HOLY GUACAMOLE!

Two things: 

Emilio has been granted British citizenship!

I am now in possession of BOTH of our passports!

IIIIIII KNNOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!

Fair to say it has been a bit of a rough old ride of late, no? A wee touch of coronacoaster, citizenshipcoaster, passportgatecoaster and your actual regular solo parenting coaster. Well. After being assured that our passports were on their way back from the Home Office in England, and chasing said claim through my exceptionally helpful MP's office (BIG shout out to Ian Murray's office - Lesley there has been so helpful and tried her very best to get things moving for us), I was informed this week that our passports had been sent. A week and a half ago!

Well, where in the chuffery are they then?? 

They've been sent by regular post. Signed for, sure, but by a regular Royal Mail postie. To Peru. From England. In a pandemic. When all kinds of shit has been going wrong. And I had asked for their urgent return. Couldn't have DHLd them back like I did to get them there, could you? ARE. YOU. ACTUALLY. KIDDING. ME. ON????!??!!

Needless to say, my belief that I would ever see those guys again was dimming away away down like wee Tinkerbell's light when no one believes in her. A sad, sad day indeed. 

So I have busied myself this week packing, getting ready for the shippers to arrive and take most of our stuff to store in their facility because I can't get the export licence sorted until I have my passport. Packing, packing, stressing, stressing, trying to remain calm and help E understand what was going on. Failing at pretty much all of the above. But. Shippers came yesterday and took the most of our stuff away - a huge amount more than they had expected and another bit of bill for me (I'm never moving again!!) - and were just so kind and helpful and excellent at their packing job. Totally recommend these guys - Gil International - just so professional and efficient. This is something I would, and do, monumentally SUCK at, as demonstrated today when I then tried to move us out of our house where we have been living for 8 months! We have way too much stuff to be getting on any planes anywhere, should we ever actually be able to get on any planes anywhere. As IF we have moved house three times in a pandemic...so far. Josie Jump. 

Anyway. This morning, I was mindlessly scrolling through the socials, inhaling coffee after having been woken up at stupid o'clock by Sir Kelly, King of the Ridiculous Hours. This was after a troublesome sleep due to a rude awakening around 1am by a policeman buzzing my buzzer and waking up the whole house (dogs x 3 going MENTAL) to inform me that I'd left my car window open (see photo of sticker on window as to why this may have caught random policeman's attention) and that I better sort it right now or I could be robbed. In my not-quite-awake-state, I had answered the door, having seen a dude on the camera, genuinely thinking this might be our passports. Dismayed that it was not, I wasn't quite able to form sentences in any language - threw some Italian words into an English sentence with some Spanish grammar I think, whilst nearly crying because I couldn't understand why everything was so wet and also why I couldn't get the window to go up. Thank you, other kind policeman, for pointing out I had the window lock on, hence why it had not been up in the first place!! 'It never rains in Lima'...well, it never USED TO rain in Lima. Climate change, people.  

So, point is, I wasn't very 'with' it this morning when I opened my email and found one from someone or other citizenship related with, and I kid you not, A WORD DOCUMENT attached declaring that my beautiful boy has been granted British citizenship!!!!! This means he can get a British passport, live in the U.K. if we ever actually get home and I don't need to worry about visas or us travelling on different passports etc, etc, etc. It's the BEST news. 

How it was presented to me, however, is actually hilarious. A word document, with random red writing in places (possibly the standard letter and the red words you change), attached to an email. Not a PDF. Not all the same coloured text. A WORD. DOCUMENT. I mean, my first graders know how to convert to a PDF. So, thank you, government, for realising that my child, regardless of the fact that he is adopted, is my child and should have the same right to live in the country I'm from as I do!! I'll say it again for the cheap seats...on A WORD DOCUMENT. Give me strength. 

And then, as if that wasn't enough, INCOMING PASSPORTS. I did what I was told and hotfooted it to Serpost to ask for my missed item. 8am opening time, it said on the website. My wee pooches all went off to their holiday home (waaaaaaaahhhh) at 7.30am and then Emilio and I were outside the office at 8.30am to find it didn't open till 9am. Of course. Anyway, they didn't have it. But they did have a what's app number to ask the courier to deliver it back to me urgently (they have 3 days to redeliver) and lo and behold, I text that wee postie (who loves emoji-ing a postie!) and I had a response within 5 minutes and our passports showed up, at our door, at the right time! WHAAAAAATTTT??? Well, actually they were a half hour early so thank goodness for Kellaroo sitting waiting in my house whilst we were out delivering dog crates to be stored and whatnot. 

