instability and <a href="https://www.childwelfare.gov/topics/adoption/adopt-parenting/depression/" target="_blank">depression</a>. I was too consumed with this inner unrest to even notice the love growing all around me, and was <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.com/2015/06/love-is-question-adoption-and-matters.html" target="_blank">afraid it would never come</a>. As time has gone by, and I have felt more confident in the bond that is developing between me and the children, the constant anxiety has been replaced with a lower-level one that rears its ugly head from time to time, like in the disquieting six weeks of the summer holidays.</span></div>
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It Never Gets Any Easier</h2>
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You would think that as time went on, adoptive parenthood would get easier, and that the childrens’ problems would start to resolve. But based on the first four years, I can’t see this being the case. I suppose you just get used to the demands of the job; you accept and deal with them because the love grows stronger and you want to be a good parent. Part of the journey is coming to terms with the fact that it will always be hard, and committing to love them regardless. In spite of my <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.com/2015/06/love-is-question-adoption-and-matters.html" target="_blank">early fears</a>, love has blossomed. It is unlike any love I have felt before, and not how I expected it to feel at all. I am filled with pride at even the seemingly smallest achievements of my two, and compelled to love them twice as hard to make up for the love they lacked in their lives before. I would not take away the experience of that love, even for an easier, more straightforward life.<br />
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As they are maturing and becoming more self aware, the children's issues are seeming if anything more complex. We have helped them through the first few years of ‘settling in’ to their new family, and certainly they have both shown amazing resilience, flexibility and progress through that time, but now we face the ongoing challenge of helping them come to terms with their past, establishing their own sense of identity based on a shaky foundation behind them, and giving them the extra support they will need through the emotionally volatile teenage years.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> So we take a deep breath each morning, and prepare ourselves for what daily life throws at us. Such it is, and so we go on.</span></div>
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Loneliness and Isolation</h2>
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One of the toughest things to learn to live with with as adoptive parents has been the limitations it has placed on our social life. Of course any parent goes through times of not getting out as much because of having young kids, but our experience has affected our friendships in what currently feels like a long-term (but hopefully not irrevocable) way. Before kids, our social circle was extensive and scattered. We would often meet up with different groups of people every week, travel to see far-off friends, and have people to stay with us. But, much as it saddens me, all that has had to change. We were advised in our adoption prep training to keep things simple for the children in the early days, and not over-expose them to too many new and different places, people and scenarios. To facilitate their attachment to us, they needed to feel secure and to establish familiarity amongst a small group of regular family and friends. What we didn’t realise was that the “early days” would not be only a matter of weeks or months, but would continue for almost four YEARS (so far), and perhaps longer. The friendships that have continued have been those that are entwined with our daily lives - through school, the kids clubs, and those who live in the same neighbourhood. It has been really hard to sustain anything regular beyond that immediate circle, and I have not felt like a very good friend in recent years.<br />
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There are a number of very beloved friends and relations who I have regretfully not seen AT ALL since the kids arrived, and many more that I have seen only occasionally and who have yet to meet the kids. New places and people STILL unsettle the children, and their insecurities mean that they struggle hugely with long-distance friendships. We have really only just begun to very gradually start opening up the circle of people that we see with them, and are still unable to take part in big group meet-ups where there are too many unfamiliar faces. It has been impossible to explain in detail to all of these people the intricacies of what has been going on, and why we may seem indefinitely unavailable, so we have had to rely heavily on people’s open-mindedness and acceptance. I am so grateful for the understanding and support of those affected, but I sorely miss spending time with these important people in my life, and indeed knowing what is going on in their lives.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Because there are relatively few adoptive parents around (compared with those who have reproduced in the conventional way) it can be an isolating experience. Even when friends are kind and supportive, they can’t always put themselves in your shoes. I am lucky enough to have the friendship and support of another couple who adopted, and so can always rely on them for an empathetic ear. It must be extra tough for those adoptive parents who don’t have others around them in the same situation. Of course, I have made new friendships through the children, but even this is more complicated than it used to be. It’s hard finding the combination of parents who ‘get it’ and are tolerant and supportive of the children’s needs, whose children bring out the best in mine and can deal with their emotional ups and downs. And honestly, I just feel like I have less to give as a friend than before. I know that there are many other parents who feel the same, especially those whose children have additional behavioural or emotional needs. So I guess this isn’t something that’s unique to adoptive parenthood, but the powerful desire to protect one’s child from any more loss in their lives - when friendships go wrong or people let them down - perhaps, is. Here I should put in a massive ‘thank you’ to the small circle of friends and family who have been consistent and supportive throughout our adoption journey, and those who have given moral support from afar, along with an apology for not being a better friend in return.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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Because They Are Worth It</h2>
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Writing this post, I have started to feel a little guilty that it reads like a list of complaints and regrets. It’s not. Yes, it is hard, and yes I have had to dramatically adjust my expectations of what life is for me now, but when I look into their eyes and see happiness where desolation once dwelled, or when a sincere “I love you mum” comes out of nowhere after days of defiance and destruction, everything else falls away. Had our paths not crossed, I would never have known the feeling of fierce, protective, restorative love that comes with adoptive parenthood, or experienced the privilege of teaching another human being how to love and be loved. To have earned their love against the odds has brought unparalleled joy into my life. And although it utterly exhausts and depletes me at times, I would not be without them now.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Adoption is not the most straightforward version of parenthood, but it is a rare and exceptional experience, and one which is daunting and frustrating and raw and sad and magical and transformative and beautiful all at once. My children have taught me more about myself than I ever knew before; they have opened my eyes to possibilities I had never considered, and they continue to astound and amaze me every day. They feel as much mine as if they had grown inside me, and I cannot imagine life without them.<br />
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Afterword:</h3>
This is what adoptive parenthood is like for me; obviously I cannot speak for other parents. But I have long been pondering exploring the subject further, and would love to talk to others who are willing to share their perspective and experiences, perhaps for a podcast or vlog. Please leave me a comment or tweet me @<a href="http://twitter.com/rowstar" target="_blank">Rowstar</a> if you are interested in being a part of this.</div>
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<br />Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-5671562940255562942018-06-17T20:27:00.000+01:002018-06-17T20:27:56.924+01:00Dear Dad... | What Father's Day Means to Me
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Father’s Day. A stream of gushing Facebook posts dominate my feed, in heartfelt appreciation for fathers past and present. A pang of guilt washes over me as I realise I have neglected to send any kind of greeting to my own Dad, a feeling accompanied by a deeper sense of regret that I haven’t seen enough of him lately. Life is hectic, and since my kids’ father is away for the weekend, I’d not even clocked that this Hallmark Holiday was upon us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Aside from birthdays, I’ve never been much of a fan of the ‘appreciation day’ culture - Valentine’s, Father’s Day, National Doughnut Day (yes, it's a thing); as an adoptive parent, even Mother’s Day is a far from straightforward celebration in our family. But when everyone else is so publicly on the ‘yay dad’ bandwagon, it seems somewhat callous to abstain. I could have dashed out and bought a last minute card, but it is hard to find one whose sentiments accurately reflect my relationship with my dad, and frankly the football-and-beer-themed “best dad ever” selection is just not going to cut it. So I decided instead to attempt a more authentic exploration of what he means to me…</div>
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More than anything else I have inherited from him, it is Dad’s offbeat, mischievous sense of humour and love of comic poetry for which I am most grateful. I can remember him reading me Spike Milligan, quoting the Goons, and teaching me practical jokes at a young age, and those influences have stayed with me into my adult life. I like to think I also have something of Dad’s practical nature and problem-solving skills; I have always admired these qualities about him.</div>
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<br />Father’s Day sentiments are complicated for me and Dad, because I don’t actually remember a time when he was living at home. There are a few hazy memories - Christmas morning in Mum and Dad’s bed with the textured orange throw, and Dad’s retro dressing gown; the chaos of him redecorating the kitchen while mum was in hospital having my younger sister - but not much of the day-to-day. I am thankful that my parents stayed good friends when they split up, and Dad was around, if not a constant presence. Both he and mum were active CND members in those days, and I can recall being taken on protest marches as a child, and riding on the CND carnival float alongside a giant model missile that Dad had constructed - one of many such props that made our childhoods all the more interesting and eccentric.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That CND carnival float</td></tr>
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Having a stage manager for a father has definitely had its perks. As well as the intriguing theatrical cast-offs that made their way into our playroom, Dad could always be relied upon to fix things (albeit with gaffer tape and a prayer), build things and generally provide DIY support services. I have taken to heart his motto of “if it doesn’t work, use a bigger hammer”, and am never without several rolls of gaffer tape with which to tackle any domestic emergencies.</div>
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Mum and Dad met working in the theatre in the 60s, and it was Dad who persuaded me into my first summer job on followspots at the Hippodrome in 1992, when I was 15. This was undoubtedly an influential milestone in my life. I spent 10 or more summers working there, as well as pantomimes at the Devonshire Park, forging life-long friendships and learning a useful (?) repertoire of old songs from the various veteran acts who performed there. For some of that time, I was working alongside Dad as well as other Stanfields, and it is a time I remember as being one of the closest we have shared.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Backstage crew at the Hippodrome - early nineties (Dad 3rd from left)</td></tr>
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Another of those times was when I was away at university, and Dad would come up and visit me from time to time. I will be forever thankful to him for helping extricate me from an awful shared housing situation, rocking up with his campervan while my house ‘mates’ (who had been systematically ganging up on me for months before) were away for the weekend, and helping me move, in stealth, to a little bedsit in Barnes where I stayed for my final year. Whereas mum has always provided (and still does provide) the emotional support and physical comfort, it is this type of practical gesture through which Dad has shown his love.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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As a younger man, my dad was partial to a jive. I have distinct memories of him busting some impressive moves at various family occasions, and although I have never mastered the genre myself (there is still time!), I have an enduringly fond association with its music. Just yesterday I was at Michelham Priory’s Home Front weekend, watching a Lindy Hop group give a demonstration, and thinking about Dad’s love of dancing, while tapping my feet to the infectious tunes. I can vividly picture his younger, rock-n-rolling self of the 1950s, based on the colourful anecdotes of his youth that he has painted over the years. He is a spirited raconteur, and has inspired me to try and continue the tradition, passing on the family folklore to my own children.</div>
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Dad, we may not have the most conventional or consistent of father-daughter relationships, but as you can see, you have influenced me, and I love you. Thank you for Spike, Elvis, Brubeck and gaffer tape.</div>
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-71485641687177155382017-10-21T15:30:00.000+01:002017-10-23T19:21:04.272+01:00Becoming a Full Time Home Educator<div class="p1">
I never set out to home-educate my son, but as of September this year, this is what we are doing. <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/he-started-school-end-of-era.html" target="_blank">I was so positive about him starting school last year</a>, having spent a bonus 12 months together after we deferred his school entry on the grounds of him being summer born. Although I knew there would <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/when-children-have-big-feelings.html" target="_blank">still be challenges,</a> I felt he was ready to begin his formal learning journey, and to integrate positively with his classmates. What I hadn’t considered in any depth was whether the school was equipped, or indeed willing, to accommodate his needs. Of course I had met with them before he started, talking over potential stumbling blocks with the SENCO and his class teacher, who seemed to take on board my concerns. But it turned out that the mainstream school system, currently bereft of funding to support vulnerable and challenging pupils, and with a worrying lack of understanding about <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/what-can-i-do-to-help-guide-to.html" target="_blank">the needs of adopted children</a>, is ill-equipped to embrace a complex little squarepeg such as mine. </div>
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We tried for a year to make it work, starting with a prolonged phased entry that turned into permanent flexi-schooling (because there was apparently no funding for an extra support person in the afternoons). I found myself taking on the bulk of his literacy and numeracy basics at home, while he picked up social skills and other cognitive tools in the classroom. His teacher was truly lovely, and worked so hard to try and accommodate his needs, but the sad fact was that there really was no framework in place at the school level to ensure a long-term support plan for him. And I didn’t want him to be <i>accommodated</i>, I wanted him to be <i>included, integrated</i>; to <i>thrive</i>. The reality of the situation began to weigh heavily on my mind, and by the spring term it was clear, despite several meetings on the subject, that no steps had been taken to ensure a more robust plan for him going into year one. So rather than set him<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>up to fail, I took the life-changing decision to remove him from the system altogether, and make myself the only person responsible for meeting his educational needs.</div>
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I am thankful that family and friends have been hugely supportive of our decision to homeschool, despite it being a departure from the historical norm amongst our folk. Naturally people are curious as to what homeschooling actually entails, but this is a difficult question to answer, since there are so many varied approaches, and we are still in the process of figuring ours out. At the moment, we are going with a semi-structured approach, whereby we try and do 1-2 hours of formal-ish learning at home a day (I say “ish” because much of this is play-based), covering reading, writing and numeracy. There is no set curriculum we have to follow, and so we are wonderfully free to take a completely personalised route to achieving our goals. For example, at the moment, we are hardly doing any maths at all, because his reading is coming on so much and he is eager to progress. I would rather capitalise on this momentum than enforce an arbitrary ‘daily selection’ as is offered by most schools. The often ignored, but glaringly obvious truth is that children learn best when they are interested, and being able to follow the natural motivations of a learner is bound to lead to more effective learning. </div>
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The rest of the time, we are out and about, going to groups and meetups (currently: drama club, forest school, social groups, swimming, trampolining) and pursuing whatever else interests him. We spend a lot of time outdoors, because that is where we are both happiest. We learn on the go when driving along or out shopping, seeking answers to his constant questions at the library or on YouTube. We decided to have a termly topic to give some focus to this exploration, and his term we have been discovering the Celts & Romans (his choice). This has taken us to hillforts, museums and castles, and on a train trip to discover Roman Londinium. I am learning loads alongside him, and feeling generally very enthused. On the down side, it is non-stop, physically exhausting, and it is taking a while to develop a social circle so I am missing the day-to-day support of Other Mums. But after just a few weeks I can already see the benefit for him. Aside from the odd tantrum or grumpy moodswing (mine and his), he is in great spirits and enjoying the new regime. The carefree sparkle that emerged in his toddler years has shown itself again, and we are rediscovering the special intimacy we enjoyed in those days. Occasionally there are wobbles about missing his classmates, but I think overall he appreciates the advantages of being homeschooled.</div>
