Return.

'Tell me the story of how I came' Peanut asks.

It was the same every night for weeks, as the day drew on she asked if we could talk about it at bedtime. We'd lay on the bed together and she'd ask questions and I'd answer them, sometimes I'd start the story and that prompted questions. I'd talk about the day we heard about her, the day we met, the little things and the big things. She would ask silly questions and serious questions all of them colouring in this picture to the finest of detail. New questions that reveal an inquisitive mind.

I recall writing a post about pealing layers of my children's stories, returning to them with developed knowledge as children grow and understand more. This feels different. We've had a hard few months, you know adult children bother. Not the usual Raaaaa, different sadness and loss. Of course we're discrete and Peanut is aware of some of that, still, there's been a sadness over the house.

Perhaps it's coincidence or a phase that Peanut returns to the story night after night. I'm no psychologist or adoption whisperer and between me and the GoodMrsC it's me who usually reads nothing into behaviour other than kids just doing stuff. I'd be lying if I said we'd never fallen out over that staple of adoptive couple's discussions. But Peanut seems to find safety and comfort in her story, it places her dead centre in the family and we're certainly an unconventional family. We're like a single teapot made out of the glued together pieces of four broken different shaped teapots. Its non conventional but it works.

The story seemed to have the same effect as songs I return to, familiar, well worn, personal and cement me in a time and place. I go to different songs for different reasons, comforting, reassuring, celebratory. They don't get old or worn.

So, we kept going, telling and retelling. We talked each night, sometimes I rationed the question 'just two tonight' or sometimes the cynical me suspected it was a ruse to get a few more minutes. I would cut it short, I'm good at getting it wrong and it's hard to remain all Dan Hughes-über-parent - bleedin'-tastic when the same questions come again and again. Peanut wanted to know so we continued and dug out specific information and mementos when needed and like they came the questions just stopped, for now.

Their Story

Lotty: So, you know how mam and dad are not your real mam and dad well that's because you've got a real mam and dad that you can't live with. 

Peanut: Ok.

I didn't get involved but spectated from a safe distance, from the front seat of the car looking through the rear view mirror with my good eye on the road. 

The conversation went on, Lotty with the sensitivity of a jet engine spelt out pretty clearly a timeline of events for Peanut. To be fair she did moderate the information with age appropriate words and tone but she was her usual frank self. 

We're out about adoption, well and truly out. If you see us walk into a restaurant then you don't have to be a social anthropologist. From the moment we decided to adopt we've laid it all bare.

But our children's story's is their story and it's for them to share.

Sat in a beer garden we got talking to a local last week. They were fishing for the story but we've learnt the art of dodging the questions. I take no offence, people are curious and love a good story. Adoptions stories are good stories.

When the big three came we said nothing to nobody about their journey to us. We told a couple of trusted family members just for our benefit.

When people asked we said, it's their story and it's their's to share. People were nervous, 'what if they told us something?'. 'Chill' we said, 'listen and talk'.  They never said much just a few incidentals and mentions.

It's their story and their's to share.