I'M WITH THE AGENCY...

 In the UK there are basically two ways to get into fostering.

I have a quirky little quirk that'll amuse you in a moment…

One way to get involved is to contact your local authority social services department directly. There's such a crying need for more foster parents that it's likely you'll see their advertsements for people to come forward.  If you follow that route the local authority will help guide you through the process of getting approved. They advise and support you through the various checks and requirements you need to become a foster parent. 

If and when you get approved you'll be allocated a local authority social worker who'll represent the children who come into care with you. The local authority, have overall responsibility for the child and the child's wellbeing. 

I wouldn't dream of putting anyone off fostering no matter what method they choose. 

But, hand on heart, in my view there is a better way than going direct to your local authority.

The better way, for me is to go to a fostering agency.

I switched to Blue Sky as my fostering agency about 12 years ago, and obviously I'm happy because I'm still here.

There are lots of reasons why an agency is best, but one reason is standout, namely this;

If you're with a local authourity you're allocated a single social worker to support your placement, and their priority is the child.

If you're with an agency such as Blue Sky you're allocated a single local authority social worker whose priority is the child AND a Blue Sky social worker who's priority is YOU.

Obviously the local authority social worker cares about the carers as well as the child, and ditto your Blue Sky social worker cares about the child as well as you. But with Blue Sky YOU get five star treatement from your Blue Sky social worker.

In my case we're visited once a month by each child's LA social worker, and once a month by our Blue Sky social worker.

In my experience neither LA or Blue Sky social workers gave off that they were checking up on me or our household, they visit to help. Not just to help, support, and advise; they do things that reduce the burden. They'll speak to the child's school on our behalf if there's an attendance problem. They'll talk to the child's parents to help the child - and me - cope with the child wondering if their parents are ok.

I can honestly say that every single visit from a Blue Sky social worker has left me uplifted, galvanised and ready to more and better.

Here's a quick taster of Blue Sky going the extra mile.

Every year they throw a shindig for all their foster carers who've been doing it for ten years or more. They call the Ten Year Club. 

It's not a hullabaloo at Stringfellows or anything like that. It's a pleasant civilised lunchtime meal at a swish location. You get to have a fruit juice-fuelled craik with people who have similar staying power as yourselves.  

Blue Sky make you feel valued. And proud.

So here's my little quirk…

This year I couldn't attend. There was an impending birth in my own family around the same date. I opted out and Blue Sky said how much I'd be missed but understood.

The next visit I had from our Blue Sky social worker started and finished like this:

Social worker; "So. Where are you guys going for your Ten Year dinner?"

Me; "Eh?"

Social Worker; "You shouldn't miss out on a slap-up meal just because of a baby on the way…how is she by the way?"

Me; "She's well. Seven pounds three which for three weeks premature is pretty robust. Er…a dinner?"

Social Worker; "Yes. Choose your venue. It's Blue Sky's 'Thank you' for everything you do."

Me; "It's on you?"

Social Worker; "Of course!"

So. I sat at the kitchen table with my Blue Sky social worker narrowing the options. I could take my other half uptown to a five star hotel piano bar. Or a quirky shack that does foraged food then the owner, a reformed City trader who now has hair down his back, plays accordian.

Our conversation segwayed into fostering; we talked about the child, our wellbeing, did a few bits of paperwork.

A Blue Sky visit is usually two hours. No fly-by-night thing. With twenty minutes left on the clock she suddenly said;

"So. Come on! The Ritz or the Shack?"

And we got back on track. It went to and fro about our best and worst ever restaurant meals, why you don't see dessert trolleys anymore.

She got up to go, saying;

"We're not going to let this go. We're buying you a meal for two at the venue of your choice, whatever you want. It's to say thank you."

So. There's a snapshot of why fostering in partnership with an agency can be the best way.

Whatever new people choose, good luck.

And welcome to the best thing anyone can do.

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FOSTER KIDS WARM TO OTHER FOSTER KIDS

 We've been fostering with Blue Sky for fifteen years now.

So something must be going right…

We'd originally started fostering twenty years before, but then our own children came along and we put fostering on hold.

Thinking back to then, what we thought was that we needed to put all our time and effort into out own kids.

On balance, we got that wrong.

A family can benefit from welcoming a foster child. An agency like Blue Sky works hard to find the right match, and supports the family. Big time.

Abigail is a child who was taken into care and Blue Sky were asked to help find her a foster home.

Abigail was taken in by a fostering family who had become friends of ours.

Friendship happens in fostering, you make new pals for life. We foster carers meet up in training sessions and coffee mornings and support groups and connect.

