FOSTER CHILD BLOWS WHITE HOUSE JOB

 Our Parent and Child foster placement is going well.

On the whole, very well.

My job consists of many jobs. I believe that sort of thing is called 'nuanced".

So. I'm supervising the safety of an eight month old foster baby who's being mothered by a sixteen year-old foster child.

A court has sat a couple of times to ratify details of the placement and as from a couple of days ago the mother is, like her baby, a foster child under my foster care.

The mother isn't delighted with this decision because a) she doesn't believe she needs to be officially 'in care" and b) because she doesn't much like being officially labelled a "child".

The fact is the court is right. The mother needs looking after by foster care while we also help her learn to look after her child. And at age sixteen she is, as I understand it in law, still a child*.

So, officially, from a couple of days ago, we're fostering two foster children, one of whom is the mother of the other.

The thing I have to keep at the front of my mind now, is that I'm caring for someone who is caring for and parenting someone else, and helping her learn how to parent.

This is a tight rope to walk.

For example, the mother is tired. The baby is a pretty good sleeper, but at the age of sixteen people just want to turn over and go back to sleep. Which she can't, and doesn't. She feeds and soothes the baby back to sleep again. But her sleep's been interrupted. 

The mother's tiredness challenges her alertness to watch the baby's every move now he's crawling and pulling himself upright by the bars of the stairgates (we have five in the home at the moment). But she's getting it right all the time, asking me to "mind the baby for ten seconds" if, for example, she has to go to the loo. The mother has taught herself strategies to look after herself, such as when she boils water for bottles she makes herself a cup of tea alongside.

Yesterday morning she was feeding the babyhis breakfast (ain't Weetabix a wonderfood?) when she turned to me and said "He's just started not being so bothered about food."

I replied "Oh…"

And I was about to reassure her that it's normal for a baby to need less food for a period while its body recovers from rapid growth, plus the baby is starting to enjoy watching what's going on around them and be distracted from food.

But before I could say anythinhg the mum said "It's normal for a baby to need less food at some point so their body can rest from all that growing."

I replied "Ah…"

Then she tagged; "Not only that, they kinda, like, start understanding the things that are going on around them and find watching more interesting than eating."

I replied "I see, yes I seem to remember that in my kids."

I left it at that. The mother had presumably done some research and come up with the correct information. I avoided adding stuff to her analysis in order to encourage her to continue finding out independently about parenting.

The question is, can she identify the right websites to go to for information?

Well, you'll like this. She's begun attending a twice weekly tutorial. It's one-on-one with a brilliant tutor. And the mother is loving it. She hasn't been to school much for several years, so you'd think she'd be way behind.

She scored 100% in spelling and 76% on overall assessment.

And there's more.

She took a test to ratify her ability to tell the difference between Fact and Opinion.

And got a whopping 86%

She came home glowing.

I said "Well done. Proud of you. Mind…"

I paused.

"Bang go your chances of getting a job with Donald Trump."

She got it.

She's on her way.

* According to the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child and civil legislation in England and Wales, there are no barriers to a child of 16 being entitled to the services and protection of the state (such as being in further education, living independently or a member of the armed forces)." so says GOV.UK

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STORM MALDIVES AND FOSTERING

 I reckon that just about everybody spends more of their life thinking about their problems than anything else. Children in care certainly do.

Everyone goes from one problem to the next, sometimes juggling more than one problem simultaneously, sometimes several.

Fostering brings the foster parent about the same amount of frowns as smiles, but the smiles are merely a fleeting respite because we humans go straight on to the next frown and start trying to scheme a solution to the next problem.

Well, allow me to pass on a trick we've perfected in our house that ABSOLUTELY helps keep problems in perspective.

It's free, it's easy and it's fun. And best of all it works!

It all came about when I noticed that the weather men and women give names to storms. Storms used to be just "storms". Nowadays they're "Storm Fred" or "Storm Annie".

Our 2026 UK summer was remarkably hot and we had two or three heatwaves (defined as several days back to back with temperatures over 28 - or something-  centigrade). 

But no-one thought to give the sunshine a name!

So, I thought; "Why not give heatwaves a name? Somthing schmoozy like "Heatwave Raquel" or "Heatwave Piers".

I flagged up my idea to the family while we were watching a TV weather forecast and was met with a wall of indifference.