So. After almost 5 months out of the stated 'up to' 6 month processing time for a citizenship application, with more than 4 months involvement from my MP to get our case prioritised because of all of our extenuating circumstances, another 2 and a bit begging for them to send our passports back so we can leave the country...we have our decision AND we have our passports. On. The. Same. Day. I mean! Hello stars! Or potentially the very lovely man I spoke to on the phone a couple of days ago whose name I'm not sure if I'm allowed to mention so I won't, but if indeed he was something to do with this, I couldn't be more grateful. Or to my beautiful friend for making that happen. 

Where does that leave us now? 

I'm not sure. Safer in my mind because we can leave. Happier long term because we can properly not worry about all the visa schmuk and can visit our family together! But in terms of what's next, I don't know! Offices in Oman are still shut to my knowledge. So we might be leaving in 2 weeks and we might not. Watch this space. 

What I do know is this: we shouldn't have had to go through this. Emilio is my son the same as any of my friends who have had their children here. I shouldn't have had to pay £1012 to the U.K. government and go through this hell of waiting, in a pandemic, when I was really close to losing my mind completely, for them to FINALLY decide that E can have a passport. It is not right, it is discrimination and there is no justification for it. 

So. I am going to take this on. I don't want anyone else to come behind me and have to go through this. It needs to change and I'm going to make it happen. But just now, I'm going to have a cup of tea and read my book. 

As always, thank you for the love and support you all give us. As well as postal advice!! My heart is full and warm and my mind is fuzzy. Oh, wait...what??!

Heehee. 

x

Can 'limbo' be FINISHED now? Please?

On and on and on it goes. Almost five months have passed since I applied for Emilio's U.K. citizenship, that which is supposed to take up to six months to process. That which I sent further paperwork for to plead our case for expediting it. You know, so we could get on a plane and get home to Scotland and have a bit of support, see our family, get something of a 'normal' existence in this pandemic after an enormous amount of time of just being us two. Well, here we are almost five of those six months down the line absolutely no further forward whatsoever. When I started writing this blog, it was a way for me to document the bureaucracy leading up to becoming a mum; a Single, a Foreign and an Altogether Unlikely Candidate for being accepted as an adoptive parent over here in Peru. I can remember exactly the night I sat down and started typing. I knew, then, that this was going to happen for me and I wanted to share my experience and have something to look back on and maybe something to show my future child. It then morphed into the process of matching with Emilio, bringing him home and starting our lives together. 

Not once, in any of that time, in any of the moments of fear, of uncertainty, of feeling like at any second they would reject me, did I think THIS is where we would be a few years down the line! (Actually, it is right around this time three years ago that I found out I had been accepted. How funny.) Never did I think that I would be sitting in a house in Miraflores, my beautiful boy asleep, my three dogs sleeping by my side, wondering when on Earth we would be getting our passports back. Flipping out about where we are going to be living in a couple of weeks. Stressing like a stresshead about the vague possibility of not getting to our next country and having to teach online from Peru, nine hours behind our new country. Agonising over whether to put the dogs into an hospedaje when we move to our temporary Air BnB, even though we are still going to be in Lima, or to keep them with us because, even though it will be a nightmare in the tiny apartment, they are our family. I think we all know what I'm going to decide and no, it's not the sensible option. (Having flashbacks to a conversation with my mum and dad when I was trying to decide between Vietnam and Venezuela...My dad said, 'At some point, Marianne, you're going to have to grow up a bit and start listening to your head and not your heart.' And my mum said, 'But we know that this is not that moment and you're going to choose your heart so just accept the job in Venezuela now.' Where would I be if I'd listened to my head, Daddy Kelly?!).

Anyway, the point is, this is not where I thought we would be and I am finding it all far too much, most of the time. Feeling this powerless is not something I think many people are comfortable with but I am particularly used to sorting my own shit out. You spend a life getting into all sorts of predicaments, you develop a certain skillset. But my skillset is rendered useless at the moment and it is not sitting well at all...so, Home Office, be a doll and JUST SEND US BACK OUR PASSPORTS SO WE CAN LEAVE THE FRIGGIN' COUNTRY, INNIT?!

The advice I'm being given is mainly about making lists and doing one thing at a time and chunking things and all that. Great. First step - get passports back. Excellent. Right. Nope. So... 