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Who knows how long this era will last. I still have a daughter in school (and yes, there have been some jealousy issues there, but honestly it would be too much to home-ed them both), and perhaps her brother will decide to go back there at some point, too. But for now this feels like absolutely the right option for bringing out the best in him. It is early days, but most of the time I am feeling good about it, and it is certainly a relief to have the constant worries about school behind us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-73162274738975349892017-06-07T20:41:00.000+01:002017-06-07T20:41:43.982+01:00When Children Have Big Feelings - An Adoptive Parent’s Perspective<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">There are days, many blissful uplifting days, when I feel like a regular parent to two affectionate, curious, contented, effervescent young kids. But sometimes, like a fast-rolling fog, the darkness rolls in and I remember how much pain and confusion lurks behind the dazzling smiles of these beautiful little beings. Suddenly I am staring raw anger and grief in the face, reaching out to a wounded child who needs my help. When faced with their emotional, and often physical, outpourings, I have to remind myself where these expressions of grief come from, that my children have experienced trauma and neglect in their life before adoption, and that their extreme outbursts may be an attempt to express this. The hardest part is learning to identify which of their behaviours is developmentally normal and what might be an externalisation of their unresolved grief, or a result of their emotional immaturity. Most important is to separate the feelings from the behaviours: “it’s OK to have those feelings, but it’s not OK to do <i>that.</i>” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">As a family we have developed our own unique approaches to problematic behaviour, and most of our close friends and family support this. But outside of this inner sanctum, I am used to having to deal with other people’s often unhelpful responses. The disapproving look when my child is hyper-vigilant in the supermarket or has a meltdown in the queue; being asked to stay home on the day of the school nativity in case he spoils it for everyone else; having fewer playdate invitations than everyone else and being left off party invitation lists. These are all real situations that our family has faced, and we are not alone. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s hard enough when we are there with our kids, giving them parental support through their emotional rollercoasters, but now that they are school aged, we cannot be at their sides all the time, and they have to ride it out in the company of less enlightened peers and educators. The thought of this has been getting me down a lot lately. As they get older, the gaps in our children's emotional development become more obvious, and more problematic within friendships and social situations. While the youngest’s anxieties tend to manifest as toddler-like tantrums and lashing out physically, our eight year old lacks social confidence and her coping mechanisms project as bossiness, giddiness and lack of impulse control. But how can her classmates and their parents be expected to understand what’s behind this, and to feel compassion for her rather than contempt?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It is impossible to explain to every person who crosses our path the complicated reasons behind the way our children behave; that they cannot physically control their impulses because their brains have not developed in the same way as everyone else’s due to early neglect and trauma. Or that they are in the grip of very real feelings of grief, loss and anger about what has happened to them. The saddest thing of all is that when my children are treated as different and get excluded from social situations, it perpetuates their problems. Their self esteem, which was fragile to begin with, takes a further nosedive every time they are rejected or excluded by peers, given a ‘time-out’ by teachers, or experience disdain from total strangers. Low self esteem leads to social angst and this in turn keeps the fright-or-flight part of the brain (the amygdala) in a permanent alarm state, which then leads to more hyper, seemingly out-of-control behaviour. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I don’t want you to feel sorry for my child because of what has happened to them in the past, I just ask that you try and understand them and why they are like they are now. What they need more than anything is to feel accepted and loved unconditionally, in spite of how they act. Of course we reinforce this all the time at home, but in the wider world they often seem doomed to meet with disapproval and rejection, and I fear for their long-term social integration because of this.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I do understand why people sometimes react the way they do; goodness knows I am frequently baffled by my own children’s actions and have to remind myself to treat their behaviour as a neurological state which needs therapeutic support, rather than as naughtiness that needs to be punished. And this isn’t something that’s exclusive to adopted children. Even adults flip out sometimes as a result of emotional overload, but we tend to be much more supportive of adult mental health problems than we do of our children’s. We expect such a lot of such tiny people, and tell them all the time that they need to suppress their big feelings, rather than give them the tools to express themselves constructively. Many school discipline systems fail to recognise that children are emotionally fragile, still developing beings, and focus too much on threats and bribes in an attempt to control behaviour, rather than addressing the underlying causes or helping them to move forward developmentally. The book <a href="http://amzn.to/2sS4RWS"><span class="s2">Punished by Rewards</span></a> tackles this widespread educational phenomenon, and I would encourage any headteacher, teacher or school governor who has endorsed the use of Golden Time, Thinking Clouds or Traffic Light systems in classrooms to read it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Of course children must learn about rules, and need to be given boundaries, but this doesn’t negate the need for compassion and understanding for their underlying emotional distress. Fortunately, thanks to initiatives like the <a href="https://www.thriveapproach.com/the-thrive-approach/"><span class="s2">Thrive Approach</span></a>, things are beginning to change, in schools which embrace this approach at least. But it is not enough to simply bolt this system onto existing practices. The overall mindset of schools and parents needs to shift towards a more empathetic approach, and away from labelling children as “naughty” or “disruptive” - a reputation that is hard to shake off. We need to help our children to manage their feelings, rather than punishing them for having feelings. A reward chart for compliance in class does not address children’s emotional needs, or equip them with the intrinsic motivation to Do The Right Thing.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Due to the sheer amount of time children spend there, schools play a crucial role their pupils’ emotional and moral development, but we as adults in the outside world are responsible, too. Next time you see a child having a public meltdown, or your own child comes home reporting someone else’s “bad” behaviour at school, take a moment to consider your response. Offer empathy and support, rather than disapproval. Since becoming more enlightened about infant neurology through Thrive training and from reading around the subject, I have found it easier to stand back from the midst of an outburst and remind myself what is happening, scientifically speaking, which helps me to take things a lot less personally when I am under attack by my own kids. I now know that there is no point in trying to reason with a child whose brain is locked in fright-or-flight mode. First I must help them return into the thinking part of their brain (the neocortex), and I have strategies up my sleeve to help get them there. I am also comforted by the knowledge that with the right input, young brains can still be developed and neural pathways forged to help them eventually be able to self-regulate.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I was prompted to write this post after reading <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/joyful-parenting/201705/not-naughty-10-ways-kids-appear-be-acting-bad-arent"><span class="s2">an article in Psychology Today</span></a>, which really resonated with my own experiences and aligns with much of the thinking behind the Thrive Approach. I would be interested to hear from others who are parenting with these thoughts in mind, too. Comment here, or tweet me @<a href="http://twitter.com/rowstar" target="_blank">rowstar</a>.</span></div>
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-68583020979895557132016-09-25T10:59:00.000+01:002016-09-25T10:59:26.987+01:00He Started School - The End of an Era<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
My little boy started school last week, and like any parent sending their youngest off in uniform for the first time, I have been awash with a jumble of emotions. The overwhelming feeling has been one of pride for my son, who has come so far and achieved so much after a difficult start in life, and who walked happily and confidently into his new classroom on the first day. But there is also an undeniable sense of loss on my part (and maybe his) for the end of a magical, transformative time, which seems to have ended too soon. He only became my little boy two years ago through adoption, and for all of that time we have been immersed in the business of bonding, nurturing, healing, developing and adventuring together. We made the decision to defer his entry into reception, as he had only been with us a year by the time he was due to go last year, was only just four, and wasn’t ready emotionally or developmentally. I knew he needed more of me, and more time just to be a free spirit, so I put my office career on hold and officially made parenting my day-to-day business. I wrote <a href="https://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/dont-call-me-stay-at-home-mum.html" target="_blank">this post at the time, about becoming a full time parent</a>, after deciding not to return to work when my adoption leave came to an end. It was a big leap, but having seen the incredible progress of my child during that time, I have no regrets. I know I will at some point be able to drop back into the world of paid employment, but children are only tiny once, and he needed me. And it has been so worth it.</div>
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<h2>
Deferring Summer Born Children</h2>
During the process of applying for permission to defer our boy from school, we were challenged by certain parties about our motivations, and told that we’d be “holding him back” by keeping him out of school for another year. Then, as now, I maintained that it was more about helping him get ahead than slowing his progress. However wonderful and progressive a school, it can never provide the same level of nurture and care as the one-to-one attention of a loving parent. And this above all was the greatest need of my child at the time. Far from holding up his education, every day that we have spent together has been filled with opportunities for enrichment and learning. There are so many things he can do now that he couldn’t 12 months ago, which I know will help his transition into formal education. Just a few that come to mind…</div>
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<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Hold a pen and make identifiable shapes with it</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Hold and use a pair of scissors</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Recount events and tell made up stories</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Play make-believe/role-play games and use his imagination</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Build simple Lego vehicles</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Play turn-taking games</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Ride a balance bike</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Swing himself on the swings</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Make meaningful friendships and play happily with other kids</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Recognise all the letters of the alphabet and a handful of sight words</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Count to ten</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Cut up food with a knife and fork</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Go to the toilet independently and have very few accidents</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Speak in sentences longer than four or five words</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Be confident in new situations and when meeting new people</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #454545; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Tell you all about medieval history, especially the Battle of Hastings</span></li>
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These may seem like run-of-the-mill achievements for an average five year old, but behind each of these accomplishments are fundamental executive and motor skills that will underpin my son’s school life, and allow him to make progress without the need for any major intervention or support. Had he gone to school a year ago, he would still have needed to acquire many of these, as well as coping with the demands of everyday school life. I am glad to see the option to defer summer born children becoming more straightforward for parents, and would encourage anyone (especially adoptive families) in doubt as to what is right for their child to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together. Even though it hasn’t always been straightforward or easy, I feel truly blessed to have had the chance to invest in my son wholeheartedly for an extra 12 months, and I would happily do it all over again. </div>
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<h2>
What Next?</h2>
Coming home after dropping him at school, the house feels hollow and eerily quiet. I miss his little footsteps padding about the place, his many questions (to which I try and respond with more questions) and irresistible requests to “play with me mummy?”. I already miss the beat of our little routines - his hand in mind walking round the corner to playgroup, the games we’d play to make supermarket shopping fun, exploring castles, woods and beaches together. Without him here to entertain, I find myself a little lost. “What will you do with yourself now?” is the question on everyone’s lips, and right now I don’t feel I can answer it. Parenthood - for all its ups and downs - has changed me, sent me down paths I had not considered before, and I am not sure I can go backwards from here. Certainly I am not rushing to sit behind a desk again. So for now I am taking a breath, a well-earned break, while I figure out what comes next. </div>
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-53736273712733355332016-09-01T22:24:00.000+01:002016-09-01T22:24:54.490+01:00Surviving the Summer Holidays - an Adoptive Family’s GuideThe first day of September signals the summer holidays winding down, back to school just around the corner, routine and sanity almost within reach. I’m sure for some parents this brings sadness as a time of fun and leisure comes to an end, but for me the overwhelming feeling at this point is of relief (that we can all get back to normal) and accomplishment (that we made it through with all our limbs in tact and are still smiling). For many families, the prospect of six weeks off school for the kids is a joyous one - escaping the daily grind of the school run, getting a lie-in more than twice a week, spending quality time together - all understandable reasons for relishing this rest from the norm. All these ideas are appealing to me in theory, but for my little brood, who already come with no small amount of baggage, the summer break particularly brings extra challenges and is predominantly an unsettling time. It was at this time of year that they moved from foster care to live with us, and the ghost of that momentous transition seems to loom over us still during the holidays. Even without this historical curveball, mine are kids that thrive on predictability and routine, and being thrown into an seemingly endless abyss of unstructured days is a daunting prospect for them. Add to that the sense of loss and grief of leaving behind school teachers at the end of term, and we find ourselves suddenly launched into the most difficult and emotionally tumultuous time of year. This year has been particularly hard, with both kids starting new schools in September - the youngest for the first time - adding to the mix inevitable anxiety and apprehension about that.<p>
<p><h2>We Made It Through the Wilderness Somehow</h2>
We have been together as a family for two years, and this is our third summer together. The first was our honeymoon period, just after they had moved in, and everyone was on best behaviour. Everything was new and exciting, and the kids were caught up in the adventure of it all. Last year, having already experienced the upheaval of half terms in between, I was frankly terrified at the thought of six whole weeks of the same, and without the support of the other half on a daily basis. So I did what I always do when I panic - I made a spreadsheet. You may scoff, but just being able to see the days laid out, and to fill them with playdates, holiday clubs and activities, made me feel instantly calmer. And a calm mummy is a better mummy. Of course there is always room for spontaneity, and many of our plans were flexible enough to accommodate the possibilities of our up-days and the demands of our down-days. I made sure I was seeing other adults on a regular basis (and I thank my friends for indulging my need to plan ahead), and had contingency plans for rainy days. Because in that first year, when I experienced the literal embodiment of the phrase “bouncing off the walls”, staying home all day was just not an option. The Spreadsheet became my comfort blanket for the first summer, and I was already making one for this year by April.</p>
<p><h2>(Predictable) Yeah, that's the word of the year</h2>
Being organised about the summer holidays is good for my sanity, but also for the kids, who love to know what is coming up. They will often ask “what are we doing this week?” and repeatedly request to confirm the details of planned activities as they are looming. I always remind them before bed what is happening the next day, and it does seem to physically relax them to be in the know. It also saves on arguments and debates about what we should do, if it has already been decided and declared in advance. If the activity involves meeting new people or places, we will also factor in some familiarisation time (looking at photos or videos, describing the person or place) to avoid anxiety about New Things. Yes, we go to the park a lot, and for walks in the woods or on the Downs, but many of our favourite playground hang-outs become overcrowded and stressful during the summer holidays, and the kids will tire of the same old walks eventually. So we try to be a bit creative and varied in our pursuits, while maintaining enough familiarity to keep things calm.</p>
<p><h2>Back in the Old Routine</h2>
The idea of holiday clubs may not be an obvious one for adopted kids, but it works for mine. Having the routine of a repeated activity every day in a week seems to provide something of the stability we otherwise lack once school is out, and has the added advantage of giving the younger child some much needed 1:1 time when the oldest spends the morning doing things like gymnastics, watersports or musical theatre. This year and last, she spent two out of the six weeks at this type of camp, and loved it. It also tires her out physically and gives her something positive into which she can channel those unspent emotions. We’ve also done quite a few one-off activity clubs with both kids - <a href="http://www.cherrywoodkids.co.uk">nature and role-play in the woods with Sarah</a> has been a particular favourite.</p>
<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAfaurMyigOrORUZNvp9yaB5em0GVTZGsIX_yH-kOOW0fNVRKNAi1QC3zDTcXF7Cto0SGwDsjorXBnxv6fProWWwPtBxMYPRdsf0rW-tCUVmcDy_LjAmLmOxQVyJv8ZDQLqnWJg/s1600/IMG_4392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAfaurMyigOrORUZNvp9yaB5em0GVTZGsIX_yH-kOOW0fNVRKNAi1QC3zDTcXF7Cto0SGwDsjorXBnxv6fProWWwPtBxMYPRdsf0rW-tCUVmcDy_LjAmLmOxQVyJv8ZDQLqnWJg/s400/IMG_4392.JPG" width="400" height="300" /></a></div></p>