OK, so names are only for storms. 

But then I got to thinking this:

We have various storms in our fostering house at any given time.

But until now, we have never given them names.

Take the storm about whether it's ok for people to put post-it notes on their personal property in the fridge.

I might say to someone in the house:

"Has it been sorted yet, the thing about whether people can put their name on things they've bought with their own money but not things that have been bought using the family budget with a particular person in mind but which might appeal to someone else?"

This storm is currently labelled "Storm Post-it". 

They're all first-world minor problems such as;

"STORM SINK"

People who put dirty cups and spoons in the sink and walk away vs people who rinse them under a running tap and put them upside down on the draining board vs people who also dry them with a tea towel and put them away.

"STORM SHOES"

People who don't take off their shoes when they come in and risk treading mud (or worse) through the hallway vs people who kick off their shoes and make a higgledy pyramid of footwear by the door vs people who park their shoes neatly side by side before putting them in the shoe place.

"STORM SHOWER"

Whether people should put a towel down where they're going to walk around the bathroom while still wet when they get out of the shower so that the tiles stay dry for anyone coming in after the showered person to clean their teeth or floss or wash their face and might only have socks on which would get wet and have to be changed.

…the scheme works because it compartmentalises problems so they seem boxed-off and less overbearing. Plus it's vaguely funny.

OK it doesn't SOLVE the problems, that's a household eternal isn't it?

And the whole thing might get  ditched as yesterdays bright idea before the month is out.

Meantime I'm working on unveling an ultra-first world worry/problem namely;

"STORM MALDIVES"

Which is whether I'll ever get six weeks in a luxury beachside villa in the Maldives with spa treatments and five course evening dining plus complimentary cellar wines…etc etc.

Better than worrying about;

"STORM SMELLY KITCHEN SINK"

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LATE NIGHT TROLLEY DASH

 In fostering you get regular visits from your own social worker to make sure everything's hunky dory in your world. Well, you do if you're with an agency such as Blue Sky, who know how to look after their foster carers.

These visits are an absolute boon. Hand on heart I suspect I'm more sane and more well adjusted to the world because I'm in fostering than if I wasn't. I'd even go so far as to say I'm a whole bunch happier than I might be without it. And a large part of what I'm talking about (personal wellbeing) is down to the support we get from our social worker.

We're in the early days of a Parent and Child placement, so our Blue Sky social worker has been visiting once a week. We talk (last visit for 3 hours) about the mother and baby and how they're doing. But we also talk about how the placement is impacting me and my other half.

I find myself recounting and examining everything that the mum and her baby do and the why how and when of it. Then we focus on myself and my feelings and observations. We talk about the challenges of staying watchful about the baby's safety (without crowding the young mum or making her feel she's being policed) and techniques for helping the mother learn how to parent (best not tell her what to do so much as encourage her to think about the best way of doing something so that she owns good decisions).

The reason I mention this is because the social worker was brilliant on her last visit.

She reminded me, gently, to remember to also cherish and stay tuned to the rest of my family. 

All she did was ask: "How is X (our other foster child) about all this?"

I had to stop and think!

As we talked about X it dawned on me that the Parent and Child placement had taken up almost all my mental and physical energy. I was loving the progress. I'd dedicated myself almost entirely to the two newbies.

X is a great young person, recovering from a shocking childhood, striving to become a good adult, and on the right road.

Dammit, I'd taken my eye off the ball with X.

Oh there was food on the table and clean clothes, a lift into town and all that stuff.

"But" I asked myself "Does X still feel as important to me as before, and am I giving X enough TLC and attention, and if not is there any sadness or resentment?"

I was able to say that if X felt anything bad about the changed dynamic in our house it hasn't manifested. But we agreed that might be down to the fact that X is keeping the lid on any feelings to help the presentation of X as a maturing young adult.

I did a lot of thinking after our dear social worker departed.

Then this happened.

It was late Saturday night, about 9.45pm. The young mum and her baby were upstairs asleep. I was snatching five minutes of me time and was about to pour myself a wee glass of Pinot Grigio. In fostering, especially Parent and Child, you need a clear head, so we limit ourselves a couple of half glasses at the weekend. And enjoy putting our feet up in the privacy of our living room with the TV tuned to what we want to watch. 

