"WAIT-WATCHING" IN FOSTERING

 Our fostering home is now officially able to take a Parent and Child (P+C) placement.

Blue Sky have this slightly specialised branch of fostering well covered.

Great that they do; there's a big need for homes to help a parent who needs help with their parenting.

But it must be done properly, and BS have got it taped.

We kinda 'qualifed' (got all our ducks in a line) on the Monday after we'd finished helping with our grandchild's half-term.

My mobile went off a couple of days earlier; Blue Sky's Parent and Child bods had a case in front of them and they thought we might be a match. They knew we couldn't start until Monday, but that fitted. Those magic words: "Would you be willing to take a Parent and Child who…?"

Then followed an extensive pen pic of the case, they told us everything they knew.

And I can share the gist of it without compromising anybody.

A 15 year old girl whose baby isn't born yet, excluded from her family home because she's made allegations about a man in the house; a small house with not enough bedrooms. The case is going to court. The father of the baby has a criminal record (he's 16) and got himself on the offenders register. He won't be allowed to visit his partner and his child  at their foster home while they're in foster care. They will meet at an officiated Contact centre, probably 3-5 times a week.

Our job would be to coach the mother in parenting her newborn and record her efforts and skills.

We said yes.

The placement went elsewhere.

My mobile went off again.

"Would you be willing to take a Parent and Child who…?"

We almost said "Yes" straight out, we just wanted to get stuck in.

The mum is 16, the eldest of six by several different men, the chaotic waves ripple outwards from this family in every direction. All the stepfathers were vocal and combative about the pregnancy and the boy who will be father. The young mother needed a break from the tumult and tension. Another small house with too many people. Social Services want to give her a chance to be a passable mum.

We said yes.

The placement went elsewhere.

In a nutshell, without giving too much away, one of the local authorities thought they could place the P+C  somewhere less expensive. The other had it decided for them that the P+C should go somewhere (much) more expensive.

Ye, go figure.

So here we crouch in the starting blocks.

C'mon! We want this!

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FOSTERING GETS WITH IT

 Fostering is about to get a shot in the arm.

The government are preparing to upgrade fostering. 

BTW I'm not sure whether the changes will affect fostering in Scotland and Northern Ireland as my (limited) understanding is that fostering is what's called a devolved issue, meaning that those territories can introduce their own legislation.

My gut is that the proposals will sweep in across the board because fostering needs help and support from Land's End to John O'Groats.

In a nutshell, and I suspect, dear reader, that you know this already, but let's start at the beginning - there aren't enough foster folk. Worse, the numbers of folk who foster are reportedly falling, while the numbers of children who need foster homes is rising.

It's apparently more than a human crisis; it's an economic one too.

The human crisis is obvious. There are literally tens of thousands of children whose 'real' homes are simply no-go areas for them. Social workers battle round the clock to find safe havens for them. They might start by investigating close relatives of the child or children; it can be the best solution. But it's usually impossible. They search their books for approved foster carers who have a vacancy and a match between the child and the foster parents. If they draw a blank the only alternative is to place the child into one of the growing number of residential care homes that are springing up. 

The human crisis is this. That huge numbers of children from broken homes are not getting the family life they require, deserve and want. The government is aware that the early-life experiences of these children could cause them serious problems in the future. Not to mention problems for the people they have around them as they go through life.

The economic crisis is also very real. The increasing numbers of residential care homes for children is becoming a huge burden on the country's coffers.

an example.

Do you mind if I caution that the example I have for you is not proven to be the case, so it might be off the mark. But I heard it from a reliable source, namely a foster carer I know, respect and trust.

But if the following is horse manure, remember I'm not Panorama.

So; a foster carer gets a call asking if they would consider taking a parent and baby. The mother and father are teenagers. Social workers are of the view that the mother and father should continue to live separately so the mother can concentrate on her newborn. The foster mum accepts. The case goes to court for a decision.

The judge is a person whose crusade is to 'keep families together". Since the fostering agencies and the local authority are unable to find a foster home that can take both teenagers and the newborn, the judge rules that the threesome should be found residential accomodation where they can be together.

I could go on about the flaws in the alleged judgement, but won't, because I pass this on to illustrate the extent of the possible economic crisis which is becoming a threat.

Here we go;

And remember, the numbers I'm quoting are a) ball park and b) not confirmed.

But I believe they're close to the mark:

The cost to the nation of fostering (in a conventional domestic foster home), a teenager for a year = approx £20-30,000.