<p>We are good in the Great Outdoors, and this is where I must put in a special word for the wonderful <a href="https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk">National Trust</a>. We were gifted a membership not long after we adopted, and have utterly embraced it. We’re lucky enough to have several wonderful places locally (Batemans and Bodiam Castle are our particular favourites), and although each has its unique charms, there is a thread of comforting familiarity about every property that makes a day out at any one of them free from the anxiety that New Places can sometimes otherwise bring. We have more recently joined the <a href="https://sussexpast.co.uk">Sussex Archaeological Trust</a>, which has extended our repertoire of beautiful nearby locations in which to adventure, including the charming Michelham Priory which seems to become more alluring on each visit. While kids will always nag to visit fairgrounds, water parks, theme parks and other shiny attractions, in reality they are much happier somewhere green and spacious, and so am I. Summer in these idyllic spots brings flowers and wildlife to explore, as well as trails and activities laid on for the kids. It is a great comfort to know that if we are ever at a loss for something to do, I can always whisk us all off to one of these delightful places and almost guarantee that we will all come home feeling better for it.<p>
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<p><h2> would be, it would be so nice</h2>
Let’s face it, holidays away are not what they used to be. Perhaps more than anything else in post-kids life, I miss the freedom and whimsy of travel without children. I so want my kids to discover the pleasures of exploring other places and cultures, but I have to accept that they are only little and they do love home best. That they have come to cherish their surroundings and miss home so deeply when they are away is a wonderful thing, and something that we don’t want to undermine. Asking them to uproot, even for a short period of time, is a big demand for children who have already experienced so much disruption. But it is nice to get away, and having experimented with various options, we have managed to find ways to cope with being On Vacation. So far we have tried camping, Bed and Breakfast, and self catering, and the latter was by far the most successful. The theory that motorhome camping would provide some kind of comforting familiarity didn’t really work out, and it proved impossible to persuade the kids that sleeping in the back of a van was a sensible and sane thing to do. In a hotel setting, they were unsettled by the presence of other guests in the hallways and footsteps from upstairs, but in self catering we were able to replicate the home routine more closely and create a cosy, quiet sanctuary to return to at the end of each day.</p>
<p><h2>You’ve Got a Friend in Me</h2>
The summer holidays are so exhausting, that I usually just feel like downing a glass of wine and crawling into bed once the kids are asleep each night (even more-so than on a regular term time evening!). But I do try and force myself to go out from time to time and see friends. A mental health top-up is as important as physical rest, and I never regret an evening in good company. Likewise, the kids need to keep up with their peers when they’re not at school, and although playdates (especially at home) can be hard work, the pay-off is happier kids with someone to play with on their level, and less anxiety about returning to a class of half-forgotten friends in September. On the flip-side, it can be easy to fall into the trap of seeing too many new people over the summer. Inevitably, family and friends come to town and want to catch up, but I do try to mostly see familiar faces when possible during this time, avoiding the additional emotional highs and lows that new friendships (especially with long-distance friends) can bring. It’s better to introduce new people during normal working hours when everything else is familiar and predictable.</p>
<p><h2>I Will Survive</h2>
Surviving your first summer holiday as an adoptive parent feels like one of those Earning Your Stripes milestones, but I am not sure that it gets any easier as the years go by. Like the rest of the year, you have to take one day at a time and not beat yourself up on the bad days - which can feel more frequent and full-on just because you are together so much more. You have to celebrate the good days, and focus on the knowledge that things will get less intense again once term time starts. And when next year rolls around, you’ll be better equipped to keep your family ticking along through the summer break.</p>
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<p>I'd love to hear from other adoptive (or otherwise) families on how they cope with the challenges of the summer holidays. Leave me a comment, or tweet @<a href="http://twitter.com/rowstar">rowstar</a>. Meanwhile, here are my top tips in a handy list...</p>
<ul>
<li>Plan ahead, with room for flexibility.</li>
<li>Have rainy day ideas up your sleeve.</li>
<li>Go to places that calm your children and you<br>
(Avoid hectic theme parks and fairgrounds).</li>
<li>Replace the routine with clubs and day-camps.</li>
<li>Try and make sure siblings each get some 1:1.</li>
<li>See close friends as often as possible (yours and theirs).</li>
<li>For getaways, choose holiday cottages over camping or B&Bs.</li>
<li>Join the National Trust (or English Heritage, or local equivalent).</li>
<li>Book a babysitter and get in some evenings out.</li>
<li>Give yourself a break when it goes awry. Tomorrow is another day.</li>
</ul>
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-80993945591862387562016-02-16T12:21:00.003+00:002016-02-20T12:02:14.537+00:00How to Help Your Adopted Children Feel a Sense of Belonging<div class="MsoNormal">
As far back as I can remember, I have always felt a strong
sense of belonging. Even in times when I felt disconnected and excluded at
school, or during a brief horrible time of being bullied at work, I knew that I
could always return to a familiar, nurturing place called home where I was loved
and understood. Feeling that we belong is something most of us take for
granted, because it develops naturally through the loving input of our family
and friends. For me as a child, it also came from being a part of clubs like
Guides, musical theatre and the church choir. As an adult, I have been lucky
enough to extend this sense of belonging in the world through close-knit
friendship circles, and the loving home I have built with my husband. Even at
work (bullying episode notwithstanding), I have been lucky enough to have had
supportive and inclusive colleagues who created that same sense of fitting in
at work. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But for my two adopted children it is a different story. At
a young age they were removed from everything familiar, and spent a long time
in the no-mans land of foster care. Even the most loving and nurturing foster
parents cannot compensate for the sense of disaffection triggered by such a
fundamentally temporary and transient existence. The process of adoption is
such a major upheaval in a child’s life, involving so much transition, grief
and loss, which can all contribute to a sense of disconnectedness, that in turn
leads to anxiety, unhappiness and ultimately, difficult behaviour or emotional
withdrawal. Everything I have read from adoptees reflecting in later life tells
me that their ongoing issues can often be put down to never feeling part of
something, never quite belonging.<br />
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<i>"Adoption is outside. You act out what it feels like to be the one who doesn’t belong. And you act it out by trying to do to others what has been done to you. It is impossible to believe that anyone loves you for yourself." Jeanette Winterson, <a href="http://amzn.to/1KmYvGM" target="_blank">Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?</a></i><br />
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For adoptive families today, there is plenty of advice on
dealing with the most common issues that we face - attachment disorders, behavioural problems, developmental
delays etc, but my view is that until you can help your child to psychologically integrate their life experiences, none
of these other problems can be successfully resolved, either. Part of this process is of course helping children to come to terms with their early life 'before' and to fill in the gaps for them with information about their birth families, and even through contact (direct or letterbox) when this is deemed appropriate. It is hoped that having access to these resources can dispel some of the sense of disconnectedness that comes from leaving behind one family to join another, removing the uncertainty, mystery and curiosity that can be a barrier to true acceptance of the new family. But even with this support, adopted children can continue to flounder between worlds, struggling throughout their lifetime to feel genuinely part of something. I often wonder how my own kids might be feeling about this, or how it will affect them down the line. They are still very young and can't exactly articulate these feelings, but I do sense their presence sometimes, reading between the lines. Every day I ask myself what I can do to increase my children's sense of belonging in our family, to help them fully embrace the now and the future. I've looked to my own childhood and tried to replicate the things that helped me feel grounded, and I do believe it is possible to help this process along without the need for professional intervention. Here are some of the ways that seem to be working for us...</div>
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<h2>
Home Sweet Home<o:p></o:p></h2>
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When I visited my children in foster care at the start of our
introductions, I was struck by the lack of photos of them in the home, even
though they had lived there for two years. It was as if they had been treading
water there, without growing any roots. I wanted them to know from the outset
that their presence would be completely integrated and fondly celebrated in their new home, and made
sure this was visible on the first day they came to visit. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Right from the first days of your introductions with the
children, you can help them develop a connection to your home and your family.
Take photos of you together during this time, print and frame them to be hung
generously around the house before they move in, so that it feels like they
have always been there. Keep building
this family gallery as time goes on, making a visual celebration of your lives together.
The kids will come with Life Story books of their lives before, but looking
forwards and having a record of the now is just as important.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Make their personal spaces feel welcoming and lived-in, too.
Much as you will want to present a new and perfect environment for your child,
let go a little and make sure familiar possessions are present and integrated –
on the bed, floor, etc – as if the child had just left the room. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Home is not just the four walls that surround you at night, it is your neighbourhood, your community, your town. For adopted children arriving in a new and unfamiliar place, developing a connection to their surroundings is another route towards the feeling of fitting in. Share your love of special local places with your kids, and build shared memories there. Whether it is a park, favourite café, walk, beach or country house. Discovering new places together and visiting them often is also a wonderful bonding experience that allows your children to feel invested in their new lives. We were gifted a National Trust membership in the early months of the placement, and have used it frequently as a springboard for family adventures. A couple of places in particular have quickly become firm favourites that we love to go back to, and can reminisce about previous visits each time.</div>
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The More We Get Together, The Happier We Feel<o:p></o:p></h2>
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The adoption authorities will hammer home how important it
is to keep your kids focused on you – the adoptive parents – for the first
weeks and months of the placement, and to avoid overwhelming them with new people.
There are good reasons behind this theory, but it should not be at the expense
of developing the children’s sense of belonging as soon as possible. I quickly
realised how much my kids craved friendship with peers and enjoyed being a
part of other people’s lives. Our eldest especially had left behind meaningful
friendships and was grieving these as well as the loss of everything else she’d
known. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I wanted my children to understand that their lives would be
rich with love and support not just from us, but from our friends and family,
too. After a few weeks of ‘hunkering down’ we carefully opened up our social
life to a few close friends, mainly those with kids of a similar age and who
could be a regular and reliable presence in our kids’ lives. We have been fortunate enough to include in this a couple of other adoptive families, which dilutes some of the sense of difference our kids may feel and gives them peers with whom they can share a unique affinity. Having this extended support network on hand was a complete life-saver for me in <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/love-is-question-adoption-and-matters.html" target="_blank">difficult times</a>, and helping the kids to
make friends quickly does seem to have boosted their confidence, and acceptance of their new
lives.<br />
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Although it has been awkward at times, we’ve avoided
introductions with long-distance friends and family, or those who cannot make a
regular commitment to seeing the kids. We want the people in whom they invest
to be consistent and familiar, not scattered and unpredictable. I'm thankful that the friends who’ve
been involved have been very sensitive about the <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/what-can-i-do-to-help-guide-to.html" target="_blank">particular etiquette needed around newly adopted kids</a>, so that their presence in no way compromises the attachment
between us and the children. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/macrophile/24838256" target="_blank">John D, Flickr</a></div>
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Remember That Time We…</h2>
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...So goes the familiar refrain of family
gatherings around the world. The ability to recall and celebrate shared
memories is something that keeps families feeling connected, and the same goes
for those little traditions that are unique to your own family, often borne out
of such memorable times. The sooner you can establish special family traditions
with your adopted kids, the better. In our house we have the weekly ritual of
family pizza night on a Friday, when we all sit down to eat together and get
excited about the weekend to come. The kids burst with excitement every week when they are allowed to delve into the near-mythical sweetie tin after dinner and pick a little treat. Even small things like inventing your own
silly lyrics to songs, or making up games for car journeys, can all act like
little anchors to the family unit. Kick start the sense of a shared history by reminiscing
about shared events, even if they only happened a week ago, and encourage the
children to tell these stories themselves.<br />
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<h2>
Space to Reflect</h2>
Giving your kids space to explore issues of belonging through books and films is a healthy way to tap into any repressed feelings they may be having, without confronting them directly. We have discovered many wonderful books that touch on the issue without being preachy, or overtly about adoption. I have included my favourites in the reading list below.<br />
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<script charset="utf-8" src="http://ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&MarketPlace=GB&ID=V20070822%2FGB%2Frowstarbookre-21%2F8001%2F88ec97b8-779e-4669-971f-5a9d8dee2392" type="text/javascript"> </script> <noscript><a rel="nofollow" HREF="http://ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&MarketPlace=GB&ID=V20070822%2FGB%2Frowstarbookre-21%2F8001%2F88ec97b8-779e-4669-971f-5a9d8dee2392&Operation=NoScript">Amazon.co.uk Widgets</A></noscript>
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<h2>
Ask for Their Help<o:p></o:p></h2>
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The feeling of being needed is a big part of fitting in to
any dynamic – whether it be with family, friends or at work. Being given responsibility
is also a signal that you are trusted and valued, so giving kids tasks like feeding
the cat, sorting the odd socks, laying the table, or putting away toys lets them know they have a
valid role in the household and are contributing to it in visible, practical
ways.</div>
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Tell Them They Matter<o:p></o:p></h2>
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To a person who has never experienced Love before, the words
‘I Love You’ can feel empty, unless validated with reasons why. More than Those
Three Little Words, adopted kids want to hear that they are wanted and welcome.
Don’t take it for granted that they feel this, tell them every day, every night
at bedtime “I’m so happy you are here. Our family feels complete with you in
it" or “I had a great time with you today. You are wonderful company to be
around.” I hope that by telling my children what it feels like to have them
around, I am helping them believe in their very significant place in our little
world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p>****</o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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At eighteen months in, I am a relatively new adoptive
parent, and I know I have a lot still left to learn. We face many challenges
every day, and no doubt these will only get more complex as the children grow, but most
days it feels like we are at least getting something right. I have watched my
kids grow in confidence, become loyal friends and loving family members, relish
their beautiful surroundings, and relax into our home. I think, I hope, they
already have some sense of belonging here, and I trust that this will keep them
grounded in the years to come. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’d love to hear from other adoptive families on this
subject. How have you helped your kids to feel they belong? Leave me a comment,
or tweet @<a href="http://twitter.com/rowstar" target="_blank">Rowstar</a> with your stories.</div>
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Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-79367352196305504742015-11-28T13:56:00.003+00:002015-11-28T13:56:46.831+00:00Beauty and the Beastlies - Speaking up Against Trolling in the Beauty Vlogosphere<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyone who sees me un-madeup and flustered on the daily school run may be surprised to learn that I am something of a beauty product enthusiast. Though I don’t bother to slap it on for the benefit of the kids and fellow parents at the school gates, I love make-up and its ability to make a weary mummy feel moderately glamorous for a rare night out, to enhance and show off one’s favourite features (cheekbones and eyes in my case), and purely for the artistic pleasure of creating and experimenting. During my three years at The Body Shop HQ, I learned an awful lot about skincare and make-up, and was lucky enough to work with some of the industry’s leading make-up artists, beauty bloggers and vloggers, not to mention the talented store staff with whom I collaborated to create inspiring beauty video content.</div>
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Since departing from that world professionally, I have continued to take an interest from afar. I regularly watch YouTube videos, though very rarely comment and interact. One of the reasons for my silence is that I cannot bear to associate myself with the frankly horrifying level of vitriol that pervades the YouTube comment boxes of beauty vloggers (and no doubt in other areas, too). Many of these young people face a daily onslaught of hateful words, criticising their looks, views, personalities, sexual orientation and anything else the perpetrators can think of to slam. Thankfully there are usually plenty of positive comments to balance out the hate, and most of the vloggers try to focus on these and ignore the haters. But sometimes it goes too far, and they are compelled to speak out.
