THE SMALLEST FISH ARE THE SWEETEST

I've a friend who has a lovely turn of phrase, such as;

"The smallest fish are the sweetest."

For example if she gets a £2 win on a scratchcard (not exactly life-changing)... it's;

"The smallest fish are the sweetest."

I thought of her yesterday when this happened.

We have a parent and child alongside our regular fostering at the moment. A young mum (age 16) and her 4 month old baby. With a Parent and Child (P+C) placement, the foster parents have to stay on track with the main tasks which are a) to ensure the child's safety and b) keep accurate records of the parent's parenting to help a judge decide whether the parent has what it takes to keep the child.

I'm new to it.

Blue Sky prepped me for the job, I spent hours looking up the latest research on child development and baby care on the unbelievably outstanding NHS website, but I was nervous right up to day one.

One of my concerns (and it's an ever-present with me) is whether the young people who arrive will ever feel at home.

We all need to feel comfortable wherever we have to lay our hat.

To begin with the mother showed all the signs of homesickness; phoning her mum for an hour every evening after the baby fell asleep, dragging me round Home Bargains buying up half the shop because her mum's birthday was only two months away, dressing heself up to the nines for weekly Contact with her whole family…

Homesickness can be cruel. In fostering we try to ease it with little touches. For example, the young mum likes 3 spoons of sugar in her tea.   Luckily she's been advised by Health Visitors to keep her sugar intake up as she breast-feeds. Now, we don't take sugar any more in our house any more, but I Amazoned a sugar bowl and now keep it filled.

For the first few weeks she was a fish out of water around our house, obviously. But we did everything we could to help her feel at home.

She and I had plenty of friendly chats, she welcomed having half a shelf of our fridge to herself for her own "bits"…I felt things were going in the right direction, but you can never be sure.

Then, yesterday.

My other half was in the kitchen finishing the drying up. The young mum came in and put her empty tea mug in the sink. Then she boiled a kettle and made a cup of instant coffee and took it back into the living room.

After the young mum went to bed I said to my other half "Thanks for my coffee earlier".

He replied: "I didn't make it, she did."

I told him that when she got up to put her cup in the kitchen I asked her to ask him to make me a coffee.

Only she didn't. 

She made me a cup of coffee herself, and brought it to me.

Wonderful.

I told my friend, the one who's good with phrases;

"Ah," she said "She crossed the bridge right there then?"

I nodded, and said; "And I know what you're going to say next…"

And the two of us chorused'

"The smallest fish are the sweetest."

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YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE GORDON RAMSEY

 Every time a new child arrives (and I really do mean EVERY time)…

…you have to find out what they like to eat, and even more important, what they DON'T like to eat.

And do it quick.

And, if you want the quiet life, you indulge their preferences and avoid their aversions.

Simples.

As time goes by you can work on things and improve, but not on day one.

But;  it might not be as simple as I made out at first. If the child has any type of eating disorder you'd hope it had been identified before they arrive and you, as foster parents, are advised.

If they have a clean bill of health it doesn't mean they aren't picky, and you usually have to move heaven and earth to keep them onside at mealtimes.

Feeding them right is good for their karma, good for household peace and quiet, and (if you know a few tricks and hacks) it can be good for their health too.

I'm not above blending brocolli into a spag boll sauce…or pretending the child is a giant and that the cauliflower is huge trees…

The reason food and fostering is in my mind is this;

We've been getting to know a teenage girl who is the single mother of a baby, they're both with us right now.

The first thing I asked our Blue Sky social worker when the placement was confirmed was;

"What would she most like for her first evening meal with us?"

The answer came back swiftly;

"Cottage pie."

No problem. It's one of the top ten comfort foods. Plus I got a snapshot of family mealtimes in the child's real home; cottage pie is easy to eat with a single fork off your lap while watching Series 4 episode 9 of your favourite drama. Plus it's usually pretty bland and unchallenging.

So. First evening meal with us we all sat round on stools at the breakfast bar and NOT at a formal table. She said she liked the food. I'd done brocolli as a side and she ate some. I'd done a basic salad (lettuce and cucumber) and she ate some of that too, drenching it in Caesar Salad dressing.

Then she asked, as casually as she could:

"What spices did you put in the cottage pie?"

"Er..none. Is it OK?"

"Ye. But I quite like…y'know…paprika. And garlic. And oregano and basil. Cayenne, but not too much."

Me: "Chilli powder?"

"No! Yuk!'

Me "Anything else?'

"Lots o' salt. An' pepper."