Second step. Wait for confirmation that visa offices have opened in Oman and we can get those visas and get on a plane and go to Oman. Nope. Because first step is still negative. And visa offices are, indeed, still shut.

Third step. Figure out what the deal is now with Emilio going in on his Peruvian passport and not a British one because, oh, that's right, WE DON'T HAVE OUR PASSPORTS AND HE ISN'T YET APPROVED AS A U.K. CITIZEN. Mother of all that is holy in the world.

Fourth step. Sort dogs travel. Can't do that either because of the first two. Absolutely no idea when/if we are leaving Peru and getting to Oman so absolutely no idea when to get them on a plane either. 

Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all of his carpenter friends (line stolen from a hilarious Irish comedian whose name I've forgotten). Really, though. Really. And if I hear one more time that 'it'll all come together', I will actually punch something. I know it bloody will. I successfully navigated the Peruvian adoption system on my own and have managed to keep us relatively safe and mostly happy (hah!) through a global pandemic, with next to no physical support: I am fully aware of how many mountains I can move (she says absolutely cockily!). IT DOES NOT MAKE IT ANY EASIER TO DEAL WITH. Being told you're strong doesn't make you feel any frigging stronger when you are literally the only person you can rely on to do all the stuff. Every single bit of the stuff is up to me. Never before have I felt the weight and the loneliness of that than right now. Solo Mumming is brilliant most of the time and I love our wee team - I would not change this for a single second. But man alive, I've had enough. I just want to go home and see my mum and dad and have a cup of tea and let my wee boy play with his cousins while I hug the bejesus out of my sister. I just want to be held up for a tiny wee while so I can catch my breath and carry on because this is the hardest thing I've ever done. Ever. All these blogs and groups I read about being a single parent...there aren't too many (none) who are stuck on the other side of the world with an autistic child who hasn't set foot inside a school since March 2020, having spent the Christmas/summer vacation already together 24/7. That's the other thing about being on the southern hemisphere in this pandemic. We had just started back to school so we have basically been in each other's pockets since December 2019. No wonder we are losing the plot. 

Anyway. This has just become a bit of a WTF outpouring of nonsense and that is ok. Maybe not that interesting, but stuff I wanted to get out of my head. Onto better things. 

What's the boy up to at the moment? Well, I have gone from being 'Nunny' to 'Monny' which I'm trying hard not to relate to the amount of American TV he watches...but if the shoe fits... 

He is absolutely obsessed with Lego right now, a surprise to exactly no one, and nearly lost his mind when we went to the Lego store a couple of weeks ago. The utter joy! Obviously, the instructions were just slowing him down so they have been abandoned and there is so much creativity and engineering going on that I feel a little less guilty about everything he's missed from school and activities and just bask in his brilliance instead. 

'There you go!' is a current favourite phrase which is the cutest thing ever and also makes me ever so much more aware of his copycatting (F button OFF, Maz). 

We have a new show on the go but generally introducing new things is an absolute NOPE at the moment; choose your battles. This is not the right one for the moment. 

Park trips are still hard but have actually been a LOT better since the last blog...though some dog walks, I have been offering his new wee buggy thing I got for travelling (PAHAHAHA!) because I'm just exhausted with the trying to keep everyone from dying on the streets of Lima. 

He's a negotiator extrordinaire! 'TV is going off, Emilio,' says I...'Five more minutes and then shoes on,' says he. How can I argue?? 

There's a whole lot more but I'm losing the will to type right now. It is mighty hard and I'm mighty exhausted and some days, so is he. But as we drove up past his 'first home' on Saturday, something we haven't done before, and I thought about that tiny little boy who was locked far away in another little world...there aren't really words. What a brilliant light he is and I'm going to make sure he keeps shining through the hard stuff. Go and someone send me a wee torch for myself though, eh?! 

xxxx

Why going to the park is NEVER just going to the park

Hands up if you are a parent who is absolutely, completely and utterly SICK of going to the freaking park? ☝I mean, I should be grateful, and I am most of the time, that we are actually able to get out and go to the park - those first three months in lockdown last year were HIDEOUS. We would have given anything and everything to be allowed out with our children who were held captive for a crazy amount of time. It is fully mental thinking about that; our kids weren't allowed outside. At all. And when you live in a city, mainly in apartment buildings with no gardens, it literally meant not going outside of your house. Blows my mind now. During that time, I just had to chuck E in his buggy and hoof it to the shop with the dogs in tow and hope beyond hope that we wouldn't get arrested, walking dogs anywhere past your own street also being prohibited. Madness.