I was terribly saddened to see this recent video from make-up artist <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/gossmakeupartist" target="_blank">Wayne Goss</a>, in response to the highly personal attacks to which he has been subjected online.<br />
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I’m a big fan of Wayne’s for many reasons, and having seen this video, felt the need to throw some positive vibes his way. He is a brilliant make-up artist, and in my view, the best source of practical, useable make-up tips and hacks on YouTube. Though I really enjoy watching other artists like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/pixiwoo" target="_blank">the Chapmans</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/lisaeldridgedotcom" target="_blank">Lisa Eldridge</a> creating amazing make-up looks for all occasions on their channels, really what I am after is little everyday tricks to boost my usual regime. As a 40 year old who's been using cosmetics since my teens, I have experimented plenty, and am not about to drastically change the way I do my make-up, but I do appreciate the expert knowledge that allows me to keep improving techniques and adapting to the challenges of a face that is growing older. I love watching Wayne’s videos precisely because he is not a flawless 20-something woman to whom I will inevitably compare myself. I take his advice on face value (no pun intended), and if I were to comment on his (or anyone else’s) videos it would be to ask a follow-up question, leave an appreciative remark, or to add to the conversation in some other productive fashion. When the comment box starts being used as a forum to criticise and attack the individual, we have a problem. </div>
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I cannot understand what makes people think it is OK to abuse others online, when I doubt they would ever dream of doing the same in a real word context. Imagine sitting in the hairdresser’s and saying everything negative that came to mind about the person cutting your hair. You just wouldn’t. Even if you dislike their choice of clothes, or think their laugh is too screechy, you keep it to yourself; it’s called internal dialogue. Of course there is a place for constructive criticism, but there is a big difference between saying you didn’t like the make-up look someone created, and attacking them personally for being too thin. These are human beings with feelings, and such behaviour is directly damaging to their self esteem and mental health. </div>
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Perhaps it’s because so much of the hatred goes unchecked that this toxic culture continues to seep across the web. I admire Wayne, and others like Becky, for having the courage to stand up to the bullies, and I hope that the rest of the beauty industry will do more in future to take a proactive stance against the dark side of this otherwise glitzy world. The Body Shop’s history of ‘activating self-esteem’ makes it the ideal brand to take the lead, so I call to my former colleagues to support the victims of this online abuse. How will you educate the offenders, highlight this culture of hate and help beautify the very culture of the beauty vlogosphere? Because clearly ignoring it is not making it go away.</div>
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-565864871849711462015-10-20T19:56:00.000+01:002015-10-20T19:56:00.405+01:00Don't Call Me a Stay-at-Home Mum: Reflections on Becoming a Full Time ParentWhen I think back to my childhood, I feel lucky to have had constant love and security, and to have grown up in a fun-filled, happy home. On paper it may not have seemed like a perfect lot, and like any family there were ups and downs, but most of my memories are good ones. This is largely to do with the unwavering presence of my mother, who raised us pretty much single-handedly, but was steadfast, nurturing and kind. She chose not to work during our infancy, and so my siblings and I benefitted from a great deal of one-to-one attention. I was taught to read and write before starting school, and was initiated into the complex world of social interaction through the supportive and regular circle of friends with whom we would spend time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglezzD3Li1FK1-oKlYFQy-DjJH2V8xvZz1b1iQqjidth2LqrdzzS1P8Gy1l3PBxG7E4yMGu7IIaGi1-9KhFvdDBl5GNmWbRlMLL1ga-y7kUo6xRhHUJy4BgXCs-BETShfE64bW2w/s1600/1980s+%252810%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglezzD3Li1FK1-oKlYFQy-DjJH2V8xvZz1b1iQqjidth2LqrdzzS1P8Gy1l3PBxG7E4yMGu7IIaGi1-9KhFvdDBl5GNmWbRlMLL1ga-y7kUo6xRhHUJy4BgXCs-BETShfE64bW2w/s320/1980s+%252810%2529.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in the 70s, in my happy place.</td></tr>
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From this experience, I can personally vouch for the advantages of having a full time parent, although I am by no means against the idea of working mums. It is such a thorny issue, and one that I have recently wrangled with myself, as I started my own journey into parenthood. On the one hand, I wanted my kids to have the same advantages that I had, but what about my career, <i>my</i> needs? I had worked solidly for 15 years before my children came along, and I couldn’t imagine giving up all that I had achieved to become a housewife. I had planned to take my full year of adoption leave and then return to work when my youngest child started school (which fortunately coincided with the end of my leave).<br />
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But adoptive parenthood is far from straightforward, and as it turned out when the time came, the summer-born little one was not quite ready for school. We were thankfully able to defer him for a year, after applying to the local authority for permission (for more on this subject, visit <a href="http://summerbornchildren.org/">http://summerbornchildren.org</a>), then I was faced with the choice of what to do about work. I really loved my job and was truly torn, but I knew in my heart that the right thing to do was to give my son a little more of me. I had already missed three years of his childhood, and our first year together had flown by in a <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/love-is-question-adoption-and-matters.html" target="_blank">blur of emotions and adjustment</a>. Now I had really started to get to know him, I wanted to build on this intimacy and trust. So I took a deep breath and gave myself over to motherhood, 100%.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our family, as depicted in Lego by my seven year old daughter.</td></tr>
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I can understand why many women need or want to return to work after having a baby. Parenting is tiring and confusing, and you pine for an environment in which you feel confident and valued. You miss the mental stimulation and adult company. Not to mention the salary. But when it comes to making that choice about whether to go back, I do believe most of us know instinctively what is best for our child, in our individual situations. There is a balance to be had between one’s own well-being and the needs of the child. And for those babies lucky enough to be born into a safe, loving home, with strong attachments to their parents, there may be no long term detriment to having some time apart from the mother. I think women should be able to choose the path that works best for their family, and to feel it is a valid choice, without being judged either way.<br />
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Leaving behind a lucrative and rewarding career to be a full-time parent may seem like a huge sacrifice, but I see this time less as a career break, more as a new venture that will ultimately enrich my arsenal of life and work skills. Certainly, bringing up my two special and complicated little people is no less challenging or stimulating than marketing books or beauty products, and I embrace the new skills and knowledge that I’m acquiring along the way. I’m learning more than ever before about negotiation, persuasion, time management, planning and teaching, and I’m changing as a person with every new parenting experience. Far from distancing me from vocational aspirations, it is opening my eyes to new possibilities and future career paths I may not have otherwise considered. I do miss bantering with colleagues, but I'm making new friends through the children, building lasting connections with others who are in the same proverbial parenting boat.<br />
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So why do I still feel awkward and like I have to justify myself when people ask me what I do for a living? Maybe it’s because of the labels associated with being a full time parent. There needs to be a better description for this life choice than ‘Stay At Home Mum’, because that makes it sound so boring and restrictive, and doesn’t come close to encapsulating all that full-time parenting entails. For me it’s also technically inaccurate because if I can possibly help it, I’m rarely At Home with the kids. We prefer to be running free in the woods, paddling in rock pools, climbing trees or scooting down the seafront. So how should I describe myself these days? Free-range mum? Progressive parent? Adventurer in Chief? Seriously though, you wouldn’t write ‘Sitting At A Desk Person’ on your CV, so why shouldn’t full time parents have a title that better defines their role? Perhaps it’s because parenting is in fact more than one role – it’s like running an entire company. A really weird and hectic company with tiny, shrill little customers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surely I can put 'Expert train track and marble run constructor' on my CV?</td></tr>
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And this is partly why I don’t feel intimidated about returning to the workforce at some point down the road - because I’m keeping my brain ticking over by doing what is arguably the most significant and varied job in the world. As was ever the case back in the office, I want to do my best and make a success of this role. I take the job seriously, and as I only have another ten months at home with my boy before he starts school, I need to make every second count. Yes, there is monotony and repetition (do I really have to run the washing machine <i>again</i>?), not to mention the snot, tears, mess and angst, but there is also magic, wonder, adventure and love. And that’s not something that you get in the office every day.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-21075425445549019222015-09-20T13:42:00.000+01:002015-09-20T17:02:33.655+01:00Saying Goodbye to My ThirtiesIn a few days’ time, as summer officially turns to autumn, I will be reaching That milestone birthday. The one that sounds more ancient than it really is, and always seems to prompt people to ask "how are you feeling about it?" as the date looms. I have pondered this question over the past few months and conclude that it’s not so much the prospect of turning 40 by which I am daunted, but rather the leaving behind of my thirties. Compared with the carefree twenties, being a 30-something brought with it the demands and rewards of responsibility, the deepening and refining of friendships, and new perspectives on life born out of reflection and experience. It was growing up; a most eventful, significant and life-changing 10 years.<br>
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Despite the inevitable intoxication, I can remember my 30th birthday celebrations quite distinctly. The theme was School Daze – and guests could dress as school pupils, teachers, or a childhood hero. Ant and I went as Han Solo and Princess Leia (the white nightie version, not chain mail bikini). I will never forget the image of Matty using all his strength (and a fair amount of talc) trying to help Ant on with his riding boots before the party started. They were so snug that they then had to be cut off again at the end of the night.<br>
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Since then, we have dressed up as ninjas, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/388213916/in/album-1160170/" target="_blank">Sybil and Basil Fawlty</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/278587098/in/album-1160170/" target="_blank">Lara Croft and Indiana Jones</a>, Karen Carpenter and Frank Zappa (Dead Celebrities), Pagan deities, Disco Pirates, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/2996998820/in/album-72157608596540144/" target="_blank">An evil magician and his zombie assistant</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/4069799988/in/album-72157622719409394/" target="_blank">Yin and Yang</a>, Village Eccentrics, the French Resistance, Alpine stereotypes, <a href="https://instagram.com/p/ZdqQtFlDY2/?taken-by=rowanstanfield" target="_blank">half of ABBA</a> and Olympic Curlers. Will my love of fancy dress endure into my 40s? That remains to be seen.<br>
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What I do know is that already life is changing, and as I wave goodbye to my thirties, I can’t help but reflect back on the circumstances, people and events that defined them.<br>
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<h2>
Home</h2>
Let’s start at the place where I have woken up most days for the last ten years – home. I was almost 30 when we bought our first flat, up on the hill above Kemp Town in Brighton. Four happy years there, and we made the move over here to Eastbourne, into our little house in Old Town. Goodbye IKEA flat pack (well, almost), hello second-hand G-Plan.<br>
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For most of my thirties, home has been a place to be myself and indulge in those things that make me feel more like me - music, food, sleep, friends, and of course, the significant other with whom I share these walls and all that is within. Inside my two thirty-something homes I taught myself to play guitar, learned to be a good cook, drank a swimming pool’s worth of red wine, threw more than a few decadent parties, set the world to rights with Ant and various house-guests, slept through the majority of Saturday and Sunday mornings, and had countless cups of tea in bed. Sure, some of these traditions will continue, but 40-something Home will definitely have a different list of pursuits at the end of it.<br>
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<h2>
Family</h2>
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Ant and I lost the last of our collective grandparents during our thirties – putting us one step higher up the family hierarchy and a leap further away from childhood. This sense of being propelled into maturity was further fuelled by several weddings of younger siblings and cousins. By the end of my 40s, the children born out of these marriages will be teenagers, some adults. It’s a daunting prospect.