She went back to eating.

They say that during the first 3 seconds of meeting someone for the first time the average person collects and processes 5000 pieces of information about them, instinctively.

It's about the same the first time you discover a new child's food preferences.

And if you're on your game it tells you 10,000 things about the child, their past life, who they hope to become…

…and what to serve on day two.

I took advantage that we were talking about food and asked her about all her likes and dislikes. She enjoyed the telling. I got her full book of favourites and no-no foods.

It was a win/win.

She felt cared for.

My meal planning was going to be a doddle.

Although, I'm going to have to look up the recipe for Nachos.

If there aren't a million of Nacho ideas up on YouTube, I'm Gordon Ramsey.

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IT'S JUST TURNED 2.00AM...

 Six weeks into our first Parent and Child placement in 20 years and...

PHEW!

The parent is a mother aged 15, the child is 4 months old.

The mum is a truly lovely young woman. I describe her as a "young woman", though I suppose technically she herself is a child.

My priority as their foster mum is to ensure the safety, wellbeing and positive development of the baby, who is a truly lovely boy.

I have to be on full alert (without appearing to be jumpy or judgemental) `to everything that goes on between the mum and her baby. 

I guide the mum towards best practice in everything, not by telling her "Do this" or "Don't do that", but by setting examples so that the mum learns and understands by adopting good techniques.

The psychologist who assesed her back before she came to us submitted an 82 page report, the gist of which is that she should be helped to work things out for herself rather than think of parenting as a set of rules.

I'm pretty sure I knew that consideration before I was given a potted version of the report, and one of the (many) social workers/parenting assessors/health visitors/review officers - the list professionals supporting this mother and baby is pretty long - kindly commented that I seemed to be getting that bit right without any need for coaching.

Example; the baby cries from time to time.

No surprise there.

Initially, the young mum would sit on the sofa with the baby horizontal in her arms and sort of gently bounce him in her arms, talking baby talk;

"Wassamatter little fella?" 

"Everything's alright…"

"Wassamatter…?"

Didn't pacify him.

So, I began saying, after a period of unabated crying;

"Shall I have him for a bit, give you a break?"

Staying in the same room as the mother I tried something I remember had soothed each of my sons when they were babes.

I simply stayed stood upright, holding the baby upright, with his head close to my face. I gently wrapped both my arms and hands around him so that he felt secure, and made soothing sounds, the sort he might have heard in the womb, for example; "Shhhhhhhh…" or a gentle resonant "Bedoomp, bedoomp…" (Like the comforting rhythm of a heartbeat).

And I moved slowly and silently around the room, changing the things he could see in order to distract him from his discomfort.

Whether it was the fact of being up high, or the swaddling in my arms, or the sounds I made right next to his ear…

Something worked, and he would stop crying in seconds.

My next job is to help the young mum watch and try to understand not merely that there is a way to soothe her baby, but that with parenting you're ALWAYS on the lookout for techniques that get results. You've got to keep exploring solutions to find the ones that work. 

What's good for Petronella isn't necessarily good for Paula.

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FUNNYISH MOMENT

 Funny how the mind works, and when its "On" I always end up thinking fostering.

So…

The cricket season has started (my other half cares about it).

How, you might ask, can cricket lead you to think about fostering?

My brain went like this…

Some years ago a 14 year-old lad came to us, a truly delightful kid whose dad had fled ages ago and his mum ended up going off the rails.

He'd had no life to speak of. Never had a holiday. Christmas and birthdays went unoticed. His schooling was described in his notes as "sporadic".

He spent most days and nights in his bedroom. His household didn't have a dime.

Then he joined us as a foster child, and took off.

Blue Sky helped enroll him at a decent secondary school where they played cricket. Someone tossed him a ball, and it turned out he could bowl. Fast.

So the very next game they had, the school had him open the bowling.

The match (his state school versus a public school) was played at the grounds of the public school.

At the time he was our only placement. My eldest son offered to drive him there and pick him up. And I volunteered to go along and watch.

Setting off early we got there an hour early. A proper posh school. The sports facilities were astonishing; four cricket grounds, innumerable rugby pitches, hockey pitches.. a golf course! I went up to their reception desk. A mahogany greetings room with leather chesterfields and marble pillars.

The receptionist asked if she could help. "Yes please" said little me, "I'm a parent, wondering where the cricket is happening?"

"It's on pitch number four, the Oval, too far to walk. Where are you parked." 

I replied;

"My wheels have gone off, so I'm on foot."

"Oh, no problem. I'll arrange a driver for you."