The cost of same in a residential care home = up to £300,000 per year.

! 

Right, I just need a cop-out for myself. These numbers were quoted to me by a wonderful foster carer, but that doesn't mean they are correct or representative.

My gut is they're likely to be not far off.

So.

The government is on a recruitment drive for new foster carers. It's rumoured they plan making it easier to foster, possibly even providing grants to help familes pay to have an extra bedroom built.

And more.

The propsals will be published anytime soon.

Anyone interested in fostering should get ready to rumble.

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THE HEROISM OF THE FOSTER CHILD

 Our eldest foster child - who's transitioning - is definitely my new hero.

Actually, just about every child we've fostered has been my hero. Jeez, the stuff they've survived is beyond what their foster carers can process.

So, our kid is doing their thing and bothering nobody.

Children in care are desperately deprived of almost everything; mainly their real home and family. They might also have been removed to a place where it's difficult or impossible to see their friends. They might even be relocated a new school which brings the hardship of starting all over again with teachers and pupils. All they own is the things they bring with them, clothes and other familiars. They live the ultimate life in a suitcase.

Being young they put up with it.

If they rebel against anything it's something other than the vacuum that's become their new life.

Imagine that you're a young person who has discovered they have been wriongly assigned a gender. It means they are trying to shed themselves even of the person they used to be.

Our eldest foster child is taking all this in their stride.

The child is outwardly cheerful, charming and helpful around the house.

And guess what? The child is now assisting me with the other two foster kids we have in our complicated home.

Middle child is less happy than they might be. A couple of days ago I needed to suggest they go to their room to calm down and when they felt better could come down for a treat.

That's how I try to de-escalate. Sometimes it works. I really needed to go up with the child and have a chat, but dinner was half-underway and the washine machine was coming to a climax. I was up to my neck.

When the dust settled I noticed that middle child was still upstairs but there was also no sign of eldest.

I drained a saucepan of spaghetti and heard people coming downstairs. It was eldest and middle. Middle had sorted themselves out and looked at peace.

Eldest said; "We're all fine now. we're sorry about the wobbly. Okay if we have that ice cream cornet after dinner? We both fancy a mint and chocolate sprinkles one."

Deal.

Later on, in a quiet moment, I asked eldest what he'd said to middle that took away his upset.

He replied that he didn't say much, just listened. Middle needed to have a rant. It's possible the rant included that I'm unreasonable and poke my nose in everywhere. 

Harsh, but fostering folk can handle being the bad guy from time to time.

Eldest didn't do details, he implied it was between him and middle child.

Fine by me, fine by them, fine by God and the universe.

Middle enjoyed the spag boll, then onto his cornet.

Eldest enjoyed his food to, and his treat.

I now feel there are more than 2 foster carers in the house, there are 2 and a half.

And what a half!

My new hero.

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TURN OF THE SCREW

 Attended a Blue Sky training session last Saturday morning.

First Aid.

It was scheduled for a Saturday to fit some people's work commitments. Folk came from far and wide.

Always fascinating to meet other fostering folk you've never met before.

It was a beautiful mixed bag. Fostering takes all sorts; younger and older. One attendee was a smart woman, probably mid-fifties who hadn't even started fostering but was on her way.

ps I mention her age and that she was female only to underline that it's never too late to foster.

First Aid is a particukarly important one. Blue Sky arrange for their fostering folk to undertake a session once every 3 years (as I understand it).

Half of it's done online in advance. You go through the info on your laptop with a coffee at your elbow. 

The session  saw about a dozen of us in a room at one of Blue Sky's HQs, and it was great to see a member of their managment and one of their social workers there to take their own training.

Our instructor was a firefighter by trade, who undertook his responsibility to us with great seriousness, but we had a few laughs along the way.

Much of the session was devoted to CPR, the procedure to re-start a stopped heart.

Everyone had a go at heart massige using one of three dummies he provided.

Then we had a go with a defibrillator. It's an amazing machine. A robot voice inside it tells you what to do as you go along. The machines are increasingly available in high streets and communities, and although they're idiot-proof it's useful to have experience of rigging one onto someone's chest and pressing the button.

During a coffee break I had a natter with a Blue Sky manager who was doing the training alongside us carers. A really amazing bloke. Turned out he'd started life working with children in care homes before wanting a change of scene so he joined…

…the prison service! 

