DREADED TEENAGE SLEEPOVER

 In fostering the business of allowing your foster child to have friends stay over can be a headache.

You want them to have fun, to be proud to bring pals to their current home, maybe even a bit proud of their current parents. Or at least, if not exactly proud…not too embarrassed.

First thing, the planned gathering must be cleared by both sets of Social Workers. If you're new to fostering, when I say both sets of Social Workers I'm talking about the broad structure of support we get. Namely, Blue Sky nominate one of their SWs who primarily looks after us foster folk and the Local Authority nominate a SW whose priority is the child. Nice balance there. Obviously there's a lot of overlap. 

But by Jimminy it's great to feel so much expert support.

So, what happened was this;

Last Monday or Tuesday, I can't remember, we were asked by foster child B if they could have a few friends over for a Saturday movie night.  We have a downstairs room with a biggish TV. It doesn't have a door as it's off the kitchen which makes it perfect for them to be private if we go into the living room and shut that door, but if we nip into the kitchen to boil a kettle we can get a bead on the movie party.

At first the guest number was four, then maybe five, then six.

We had the chats with the two SWs and based on the good progress and good behaviour of our foster child it got the green light.

Then came the wrinkles;

"It won't end 'til eleven and Abigail's mum says she's not coming out that late."

"Landro's dad is in Reading with his new girldfriend so Landro would have to get a taxi on his own."

Of course, we all knew exactly where this was heading; the dreaded teenage sleepover.

Certain issues are set in stone; for example there must be no alcohol. But then, if the guests have a nip before they arrive what can you do? Keep your eyes peeled, that's what.

The gender ratio was slightly confusing, by which I mean we let our child meet and greet and we didn't loiter at the door taking names and addresses and DNA.

Long story short, we woke up with 4 teenage guests for Sunday breakfast, they having dozed fully clothed on our sofas and floors.

I'm going to be honest here, I find these events a pressure, even more so than with our own children. There are extra responsibilities. But at some point there's always a huge release from worst case scenario syndrome (pregnancy? drug use? wrong movie?).

That moment of relief came like this.

Our young dog has a good nose. After the last of the party-goers had been picked up on Sunday morning she started worrying at a rubber plant next to the TV.

We investigated.

It was a teddy bear. One we'd never seen before. Brought by one of the guests to shore up their insecurities 

So; there we were all were, geared up to go charging in if we had to break up a hootnanny/shingdig/etc etc.

And one of them brought their teddy bear.

I got another whiff of something I suspect and hope;

This lot of kids coming along are going to be more than alright.

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LIVING A STRANGER'S DREAMS

 We're at the end of our most recent placement, a Parent and Child. A young father and his toddler daughter. The daughter's mother disappeared and the estranged father showed up claiming he could parent her. He was an unlikely dad; he had no job and nowhere to live. Social Services decided to place them with us to assess his parenting. There was a hint of the possibility that he was using the situation to get himself socially housed, poor lad. The conclusion of the Local Authority was that the father can't parent; so the child is to be removed from him and given up for adoption.

We gave him every chance. I showed him everything I knew, and really needed my Blue Sky Social Worker to help me deal with the possibility things wouldn't work out for them.

He was informed of their decision, I don't know exactly how as he was asked to attend their nearby offices to get the verdict. I guess that was in case he took it badly. He was matter of fact about it. I suspect it's not the first time he sufferred disappointment and failure. His Social Worker accompanied him back to our house for him to say goodbye to his daughter and to collect his things. His Social Worker handled the whole episode for which I'm grateful, I mean…what could a mere fosterer say?

He had to pack his things and go. He told them he would be able to get a roof over his head as he knew someone whose sofa he was familiar with. As for the daughter, Suzuki, she seemed numb. She'd only known her dad for a few days longer than she knew me and I'd established much more of a bond with her than her dad did, even though I knew she wouldn't be with us for long.

She even calls me "Nana".

Did I contemplate adopting her?

Do bears s**t in the woods?

But it was a pipe dream; I'm not approved to adopt. The process of being approved for adoption is long and thorough (quite rightly) and having approval to foster cuts no corners. I could have asked to foster her until my paperwork came through but that might take over a year. The fact is that Social Services are mighty cash-strapped and understandably preferred the child to go straight to a waiting adopting family. Of course I get that. I also get that the waiting family might have been desperate to start their adoption adventure and the sooner the girl is settled the better for all.

So good luck to them, and all my respect.

However, she's going to be with us for one more night as, although the Local Authority has a family in mind, there's a few lower case js and fs to dot and cross.

I'm looking at her now, playing with one of the dog's toys on the kitchen floor under my feet, so innocent of all the strangeness that's beset her short life 'til now.

I'm doing that thing lots of us in fostering do when a child is leaving us. I'm picturing her as a young adult and imagining her making a life for herself. I've seen enough native intelligence in her (I watch their eyes, they can tell you the quality of the thinking that's going on) and I'm confident she'll do more than well at school. She seems settled in herself which means she stands a better than even chance of being emotionally well.

Now I get giddy; there she goes off to University. Oxford, naturally.

There she is gliding down the aisle a radiant bride, wow look at all that confetti!

What a lovely mum she is now with..let me count; one, two three..four. Four children! 

Is there a word for projecting glorious hopes and dreams for someone you've only just met and who won't be any part of your life ahead?