Then she said "Would you like lunch?"

I said I was okay.

She then said;

"Or coffee or tea?"

I okayed a tea,

2 minutes later a silver tray with a china teapot, a china cup and saucer, china milk jug, china bowl of white and brown sugar lumps and a sugar iced slice of cake with double cream.

Then the receptionist asked me this;

"When is your chauffeur returning to collect you."

Yep.

God's honest truth, I never make stuff up here...When I'd said :"I'm a parent" she assumed I was someone who could afford £50,000 a year fees.

What brought me back to thinking about fostering was the grand canyon of divide between the haves and the have nots.

Yet. I'm in touch with our kid, he's going along as well as any of the "Ollies" and "Julians" he played that day.

Best of all, I don't know much about about cricket, but I know when batsmen are getting their blocks knocked off. 

Which my boy did.

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WHAT IT MEANS WHEN YOUR SOCIAL WORKER HAS YOUR BACK

 We have a family friend who used to be a police officer.

He left the force after 20 years, said he noticed the job was "starting to get to him".

I guessed what he meant but asked him anyway.

"Well," he replied, "When you spend much of every working day in the company of people who are up to no good, you can end up suspecting everybody is somewhere between dodgy and downright crooked. Which is not good for the soul."

I told him that if he'd had a Blue Sky social worker at his back he'd probably have gone the distance.

What I'm on about is this;

The poor dear children who come into our homes to be fostered have sackfuls of troubles packed up in their old kit bag, and one of our jobs is to help them with the load.

There's no way you can do it without getting involved with their story.

"Centring" it's sometimes called. Where someone puts themselves in the other person's shoes.

I'm getting to understand the wheres' and whyfors' of the young mother who's been with us now a couple of weeks, mothering her 3 month-old baby.

To do the job well I need to learn everything available about her. The best source of that information is the girl herself, but I have to be skilfull to avoid her feeling interrogated.

It will be useful to me to know if she REALLY, REALLY wanted the baby. She's not old enough to leave school yet, but finds herself being a (very) young mum.

I say 'useful', I really mean 'crucial', because in a while, probably a month or two, a court will sit to decide the baby's future; or, to be precise, whether the mum can keep her baby or for the baby to be removed and probably put up for adoption. And my observations, recorded every day and fact-checked by my Blue Sky social worker, will be the basis for the court's decision.

So, no pressure there then.

After a number of chit-chats with the young mum I learned something that knocked the wind out of me.

The girl's mother has had nine children, but is only aged early thirties, and ...

…the first baby she had was when she was as young an age as the girl who is now in our care.

The girl was her mother's first daughter (there had been four boys born earlier).

As you'd imagine, I was struck by this revelation, and the possible insight it offered.

I recorded it, without any opinion or analysis.

I'm confident the many other professionals working on the case had already discovered the same information, but probably not from the mouth of the girl it most drastically affected.

My discovery was important because I saw in her expression as she confided in me, that what she may have decided was to give her mother affirmation for a life-choice the girl's mother might have expressed regret about.

Obviously, I might be wide of the mark. Also; with Parent and Child your records are restricted to the facts. My extrapolations aren't required. I have to stick to hard evidence.

But. Here's the thing…

It got me down.

Not a lot, but enough.

I began to suspect that maybe the forces that are striving to make the world a bit better are losing to the mysterious forces that either don't want that, or don't care about anything. And they're getting the upper hand.

I found myself mentally rehearsing asking the girl's mother "Why? Why do you keep having so many children, some of whom follow you off the rails?"

Of course I never would, but it was eating me.

Cue my Blue Sky social worker on the doorstep, all warm smiles and positivity.

She put me right in a heartbeat.

The world isn't full of people who don't (or can't) care. Every day, in lots of little ways, the folk who want to kiss the planet better are winning.

And when she left I was right as rain.

You need back-up in fostering, because you do a job surrounded by lots of other people's bad decisions, so you need a shot in the arm from time to time.

Oh, and by the by, my friend who used to be a police officer? 

He works at his local Youth Club, as a volunteer councillor. 

See, even though he didn't have quite enough back-up from the force, his heart  escaped unscathed.

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OVERWHELMED

 Every newly arriving foster child is full of surprises.

When a mum gives birth to her own baby that baby is in many ways starting from scratch. Yes they may have the mother's eyes and the father's nose, but up to the moment of the start of their birth they're largely untouched by the world.

Not so with a new fostering placement.

