THE MERIT OF THE MUM TAXI

 When one, as a foster parent, is looking after a parent and child one has to juggle  a lot of balls.

If one has another foster child alongside the parent and child, one absolutley MUST ensure that the other child gets at the very least equal priority with the parent and child. The arrival of a parent and child can draw one's attention so utterly that one's other foster child can feel neglected. The resident child will definitely wonder why a new set of foster folk were needed/wanted. They think to themselves "Aren't I good enough?" or something along those lines. 

Normal. 

A parent and child present themselves as a big unit. In our current case the unit is an adult (almost) young person who has her own needs and a tiny baby with total dependency on their mum and their mum's support network. And all day - and all night - the support network is primarily…me. The foster parent. There are hardly enough hours in the day...

However, as is often the case if you stack your cards right, fostering comes up trumps.

What happened was this.

Our resident foster child is a Permanent Placement. No family to go to. We're the child's  family. Child knows it but we suspect they haven't entirely chased away the terrors of being alone and unwanted.

Once said to me "Please don't die. I'll end up in a shop doorway…"

Ouch.

I could write a library of books about this particular kid, I wish I could. The kid's story is so unbelievable he is my hero with knobs on. 

But, the bottom line is that the kid is human, and definitely feels wafts of resentment that our home is suddenly transmogrified into a nursery. The new focal point is a couple of strangers.

This is where our Blue Sky support kicks in. The minute we took in a parent and child they started showing up all over our diary. Telephoning us right left and centre "Everything OK?"

And always, I mean ALWAYS asking how our resident foster child is getting on with the new arrangement.

These people are consumate professionals.

The $64,000 question is this; when you take in a parent and baby, how to make sure one's existing home set-up doesn't risk one's resident children feeling left behind.

Solution. If you're going to go the extra mile with parent and child (and 1.30am feeds are an extra mile alright) you go the extra mile with your other foster child.

So.

1.30am Saturday morning. Baby had a good bawl and settled on a bottle. Mum was exhausted but is getting the hang.

My phone buzzes. It's resident foster child. Been to a gathering of a few mates. Only about 20 minutes walk away but "Er ..wondered if anyone was up…er for a lift..like."

"Sure" says I, "No problemo. Thanks to the baby I'm wide awake. Pick you up from outside the Giggling Squid ye? Ignore I'll be in my DG."

I said nothing as we drove back to our place. 

He disappeared into the kitchen, knocked up a big bacon sandwich and crashed.

He got it, got one of life's big deals, wherein you give and take.

Next day he said to me;

"I still find it difficult having a load of new people here. But I get why you do it, and actually respect why you do it."

He didn't need to add "And it eases me asking for a 1.30am ride home "  which was in there.

And. We're all strengthend that our resident child is as at least as important to us - maybe more - than our parent and child.

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A GOOD DAY AT THE OFFICE

 So. If you saw my previous post you'll know what I'm talking about when I announce…

                                   SHE KEEPS HER BABY.

It was a tense couple of hours in court, a virtual court mind you, Zoom or somesuch. The mother's solicitor arrived at our house bright and breezy an hour in advance, didn't mind that our dog tried to rob her of what she carried into the house "No" she said firmly "That's my court coat". Sure enough it was a cut down black gown, designed to fit in with the gravitas of the proceedings, and add emphasis to her presence. Nice touch.

We had a pow-wow as to which bit of the downstairs would be best for the mother, her baby and the solicitor to appear in, and how it would work using their devices. It was agreed that the mother's phone had a great camera and mic, so she would be on that, the solicitor would be separate, on her tablet. The baby would be present, bouncing in his favourite thing, a sort of static walker with lots of robust toys hinged to it. I guessed the solicitor wanted the court to see the attachment between mother and baby.

I agreed to be on stanbdby in the kitchen in case they needed someone to look after the baby for a bit if he got disgruntled (which he hardly ever does, he's a really happy one). 

And then the moment arrived. They closed the door to their 'courtroom'. The court was in session.

The mother had seemed extraordinarily calm all morning. More equitable than she'd been the last few days as the tension mounted.