The family who took Abigail in had become friends of ours, as in curry evenings and days out.

Abigail turned out to be a child who wouldn't come out of her room.

Her carers had hard work to get her to school. She wouldn't go most mornings. There's not a lot one can do when the child simply digs in. You try all sorts of strategies, the social workers pitch in, but if a child won't get in the car what are you going to do?

Don't get the wrong impression, Abigail was unusual in her resistence. Look, no child really wants to go to school. I didn't. Did you? But I didn't stay up in my room refusing to budge. I knew there'd be consequences for me if I did, and anyway, I wasn't hugely anti-school, I simply felt that sometimes I'd sooner stay in bed…

Abigail would have none of it.

It began to become a defining issue. Local Authorities have ultimate duty of care for looked-after children and they have a zero-tolerance policy on looked after children and their schooling, namely; they have to go to school.

So. Abigail's foster parents, Ylena and Petre, had it all to do. They'd tried everything, but their Blue Sky social worker persevered with ever more strategies.

And eventually, one worked.

Their social worker asked the school Senco how many other children at the school were looked-after children. The answer was surprising. No less than seven!

Abigail had let it be known that one of her reasons for refusing school was her phobia about being singled out as a foster child. Her resistance was not to the book-learning, but to the chaos and anarchy of the playground.

The Blue Sky social worker and the Senco came up with a brainwave. They started a lunchtime club. For guys in care. It was done sensitively and with discretion, but the core credential was key.

They'd get together in a room that had previously been for spillover staff to drink coffee during breaks. It was personable; comfy armchairs, light and airy. The club members were politely requested not to use their phones. The Senco rigged a TV to show You Tube clips of moments from Toy Story, Shrek, and superheroes. She laid on a plate of biscuits (Hobnobs, obs) and there was juice.

The 'club' broached all age groups. The older pupils became parental about the younger ones. There's be informal competitions about whose background was worst. Club members started to go round to eavch others houses or meet up in town.

Bottom line; when those guys were in their 'club' they were all normal, for want of a better way of putting it. They had a common ground, namely that, through no fault of their own, they had a vulnerability and trepidation about those youngsters who like to poke fun.

To be fair, Abigail didn't turn around straight away, fostering isn't like that. You have to plug away.

But her resistance to going to school receded.

Job well done.

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HOW TO CONNECT

 One of the things you often have to do with a foster child is to help them get used to other people.

Shyness is one thing - it's normal. But foster children sometimes have something different; almost a phobia about people.

Often they've been deprived of normal company.

Katie came to us aged 8. Katie was nigh on incapable of interacting with anybody. She was bright and articulate, mainly because she watched telly a lot. Telly was her window on the world. But telly is one-way traffic; the viewer is sedentary, not interactive.

Katie had no idea how to interact with people. She struggled to connect with her social workers and would try to hide or pretend she was 'busy' when they called.

She was ok with me and our other family members, because she'd learned things about connecting with people she shared a house with.

But she'd hardly ever attended school, and her home life was isolated. Her significant others had no extended family or friendship groups because for one thing they had none of the skills, for another they were fearful there'd be trouble if anyone found out what a strange household they'd created.

So they shut up shop.

Katie was overawed in the supermarket, she'd never been in such a teeming environment. She resisted school, and got angsty during the car journey every morning. If I had a friend over for coffee Katie would shut herself in her room. 

What to do?

I managed to make some progress with Katie using that regular standby; food.

As far as schoool went, I took to making an elaborate lunch boxful of her favourites which I'd give her in the car on the school run. She'd open the tupperware to check out;

a) the sandwich filling, which was usually a cheese slice and ham, on buttered white, crusts off. Not a mere peanut butter/marmite jobby which her classmates were stuck with.

b) a bag of smoky bacon ridgecut crisps. Not Walkers. McCoys. Top of the pile.

c) a tube of fruit yoghurt.

d) 8-10 seedless grapes.

e) 3 biscuits. Oreos, hobnobs or milk chocolate digestive, nothing less.

f) optional mini banana.

Plus; plastic bottle of water.

And…no messing… every day… a paper napkin folded into a triangle.

This operation got her to school, and, I suspected, helped her status with her fellow pupils because most of the rest of them had barely such a dandy lunchbox. Her food gave her status and hopefully some confidence to interact.

I'll never know though; because what goes on the the playground stays in the playground.

The supermarket was a challenge. 

Foster parents have no choice but to take foster children shopping because you can't leave them home alone.