As foster parents we're given as much information in advance as possible, sometimes a lot, sometimes not so much. If the child wasn't known to social services prior to being removed the child's background is bound to be sketchy.

The minute the placement begins, the second the child arrives, the process of unearthing and understanding what they've been through begins. Our latest arrival, a young mother and her 3 month-old baby have been here for nearly three weeks.

Already I could write a book.

Infuriatingly I can't share the lions share with you as her privacy is paramount. But I can paint a few broad brushstrokes.

During the first couple of weeks we foster parents help the parent with some of the basic parenting tasks, to help the pair of them settle in. But a large part of the job is preparing the parent to do the parenting solo. Our parent - mum - now changes (almost) all the nappies and prepares all the feeds to supplement her breast-feeding. We drove her across the county to have contact with her mum and stepdad, but that deal is set to change; mum and baby to make her own arrangements to meet her family.

Mum increasingly cooks evening meals for herself, is set to shop herself for groceries, nappies, baby clothes - everything.

So that's the practical stuff under control.

The other bit is just as important, and much harder to manage.

The emotional stuff.

Imagine; you're 15 years old, you meet a boy via social media.

You're pregnant. The boy disappears from tne internet.

Social services get wind and decide your real family aren't up to supporting you as a young mum, and that the baby might be at risk.

Ahead of the birth you're taken to a town 100 miles from your home and placed with a foster carer you don't much care for.

Social services get wind all is not well and do what so many local authorioties do when the chips are down; they call in Blue Sky.

Now the poor girl and her baby are driven 50 miles across the county again.

This time to us.

She's giving it her best shot, this young mum.

But.

A couple of evenings ago I noticed activity on the baby monitor I use for when they are in her room together. The baby was awake, and while not unhappy, making noises he hoped would bring his mum to him.

I knocked on the door and went in.

The young mum was on her bed wrapped tightly in the woolen blanket she'd brought with her from home. Right over her head it was. 

Overwhelmed.

It was the second time it's happened.

I manged to raise her resolve and remind her that her baby needed her.

To her credit she pulled herself together and did a great job.

So, yeah…I can teach her to sing nursery rhymes and make a bottle with one hand. 

How do I help a kid not to let everything get to them when, in her case, everything is so huge?

As the man on the radio used to say;

"Answers on a postcard please…"

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NEW BEST MOMENT IN FOSTERING

 Fostering isn't easy, I've always been up front about that. 

If a person contacts their local authority or a nearby fostering agency (I'm with Blue Sky, they're Five Star), you'll be given an overview of the role, and the ups and downs.

There are Downs.

Children coming into your care will have had a rough time. I always say; "Do not expect the Von Trapp children (those annoyingly perfect kids from the Sound Of Music)".

There are Ups too.

Here are my top ten, indulge me. Because THERE'S  A NEW NUMBER ONE.

10) Foster child who said: "When mummy comes out of prison can she come and live here to see what a proper mummy is like?" 

9) Foster child who heard me say the upstairs toilet was broken. He asked for a toolkit and went and fixed it.

8) Child was distraught; not allowed home for the weekend, only consoled by a late night dash to McDonalds. On the way back she said;"Ain't the moon beautiful going fru' the tops of them trees."

7) Abused child: "I wanna go home. But I love it here so much I wanna stay." This child I see in town sometimes. He's OK.

6) Foster mother of a newborn who had never had a childhood herself. We took her and her baby to the beach. She made sandcastles like the five-year-old she'd never been. I'll never forget her joy.

5) Eleven year old wanted/needed to cook a meal for us. And did. And it was…ok. And we ate it with delight and gusto. At the end she said "I know it was c**p, but thanks for pretending it was ok." BTW she is now a regarded chef.

4) A child whose father was a difficult dad. He wanted to prove he was better than any foster carer (you get this a bit). His child said to me "He's not really any good at anything, you have to sneak him little things to make him feel proud of himself" This canny child was six.

3."Please don't die. I'll be all alone and have to live in a doorway." A child to whom I'd said (thoughlessly) "Don't walk near the kerb, you'll give me a heart attack." She meant what she said…

2) A foster child who, holding my hand as we walked across the park simply said to me "Why are you so nice?"

AND MY NEW NUMBER ONE

1) We've started fostering "Parent and Child". It's early days, week two. The Parent is a very young mum. I took her shopping in Tesco and sent her off on her own to buy what she needed. When we got home she unpacked she gave me a bunch of flowers and said "I bought a card as well but didn't have a chance to write it." 

Then she said; "I bought the gifts for being so kind."

Only in fostering...

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