The first of my nephews was born at the end of my twenties, then the rest came along in the last few years, giving me the wonderful experience of being an auntie. This is something that really influenced those years, as together, Ant and I relished the joys of caring for and entertaining these special boys, before deciding to become parents ourselves.<br>
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Reconnecting with family after my independent twenties was an important factor in many of the major decisions made over the past ten years. We came back to Eastbourne mainly to be close to family, and to ask for their support in our journey into parenthood. The last three years of my thirties has been taken up with the business of adoption – an involved process that resulted in us becoming Mum and Dad to two remarkable siblings. Their presence in this past year has felt like a seal closing the end of one era and a door opening up to a new one. That this has coincided with moving into a new decade of my life seems fitting and poignant. I will be spending the next ten years raising them and this will inevitably affect how the next phase of my life unfolds.<br>
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<h2>
Work</h2>
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At the start of my thirties, I was working for John Wiley, commuting daily from Brighton to Chichester, to market business and finance books. Soon after, my commute got shorter and the books fluffier, when I joined GMC Publications in Lewes, where I was to learn all one might need to know about the specialist worlds of knitting, stitching and woodworking. There I stayed contentedly for two years, until the opportunity came up to join a start-up social media agency, also in Lewes. This roller coaster adventure has its highs and lows, and unfortunately did not end too happily, but it certainly developed my resilience – a quality that has come in very handy since having kids.<br>
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Thankfully the next career venture, and the one which would see me out of my thirties, has been an altogether more uplifting, fun and enriching experience. For three years (the last of which on adoption leave), I have been leading the social media strategy for The Body Shop’s UK operation. It is a brand for which I have had great affection since childhood, and I relished the opportunity to help bring its products and values (back) into the public eye. One of the highlights of my time at The Body Shop was a trip to India to visit one of its Community Fair Trade suppliers, Teddy Exports.<br>
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Although I recently decided not to return to work after my leave, I have a feeling that my journey with The Body Shop is not over for good. But for now, when people ask me “so what do you do?” (a question I loathe, by the way), I will tell them “I am doing the most challenging job of my life, raising two children.” This is a big change for me, after more than a decade of nose-to-the-grindstone 9-5 office life. I honestly don’t know what my forties will bring, career wise, beyond the next year or so, but I know that it will never be quite the same again.<br>
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<h2>
Travel</h2>
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In my thirties I graduated from camping holidays in a two man tent (think <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=4&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CDcQtwIwA2oVChMIqubQ0suFyAIVx28UCh3e3Q46&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DptugM-zad9A&usg=AFQjCNHGv3KfcW_wPHGIlUEA-z8sILYzdQ&sig2=sPOXzguT4r99N_wp8f_4Hw&bvm=bv.103073922,d.bGQ" target="_blank">Nuts in May</a>) and occasional cheap package deals in the sun, to a six berth motorhome and carefully planned independent trips all over the world. I visited Sweden, Denmark, Brazil, the USA (Texas, California, Washington and New York), Malaysia, Greece, France, Belgium, Germany, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Hungary, Croatia, Italy, Montenegro and India, not to mention many wonderful breaks here in the UK.<br>
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I sang Leonard Cohen songs on the rooftops of Harlem, dabbled my toes in two oceans at the same time and watched the famous Skagen sunset, made a 700 mile round trip just to see Camille live, nursed a terrible hangover in the middle of a Mariachi festival in San Francisco, and drove through majestic scenery in the land of classical heroes – to name but a few memorable travelling moments. Although my yearnings to see the world are no less potent, I accept that holidays in my 40s are destined to be somewhat different in nature, with two young children in tow. Goodbye crazy adventures… for now.<br>
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<h2>
Friends</h2>
In my teens and twenties, socialising tended to revolve around messy nights out with fleeting acquaintances. It was a time to experiment in many ways. Since then I have learned to love the intimate dinner party, and nursing a pint of real ale while shooting the breeze at my local. The Big Nights Out have been fewer, but more memorable.<br>
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In between homemaking, working, looking after nephews and travelling, I was lucky enough to forge many special friendships during my thirties. I won't name them all here, in case I miss someone out and they're offended, but while I am in this reflective mood, I want to extend my thanks and love to those wonderful friends, old and new, who have been there for me in my thirties, and who influenced, entertained and supported me. It is because of these friendships and the love of my family that I can embrace my 40s with confidence and swagger.<br>
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So is turning 40 a big deal? No, not really. But being thirty-something was. And I will surely miss it.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-90557407056534209382015-06-15T21:01:00.000+01:002015-06-15T21:11:44.526+01:00Love Is The Question: Adoption and Matters of the HeartTen months ago, two small strangers moved into my home. Last week they became, permanently and legally, my children. Our journey, which began with a spark of chemistry at an <a href="http://www.baaf.org.uk/ourwork/activitydays" target="_blank">adoption activity day</a> just over a year ago, has been challenging, eye-opening; a complete revelation. In between the confusing emotional muddle of the first few months of parenthood, I will always remember distinctly the day They arrived to live with us, after a period of introductions in the foster home. These unfamiliar little people were suddenly my responsibility – reliant on me to feed, clothe, protect, entertain and comfort them. After 20 years of freedom as an independent, unchained adult, it was a shock. Although I’d planned for and pondered about their arrival for almost as many months before, nothing could have prepared me for the reality of becoming an instant mother to these fully formed and highly mobile creatures, with all their hopes, fears, foibles and baggage.<br />
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Adoption is not something one takes on lightly. As soon as the formal journey begins, one enters an often-frustrating application process of form-filling and hoop-jumping, designed to actively weed out less resilient adopters. There is certainly no sugar-coating around the possible emotional and behavioural challenges associated with children from troubled backgrounds (which most children waiting for adoption inevitably are), and you are expected by the Powers That Be to demonstrate your preparedness for the near and long-term, in order to be accepted as an adopter. While the candid scenarios presented by social services were not enough to deter me from going ahead with adoption, the process was eye-opening, and did prompt me to acquire as much knowledge and understanding as I could around the most common issues. I wanted to feel ready to embrace whatever adoptive parenthood may throw at me, and I knew that having some proven strategies and techniques up my sleeve – even if I were never to need them - would give me more confidence than relying instinct alone.<br />
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During this quest for pre-adoption enlightenment, I found that there is plenty of <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/what-can-i-do-to-help-guide-to.html" target="_blank">valuable, practical advice to be had - from both professionals and parents with hands-on experience</a> - on the subject of adoptive parenthood and its particular trials, and I was encouraged by this; soaking up as much knowledge as possible. But in between these self-help binges, I worried; was I over-complicating things? Should I be relying instead on maternal instinct and the reparative powers of Love? Some would say so (and did). But with almost a year of adoptive parenthood now under my belt, I feel justified in saying that, no, Love is not enough. Adoption is no fairy tale, and Love does not automatically spring forth from some sparkling well with a wave of the proverbial magic wand. Had I trusted in Love alone as a panacea in troubled times, I fear I would have found myself drowning in confusion and despair over the past few life-changing months. As wonderful and powerful and desirable as it may be, the hard truth is that Love can be tantalisingly elusive, unpredictable and strange.<br />
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I know I am not the only adoptive (or otherwise) parent who would admit that the pursuit of Love can be heart-breakingly mysterious and frustratingly nebulous in the early days of parenthood. Adoptive parents especially may find themselves baffled and disheartened by their unspent desire to love a child who does not know how to be loved. While a new born baby is an empty vessel just waiting to be filled with love, adopted children may never have experienced it, or be too afraid to accept it. My son had just 50 words when he came to us, and 'Love' was not one of them. In the first few weeks he added 'cuddle' and 'kiss' to his limited vocabulary, then one afternoon, while I was handing him a drink in the kitchen, he quite casually uttered the L word for the first time, as if testing out its relevance. But for me, to hear “My love mummy” was sustenance and salvation. I knew then that love could grow between us, even if its significance was still less than palpable to all parties.<br />
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What I have learned is that before love can blossom in either direction, there are more important jobs that must be done – wounds of the past to be healed, bridges of trust to be built. The most encouraging counsel I’ve received over the past few months has been from good friends who were brave enough to confess that they, too, struggled in the first few months of parenthood, and did not experience the expected thunderbolt of love with their new child. They described how it grew slowly and in unexpected ways through the humdrum routines and rituals of daily life. This candour gave me the strength to ride out the dominant early emotions of fear, grief, loss, anxiety and doubt - to name but a few - and to feel encouraged by those exquisite moments when a shimmering glimpse of Love would flutter up, precious and fragile and begging to be caught. But however much one has desired and pursued It, surrendering to Love is a daunting prospect, and for me, the scariest part of becoming a parent. <br />
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<i>“Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we
belong. All you need is love.” </i></div>
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<i>Ewan McGregor, Moulin Rouge.</i></div>
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In almost 40 years on this planet, I have loved and been loved constantly. I know what Love is and how it feels when it goes away. Even though Love has sometimes hurt me, I trust that it will endure. My children have not had the same experience, and it would be naive to expect Love to keep us together - for now at least. But here we are, a little family growing together, getting used to each other and getting through the day. Love is all around, but we do not rely on it to sustain us. Instead, we have had to take a more pragmatic and practical approach. More than anything, I have needed...</div>
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<b>Patience</b>. Just having the inner strength to wait for each little attachment milestone to happen - without judging and berating oneself in frustration at the seemingly endless time it takes – has been crucial in maintaining self-confidence and sanity in the early days. Then there’s the daily patience needed to support and nurture two hurt, grieving children with their baffling behaviours; to remain calm in the face of raw, irrational, impenetrable anger. And a longer term kind of patience that involves reassuring each other that life as we knew it has not completely disappeared for good.<br />
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<b>Resilience.</b> My inner well being and the flourishing of the children has required all of us to be tough. I have found that my resilience to the daily trials is strongest when I have plenty of adult company and support, and I try not to let a day pass without seeing another grown up who can reinforce my mental health and sense of self.<br />
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<b>Resourcefulness.</b> Finally, I’ve needed to be incredibly resourceful in order to maintain any kind of equilibrium in our family. Certainly, much of this comes from instinct, from my own upbringing and other life experiences – but I do regularly draw on what I have read and been told about adoption, attachment, child psychology and parenting. Don’t knock it.<br />
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Love <i>is</i> important in adoption, and of course in any kind of parenthood. The love of my partner, family and friends has cushioned and consoled me through the most challenging days of my life so far. And now the promise of love blossoming between me and my children propels us into the terrifying and exhilarating next phase of our 'official' life together. But if you are embarking on adoption, or considering offering advice to someone who is, please, do not mistake the role of Love and expect it to solve all of your problems. Call me a cynic, but through my own experience, I now firmly believe that Love is the goal, not the solution.
Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-17151778894380155082014-08-17T21:33:00.002+01:002014-08-17T21:34:16.783+01:00What Can I Do To Help? A Guide to Supporting Adoptive FamiliesLast week I wrote about my journey to adoptive parenthood, in <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/expecting-without-bump.html" target="_blank">Expecting Without a Bump</a>. I was deeply touched by all the encouraging messages and comments it inspired – from family, friends, and complete strangers who picked up on it via Twitter and elsewhere. Many friends expressed their desire to support us through the next stage of the adventure, when our children actually come to live with us, and asked what they could do to help. As we’re now only two sleeps away from moving in day, I took advantage of a quiet house this evening compose a follow up piece with some thoughts on this very subject. I hope it will be useful to my nearest and dearest, and to anyone else out there who is supporting an adoptive family in the early days.<br />
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It will be a challenging time for the kids and for us, as they leave behind their foster carers and get used to their ‘forever family’, and we adjust to being ‘Mummy and Daddy’ to two walking-talking beings after 15 years of DINKY freedom. As well as the obvious basics of feeding, clothing, entertaining and protecting our children, we also need to help them process everything that’s happened to them so that they can move forward and flourish, and to instill in them a tangible sense of feeling properly claimed into their ‘forever family’. A lot of this will come down to love, patience and instinct, but thankfully there is also a wealth of accepted wisdom on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attachment_theory" target="_blank">attachment theory</a> as well as many useful resources available on child development specifically relating to adopted families.<br />
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We’ve used the past year and a half in the lead up to the adoption to take advantage of these, and have done a lot of reading up and thinking about different approaches, to try and identify strategies that resonate with our own values and will fit naturally into our parenting style. Of course we won’t get it right all the time, but we hope that with the help of our support network, we can in turn give our little ones all that they need to thrive.
If you are one of our loved ones reading this, or indeed a friend to someone else who is adopting, here are some fairly simple ways you can help…
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Be there, but don’t be there</h2>
Please don’t be offended if we don’t invite you to visit in the first few weeks or months. It’s really important that we spend most of our time just with the children, bonding with them on their own, and forming the all-important attachment with them. We still need your help, though – so do drop us a line or call us (in the evenings!) to see how we’re doing. We may feel very isolated during this time. If we happen to bump into you in the park or supermarket, it's fine to say "hi" casually, so don't feel you have to scamper past.<br />
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Cuddles and Comfort</h2>
When you do eventually come to visit, or we arrange to meet up with you, we’d ask you not to be overly affectionate with the kids. To begin with, things like sitting on laps and comforting cuddles is reserved for Mummy and Daddy. This may seem strange (especially for close family), but this is to help them understand that we are the most important adults in their lives. In the nicest possible way, please re-direct them back to us if they seek you out for comfort and affection.
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The Etiquette of Gifts and Treats</h2>
We know that you’ll be excited to meet our new kids and might want to help them feel loved with welcoming gifts, but we’d ask that you check with us before handing over treats. Too many new things can be overwhelming for children who have never had many possessions of their own, and it’s important that they value love and security in the home over material items. Appropriate gifts are small things that can be enjoyed by all the family together and can help with our bonding.
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Support our parenting style</h2>
Because of their backgrounds and the things that have happened to our kids in their short lives, the way we parent them may seem different to how you might approach parenting a birth child. For example, we won’t use the naughty step or time out, because these methods can be traumatic for a child who has experienced neglect and abandonment. We’ve decided not to use reward charts either, as they can reinforce poor self-esteem if never ticked. You can help by accepting and supporting the way we parent and discipline our kids, even if it seems a bit alien.
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Help build their self-esteem</h2>
These children have suffered loss and will need a lot of re-assurance. We've been reading up on ways to reinforce children’s self-confidence, and these are some of the key things we've discovered:<br />
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<li><b>Be specific with praise,</b> and praise effort over skill (e.g. instead of saying “hey, that’s a great picture you drew”, say “wow – look how carefully you chose the colours for those flowers” or “I can see how much effort you put into making those lines so neat”). Children accept this type of praise more readily, they trust that you mean it, and it encourages them.</li>
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<li><b>Engage with their intellect</b> over their physical appearance. In particular, please try and resist the temptation to say to girls when you greet them “you’re so pretty” or “look at your lovely dress/hair/shoes”. We’d like our daughter to grow up valuing herself by more than looks. Ask her what book she’s reading or what crafty things she’s made lately instead.</li>
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<li><b>Try not to label them</b> – Our kids will have already attracted labels just by virtue of their situation in life, but we will try our best not to add to or reinforce these. This means never saying in front of them things like “oh, aren’t you the bossy one” or “wow, you’re such a fussy eater”. Kids with low self-esteem particularly will take on board such statements and model their view of themselves on this. Better instead to adopt a positive model that states what you want them to be: “It’s great that you’re so confident, and because you are kind and caring as well, I am sure you’ll let your friend have a say” or “It’s good that you ate all of your peas tonight…you’re an enthusiastic eater!”.</li>
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Avoid play that involves pretend abandonment or rejection</h2>
It may seem like a harmless tease to run away from a child or enact putting them in a bin, but games like this can unhelpfully reinforce feelings of being unwanted and unsafe. Being a big scary baddie may not go down too well either for kids who have been exposed to domestic violence or chaotic households.<br />
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Acknowledge inner truth and show empathy</h2>
Sometimes our kids may get overly upset about things that seem trivial (as indeed all kids do), but it’s really important not to dismiss their feelings or say things like “it’s nothing to be upset about”. Every opportunity to explore what’s on their minds is valuable as part of processing what they have been through, and their tears may be about something other than whatever actually happened in the moment. So if they seem distressed by something little, ask them “I can see you’re upset. I’m wondering what that’s about?”.<br />
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What not to say</h2>
Please don’t tell our kids ‘you’re so lucky’ or ask them how they like their new family – it may seem to you that they are fortunate to get adopted by us, but actually none of what has happened to them is at all lucky, and it’s OK to accept and acknowledge that. You can help them to accept and trust us by demonstrating that you do.<br />
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Never introduce them to other people as our ‘adopted kids’ or refer to them as such – they are just ‘our kids’. It’s OK to talk about being adopted with them if they bring it up (as they will always know they are adopted), but we’d like to avoid them being labelled and feeling stigmatised because of it. Likewise, don’t refer to their birth family as their ‘real family’. They will always have two families – a ‘birth family’ and us, their ‘forever family. Both are very real.