They don't want to be out and about with a fosrer parent and are generally ultra self-conscious that other shoppers are staring at them and somehow aware that they are in care and that they come from 'broken' homes.

I do this trick; I gave Katie a wire basket and said gently; "Go do a wee shop for yourself."

After a couple of nervous goes she came to love the supermarket run.

Katie got cute at sneaking her luxury goods underneath healthy staples, for example;

a tray of grapes and a bag of organic lentil crisps would sit on top of a doughnut.

a bunch of mini-bananas would camouflage a bag of chocolate raisins.

I didn't say a word, the point of the exercise was that Katie was out and about and mingling.

My mount Everest with Katie was helping her get comfy with strangers visiting our house.

I had to remember that often, in chaotic homes, no-one visits for a chat and coffee. And the strangers who do show up are often trouble one way or another.

I have a good friend called Shirley.

At first Katie would flee to the hills and not come down for the rest of the day. 

So I said to Shirley "Next time you come I'm gong to give you a sachet of Revels. Pop them into your bag and I'll tell Katie that you've brought her a present.

Worked a treat. As the weeks went by Katie began asking;

"When's Shirley coming again?"

What we did was this; Katie knew that Shirley had a 'present' for her, so she'd come downstairs and lurk.

Shirley would ask Katie politenesses such as;

"How are you Katie?"

"Did you have a nice weekend?"

"How's school?"

And Katie would respond, because there was a bag of Revels in it for her to do so.

Katie and Shirley became buddies. They'd natter and laugh, it was a joy to see.

By the tiime Katie's family were ready to offer her a good enough home Katie was…

…ok at school …consumate with being a member of the public out shopping, and a hospitality superstar whenever Shirley showed up.

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CHATTING WITH YOUR FOSTER CHILD

 Sometimes I have the most revealing conversations if there's a foster child or two involved.

Here's an amazing one from last week;

Our Blue Sky social worker had dropped in for a visit. 

One of our own children happened to be at our house returning the lawn mower, plus there were two foster children home from school, one of whom was Alicia, who's transitioning.

Our social worker is brilliant at finding things out without the other person feeling they're being grilled. She asked Alicia;

"Anyway, I remember what I wanted to ask you, just out of interest, are there any other students at your school who are transitioning?"

It's a big school. Alicia answered;

Alicia; "Dunno…maybe two."

BS Social worker; "Do you ever meet them and talk?"

Alicia: "Kinda."

BS; "I know you're a bit of a hero in your school, are the other two ok?"

Alicia; "Hero? You being funny?"

BS; "Mrs Allsop says you're well respected."

Mrs Allsop is Alicia's Senco. Looked after children are so looked after in the UK. The Senco is the teacher whose extra role is to look after the looked-after children in the school. And Blue Sky ensure the Senco is doing the looking-after."

Alicia; "What does Allsop know?"

BS; "That other pupils say you're a bit of a hero."

Alicia; "What does Allsop know about heroes?"

BS; "Probably about as much as I do."

Alicia; "What do old people know about heroes?"

A silence as that sunk in. I said:

SFC: "Quite a bit actually. I liked the Hulk and Spiderman. Superman and Batman."

Alicia; "Last century."

BS: "Meaning?"

Alicia; "Boring. Totally goodsie-woodsie-woo. And the bad guys…so totally bad guys."

BS: "Whereas?'

Alicia rolled their eyes at how slow and out-of-touch 'old' people are.

Alicia; "Proper superheroes still have powers, but they're like…normal."

BS: "Normal? as in human?"

Alicia; "Yeh. Kinda, like... a mess. Wolverine right? A serious mess, his family are messed up. When he was 13 he attacked some big guy who'd attacked his dad, and thought he had to run away. His home life's a mess. He kinda goes missing from missions to sort out stuff at home."

BS: "I didn't know that."

We all agreed that none of us knew that. Alicia warmed up;

Alicia; "Most of them had a rubbish time when they were kids. Superman, Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, Wolverine...different powers yeh, but all of them, like,  their parents were killed when they were little."

The sound of actual pennies dropping would have been deafening.

Alicia; "So…yeah."

Our SW shrwedly felt enough had been said and switched the subject back to the comedy of the adults at the table being elderly. She said:

"Well my favourite superhero is the Green Lantern."

Which got gales of laughter, even from me.

Alicia; "See? Jeez. he's a doofus. Like, he's a pizza."

I jumped in;

"Speaking of pizza…"

A hopeful silence…

"It's Chilli sin carne tonight."