I heard X come downstairs and go into the kitchen. Then after a minute come into the living room and say ;

"Mum…" Yes X calls me mum, It's the most beautiful tune I know. "Mum, have we not got any Fanta?"

I had to stop and think. I said "Er..know what…we're out. Apologies."

"Aw no worries." X replied "I just fancied one that's all".

And went back upstairs.

Me, I didn't waste a moment. I grabbed the car keys and made for the front door.

Our corner store closes at 10.00pm. I should make it.

I did. I bought a sugar-free Fanta (X's preference) and an Oasis (the purple one, X's other fave tipple). To seal the deal I also grabbed a tube of Pringles (the salt and vinegar flavour, again, X's preference).

When I got home I texted X, and said what was in the fridge and the larder.

For X.

X and I don't do intimate chit chats much any more as the youngster has begun to view such things as a bit of a child thing. X is aiming for the self-suffiency of life as a well adjusted adult.

So, did X feel any better about anything the youngster might have felt such as the sense of jealousy about being usurped as the most important young person in our family?

I'm guessing X  must have felt a bit cherished and cared for.

Obviously there are more profound ways of flagging up our awareness of X, our care and respect for X. I'm on it.

Hopefully X tasted more than Fanta, X tasted a good feeling.

I also know that thanks to that late trolley dash I felt good too.

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MOTHERING A MOTHER

 Being the foster mum to a foster mum and her baby is like no other type of fostering. My prority at all times must be; the wellbing of the baby. Whether he's asleep or awake I must always be on guard, so to speak, to ensure he's sleeping correctly, being fed and hydrated correctly, all his needs are being met (this involves stuff such as knowing which cry means "I need a new nappy" from "I'm hungry" or "I'm tired out")

However, keeping the baby safe from harm is pretty straightforward compared to fostering the baby's mother.

In our current case, the mother is being officially fostered; she was removed from her family home because social services weren't satisfied about the help the young mother might get from the mother's own mother, who would have been her main support. The professionals also thought there was a risk to the wellbeing of the young mother from a homelife which is best described as "chaotic".

We've been asked to foster the mother and her baby, the plan being that if and when the young mother is ready to live independently she will leave our home and go into some form of supervised residency.

Did I mention she's only just turned 16yrs.

The list of things that she has to show she can do unaided is lengthy. It includes activities such as finding a dentist and making an appointment, shopping and cooking, diagnosing whether her baby son needs taking to the doctor or waiting to see if his nose stops running by itself.

Teaching people how best to do things is best summed up by something one of my old schoolmasters taught about the art of teaching, he said;

"I hear it and I forget it. I see it and I know it. I do it and I understand it."

And we've been advised not to tell the young mother what to do so much as to do it ourselves with the baby and have her watch. With luck she'll learn and put whatever she's learned into practice next time it's needed - and understand why it's the best thing.

For example, she used to place the baby in his high chair while she sterilised his bottles. The high chair was kept on the far side of the kitchen table so she was at the sink about 15 feet away. The baby had no toys to hand, no piece of rusk to nibble at, and felt lonely and vulnerable. He would start to grizzle. So I would wheel his chair across to be beside his mum, and give him something to play with and some cut-up bits of soft banana. He stopped grizzling instantly. But. It took several goes befofe the penny dropped with the mum, and we were left frustrated, not to mention a bit angsty, like one gets when a baby's unhappy because its needs aren't being met. After she'd taught herself to keep her connection with the baby wherever possible and keep  him occupied with play and food, all was well.  She now applies the maxim across the board.

On a grander scale, the mother's social worker wishes the young mum to be able to visit her family for Contact under her own steam. This calls for catching a bus from our house to the raileway station, then taking the right train. All by herself with her baby.

We had a dummy run two days ago. I accompanied her on the bus, and on the train. We got off three stops up the line at a town with some nice shops, we had a mooch then returned home.

Then; this:

Yesterday she announced that she was going to do the same trip again but this time…ON HER OWN!

Yikes with knobs on!

However; it worked. She let us track her on her phone so we knew where she was and could get to her in our car if she got lost or felt overwhelmed. She didn't. She left home and came back grinning as proud as punch. Loaded with shopping too.