It was me who was all over the place with a mixture of hope and dread. I couldn't help but try to rehearse how to console the mother if the court decreed she must hand over her baby. At the same time I knew that if she was confirmed as the baby's mother there was a lot of hard work ahead, because… well because you know how life works, there are always strings attached whenever one gets what one asks for.

And so it turned out.

She keeps her baby.

However…

The court stipulated that the mother is required to work a tick-box list of skills to advance her independence. A parenting assesor will visit in three months time to judge if she's making progress and whether she's getting on quicky enough. Her social worker is drawing up a list of things she has to improve on.

On a practical note; she must 

learn to budget her money 

learn to cook for herself without relying on her foster parents to amuse the baby 

learn to use bus and train because she's too young to drive 

learn to spend less time on her phone trading on Vinted (and all the other marketplace websites)

On a more emotional level she must

learn to recognise and understand more about the baby's needs and how he signals them to her

learn to fret less about dirt and dust (she's ten steps ahead of 'neat and tidy' she's somewhat over-enthusiastic)

learn to process her fears of (to name but three) strangers, insects and the dark - or if she's can't conquer suchlike, learn to disguise the effect they have on her so they don't disturb her baby

The court laid down that if, after three months work she's nearing being an independent parent the Local Authority will get the green light to start looking for a supervised lodging for her. 

If and when that happens we'll say goodbye and good luck to the both of them.

However, after the court gave its verdict, all we heard muttered our way by the professionals was;

"It might take a bit longer than three months".

The joys of fostering continue!

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D DAY FOR OUR CURRENT FOSTER CHILD

 Looking after an older foster child can be rewarding in all sorts of ways.

They're often able to tell you about how you've helped them, which younger ones can't.

Teenagers who've been presented with the almighty challenge of being removed from their family home and placed with a strange family are weighed down by having to make sense of what's happened to them.

For younger ones, it's just simply beyond them, so they simply get on with life.

The young mum we have staying at the moment (with her baby) is gradually starting to feel at home here. Or so it seems. The professionals (social workers, guardians, solicitors etc) seem agreed that she and her son are largely on top of things. The baby is a lovely young fellow. He's stable, contented and up for the world.

The young mum has her sadnesses but in general is making a good job of a difficult lot.

See…in a couple of days a court will decide if she's a good enough mother for her to be allowed to keep her baby, or have the infant taken away and put up for adoption.

In all my years fostering I've never had to help a child (the mum) deal with such a particular prospect. I've watched and made records of the mum's dedication to her baby. I've also listened to her when on several occasions the whole thing threw her off balance and she quietly wept; "I can't do this..."

What did I say on those occasions? Only that in my own experience the shock of becoming a mother to a newborn baby hits almost every mum just as hard. I told her "I had my moments of fear and confusion too.. who wouldn't?"

We've got through those moments. The court has to decide if she could deal with those moments without a foster parent on hand.

Me? I've found it tough but rewarding. The toughest bit is remembering that my job in fostering these two is to collect cold, hard information about the mother's mothering. If, for example, she were to have a meltdown and run up to her bedroom in distress leaving her baby on the floor on his change-mat, something like that would have to be recorded and would weigh on the court's decision on whether she can be trusted with her baby.

The young mum hasn't got any blots of that magnitude on her copybook, the most challenging shortfalls she's made have been minor. But; I'm still required to note them, and write them up in my daily report.  And (this has been hard) read out loud to her my daily report every day so she knows what I see and hear of her mothering.

In two days time the court will decide.

The young mum's solicitor (an amazing fiesty young woman, so bright and kind) is driving down to be with the young mum throughout the day. The latest word is that the case has been given a new judge; a woman alledgedly very empathetic.

Talking to my Blue Sky social worker we end up agreeing that the foster parent in me is doing a professional job. I shall respect the court's decision as based on the baby's welfare.

And the human in me is doing a human job. In other words, my heart cries out for mum and baby to be confirmed as mum and baby.

Two days to Decision Day. The young mum couldn't eat a bite of her evening meal, not a morsel. That's no problem, she'll probably snaffle something from her shelf of the larder later.

I cannot but wonder eternally how young people who we foster parents are entrusted with pull it off.  And on the whole, they do.

Stars, some of them...

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HOW TO GET A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP? FOSTER!