Sound of groans…

Me: "But if people eat their salads I might be pursuaded to rent a Wolverine movie for Saturday night…"

Alicia; "Nah, the world's got superhero fatigue. Wouldn't mind The Joker, probably not available yet…"

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ABBA V TAYLOR SWIFT

 Nathan is a good lad, been here nearly two years.

He's grown, but because 'growing up' is gradual and difficult to measure when you see the child every day, it's good to have a Blue Sky social worker visit you and go over progress.

My social worker showed up earlier this week and honsetly, I couldn't do it without her. Mind, she says I could, but then she would would she?

She arrived at 3.30pm, so she could have half an hour with me alone, then Nathan would arrive back from school and she could touch base with him for half an hour.

I told her what was on my mind; a few days back Nathan had said to me in the car;

"When am I going home?"

That question might be the most asked big question that foster carers get from their foster children, and it hurts a little. 

It's only human of us to think; "Look, we give this child a stable home, good food and warmth, a clean bed; and they want to go back to the chaotic home they grew up in; unloved, ill-treated, unfed, freezing, unwashed, and maybe watching and hearing things that would make the blood run cold.

So I mentioned it to my social worker.

She replied; "I know!" Then she added "It's weird. People are drawn back to the life they know."

Then she asked; "Did you talk to Nathan about it?"

I said I did. I said that I reminded Nathan - he knew anyway - that his parents weren't in a good place. His dad was coming up on trial for assault and his mum, who was the victim of the alleged assault, had fled to Lincolnshire. His brothers and sister were living rough.

My social worker asked why it hurt me that he wanted to go home. She was helping me work with my feelings.

I said a piece of me felt rejected.

Then she said this; (hold onto your hat).

She said:

"I remember, two years ago, not long after Nathan arrived, you told me he'd asked if his family could come and live with you in your home, remember?"

I'd forgotten that. She went on:

"You and I talked about it and realised that Nathan wanted them to come and live with you so they'd learn from you how to be a happy family."

She was correct. She then said:

"What's happening now is that Nathan has learned from you how good parents manage happy families, how familes need leaders who help family members care for each other."

I nodded. Then she dealt a whammy:

"Over the last two years Nathan has learned from you and your family how all that works, and he wants to take it to his chaotic family and do for them what you've done for him".

He wanted to foster his own broken people!

My social worker departed and I started cooking tea. I asked Alexa to play anything by Abba, always a sign I'm happy.

Nathan came down and wondered could we listen to Taylor Swift instead.

He's eight years old, I should have mentioned earlier.

Fostering eh?

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IF A CHILD BECOMES "PERMANENT"

 We're going through a period with our middle foster child which some are describing as "seismic".

Now, I try to keep fostering on an even keel. Keep a lid on.The easiest way to work up a foster child is to make a big deal of anything.

For example, there's a poet, Lemn Sissay, who was a foster child and remembers being removed from a foster home by the foster parents' because he'd been caught taking a biscuit from the jar. I seem to recall the foster parents were devout Christians, no judgement on this blog, do so if you want.

What I'm saying is they made the mountain out of a molehill.

Big mistake.

What's going on in our home is this; middle foster child is being made a "Permanent".  That is to say, they become a formal member of our family. No going home for the child. His parents whereabouts are unknown and his significant others are each and every one of them incapable. Mental health.

The child is an orphan, in effect.

So he's joining our family.

You might ask; "Why not adopt?"

We offered but the child is old enough and bright enough to have a say in things, and, to everyone's surprise, has said that he wants to keep things as they are.

See; "No big deals please".

However, there are procedures. When a foster child becomes permanent there's a bit of a fuss, and it might seem to the child to be a big fuss about nothing. This is where my casual approach comes in.

Our social workers, our Blue Sky SW, and the local authority one, have been brilliant as ever.

They sought confirmation that our other family members would be ok with what they have to categorise as a change, which they did with great sensitivity, and got the information they sought.

Once that was done, and the child's school officers had been informed, the child's NHS records updated with his new permament address and new GP, the process got sent 'upstairs' - for want of a better word - for the big guns to chew on.

I wasn't ready for the razzamataz.

Blue Sky were professional and relaxed about it; their top brass are re-assuringly cool and take things in their stride.

But the further it went up the local authority food chain, the bigger the frisson reaction.

It reached a crescendo when the Head of Social Services; yep the HEAD, announced he was going to personally host the event at Social Services headquarters at which the change would be formally rubber-stamped.

For goodness sake!

Blue Sky advised us to go along with the jamboree. Blue Sky work hard to stay on good terms with social services, and they explained to me that having a foster child achieve permanent status is a big feather in the cap. Doesn't happen very often, so when it does the Local Authority like to push the boat out and amplify just how succesful their care programmes can be.