Remember "Porridge"? A UK sit-com about life in prison starring the one and only Ronnie Barker as a repeat offender, Norman Fletcher. My new Blue Sky chum was what Fletcher referred to as a "screw"!

This lovely bloke couldn't stop trying to help people make the best of their lives. 

He told me that one day, on the landing in his prison, a particularly large and serious looking inmate came up to him:

"I been after havin' a word wiv you," the prisoner said looking down from his full six foot four.

"Oh" replied our man.

"Yur. Only I fink I remember you."

"…oh…"

"Yur. When I was little I was put in a home. An' you was one of our carers."

"..oh.."

"Yeh. I jes wanted to shake your 'and. You was an alright geezer."

The exchange contributed to our man wanting to get back to helping children, which is the ethos that arcs over Blue Sky's place in the world. So he joined Blue Sky.

The morning took 2 hours.

The training session was 10/10.

The people experience 11/10.

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FOSTERING'S GOLD STANDARD

 My march towards becoming a foster mum to a Parent and Child is picking up pace.

Our Blue Sky social worker visited this morning and we got through a pot of tea dotting the lower case Js and crossing the lower case Ts.

Nothing is left to chance, the fostering family, in our case our extended family, the home, the family pet…everything has to be lined up.

It's so crucial, is Parent and Child.

The child is often (but not always), a newborn baby. The parent is often but not necessarily a young mother.

Our wonderful social worker and I covered all the theoretical stuff no problem.

We kept returning to the biggest matter in hand - that we won't know the specifics until the placements arrive.

Will the Parent know how to feed, how to keep the Child safe, clean, stimulated?

What will the relationship be like between the Parent and Child?

How will the Parent need coaching and support?

Then we got onto some truly thought-provoking stuff.

Our social worker asked things such as;

"What are the things, if any, that might make you upset or sad? How will you react to those things?

How will you and your partner feel if the parent takes a particular liking to one or other of you?

Are you prepared to fill out your report sheets with diplomatic honesty so that the Parent can learn from them?"

And so on.

Next will follow meetings, mainly on Teams, to equip Blue Sky's Parent and Child officers to find a match for us. More essential reading matter and paperwortk is to come.

How am I feeling?

As if I'm going up a level in fostering.

To shore up my confidence and belief I'm decribing Parent and Child to myself as the Gold Standard of fostering.

It's not, of course, but it helps.

Every foster parent, every placement, is Gold Standard.

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BON APPETIT FOSTERING

 I had to drop into our local wholefood shop yesterday.

Not a place I visit much, perhaps I should go more often, after all; good food is obviously better than ultra-processed.

When I say that I "had" to go, what I mean is; the visit was fostering-related so it was duty.

See, middle foster child has started to cook for himself.

This, as any parent will testify, is a milestone.

Why? Because this young man has always harboured self-doubts about himself. Like so many childrren taken into care he believes deep-down that his family break-up was his fault. That nobody really wants him. That he's not worth bothering with.

When he arrived he barely bothered with himself.

In fostering we work our socks off trying to improve each young person's self-esteem. 

We tape all their drawings to the fridge door, praise them for finishing in the first half of the school egg-and-spoon race, video their performance in the second row of the Nativity choir.

We try to be real, but at the same time often over-egg the pudding and get told "Stoppit please, it's no big deal".

Up to now middle foster child has always been fine with my food. I do spag boll, pasta (with Dolmio, sometimes pesto), pizza (weekend treat). Sausages always get eaten, as does chicken anything. Green veg I hide in soups. Salad bits get eaten unnoticed in a burger.

Then suddenly, without warning; bombshell.

He was having a friend visit for Saturday tea and asked if he could cook their meal.

"Hans Christian Anderson!" I exalted (my mum's way of joyful swearing without crossing boundaries). Huge.

I asked him what ingredients he needed; he dictated a list. He was planning a Thai green chicken curry and needed items that we do not have in our sorry larder of lost ambition.

But purchase them I did.

Into the Tesco trolley went; Thai green curry paste, chicken breasts, coconut milk. Nix on lime leaves but I did track down a sachet of lemongrass.

Foster child cooked while his pal sat at the kitchen table dealing from his pack of Tarot cards and telling our kid how his life would unfold. The aroma-rich atmosphere was idylic.

Obs, mum did the washing up.

Here's the thing; did his interest in cooking end there?

No. 

It gathers apace!

He still eats with us, but he and I share the cooker/oven. 