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Social Media and sharing</h2>
Sorry, but however cute they are being, we won’t be putting photos of our kids on Facebook, and for fairly obvious reasons, we need to ask the same of you. Please don’t ever share any details or photos of our kids online, talk about them by their actual names to people we don’t know, or discuss with anyone else information about their history and circumstances that we may share with you in confidence.<br />
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It’s also important to say that just because we’ve suggested some specific steers around the needs of adopted children, it doesn’t mean you have to treat our kids any differently to any other kids in your life for most of the time. Above all they are amazing little people who want to have fun and feel safe and loved.<br />
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If you’re interested to dig a little deeper into some of the above theories, I can recommend some really accessible books on the subject that we’ve found particularly useful:<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=3194&creative=21334&linkCode=shr&tag=rowstarbookre-21&rl=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=attaching%20in%20adoption&sprefix=attaching+in+a%2Caps%2C182">Attaching in Adoption</a> by Deborah Grey<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1848123094?ie=UTF8&camp=3194&creative=21330&creativeASIN=1848123094&linkCode=shr&tag=rowstarbookre-21&=books&qid=1408305205&sr=1-1&keywords=how+to+talk+so+kids+will+listen+and+listen+so+kids+will+talk">How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk</a> by Adele Faber (all parents should read this – it’s genius!)<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1849052271?ie=UTF8&camp=3194&creative=21330&creativeASIN=1849052271&linkCode=shr&tag=rowstarbookre-21&=books&qid=1408305255&sr=1-1&keywords=pace+golding">Creating Loving Attachments</a> by Kim Golding & Daniel Hughes<br />
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And some good articles:<br />
<a href="http://huff.to/1otNHZH" target="_blank">10 Things Adoptees Want You To Know</a> <br />
<a href="http://aol.it/1zOvmKR" target="_blank">10 things adoptive parents wish their friends and family understood</a> <br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/1gTwj9U" target="_blank">Adoption in the UK: 9 common misconceptions</a><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/1kAfFDL" target="_blank">17 Things Never to Say to An Adopted Person </a><br />
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Finally, to anyone from our social circle and extended family who is reading this, THANK YOU. You have all already been so supportive and wonderful through our journey to adoption, and we are truly grateful for this and for all that is still to come in the biggest adventure of our lives. Bring it on.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-61385886891917439532014-08-09T18:12:00.001+01:002014-08-09T19:48:33.253+01:00Expecting Without A Bump<div class="MsoNormal">
About a year ago, I asked my eight year old nephew how he’d
feel about getting another cousin. His eyes lit up, and instinctively flicked
to my tummy, then back to my face, with a questioning smile. Having witnessed
his other auntie pregnant twice, and been fascinated by the development of each
bump, and the little friends that eventually materialised, I could see in his
beaming face the excitement of what he assumed would be about to happen again. I
almost felt sad to have to break the spell in order to tell him that this time
it would be a bit different; there would be no bump.</div>
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I had picked my moment carefully to talk to him about this,
because he’s incredibly important to me, and I wanted him to feel completely
involved and comfortable with my journey to parenthood. “Do you know what
adoption means?” was my next question; there was less recognition in his
expression, but his inquisitive nature kept the impetus of the moment alive,
and I began to explain. He was remarkably relaxed and accepting of what he was
being told: that Auntie RoRo and Uncle Ant would give a home to a child or
children whose parents couldn’t look after them anymore. His inevitable concerns were: “will it be a
boy?” and “will they be older than me?”. Since then, we have talked about it in
an open and matter of fact way, and he seems to be looking forward to the
event.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">The day I told Isaac we were adopting.</span></div>
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I have had the same, if slightly more sophisticated, version
of this conversation, with many of my friends, family and colleagues over the
past few months. All of them have been excited and encouraging, too, but I sometimes
get the sense that their initial well-wishes are couched in an underlying
sadness on my behalf. I suppose it is (and rightly) assumed that if you are
coming to adoption, there must be a sad reason that you could not conceive
naturally, and that adoption is somehow second best. This is not at all how I feel about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this moment in time, just weeks
away from becoming a mum, I am as joyful and expectant as any parent-to-be. I
am nesting, putting child-proof catches on cupboard
doors, making regular trips to Mothercare, and all the other usual things that pregnant women do. The only
differences are that I am also preparing myself for the unique challenges of
being a parent to an adopted child, I don’t have to pick out names, and I’m not
carrying round an ever-growing bump for all to admire. I am bursting with love for
my two almost-children, and grateful to fate, karma, or whatever you believe
in, for bringing them into my lives. This pregnancy is of the heart.</div>
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Several of my colleagues at work have also been expecting
over the past year, and have been very considerate in including me in their
conversations about imminent parenthood. But it has thrown into contrast again
the differences in reaction between physical pregnancy and adoption. When one
of the girls announces they are pregnant to the rest of the office, there is
group merriment and a surge of shared emotion. The words “congratulations” and
“wow” are used a lot. This usually happens just after the 12 week scan, once
they are into the “safe” stage, but with adoption, there is no such milestone
around which to stage a big announcement. We have been filling in forms,
meeting social workers and swotting up on child psychology for months, and the
process of telling people has been very gradual during that time. It’s only in
the last few weeks, when we’ve known who our actual children would be, that the
real excitement has been evident. I suppose until then, with no bump, it is
just not as tangible an event.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As we approached our panel date recently (the moment when we
were officially approved to become parents to the children with whom we’d been
matched), I’d been pondering on how to celebrate the (hopefully) good news.
Like any expectant parent, I wanted to be able to share my excitement with
friends and family, and to involve them in my children’s lives before their arrival. It felt much like that 12 week scan moment, only much closer to the
arrival, and there’s no picture of a foetus to put on Facebook. So I started
looking around for ideas – perhaps other people had come up with a way to share
the news – but everything I found was from the US, and largely to do with
international adoption. I found photos of couples holding a globe or map
showing the country from which they were adopting, but nothing from this country
by parents who’d adopted from here. It seems people are reluctant to shout
about the fact that they’re adopting, like it’s a dark secret they have to
conceal from the world. I find it hard to accept this, and I think the lack of
open celebration about adoption probably contributes to the ongoing mystery
surrounding it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/cambodia4kidsorg/3125850951/in/photolist-63E17U-dPUcMK-oeqUD4-oeJ7s8-5LdNzV-8WAvhV-eK6PVM-9Jekf-oeVAXf-oey8ih-gMMEJi-gMMJvs-gMMDLM-gMMBke-gMMA3z-gMMAv8-oeQFvm-gMMGbY-gMNBTp-gMNysg-gMMDtG-8aTnH8-8aTnG2" target="_blank">cambodia4kidsorg on Flickr</a></div>
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Increasingly I get the sense that the very concept of
adoption is intimidating to most people. As a nation, we are remarkably
ignorant about it – and I’d have included myself in that up until recently. I
have begun to think that if there was less mystique about the whole process,
and if we knew more about the children waiting for new families, we would be
less inclined to produce more of our own biological offspring, and more likely to embrace the idea of
bringing up someone else’s. And if it were more commonplace, maybe we would
celebrate news of an adoption in the same way that we swoon over a pregnancy. But
we are afraid because we know that adopted children can be difficult. We know
that they might reject us, might not look or behave like us, worried that we
won’t be able to love them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know it won’t be simple or straightforward, but I am
filled with conviction for the task ahead. I have been given the opportunity to
turn two little lives around, and I mean to embrace it wholeheartedly. Alongside
this determination is a growing need to enlighten others about adoption and to
make them feel more open to the idea. My nephew’s unaffected reaction was the
right one – if someone’s parent can’t look after them then it makes sense that another
adult would naturally want to help them.
In some cultures this is the case, and there is no concept of children
waiting perhaps years to find a new home. Having had the urge myself at
some point, I can completely understand the need to produce at least one
biological offspring, but why have two or three more when there are children
already out there without parents? In 2013, there were over 65,000 ‘looked after’ children in the UK, and only 4,000
or so adoptions. If only a fraction of the 700,000 people who had given birth that
year had adopted instead, all of those children in care could have found new homes. To me these are startling, even shocking,
statistics.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps the main reason more people don’t come to adoption
proactively, and that there aren’t any common customs for celebrating with
those who do adopt, is that we don’t talk, or even think, about it enough in
society. It’s an uncomfortable truth; something other people do. We teach
children about safe sex and the responsibilities of parenthood, but many of
them will never come across adoption unless they happen to know someone who is
adopted, or have friends who are adopters. And even then, there are no accepted
conventions for exploring the subject.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The past year and a half has been an incredible learning
journey, during which I have become increasingly enlightened about adoption; I
have found the process to be in equal parts fascinating and emotional. I’m
academically stimulated by the books on child psychology and therapeutic
parenting techniques, but constantly affected by the shocking case studies of
real children who have been neglected, abused and un-cared for. Having known a few adoptive families throughout
my life, I considered myself fairly well informed, but I now realise there was
so much I never knew, or even considered, about adoption. I find myself eagerly
sharing my recently gained knowledge with anyone who shows an interest, wanting
to spread more understanding. My friends and family have readily engaged with this, and the questions that people ask, and the
assumptions they make about adoption, have made for interesting discussions. I've welcomed the opportunity to dispel a few myths along the way, for
example:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>They’re only babies –
surely they won’t remember anything from before? </b>Firstly, there are very
few babies available for domestic adoption these days. Since the stigma of
unwed mothers and underage pregnancies has become less intense, hardly anyone
relinquishes babies any more. And as for not remembering, there is a lot of evidence
to suggest that even children who are adopted at a very young age carry baggage
from their life before – whether that be fully formed memories or primal,
sensory ones. Nancy Verrier argues in her book, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1905664761/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=1905664761&linkCode=as2&tag=rowstarbookre-21">The
Primal Wound</a>, that children separated from their mothers will always bear
the scars created by that fundamental, life-changing rift. On top this, most
adopted children have also been exposed to some form of neglect or abuse which
will have affected their very blueprint for operating in life. To try and sweep
that history under the carpet is like ignoring a lump – it may seem easier not
to confront it, but you know deep down that it will be worse in the long term
if you don’t. Everything I have been learning is about unpicking the past for
these children, while helping them to survive and thrive in the future. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Why does the adoption
process take so long?</b> <b>People don’t
have to go through all that to have birth children – it’s ridiculous. </b>No,
but birth children come to you fresh and unsullied. You can rely on your
instincts to parent them, protect them from harm in the world, and raise them
with your own values and habits. Adopted children have already been imprinted
with tragedy and loss, and your job in parenting them is more challenging, less
intuitive. I have been grateful for the time to prepare, and do not in the
least resent having been subject to a thorough screening process that is
entirely in the interests of both parents and child. And in fact it doesn’t
take that long these days – at least it shouldn’t if things go smoothly. It
only took us six months to get approved, and a further nine to find the right
match – which is about the same as an average physical pregnancy if you count
the time of trying to conceive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>When will you tell
the child he or she is adopted?</b> There is no big reveal - it will be
something we always talk openly about. We’ll create a life story book for the
child, so that they can learn about their birth parents as well as us, their
‘forever family’. We’ll try our best to answer their questions and proactively
help them to come to terms with their unique journey.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>What will you do if
your child tries to find its birth parents later?</b> Most adoptions these days
have some form of ‘contact’, which means their birth parents will be present in
some capacity all along. Usually this is in the form of annual letterbox
contact between birth parents and adoptive parents, although sometimes there is
direct contact, if this is deemed in the best interests of the child. I welcome
this, because it takes some of the mystery out of it for the child. I don’t
want them - like Orphan Annie singing “maybe far away, or maybe real nearby” -
day dreaming about the fantasy mum and dad who will one day come and sweep them
up. Better that they should have a realistic picture of their birth parents,
and that they come to understand why they needed to be adopted. If one day they
decide they want to get to know their birth parents better, I will do all I can
to support them, and be there to help them through the likely emotional
fall-out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>You’ll probably get
pregnant as soon as you’re placed with a child – that always happens. </b>I
find this a difficult one to respond to, because I know people mean well in
saying it, but this belief undermines my own acceptance of the journey to
parenthood that I have chosen. If you are struggling to know what to say
in response to someone’s adoption news, the best thing you could ask is “what
can I do to help?”. More than any
cursory encouragement you’d offer a new mum, extend your sincere promise of practical
and emotional support for the person who will be facing the daily, perhaps
all-consuming, challenges of parenting an adopted child.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For me, the journey of adoptive parenthood is just
beginning, and I’m sure there’ll be many more outpourings of words, opinions
and emotions to come. This is a moment, a standing-on-the-edge-of-something
moment, where I cannot help but reflect on all that brought me here and all
that lies ahead. If in sharing my thoughts I have inspired even one other
person to open their eyes to the realities of adoption, and to feel more
comfortable about celebrating it, I am content.<o:p></o:p></div>
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***<o:p></o:p></div>
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Should you be interested in learning more about adoption in
the 21<sup>st</sup> century, there are some useful resources on <a href="http://www.adoptionuk.org/about-adoption">Adoption UK’s website</a>, and
I would highly recommend the book <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/044050838X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=044050838X&linkCode=as2&tag=rowstarbookre-21">20
Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew</a> by Sherrie Eldridge,
which gives a voice to the great unheard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-17872549685685912962014-07-13T17:31:00.000+01:002014-07-13T17:31:45.685+01:00I Wanna Take You To A Wine Bar, Wine BarIt's only mid July, but I feel like summer has been around forever already, and it's one of <i>those</i> summers that you look start to back on fondly even before it's over. It feels distinct as an era that kicked off with <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/first-night-reflections-pirates-of.html">being Mabel</a> and has sprawled into long laid back evenings of rosé and repartee. New friendships have been formed, and old ones cemented; I've soaked up the rays in Greece, India, Paris and Eastbourne, and even on the odd rainy day, I've had enough sunshine under my skin to see me through to the next blazingly good one.<br />
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Galvanised by this enduring feel-good factor, last night a gang of us took the train to Lewes, in search of a mini adventure and in celebration of several birthdays. We spent most of the evening in <a href="http://www.symposium-finewine.co.uk/">Symposium</a>, a swish off licence-come-wine-bar, where you can sit and enjoy all sorts of hand-picked and unusual wines at retail price (plus corkage) and nibble on local cheeses and other treats. There's nothing like this place in Eastbourne, and I'd recommend it as a nice change from either pub or restaurant. The service and atmosphere were both excellent as we made our way through three distinctive bottles of red. After bottle two, I decided it would be a good idea to start vlogging, and this was the result...<br />
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If you enjoyed my boozy Lewes vlog, I've also made little films of my recent travels to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oE6vOCX_6Xw">Athens</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMMfmdY-BuU">The Peloponnese</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sq1fPO0S54g">Wales</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkE3QrJPZIY">Stockholm</a>.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-55309152948305361992014-07-07T20:37:00.002+01:002014-07-07T20:46:33.227+01:00The Peloponnese: A Land of Wonders Ancient & NaturalOlympia. Corinth. Sparta. Mycenae. These are place names that command reverence, and fuel the imagination with epic scenes of ancient warfare, industry, poetry, philosophy, athletics. The Peloponnese could be called the birth place of Western Civilisation, such are its unrivaled historical riches. But it's also a place of breathtaking natural beauty: fearsome mountains, idyllic beaches and spellbinding horizons; a place in which I found myself weeping at the majestic marriage of landscape and legend.<br />
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I've explored the Greek Islands many times in the past, and fallen in love with their quaint cosiness and warm-hearted intimacy. When I thought of Greece, I'd picture dinky whitewashed houses with splashes of vibrant blue, straggly cats trotting down cobbled streets, lemon trees in tiny tavernas. But in the Peloponnese I found an entirely different vision of Greece, one that has stamped itself firmly on my heart. Every day of our road trip held new delights; each rambling ruin or zigzagged mountain road more spectacular than the last. And the sun shone almost constantly. And the food was amazing. It was one of the loveliest holidays, and I hope I have captured in our vlog some of the magic of the place. But if you haven't already, you really ought to go and see for yourself.<br />
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If you didn't see our Athens vlog, <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/long-weekend-in-athens.html">read the post and watch the video here</a>.