 Yo! I just had a sweet fostering moment.

Our eldest foster child is still with us despite reaching adulthood.

He's a 'permanent'. He has no home to return to, and he continues to need us to give him a home.

He's making slow but sure progress towards independence, which is the aim. He might be eligible for accomodation elsewhere in a time to come, but at the moment he needs our home.

Needs me.

He and I have a well-established relationship. I've been managing his foibles for a good few years now. If you knew what happened to him as a child, knew the things he's suffered, knew any of the horrors and agony of his early life, you'd wonder how he manages to walk and talk in a straight line.

Between the two of us we've rolled up our sleeves and got him aimed in the right direction. There've been times when it's been nothing but blood sweat and tears for the both of us.

Sorry, that's a bit of an exageration; there's been no blood. Well, no literal blood, maybe a few gallons of it metaphorically.

He'd been so cruelly abused by 'parents' that anyone who steps into the role of 'parent' to him is automatically the enemy. And, from the moment he arrived, that became me.

My Blue Sky social worker kept reminding me it's not unique for a foster child to begin by resenting their foster parents a little.

I wasn't phased by the young man's opposition, been there before, I have the T shirt.

One doesn't go into fostering to be loved and revered. 

The joy lies in mentoring progress towards a better place.

And this young fellow had a long and troubled journey to undertake. 

So. He and I embarked together, an odd couple because he had resentments towards his guide. I symbolised something he'd come to fear and hate; the parent.

We bumbled along though, with him challenging me every chance he got, refusing even casual niceties such as "good morning" or a friendly pat on the head for a good joke or for him doing the washing up halfway well enough.

He wanted no intimacy or engagement with anyone even slightly parental. The school said the same. He even had trouble with friends if he saw them acting as if above him.

We had a fascinating Blue Sky training session on it.

Transactional Analysis it's called. Psychologists agree that there are countless occasions where a person unconsciously adopts the role of parent over someone else who is made to feel like the child.

My young foster person was deeply cautious of offering any engagement with anyone of the parent class. Consequently I got no direct reward for my fostering of him, but was easily sustained by his growing success at school, at sports, at art and music.

He was getting somewhere.

But he still cut me out, pretty much.

Of course I coped! For one thing I had a tireless Blue Sky social worker to help me, and so she did, throughout.

I say 'throughout' not because the resentment has ended. It hasn't.

Although…

Earlier this morning (ie 4.00am) my phone tinkled. You never turn off your phone in fostering, I don't care what they say about radiation.

It was my grown-up foster boy.

He'd spent the evening in a bar watching England versus Mexico.

He was mellow, kind of…happy.

He's old enough to have a beer, all his mates do, we keep an eye. He's sensible.

Would I possibly drive down and pick him up?

Obs, yes.

He got in beside me and immediately started criticising my driving (normal). "Too slow."

I wove around a pothole.

"No point!"

etc.

I told him there were cold roast potatoes left over from Sunday lunch.

He curled his lip;

"Nah"

We pulled onto our driveway.

He sat still for a moment then went;

"Gimme your hand."

I gave him my hand.

He embraced it in a way I'll remember if I live to be a thousand.

And took himself off to bed with a huge bowl of cold roast spuds, and the last beer from us watching the game.

He had no work later that day, his boss had closed the business knowing no-one would be any good. Made them come in on the Sunday before to square things.

Eldest said he needed one last beer to make sure he nodded off. Planned to sleep til mid-afternoon.

Not me. 

My sleeping draught is this wonderful fostering thing.

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JARGON IN FOSTERING

 I've talked about this before, but it doesn't go away.

Children coming into care will often be carrying emotional baggage.

It's to be expected that at some point they'll become emotional.

We foster parents come to anticipate that initially a new child will present themselves as 99% at first; but are brewing up their fears and anxieties and all we have to do when the moment arrives is allow them to let off some steam.

It doesn't last long, and when they've let it out they generally repair quickly and it's business as usual.

The thing that irks me, and has down my many years in fostering, is that there's no structured set of terms that we can use to describe a foster child's distress when they hit a bump in the road.

Or a pushback.

The main reason that there needs to be a glossary of terms is because we foster parents are required to write a record of events, and I've never come across a definitive term for a wobbly.