And now; he's gearing up to cook for the whole family.

I got given a shopping list. 

Spooling down it I realised there was no way it was a Tesco job.

Hence I'm in our wholefood shop.

Organic paprika, organic garam masala, cayenne, Himalayan pink salt (seriously), Sushi rice, Nori, wasabi paste, white Miso, and…(don't laugh) beetroot powder.

The lady on the till said:

"Someone's going to be cooking tonight."

I replied "My son. Tonight and most nights. He's discovered he loves cooking."

"That's lovely!" she said.

"Yes" I replied, "It's great if they begin taking care over their food, and celebrating eating. Means they are developing respect for themselves."

The lady went a bit rheumy-eyed.

"Yes…" she said quietly. Then;

"I must admit that now that I'm alone in the house I don't always bother to cook. Thanks. You've made me think."

One day I'll tell middle foster child he made a difference to someone he'll never meet.

Not today. Today there are other fish to fry.

Or to be precise; other fish to slice raw and roll in sushi rice before binding in dried seaweed, served with a steaming bowl of deep red miso soup.

Restaurant quality fostering!

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FOSTERING AND GHOSTS

 Middle foster child is off out tonight.

Off to our local youth club.

This is HUGE.

Going on his own, meeting a bunch of mates there.

Came out of the blue, he appeared downstairs looking well kempt, whiffing of after-shave and the quiff moussed into a peak.

HUGE

Wait 'til I tell our Blue Sky social worker, she'll go;

"NOOOO! FANTAAASTIC! ANOTHER MILESTONE!"

And it is a milestone. 

You get milestones cropping up in fostering, it's important to register them alongside the challenges.

Without betraying his identity, the young man is at war with the ghosts of his former family. To be precise, the ghost of his late grandfather. What's more, he's beating the ghost.

It's a dynasty thing I've noticed often with children coming into care.

They have troubled home lives, but the troubles often began before the child's parents were born. The trouble begins with the parents' parents. 

In this case a grandfather called "Wullie".

The lad's name is something like "Cairngorm". That's not it; I'm respecting his privacy, but it gives you an idea of the millstone round his neck. His name is that of a hallowed nook of Scotland. Hallowed because grandfather Wullie claimed he hailed from  there. And Cairngorm's father - I'll call him Alan - tried everything he could to pay homage to his father Wullie, tried everything to placate Wullie's rage and anger. Even tried naming his son after the place Wullie claimed to worship as some sort of magical kingdom from which he was wrenched.

Our Blue Sky social worker and I gleaned Cairngorm's backstory gently over a period of months. His mum had often opened up to him.

Grandfather Wullie was an alcoholic. Jobless (unemployable) itinerant (a pioneer sofa-surfer), father of innumerable 'bairns'.

Violent. Imprisoned for attacks on women, including Cairngorm's grandmother, the mother of Alan. Alan knew Wullie, but had no clue that his father's behaviour was criminally wrong. Like so many youngsters, Alan assumed his father's atrocities were somehow the norm, and it fell to Alan to sooth his father's savage brow.

But Cairngorm's dad, Alan, ended up fighting Wullie, his own father. Regularly.

Then Alan started drinking, like Wullie.

Then he started meeting girls, who exasperated him just as Alan's mother exhasperated Wullie.

It seems some sort of pact between the Magistrates and the military got Wullie enlisted, but it didn't help much. Wullie got billeted south of the border and ended up remaining in England. He sowed his seed, Alan was born. Alan sowed his seed and Cairngorm was born to a young woman best described as limited. But Cairngorm loved his mum; loves her still.

Wullie dedicated himself to drinking and fighting and claiming to be a victim, which he probably was, but we can't go back that far...

Cairngorm's mother had a succession of failed relationships, with Alan often showing up demanding money, booze and somewhere to doss.

Eventually she went under and social services stepped in.

Cairngorm came to us shy and frightened, as if everything was his fault. He had no friends, no social life, no family…no nothing. A closed book. We fostered him, us and Blue Sky.

He goes out tonight starting on his way.

Where that way takes him is his choice and privilege, but I genuinely believe that our fostering system means that another child will turn his life around and be some kind of ok.

ps: I'm only reporting facts about "Cairngorm'; please don't misconstrue I'm somehow down on the Scots. Guess what; they have reprobates in England, well, everywhere come to it.

Hey, my paternal grandad was a Glaswegan and a more noble man you could never dream up. Love us Scots!

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