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<h3>Sleeping & Eating in The Peloponnese - The Best Places</h3><br>
<a href="http://ancientkorinth.com/">Gemelos taverna, Ancient Corinth</a><br>
<a href="https://www.airbnb.co.uk/rooms/930681">Stone cottage in Olympia via AirBNB</a><br>
<a href="http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g668021-d4564477-Reviews-Flisvos-Koroni_Messenia_Region_Peloponnese.html">Flisvos restaurant, Koroni</a><br>
<a href="http://www.chillboxfrozenyogurt.com/greece/stores/">Chillbox frozen yoghurt</a> (chain)<br>
<a href="https://www.airbnb.co.uk/rooms/52892">Farm Stay AirBNB near Gouves</a><br>
<a href="http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g319780-d1098985-Reviews-To_Omorfo_Tavernaki-Nafplio_Argolis_Region_Peloponnese.html">To Omorfo Tavernaki, Nafplio</a><br>
<a href="https://www.airbnb.co.uk/rooms/1402346">Villa with a view near Nafplio</a><br>Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-26765315349401095232014-06-30T20:33:00.001+01:002014-06-30T20:46:12.592+01:00Long Weekend in Athens<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;">Like many large European capitals, Athens is a city of contrasts: between ancient and modern, cultural and pragmatic, real life and tourism. But on my first visit to this ancient metropolis last month, I found it to be even more strikingly diverse than most. I was lucky enough to be staying out of the tourist centre in a friends' apartment - always a good start to a great adventure - and was charmed as much by the everyday people and places as by the more obvious historical attractions. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;">At the historical heart of Athens sits Plaka, all higgeldy piggeldy streets, charmingly crumbling stone steps, and crowned by the Acropolis and its legendary temples. We found our way up to the top by a roundabout route, taking in the residential backstreets and peeking into tiny tavernas along the way</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;">.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"> It would be churlish to say I wasn't impressed by the ruins in the Acropolis, but in all honesty they stayed with me less than other parts of the weekend. The view from the top is amazing, though, and it's well worth climbing onto the rocks opposite the site entrance to soak it up. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;">We ended up returning to Plaka to eat and drink a few times, and loved this stepped street of bars particularly</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"> </span><br />
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Outside of the picturesque centre lies a sprawling concrete jungle, the result of extreme unplanned growth in a short space of time. But look past the less-than-pretty buildings and you will discover, as we did, a city full of character, warmth and charisma. It is a place to eat well, drink enthusiastically and wander aimlessly.If you love history and museums, this is one of the greatest cities to visit, rich with an ancient and proud heritage. The national archaeological museum is particularly impressive, but other hidden gems are dotted around everywhere, including in tube stations and along side streets.<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"> </span><br />
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Our adventures took us to some unlikely suburbs - easily found on the straightforward metro system - including leafy Kolonaki, busy ferry port Piraeus and chi-chi yuppy hang-out, Kifisia, where bar-lined streets and leafy people-watching spots were plentiful. In just four days there, I really felt like we started to get under the skin of the place, and honestly was sad to leave so soon.
Have a watch of our Athens vlog to see what else we got up to on the trip. We also carried on to the Peloponese, and there'll be a separate post/video of that soon, too.<br />
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Some of the places mentioned in the video:
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<a href="http://niceneasy.gr/en/locations/athens" target="_blank">Nice & Easy</a> restaurant</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/oldfashionedpsirri" target="_blank">Old Fashioned</a> cocktail bar in Psiri<br />
<a href="http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g189400-d1880932-Reviews-Diogenes-Athens_Attica.html" target="_blank">Diogenes Taverna</a>, Plaka</span><br />
<a href="http://www.chillboxfrozenyogurt.com/greece/stores/" target="_blank">Chillbox</a> frozen yoghurt (all over the place)<br />
Alexandrou Pavli St in Panormou<br />
<a href="http://www.namuseum.gr/wellcome-en.html" target="_blank">National Archaeological Museum</a><br />
<a href="http://www.melt.gr/index.php?option=com_content&task=category&sectionid=5&id=29&Itemid=49&lang=en" target="_blank">Turkish baths</a> (and Folk Museum)<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sounion" target="_blank">Temple of Poseidon</a>, SounionRowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-53126945360766504382014-05-06T17:11:00.001+01:002014-05-06T17:11:34.530+01:00First Night Reflections - Pirates of Penzance with Eastbourne G&S<div class="MsoNormal">
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Tonight is the opening night of <a href="http://www.eastbournegands.com/">Eastbourne G&S’s Pirates of Penzance</a>,
and I shall be playing Mabel – the leading lady. I joined the cast after
someone else dropped out, only a month or so ago, and have crammed like mad to
learn the part. It’s been 20 years since I performed in a show (not counting the
odd concert or wedding) and I find it hard to believe where the time has gone.
In those years (since Die Fledermaus with EODS in 1994), a lot has happened. I’ve
been to university, had four different partners and married one of them, moved
to London, Brighton and back to Eastbourne again, I’ve worked in bookshops,
publishing, social media and beauty, lost two close contemporaries to cancer,
become an auntie, bought a flat and now a house, and travelled to dozens of
countries. But amongst all that, I have missed singing. I should say, I’ve
never actually stopped singing – to myself around the house, in the car, while
out shopping, and jamming with friends – but there’s nothing like the thrill of
a paying/willing audience to reward one’s efforts.</div>
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As I warm up my rusty vocal cords this afternoon, I'm doing my best to channel Ben and Rose - my great-grandparents – who met as opera singers in the D’Oyly Carte. Thanks to them I have grown up with a love of Gilbert & Sullivan - having the hits sung to me by my mum, and learning many arias myself to perform in festivals and concerts. With all that familial sway, it amazes me that I have reached my thirties before actually performing in a full-blown G&S show. But here I am, limbering up for a week of piratical adventures, complete with tongue twisting lyrics and breath-defying cadenzas. I’m excited and nervous in equal measure, but wasn't that always the case?
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If you’d like to witness my theatrical comeback, <a href="https://www.eastbournetheatres.co.uk/What%27s_On/show.asp?showID=2899">tickets
are on sale from Eastbourne Theatres</a> and we are performing from tonight
until Saturday, with matinees on Weds and Sat. You can sneak a little
preview by watching the video above, of a promotional sing the cast did in Eastbourne
town centre last weekend.</div>
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Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-15458089427804552322014-04-13T22:07:00.000+01:002014-04-13T22:07:02.569+01:00Five Days in Stockholm: ABBA, Vikings, Shopping & BunsFlying into Stockholm at sunset is a rather magical experience; the jagged patchwork of islands glowing beneath you, bathed in a phosphorescent pinky-yellow that you only seem to get in the Nordics. I’d last been to Sweden ten years ago, on the way to the Roskilde Rock Festival in Denmark, and before that to visit a friend in Gothenburg, but never to the country’s capital.<br />
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Our long weekend was largely spent shopping (Stockholm has a good range of boutique/vintage and unfamiliar high street clothes shops), eating cinnamon buns, eating generally, and bimbling around the different islands across which the city is spread. There were occasional bouts of culture (if you can count ‘<a href="http://www.abbathemuseum.com/" target="_blank">ABBA the Museum</a>’ as such), and some very special time spent with family in the leafy suburbs, but mostly we were there to relax and soak up the atmosphere.<br />
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Before going to Stockholm, I’d had a vision in my mind of a sparkling and elegant city, with sparkling and elegant inhabitants. It is certainly a smart city in places, but turned out to be a lot shabbier around the edges than I’d expected, largely due to extensive ongoing building work around the place, and a slight grubbiness which may well have been a symptom of the time of year we visited: not quite in the bloom of spring, but falling out of the mysterious darkness of winter into a more exposed state.<br />
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But it was an easy place to be. Our apartment was on a quiet street in Södermalm (apparently the hippest part of town), and only a short walk across the water in the Gamla Stan (Old Town) and on into Östermalm – the chi-chi city centre whose extravagant department stores make John Lewis feel downmarket. It was in one of these that Ant managed to finally replace the beloved Stetson Hatteras hat he’d lost some time ago on a train, and where I had to have words with myself about the practicalities of transporting a fabulous-but-enormous light fitting back in my little wheelie suitcase.<br />
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One of the highlights of the city for me was the surprisingly dinky cathedral, which is tucked away in the Old Town. The interior was smart and light and not at all oppressive (which many grand religious spaces can be), sporting stylish light fittings and some old artworks that were well worth a look. I was also rather taken with the foodie culture of the place. We managed to eat very well, especially at <a href="http://www.rival.se/" target="_blank">Rival</a> (which I am told is pronounced ‘Reevaal’), the restaurant in Benny from ABBA’s swanky hotel which was just around the corner from our flat.<br />
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On the last day of the trip, we travelled a short way north of Stockholm to visit <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamla_Uppsala" target="_blank">Uppsala</a>, a significant historical site which you may recall, if you have been watching <a href="http://www.history.com/shows/vikings" target="_blank">Vikings</a>, as the setting for sacred pilgrimage, debauched festivities and gruesome human sacrifice. All that is left of such legend now are an impressive 250 barrows (burial mounds) and a 12th century church which may have been built on the site of the fabled Norse temple that is believed to have once been at the centre of these dark rituals. The freezing weather on the day we visited only added to the chilling atmosphere of the place, which even though boxed in by roads, a railway line and housing estate, manages to maintain an eerie ambience. No doubt his was fuelled in part by my own fascination with Viking culture, which has lately been re-ignited by the terribly silly but compelling TV series.<br />
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Much of the trip is captured in this little video diary we kept along the way, which ends a bit abruptly because we forgot to film a final entry when we got home. But have a watch if you fancy seeing a bit more of Sweden's capital. There are lots of cakes and it gives a good feel for the different parts of the city.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-6946931945980428192014-01-19T20:30:00.000+00:002014-01-19T20:55:50.740+00:00The Annual Pentacle Drummers’ Wassail (aka Ro’s gloriously self indulgent prog fest)My love for prog rock and psychedelic folk is not something that often gets indulged outside of private spaces like home, headphones, or car. I do appreciate that prog especially is not to everyone’s taste; some of my friends even go so far as to express an active loathing for the genre, and so unless I’m in musically-likeminded company I don’t tend to subject others to this particular section of my record collection. In the past I've gotten away with sticking the odd proggy track into the midst of a more crowd-pleasing DJ set or party playlist (Hocus Pocus by Focus is a staple), and I do recall one Green Man festival when I danced the night away to some extremely esoteric tunes spun by <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00rwkjd" target="_blank">Freakier Zone</a>’s <a href="https://www.facebook.com/prof.spear" target="_blank">Professor Justin Spear</a>, but it’s a rare thing to be able to jump up and down to this type of music in a public place and to be among people who enjoy it as much as I do. Last night I felt like a very lucky girl when I was allowed, nay <i>encouraged</i>, to play a whole evening’s worth of folky-proggy goodness at the <a href="http://www.pentacledrummers.co.uk/" target="_blank">Pentacle Drummers</a>’ Wassail.<br />
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For those that don’t know, a Wassail is a pagan festival where mulled cider is drunk and apple trees are blessed in the hopes of a good crop from the next harvest. Although an ancient ritual, this particular event - held at Stone Cross Nurseries - is still in its infancy, having started up only last year. The first Pentacle Drummers’ Wassail in 2013 was a magical night, made extra sparkly by the timely snowfall that turned the torch lit procession to the newly planted orchard into a scene from Game of Thrones (minus the raping and pillaging). This year the weather conditions were entirely less frozen, but equally extreme. “Bring your wellies”, we were told.<br />
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As the punters started arriving in the early evening, I eased them in with some gentle (some might say accessible) folk, including First Aid Kit, Imagined Village and Iron & Wine. The mellowing effects of these soothing tunes were then spectacularly undone by the invigorating opening performance from the Pentacles, whose primal pagan drumming is about as far from the sunny Samba scene as you can imagine. They were followed by belly dancers <a href="http://www.tribalunity.co.uk/" target="_blank">Tribal Unity</a> and the fabulously attired <a href="http://steampunkmorris.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Steampunk Morris</a>, until it was time for the procession.<br />
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Sadly there was no bonfire this year, but given that the field was one big puddle due to the relentless rainfall these past few weeks, this may well have been problematic anyway. Nonetheless, the excitable atmosphere swelled as we tramped like Vikings through a bog, fiery torches in hand. A little girl in front of me squeaked “I love all this muddy stuff” as she skipped through the mire, and I had to agree that it did lend a certain dramatic something to the occasion, albeit more Waterworld than Narnia.<br />
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At the orchard we sang songs, heard prayers to gods ancient and new, had a little dance in the mud, and shared apple cake and cider from last year’s harvest (although not from these saplings, which are too young to bear fruit). As the crowd began to disperse, I dashed on ahead to line up some rousing music to welcome them back inside, choosing Led Zeppelin’s 'Immigrant Song', followed by some Yes and Yellow Moon Band. People (including, but not only, me) were up and dancing. Noone was shouting ‘get this nonsense off'. I was relieved.<br />
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Next was the raffle – all for a good cause and with some fun prizes (Linda and I were disappointed not to win the Witch Weekend in Glastonbury; maybe we'll go anyway) – but a little bit of a mood-killer, just when we were getting into the swing. But Greg’s witty raffle repartee kept us merry, and then it was time for more drumming and dancing, but not before I’d snuck in a couple of tracks, including Tame Impala’s ‘Elephant’, to which the drummers rather brilliantly started tapping along.<br />
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This may have been around the time when I drank the 8% farmhouse cider that ruined me, since the rest of the night is something of a happy hazy blur. I do distinctly recall grinning like a loon at a seven or eight year old girl with rainbow face paint, who was moshing around with us to Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s ‘Hoedown’, and thinking what great musical taste she had for such a young thing. The headline act of the evening was a very entertaining goth-rock band from Totnes called <a href="http://www.roxircle.com/" target="_blank">ROxIRcle</a>, who enabled my frenzied flailing (one could hardly call it dancing) to continue.<br />
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I knew I wanted the night to end with Focus (as every good night should, but rarely does), and I managed to sneak in playing ‘Syliva’ to the departing hordes before packing up my things and calling a cab for me and my cohorts. I cannot tell you what a joyful experience all of this was for me. I may never get to have such a wonderfully self-indulgent night of DJ-ing ever again, but I will always have the memory of this Wassail. Even the monster hangover was worth it.<br />
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If you've been reading this thinking "that selection of music sounds like my worst nightmare", you probably won't want to listen to<a href="http://open.spotify.com/user/rowstar/playlist/1xfxE19wsmcZNvSYYyKdDF" target="_blank"> this Spotify playlist I made of my DJ set</a>. But otherwise, knock yourself out. And don't forget the cider.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11669249.post-22275352832283370582013-12-31T16:37:00.003+00:002013-12-31T16:37:30.635+00:00The Best of 2013 - Looking Back at The Year<div style="text-align: justify;">
There's no escaping it, I've been terrible at keeping up with my blog this year. In fact, it's been slowly neglected since its peak in 2008, when I published a mega <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/search?updated-min=2008-01-01T00:00:00Z&updated-max=2009-01-01T00:00:00Z&max-results=122">122 posts</a>. In 2013, I'd written exactly <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/ana-silvera-at-vortex-london.html" target="_blank">one post</a>, with this last minute one taking it up to a grand total of two. I feel bad about it, because my blog was somewhere I would capture all the interesting things going on in my life, if only to aid my own reminiscence in years to come. I've let my future self down.</div>