When a foster child finds things all too much - and how could any child fail to be affected by being taken into care? - they get upset. However the desciption "the child became upset" is usually too vague to depict the child's discomfort.

Some years ago a child came to us who was being examined by an eminent clinical psychiatrist (a £600 a day man, so someone told me). He visited our home several times to asses the child and, I suspected, to assess if I was up to fostering a particularly interesting child.

The psychiatrist and I got on like a house on fire. Mind, if you think about it, if a top psychiatrist doesn't know how to click with a fellow human being there's no logic.

The thing I'm on about came up between the psychiatrist and myself one afternoon in my kitchen. We started listing all the words that are used when a foster child finds everything too much.

Such as:

"An episode"

"A tantrum"

"A meltdown"

Being Irish, the psychiatrist threw in a few of his own such as;

"A hooly"

"A bogchroich"

I came back with a couple of English ones such as;

"Threw the toys out of the pram"

The psych rejoined with some medical ones;

"An emotional event"

I countered with;

"Went up the wall"

"Flipped their lid"

We laughed a lot….

The reason I'm bringing this up at this moment is that a new term has surfaced which has the blessing of the professionals. They've embraced it as modern, colourful and a tad medical...

I'll tell it in a moment.

Last evening the young mother of the baby who are with us as a Parent and Child couple found everything a bit much.

She went temporarily elected mute, weeping, and sitting on her bed rocking back and forth.

I knew that her condition would blow over, but it was a situation that dear old Blue Sky are geared up for.

I called their 24-hr Out of Hours service.

Brilliant.

My phone got hot as concerned professionals honed in on events and poured out help, advice and support. You're never alone in fostering.

See, I'd used the new magic word.

When Blue Sky asked me what the problem was I was able to conjure…

"Well, the mother is…overwhelmed."

And everyone got it in one.

Just to round this off; the mother was 100% in the morning and has been more than fine all day. Bought me a bunch of roses and my other half a tub of mixed nuts (his joke is that he likes mixed nuts). 

Moreover her parenting skills continue to develop apace. She Blu-Tacked a weaning chart she'd bought onto the fridge door and is counting down to the day the baby takes his first food.

Thing is; the word "overwhelmed" has different shades of meaning. And what with the roses, the nuts, and the mother's excitement about her baby's impending milestone I felt a bit…

…overwhelmed.

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YOU CAN CHOOSE YOUR OWN FAMILY - IN FOSTERING

Just when you think you've experienced all the joys of fostering, along comes a new one.

This is about a piece of wisdom you hear from time to time.

"You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family".

You've heard it too, or some variation - sometimes people say; "You can choose your friends but you can't choose your colleagues". Same ballgown, diffferent ball.

This last weekend delivered a triumphant discovery, namely this;

IN FOSTERING YOU CAN CHOOSE YOUR FAMILY, FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES ALL IN ONE!!!

What happened was this (and I'm able to tell this one near enough like it is).

About 14 years ago we helped with the fostering of a newborn boy. We supported the baby's single mother, and the mother's younger sibling. The fathers were unknown and the mother ended up in prison. The sibling joined us as our foster child and became permanent (Chosen Family). The mother and baby stayed close to us; we'd look after the baby every other weekend to give the mother some time (Chosen Family).

The boy grew up without a father; bonded instead with my other half (Chosen Family).

One of my husband's hobbies is cricket, and at the start of this summer (2026) the boy caught the bug. Out of the blue he independently joined a local cricket club who were in need of young blood and they pitched him straight in at the deep end. 

He was not only named in the starting eleven for the first team…he was down to open the bowling. I know enough about cricket to know that opening the bowling is a singular honour…and they'd never even seen the boy play.

Hardly anyone had seen him play. He only had his first ever game for his school a few weeks ago. Word had spread that he could bowl like the wind. He's only 14 years but getting on six foot, anyone can see he's a whirlwind.

Such excitement! 

There was only one snag; no kit. No bat, no pads, no gloves, no helmet (compulsory these days). And his dear mother (Chosen Family) is on universal credit, struggling to make ends meet, but proud.

The situation called for a massive pull-together.