Actually her acquivitisness is the next thing on our list of things to help her with. She gets her benefits paid into the account, she's never had money before and spends all day (and all her money) in charity shops (at least it goes to a good cause) or on Amazon/MarketPlace etc (not such a good cause).

That can wait a while, we should continue enjoying the victory of her becoming a fully fledged public transport user.

In fostering you have to stay alert for successes no matter how mundane...

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EVERY CLOUD..

 Fostering has its many forms.

Once you agree to try for "approval" - a relatively simple and actually quite enjoyable process, you start to learn about the different fostering roles.

I mention this because, after decades in fostering, we decided to accept a request from Blue Sky to take a Parent and Child placement.

We 'd done standard fostering aplenty, done Respite  (where you look after a foster child whose foster parents need a break - maybe for a family wedding or even 6 nights in Malaga to re-charge their batteries).

There's Emergency, when a child needs a roof over their heads pronto.

And variations on the theme.

But for myself and my family, the Gold Standard in fostering I always saw to be Parent and Child.

Not our first sortie, we'd done it way back when it was called Mother and Baby; and that's pretty much what it remains, a young mother and her recently-born baby.

The pair have been with us for 16 weeks and last Thursday a Court sat to decide if the mother could keep her baby. All the many professionals who've been working on their case gave their thoughts and…success!

She can keep her son, but needs to agree to a plan to keep her progress on track. The plan will work the Court said, provided she stays with us, because, they kept saying, we're doing such a good job.

Praise indeed. Much joy and celebration. We now have a new shape to our foster-family and can roll up our sleeves for more challenges and tribulations.

But, have you noticed in life, and definitely in fostering, it's the little things?

Here's our big/little thing (well one of them anyway);

The young mum is great, really loving, devoted and keen to learn. The baby is robust and contented, but …

We'd forgotten what it's like to spend all day in that sort of semi-fug you're in when you were woken up half-a dozen times through nthe night by the most intrusive alarm bell known to nature, namely a crying baby.

We were waking up slowly in bed on the Saturday morning after we heard the good news. Drinking a cup of tea my other half describes as "blue" meaning strong. We've gone back to teapot and loose tea Makes a difference, especially if you want  the kick.

The way night-time works in this case is this; learing to look after the baby is the mum's responsibility, but one of our key duties is to ensure the baby's safetly and emotionalal wellness. We have a brilliant baby monitor that allow usis  to make sure she's getting to her son quickly enough and with the right soothing ways. If he's hungry we monitor the feed, then her technique for calming the baby and helping him back to sleep.  The camera is fixed, pointing to the cot, but we can hear what's going on.

By which time we're wide awake.

Nothing new for us, we've had babies of our own, we know the score, knew we'd have to have some waking nights.

Here's the funny bit, we were propped up in bed waiting for the baby to wake and the mother to get him changed, washed, dressed and ready for breakfast. Something ocurred to me; I said to him (other half, the rock);

"Y'know, they sometimes call it "sleep deprivation" nowadays; but it isn't quite as bad as I remember it.."

"I've noticed that" he replied.

Then he said;

"Give me yer teeth mother, I'll swill 'em".

Me "Eh?"

"It's easier because we're that bit older. Need less sleep as you go along."

He was right. 

Every cloud has a silver lining!

Mind, he still turned over and had another 10 minutes...

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FOSTERING OUR HOME TERRITORY

 As everyone who has ever fostered quicky learns, the business of "territory" around the house renews itself with each and every new child.

Each new child is allocated their own bedroom, that's a given. Our job is to arrange the bedroom so that the child sees it as their arbour. We try to match the child with the bedroom furnishings. We have neutral bedding awaiting, neither pink nor blue (it matters to many) and not Whinnie-the-Pooh in case the child believes themselves to be an adult. The storage places (chest of drawers, maybe a wardrobe) are empty and dust-free. There's a bedside light at a gentle wattage in case they need the light on to go to sleep.

And so on.

However…what about the remainder of one's home?

Ah. Here's where agile thinking is called for.

I seem to remember the poet Lemn Sissay writing how he'd been made to leave his foster home because his parents (devout Christians - I mention it because I believe Lemn did) discovered he'd taken a biscuit without asking (which he knew would be refused).

Territory.

We have to try to get it alright, and by "alright" I mean alright for all in the home, but most of all alright for the child. The reason I say most of all alright for the child is because we household family know where everything is and who "owns" what and in what way.