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Blogging has also been a welcome non-work related outlet for my writing over the years, although in recent times, since my job has largely involved creating non-stop content for others, I must admit I've struggled to find the discipline to sit down at weekends and churn out any more words. I do think Facebook and Twitter are also partly to blame, providing a handy platform to share bite-sized accounts of holidays, events and the like, so that sometimes a whole self-indulgent blog post can feel a tad superfluous.</div>
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But what the hell, I have had a lovely year on the whole, so here it is in one long vainglorious digest. Even if you only skim over and look at the pretty pictures, I'd say it's worth a look. I would promise to try harder in 2014, but I have a feeling I'd be kidding myself and you.</div>
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January</h2>
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We spent 1st January in Slapton, Devon, recovering from a night out in the village pub the night before with Harriet, Lewys and their friends. Our gentle New Year's Day involved a rather picturesque walk around Slapton Ley and down to the beach, before driving back to Eastbourne less than 24 hours after we'd arrived.</div>
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We may not have had a White Christmas in 2012, but the snow arrived in time for the annual Wassail ceremony in January, lending the event a little extra elemental magic. This atmospheric procession of fire and ice led us to the traditional blessing of a new orchard and back again to raise a glass of hot spicy cider to the apple trees.<br />
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Our first proper cultural outing of the year (not including Panto and the infamous Cod panto - as seen above - which is performed every year by the crew), was to see <a href="http://www.onemantwoguvnors.com/" target="_blank">One Man, Two Guvnors</a> at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. I don't think I have ever laughed so hard at a show before, and I honestly thought Jordan might wet herself when the waiter fell backwards down the stairs. Tears were rolling down our cheeks.</div>
<h2>
February</h2>
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The end of January and most of February were socially and culturally sparse, thanks to me being laid up with a trapped nerve that made work difficult and any kind of strenuous activity (including driving) impossible, but I did manage a couple of gentle outings during the rehabilitation period. My first gig of the year was <a href="http://boohewerdine.net/" target="_blank">Boo Hewerdine</a> at the Greys in Brighton. Little did I know then that he'd be back again to play at my local pub, The Lamb, in October. A double-Boo year is a good year.</div>
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I am very grateful to the friends and family who accompanied me on restorative walks and comforting cake missions during my sick leave, including Jo and Nancy who came over for a bit of both during the February half term. Nancy could hardly bring herself to eat this beautiful rainbow cake, made by the lovely ladies at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Neates-Cakery/217396734937972" target="_blank">Neate's</a>.</div>
<h2>
March</h2>
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This little nephew braved the elements with us for an Easter trip down to Devon in Kiki the campervan, and saw his first waterfall during a magical walk around Lydford Gorge. We also visited a wild and windswept Tintagel, and discovered that Nutella and custard is an outstanding topping for pancakes.</div>
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Having succumbed to the hype, a gang of us went to see <a href="http://uk.matildathemusical.com/" target="_blank">Matilda the Musical</a> in London, which was excellent for a children's show but not quite as subversive and edgy as the critics would have you believe. If anything, I thought Dahl's anarchic brilliance was somewhat tamed by being set to music, but it was a fabulous day out which ended with drinks at my old favourite theatrical dive, the <a href="http://www.phoenixartistclub.com/" target="_blank">Phoenix bar</a>.</div>
<h2>
April</h2>
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More outdoor adventures happened in April, when the weather was kinder, and we camped out in Graffham with Kiki and her best friend Olive (and Olive's keepers Steve and Linda). No campfires allowed in this woodland site, but it was a splendid base for an all-day walk with a pub lunch along the way, and several games of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kubb" target="_blank">Kubb</a>.<br />
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May</h2>
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I've always wanted to dress up as Abba with my sister and our other halves, and what better occasion than the Swedish-hosted Eurovision in May? An evening of international snacks, key-change drinking games and endless wig-swapping ensued.</div>
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After a night of all-out campery, sometimes one needs to reset the balance with an injection of wilful geekery, and we managed to combine some of this with a day out at Michelham Priory with Andrew and Amy, where we spent at least an hour talking to a couple of skilled flint-knappers who were there as part of an ancient crafts fair.</div>
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A visit from the in-laws prompted us to visit <a href="http://www.glynde.co.uk/glynde-place/" target="_blank">Glynde Place</a> for the first time, and to have lunch at the <a href="http://trevorarms.com/" target="_blank">Trevor Arms</a> for the first time in a while. Both were most pleasant, as was a trip to Bexhill in the sunshine, where we found some sort of exciting boat race going on.</div>
<h2>
June</h2>
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At the end of May and into the start of June, Kiki and Olive reunited for a trip to the Welsh mountains, for the tiny and wonderful <a href="http://twoforjoy.co.uk/event/fire-mountain-tan-yn-y-mynydd-2012" target="_blank">Fire in the Mountain Festival</a>. Red kites swooped overhead, the sun beat down for three days straight and all kinds of music poured out of every nook and cranny of the little farm. We learned Appalachian flat foot dancing, sang in harmony with our fellow festy-goers, bonded around camp fires and ceilidh-d our way through the weekend, but Ant's highlight was a morning spent in the woodcrafts area, turning a new stick to replace a broken one in our Kubb set, so that we could teach more new found friends how to play. </div>
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This photo (my favourite one of the year) was taken at Rubjerg Knude Fyr in Denmark, on one of the sunniest days of our Nordic adventure at the end of June, just before we reached the very top of the country. Having driven up through The Netherlands and Germany, we explored most of Jutland and Odense and discovered stunning beaches, fairytale castles and heart-breakingly magnificent midnight sunsets. Of all the delights Denmark had to offer, though, I was most affected by its very tip - Skagen - where the distinctive light has inspired many generations of artists including the troubled but brilliant P.S. Krøyer, and where you can stand (as we did) with one foot in the Baltic, and one in the Atlantic, watching the two seas gently crash into each other. I have never been so transfixed by a painting as by Krøyer's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kr%C3%B8yer_sankthans3.jpg" target="_blank">Midsummer's Eve Bonfire on Skagen's Beach</a>, which captures a community of painters, fishermen and poets gathered together for the midsummer festival, their relationships and emotions exposed by the haunting glow of the fire.</div>
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July</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcou_XgHhxXaxuWT6xOcN-7J36mPiUZSMDgHCMzYp6OtR_txA-23AymHCacuft0ieZiJM3xlMkK9lwOA408QBnveoJ1eC5f2p7fjkWcrjl-gNQJ1Dhh8GzrX3QDrqDqPTn5oWIkw/s1600/IMG_9631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcou_XgHhxXaxuWT6xOcN-7J36mPiUZSMDgHCMzYp6OtR_txA-23AymHCacuft0ieZiJM3xlMkK9lwOA408QBnveoJ1eC5f2p7fjkWcrjl-gNQJ1Dhh8GzrX3QDrqDqPTn5oWIkw/s640/IMG_9631.JPG" width="473" /></a></div>
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Sometimes after going to far-flung places, you need to remind yourself that there's no place like home. This pretty little spot just down the road at Cooden Beach was the scene of a few mini getaways over the summer; the perfect place to escape to on a Friday night to watch the sun set, cook a barbecue supper, walk along the sand, camp out in Kiki, and even one time, to watch a seal dancing about with the morning tide.<br />
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The day after this particular idyllic evening, we went on one of the shortest-lived but most memorable picnics ever; our Brighton friends struggled through traffic diversions to make it just in time for the heavens to open literally ten minutes after we'd all trekked up the hill and sat down to eat. But nevermind, because the communal soaking led to much retrospective merriment, as we all dried off and warmed up with cups of tea back at our place.</div>
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July was also a good month for gigs, with <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/ana-silvera-at-vortex-london.html" target="_blank">Ana Silvera at The Vortex in London</a>, and <a href="http://www.xyzmagazine.co.uk/brighton/event-previews/must-go-events-coming-up/regina-spektor-de-la-warr-bexhill-mon-jul-29" target="_blank">Regina Spektor at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill</a> both soothing us into the height of summer.</div>
<h2>
August</h2>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Photo by Paul Spink.</span></div>
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August is the month of open air Shakespeare in Eastbourne, and this year's EODS offering was The Tempest. I've often thought that they should use the seafront setting to its full advantage and put on this shipwreck/desert island drama, and was so happy to see the minimal set incorporating the natural backdrop of the sea. To see my brother in law in a frock was an added bonus in what turned out to be an excellent production. I'd recommend you read <a href="http://lufferov.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/eods-tempest.html" target="_blank">James's review</a> which sums it all up rather well.</div>
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A family camping weekend near Bodiam castle and a trip to its medieval festival was another highlight of the summer holidays. I especially loved seeing one year old Axel relishing The Great Outdoors as an opportunity to test out his newly toddling legs. I'm not too sure how impressed he was with this medieval monk, though.<br />
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September</h2>
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<a href="http://www.endoftheroadfestival.com/" target="_blank">The End of the Road Festival</a> is so called because it claims to be the final festival of the summer, happening as it does at the end of August/beginning of September weekend. I've been a couple of times before, in <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2009/09/spangly-sparkly-place-end-of-road.html" target="_blank">2009</a> and <a href="http://rowstar.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/very-lovely-end-of-road-festival-2010.html" target="_blank">2010</a>, but it had changed a bit in the last three years. For one thing, there was an extra stage for the main acts, which took them out of the cosy walled garden and into a less intimate open field. It's still a small festival compared with many others, but I did find the cuteness has slipped somewhat. Nevertheless, it was an excellent weekend, with some memorable gigs including <a href="http://lovethisgiant.com/" target="_blank">David Byrne and St Vincent</a> and <a href="http://edharcourt.com/" target="_blank">Ed Harcourt</a> among my personal favourites, not to mention our own outstanding performance as the cast of a five minute production of The Wizard of Oz, which you can see for yourself above. </div>
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Ant also experienced his first silent disco, at the end of our absinthe-fuelled final night. If you've never been to one of these, you should - it's truly hilarious. Especially when you take your headphones off and hear everyone singing along out of tune as can be witnessed here. Pure joy!<br />
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September brought a third Mini Maker Faire in Brighton, after months of preparation and promotion. I got to interview Maggie Philbin (yes, she of Tomorrow's World fame) and Bill Thompson among others as part of my live reporting duties - have a listen to the podcasts <a href="https://soundcloud.com/brighton-maker-faire/sets/maker-faire-brighton-2013" target="_blank">here</a>. </div>
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It was also the most colourful month of the year, thanks to a visit from Neel (who now lives in Melbourne), at whose Colour Block party I was one of only a few who chose to dress in green. Interestingly, pink and red were the most popular colours, and we discovered that far too many people base their knowledge of the rainbow on the children's song (which has the colours in completely the wrong order) rather than any useful acronymic reminder.</div>
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My birthday weekend was a special one spent eating cake and playing games with loved ones, and catching up with old friends at Paul D's 50th party on the Sunday. It's rare you get to see the theatre crew decked out in posh clothes (frocks are far more common); they don't scrub up too badly at all.</div>
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October</h2>
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As the nights started drawing in during October, we finally (after three years of living here) got around to decorating our bedroom and living room, ridding them of our predecessors' wallpaper and replacing the dreaded peacocks with far more soothing stripes. On the cultural front, there was an outing to see Cabaret at The Congress, my abiding memory of which will always be the overheard conversations of bemused punters who'd come expecting Pop Idol style jollity and were apparently upset to be confronted by harrowing holocaust themes. "I preferred The Bodyguard" was one classic comment.</div>
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My favourite film of the year, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2392326/" target="_blank">Le Week-end</a>, was also in October. The touching and intentionally uncomfortable story of an ageing couple celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary in Paris, it starred the master of pathos, Jim Broadbent, elegantly foiled by Lindsay Duncan as his beautiful but jaded wife. </div>
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November</h2>
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November was a momentous month for us, because after almost year of assessment and preparation, we were officially approved to become adoptive parents. We celebrated the day with an ice cream on the beach and a trip to Brighton to collect <a href="https://medium.com/@bobbie" target="_blank">Bobbie</a> and <a href="http://littleredboat.co.uk/" target="_blank">Anna's</a> G-plan sideboard (now in pride of place against the new stripy wallpaper in our lounge). This photo was taken on the weekend before panel, on the Downs above East Dean. </div>
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It was also an important month for Doctor Who, which celebrated its 50th birthday with a feature length spectacular that was shown in cinemas as well as on TV. It so happened that our Who-mad nephew and his mum were visiting that weekend, so we of course took them to see it in 3D at the Crumbles after loading up on pizza.<br />
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December</h2>
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This is my favourite snap from Ant's birthday soirée last week, capturing as it does the camp insanity of the evening. The theme was Fanlight Fanny's Festive Frolic, and festively frolic we did. And yes, that is me in the turban; what of it? I've spared Ant the humiliation of posting a picture of him in drag, although if you ask him nicely, I'm sure he'll be persuaded to share.</div>
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I haven't mentioned work at all in this post yet, although it's obviously taken up quite a lot of my year. That's not because I don't enjoy what I do (because I do), but unless you're also a social media/digital type person it might be a bit dull. One work thing of which I am really proud this year, and that I think you might enjoy, is this animated Christmas ad I conceived and commissioned for The Body Shop.<br />
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Christmas itself was spent Up North this year, and after 300 miles of battling through wind and rain, we managed to relax for a few days of quality time with the Miller clan, even making it as far as The Lakes for a family gathering in a soft play centre.<br />
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I expect there are many other highlights I've neglected to mention (please, do remind me of them), but these are some that stick in my mind as special and memorable occasions. Thank you to everyone who has helped make 2013 a very jolly and fulfilling year; I really am a very lucky girl.<br />
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So on the last day of 2013, I'm sat here reflecting on the past 12 months, and contemplating the year ahead. It certainly looks set to be eventful, if not for the same reasons as this year and the ones that went before it. I hope I'll be able to find time to show my blog a little love in the months ahead, but if I don't, you'll know why.<br />
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Happy New Year, one and all.Rowan Stanfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05622169615560530281noreply@blogger.com0