 

Anyway, we were really lucky to move to the beach, just when kids were allowed out for a whole half hour per day. Autistic people had also been allowed out for a 15 minute walk per day. Again, mind blowing to think about it now but that was the life we were living. Being at the beach was amazing as the security people/police were quite happy for us just to go out and run around and use all that space and freedom - brilliant for a wee dude with developmental delays in all areas to tank up and down the stairs beside our house, having been cooped up for 3 months. It was awesome until they shut the beaches again from Friday-Sundays..then it was pretty shit again! When we moved back to Miraflores in the city, I did have major anxiety about how it was going to be trying to go for walks with the dogs and E and all the traffic and general hazards seemingly intent on killing one of my pack, having been so used to just letting everyone run free! I've mentioned before that ALL the parks near us are surrounded by roads or a massive cliff. Fences and gates are not a thing in these parts and cause no end of stress and anxiety. However, we have managed and are managing but it has become increasingly difficult lately and resulted in us both in tears the other day when we were out for a walk. 

See, the other thing that's happened as a result of COVID is that the parks are now used for all the things. Art classes, music classes, gym classes, yoga classes, birthday parties, picnics; you name it, it is happening in one or all parks and this is delightful, of course. The problem we encounter is that all of these things are extremely exciting for my guy and he sees no reason whatsoever why he shouldn't be part of such fun and loveliness. All of it. Again, a problem we have been having for a long time now... E sees something he fancies and so, logically, he runs after it/toward said object, gets it and runs away with his treasure. It has become harder to 'explain' to disgusted looking parents (and trust me, they are disgusted) why a boy of 5 is grabbing their 2 year old's snack/truck/balloon (oh the motherloving balloons!!!!!!) and it has become almost impossible to catch him and return stolen item as he is FAST, man. Anyway, this has all been getting harder and harder to manage, coupled with some major sensory things going on for him that I wasn't managing, and on top of the last 16 months of torture - it just got too much. I found myself crying whilst trying to catch him and stop him running backwards and forwards through a toddler's music class, with ALL eyes on me, him shrieking with delight as he absolutely LOVES chasing. He doesn't get it. I know that. He can't help it. I also know that. But do I respond the way I should and try to help him get the sensory input he's seeking? Nope. I either blow up or cry. Good one, Maz. 

Thankfully, I have amazing resources in the form of our SALT who has amazing resources in the form of an OT friend, and both of these wonderful ladies have given me some things to try and help ease the hell of going to the freaking park. 

Sensory diet: he needs running, spinning, jumping, climbing, pushing and pulling, weight baring stuff, jumping on the trampoline, amongst other things. I can do this. I can make sure he gets this incorporated into his day and I can see when he needs something and now, with this advice, I can try to figure out which 'bit' he needs at that moment. Check. 

Social story and the evil Behaviourism: I HATE BEHAVIOURISM!!!!! But, for his safety and to try and help him learn that he cannot just take children's cookies/toys/bags out of their hands, run away from me and not come back (EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. WE. GO. OUT.), I'm going to try a little tick chart with a reward for each time he comes back when I ask him to/scream across the park. Would I ever, in a month of Sundays, recommend to any of my parents that they reward their children with sweets for doing something right? NOPE. But, I'm desperate, he is not safe and I am losing my mind. So this is our only option for now.

And there ends the story of why going to the park is never, EVER, just going to the park. Every single time I step out of my house with my child, I have to have my own backpack, physically and metophorically, rammed full of: snacks, distractions, calming toys, fidget toys, strategies to teach him how to stay safe, strategies to teach him social communication skills and rules that we just take for granted, things to fulfil his sensory needs, and a whole load of other stuff. It is exhausting. And it feels utterly hopeless at times. BUT. Then I see him absolutely giggling his head off, playing with other children, chasing after them, sliding down together, climbing trees together, drawing together, building together and no, it's not the whole time and yes, it looks different from a neurotypical child's play but he is doing it. Despite how unbelievably bloody hard it is for this boy to exist in this world, and I am only just at the tip of the iceberg of my learning about this, he is bloody well doing it. And I could not be any prouder or love him any more than I do. 

We can do hard things. He can do harder things. 

xxxx