(Remember, this little piece is all about being able to choose family, friends, and colleagues, and how fostering gives us the opportunity).

My husband called a friend (Friend), an  ex-colleague of his (Colleague), someone he's worked alongside for years who is a cricket nut.

The ex-colleague phoned a bloke he knew (Friend) who had a big bunch of cricket gear in store. It happened that my husband also knew the self-same friend of his ex-colleague because they'd played cricket against each other donkey's years ago and got on (Friends). But hadn't spoken for decades.

Back came the answer "Yes". The bloke could - and would - provide all the gubbins required, packed into a tip-top cricket bag absolutley free, he was glad it was going to a good cause.

We arranged the transport.

The equipment arrived in time, my husband went across the county to watch the boy's debut. The boy proudly showed husband his Newberry bat (apparently the bees knees), the second-hand but top-end gloves, and a helmet that had clearly seen action.

Then came the stinger.

The cricket equipment was personal.

It had belonged to the bloke's son (Family).

My husband sat in the sunshine drinking in the experience. His fostering son (Chosen Family) playing cricket among men wearing cricket stuff blagged from a dear colleague's dear friend who wanted a deserving owner of his son's old kit.

The bloke (200 miles away) spent the afternoon texting my husband at the match to see how the boy was going along.

Friends. Colleagues. Family (fostering family).

The Holy Trinity surely.

Only, I think, in fostering.

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WHEN THE FOSTER CHILD "GETS" THEIR NEW FAMILY'S DYNAMICS

 In fostering, if you stick at it with your foster child you always get somewhere. It can be slow progress, sometimes it takes your Blue Sky social worker to help the foster parent understand that progress is happening.

Occasionally the foster parent doesn't need nudging. It jumps out and bites you.

What happened was this…

Hang on.

A quick bit of background to set the scene.

If you're new to fostering or maybe thinking about signing up it's worth me mentioning that when a child arrives they're a fish out of water. Think about it. New place to live, new home, new people, maybe new school…blimey…who could cope?

Well they do, (mostly). But it must be unimaginably hard. They've not only been abandoned of the familiar things in their lives, but the familiar people. Their mum and dad. Or stepmum or stepdad. Or mum's latest boyfriend and the older sister who does the actual caring (aged eleven). Nightmare stuff, but the nightmare is familiar to them, and nine times out of ten, they long to go back to it.

Instead, without them grasping it, the fact is that they're taken into care for their own safety.

What happened was this…

No, hang on, one extra bit of background. My other half and I have mock arguments for fun, one of which is about the dishwasher. I love the dishwasher, he doesn't. He prefers to wash up after a meal and get the things dried and put away. He says he doesn't like coming down in the morning and have to empty the dishwasher.

My retort is that when he does the washing up there's often smudges on the plates and cutlery.

He comes back that the dishwasher often bakes food bits onto things and they have to be re-washed by hand. 

He says dishwashers are bad for the environment, I say they use less hot water.

We spar about it twice a week. For fun.

What happened was this…

Our latest "placement" ("placement" is fostering-speak for foster kids), have been with us about 8 weeks. A teenage mother and her baby. She's still shy, unsure of herself around a new household, and acts like she thinks she's the cuckoo in the nest.

She's heard our dishwasher 'argument' a good few times.

So. Last Sunday we cooked and ate a traditional Sunday roast, which finished with husband starting to wash up and me starting to load the dishwasher. I told him to sit down and take his turn filling out the spreadsheet for our accounts. (NB, foster parents get reasonable tax breaks on the allowances we recieve, but the Revenue folks still want to make sure we're not Mexican money launderers, so there's paperwork).

He started making ha-ha complaints about how difficult the spreadsheet was.

I called back that if he wanted I could show him how to do a spreadsheet.

He muttered under his breathe that if I wanted he could show me how to wash up.

It was typical banter.

But guess what?

The young mum, readying to take her baby upstairs for bath, heard his mutter and got it. And spluttered a fake suppressed laugh, and went upstairs giggling.

She was in on the family.

When she'd gone out of earshot I said to other half;

"Starting to feel at home isn't she?"

"Yep" he replied, then he went;

"I often wonder what that must feel like…"

Me: "ha ha"

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