The new foster child has a lot to learn, and it's our job to help them with it.

Take our two new arrivals. Baby is 6 months old, but he still has his territory. Mainly a crib/cot, a high chair and a play space.

Mum is a different kettle of fish. 

She's 16. Is she a child or an adult? The answer is she flip-flops between the two.

She has her own bedroom which we've encouraged her to colonise to her needs and tastes, and by golly has she gone for broke. She even grazed our garage and found a storage cupboard in good nick which she installed to take more stuff.

She has the blinds of her choice, her rug to hide our carpet, her pictures in place of our prints.

It's the remainder of the house we have to be on our toes.

We have to tolerate her need to territorialise.

What does this mean?

In the case of this young mother, she puts stuff belonging to her and her baby in every bit of the house.

Boxes of baby things. Baskets of laundry. Tie-ups of used nappies. Carry-ons of snacks. Piles of unidentifiables.

She has placed them, unbeknown to her, in every corner of the downstairs.

Upstairs, the bathroom is now consumed by baby-bathtime toys and props.

Our Blue Sky social worker wanted to know all about this when she showed for her weekly support visit last Friday.

She said it was healthy because it signalled the young mother wanted to be part of our household.

Obs the SW was correct, and as usual, insightful and helpful.

Thus for the last few days where before I've cursed there'd been nowhere to put a saucepan in the kitchen or a cup of tea in the living room..now I view this inconvenience as a tiny sacrifice in the wider, bigger goal of helping the girl and her baby grow and become OK.

Phew, though...

But only in fosterting

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BABY STEPS

 Doesn't matter how grown-up a new foster child is, building a bond between child and foster parent(s) is baby steps.

What happened was this:

We have a new Parent and Child placement alongside a longstanding permanent placement. 

If you're new to the world of fostering the term "placement" is the professional phrase for a child coming into Care.

Our permanent child is nothing more or less than family, we've even written the child into our wills. This youngster is one of the greatest inspirations to everyone who crosses their path and a treasure of a human, we're so proud to call the child "ours" and can scarcely believe the gift. 

When Blue Sky rattle our cage with the accusation that we played a large part in the child's renaissance we scoff it off. We know it's a big part of their job to keep our peckers up (which they do), but hey I find nobody who's any real good at anything is much good at taking praise.

Little things though, we mustn't let them go unnoticed.

Baby steps.

So what happened was this;

Our Parent and Child are a young teenage mum and a 5 month old charmer of a baby boy. The mum, put bluntly, arrived with resentment that she and her baby were deemed in need of Care. She missed her real family (her mum, a stepfather and seven siblings). Understandable. She missed the chaos of her home, missed being allowed to spend all day, all week, all month, all YEAR in her teensy bedroom. She'd hardly been out and about for two years.

She didn't fit in to our family, and seemed as though she wanted that to be how things were and get the disparity acknowledged in case it might mean she could go home.

In fostering you get used to this one. The child sometimes acts like they aren't part of your family, which, of course is entirely authentic.

So, after a few weeks what happened was this;

She (the young mum) ordered herself a Maccy D something-or-other to be delivered. She'd been awake with her baby since 5.00am. She'd tended the baby beautifully with love and skill all morning. When the baby went down for his mid-morning nap she ordered her treat.

Then things got exciting.

I'd made myself a humble lunch; a wilting tomato from the bottom of the fridge on a slice of bread.

I plonked myself at the kitchen table. The young mum I expected to continue her act of not belonging.

She decanted her fast food onto a plate, I was waiting for her to do her usual and disappear to eat.

No.

She came and sat next to me at the table. And chatted.

Yes…chatted! Mujer a mujer (woman to woman). About nothing major. About Ariana Grande and how you pronounce her name. About Erling Haaland, what a human he is.  About whether she should bling up the baby's pushchair.

Then came the moment.

THE moment.

She finished her Maccy D thing. That is to say she left nearly half of it because she doesn't want to get huge. She stood up to put the remains in the bin and take her plate to the sink.

And…she reached across and picked up my empty plate.

Took both plates to the sink and washed them up.

In terms of triumph it was a world-record breaking gold-medal winning 100 metres dash with nobody coming second.

She and I were tied winners.

My heart; size of an airship.

Only in fostering.

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