The event was a PR thing!

It fell to me to put a tin lid on the shenanigans so the child didn't get anxious or worked up.

I'd told the child in a matter-of-fact way that they were needed to sit in a boring meeting. I said they could sit at the back and wouldn't be required to say or do anything. It meant a day off school, which always helps, plus I promised to bookend the 'meeting' with a trip to MacDonalds, and follow it up with ice cream.

However…when we arrived we were shown into some sort of presentation zone. It was rammed. Heads of department, office bods, pen-pushers, bottle-washers. The dreaded accounts team.

Standing room only.

We were the only ones without bar-coded lanyards.

For goodness sake x2!

Me and foster child sat at the back hoping no-one would notice.

Announcements were made about the reason for the event, applause. Then the turn of the HEAD of Social Services.

He rose in his three piece suit and paused for effect.

Then he didn't stop. For 45 minutes.

He informed everyone how he had risen through the ranks to proudly become HEAD of Social Services.

He told the audience how much it meant to him to be of service and have the opportunity to help people and help society.

I found myself wondering where he'd been at 2.00am when our foster child was having night terrors, or a meltdown on the way home from Contact?

From the look of him, he was on his sunbed.

Then he moved onto the reason for the 'event' which was to celebrate a wonderful success story. And his part in it.

I kept glancing at our Blue Sky social worker who'd showed up to support us.

She kept shooting a knowing glance back at me while the bloke was going on about his success.

It ended.

The child had become officially our permament placement. Nothing else changed. Not the allowance, not nothing.

Our BS social worker joined the child and I for ice cream.

While the child was in the bathroom she said this;

"Social work is hard. Social Services deal with one nightmare after another, not to mention internal battles about funding and staffing. He only wanted his department to feel good about their work, and he needed to feel good about himself."

And another penny dropped for me…

Our foster child; we'd helped the child along the way.

And that had helped the HEAD of Social Services along the way too.

Ain't fostering grand!

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FOSTERING AND TRANSITIONING

 Our transitioning foster child is discreetly bringing transitioning friends home to our house at weekends.

By 'discreetly',  I mean he makes no big deal of it.

He says "Is it okay if Amber and Daniel come over to chill?"

He gives no background. I ask no questions.

I kinda know what this is a bit about, thanks to an experience of about 30 years ago.

I had an old ex-colleague, a bloke, who contacted me out of the blue and said:

"Hi. It's Chris, remember me?"

I did. He said;

"I wonder if I could come and see you and bring the kids. Remember Tom and Kirstie?

I said sure thing.

Then he said this;

"Only…I've finally found who I am and my name is now Christine."

Okay…cool.

At this moment in time our children were aged 10 and 8.

We agreed, of course.

Christine arrived and walked up our front path. I remembered Christine as Chris, a 6 foot man of great kindness around the workplace. Maybe the most caring person I've ever worked with.

Ten years on she's coming up our garden path in a floral dress, hair done, make-up and heels.

We all gathered around the kitchen table, namely myself, Christine, her two children Tom and Katy, and our two kids.

It went fine. Although there were moments when Christine's kids referred to Christine, in her flowing summer dress as "Dad" that I sensed some intrigue in my own two children.

No problem.

Then Christine laid it on the line. She said;

"I've been advised to meet as many people from my past as I can who will understand and support me."

Which we did. Chris/Christine was one of the best people I've ever met.

Now, there's no point things happening around one in life and not growing from them. So, I learned.

Our transitioning foster child is bringing friends home to us because they know we understand and care. We support them in their quest for peace and happiness, and don't get judgy. We tell them, by implication, that what they're doing is ok.

I have to say; they push no boundaries, are gentle, kind and respectful; beautiful kids.

Hope they find peace and happiness.

*    *    * 

P.S.

Christine passed away a few years ago, her son Tom contacted me by phone to inform me, and he and I had a chat about Christine's memory.

He told me that his dad had been a big Labour activist up north in Tony Blair's constituency, and that during the early stages of Christine's transitioning the Prime Minister invited George W Bush to visit the UK. Part of the visit was to Blair's constituency. The comittee decided that Christine was a figurehead for diversity, social equality, and progress. So they voted Christine to be George W Bush's escort around the area.

Tom said he will never forget the charm and kindness that President Bush lavished on Christine. He wasn't thrown for a moment going arm in arm with her, and passed the day in respectful chit-chat as if there was nothing unusual.

Which is how we play this transitioning thing, I say.

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