Having expended patience, sweat and the few fragments of brainpower that remain after work had sucked it all away on setting up this blog, I had clearly developed a blogging overdraft, judging by my silence ever since. Alternatively of course I have had nothing to say. But I have several times in the last few weeks very much felt I wanted to blog so I think the impulse remains. Perhaps I will need to give my procrastinatory self a stern talking to if it continues after today, but for now I shall be kind to myself, gently gather scraps of verbal paper and creative kindling, and try forlornly to relight this fire. Much like my stove – another stage that all too often showcases little more than my incompetence – this blog clearly requires nurturing and dedication.
And so again I find my matches and gently cup the flame. Especially since it would appear that blogging does in fact have magical qualities! I shall explain.
Last time I blogged I was in that mixed-up place when frustration, hope, anxiety, faith, confidence, worry, experience, understanding, fear and pragmatism all sweep around inside you, each in taking their turn as lead in the emotional orchestra. I had heard nothing and was construing this in a multitude of ways. Yet within 24 hours I had exchanged emails and phone calls with my adoption agency and found out – to our mutual frustration but also my great relief – that in fact they had tried to get in touch with me in early/mid-December but the email had never reached me. We never did work out why not, but with contact re-established the whys seemed less important and the next steps loomed.
Apparently blogging is indeed a magical activity: we were moving again!
Amazingly, the social worker who it had been promised would contact me had a diary that somehow coincided with mine, and we agreed, despite discussing only on Tuesday afternoon, that we would meet on Friday morning. At my house.
So I had a date. Or as it suddenly turned into, a very immediate deadline. The social worker was coming to my house; three days later; expecting to see my portfolio; and planning to look around the house to check it out and pass initial judgement. So the clock was running. My nearly-there portfolio needed to be finished, and tidied, and made to look presentable – which suddenly looked like quite a lot of work, getting documents printed, finding handouts from my course, checking what I’d done against the emails received weeks previously, finally doing the bits I’d been procrastinating on for so long. I entered what I believe, from reading the stories of others, should be included in medical manuals as a known condition, the strange state of adoption-hopeful-house-must-be-tidy-but-how-tidy-should-it-be-panic. I couldn’t do both at once – writing up a “fair copy” of my family tree was not a task that could be combined with hauling my (new, shiny, Christmas-present – thanks Mum*!) hoover slowly up the stairs. Somehow that evening and the following I made progress and there was still time, there was – oooooh – one whole evening to go and I even thought somehow I’d fit in choir.
As it was real life intervened in style the day before my social worker appointment, with the very upsetting news of the death of a young friend. A story for another day (now shared here). However as a result I ended up with in fact far more time at home the day before my appointment than I’d anticipated, and my Mum – yes the great one already mentioned (if you’ve not already seen the footnote, see below!) – zooming down to be just amazing. As well as walking the canal and sharing quiet time, we realised the hoovering, dusting and portfolio were all manageable with two, and I was blessed by so much support from friends too that even the decision to miss choir was easy when dinner shared with a friend bearing flowers became the alternative.
Although I did consider it, I never seriously intended to postpone the social worker’s visit – not after all the delays already. More importantly, it felt right to go ahead. I’m a great believer that when big things happen in life it is more crucial than ever that you listen to your instincts. It is of course helpful when your instincts shout loud and clear. Mine didn’t even need to shout, they just calmly rested in my head, affirming and re-affirming to me that my adoption journey matters, and I must keep on travelling.
And so, I was all set for the next stage of my big adventure.
* No I am not being sarcastic. My Mum is the greatest. I have no doubt she will feature regularly in this blog. Among her many greatnesses is the capacity to gently nudge me where I need to go … and when I don’t get round to acting taking action for me. The new hoover had long been needed. It might be boring in so many ways, but receiving a vacuum cleaner for Christmas has one great advantage – you don’t need to choose or buy it yourself. Someone else does that bit for you. Yes! Thank you Mum. As I said, you are the greatest.