I don't think there is, because I doubt anyone but people who foster know the feeling, and fostering like we do it wasn't around back when they were inventing words...

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SEPARATING A PARENT AND CHILD

As I've already said, our Parent and Child placement is taking up most of our concentration.

You'd think the other young family members (our own chidren and our foster children) would be put out, jealous even.

Not a bit of it.

It's an interesting thing this, the value of having a teeming house. 

I remember an old friend of mine who was an only child telling me that one of the hardest things about being an 'only' is that there's no hiding place. The only child's parents have only one child to focus on and consequently the child feels like they are 'it' all day and every day. The parents know where the child is all the time, they know what the child is doing, even what the child may be thinking.

If you've a houseful of young ones they can each choose to disappear off the parents radar and enjoy the independence and privacy that comes with being parent-free for a while. Freedom!

Fascinating.

However, back to our Parent and Child.

Quick reprise; we're fostering a young man and his toddler daughter. The mum ran off and the child was due to be adopted but the estranged dad showed up and claimed he'd like to parent his daughter. He has no means, no home of his own, he's a bit of a drifter. Social Services will house him but only if he can prove he'll be a capable parent. My observations his will form part of that decision. 

It's a massive responsibility, but if you keep your focus on the needs of the child your conscience is clear.

The dad is beginning to show parent fatigue. Anyone who's had a child knows what this feels like; an infant is exhausting if you're doing it right. They need constant vigilance every minute they're awake, if nothing else to ensure their own safety. But on top of making sure they're safe, the parent has to keep up a draining barrage of stimulation. They must talk to the child almost non-stop, engage with the child, centre with the child's growing interest and competence with the world and all its wonders. It can be highly rewarding, but it's also exhausting.

A toddler's understanding is obviously limited and therefore the parent has to inhabit a world that is far less interesting to them than the world they've grown to enjoy. Unless they can find stimulation in their child's burgeoning development.

In a nutshell, I'm sad to say, the dad has become bored with his daughter. 

Here's what happened that helped me grasp that he probably will have to give her up.

He goes out when he can and hooks up with friends, leaving the child with me. Fair enough, we all need a break. But he's doing it more and more. I keep a diary. By way of balance I insist he also spends a proper amount of time alone with the child. What little I've seen of his playing with her leaves me wondering if he is making a connection.

When he returns from a jaunt into town he invariaby brings her a gift. A cuddly toy, a drawing book, a box of sweets, those sort of spoils. Then he'll disappear with her as required for play.

He came to me for advice.

"She don't want none of the things I buy her."

Me; "Oh dear. Such as?"

"You know that foam jigsaw thing I bought her? She ain't interested."

I'd sneaked a look at the toy and the box had stated it was suitable for 3yrs and above. The child isn't two yet. His explanation was that the shop didn't have anything for her age. Then he said this;

"She keeps nicking my phone. It's a nightmare. It's all she wants. I tell you every time I put it down if I'm not careful she swipes it and either runs off with it or hides it. Driving me mad. I buy her all them toys and all she wants is my phone."

I ached to say to him;

"Of course she does! You know why? Because her daddy is always on his phone. You buy her a toy and hope it'll buy you free time in her company. You expect her to teach herself how to play with it so you can disappear into your phone. You're teaching her that your flipping phone is more interesting, more enjoyable, more worthy of your love and attention than she herself. She doesn't want the phone, doesn't know what the heck it is, but knows that you love it. She is imitating you, which a major way kids learn. Plus she's jealous of it because you prefer it to her. Blimey she might even be trying inconsciously to BE a mobile phone!"

I didn't though.

Because he wouldn't have grasped it. As far as he was concerned it was a simple case of her being - to use his oft quoted word;

"Naughty"

It's terribly sad in some ways, but the dad simply hasn't got what it takes. After all, if he was up to scratch he wouldn't have walked himself into demonstrating to how little he understood - or cared - for his daughter.

And reveal that he spent all his quality time alone with her texting mates and playing mobile phone games. 

But, it's also satisfying to know that the child will have a better future being otherwise parented. And the lad himself will be able get on with being a young man and not have to fish around for a babysitter every time he wants to party.

Just to repeat;with a Parent and Child placement the fosterer dosen't make any decision about the child's future, that is entirely the job of those who get called 'the professionals'. 

They weigh up everything they can pull in to get to the right call. The fosterer's observations are high on the list, but they edit out any opinions we may have, and just stick to the facts. When I told their Local Authority Social Worker about the mobile phone thing she made a note of what was said but I could tell she drew the same conclusion as I did, so my opinion wasn't needed.

Which is a relief. It's awful to feel that a parent and child are best parted, and this is where our Blue Sky Social Worker comes in and supports me with wise counsel and encouragement, reminding me that their separation will be best for both of them.

And help me get past the feeling that I've somehow failed…

"Bittersweet" is a strange word fostering is helping me understand.

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FAREWELL FELLER

So sad, this.

A lad came to us some years ago, I've talked about him on previous occasions but just to reprise;

He was aged 17, due to leave care any time. He was a charming young person, considerate round the house, articulate and emotionally intelligent.

He had plans. He wanted to create music and had bought some sort of keyboard/computer to kickstart. He had trouble sleeping and often stayed awake downstairs until 4.00am.

He used to skip college sometimes and hang around a park. Some evenings he'd take the train to a nearby town and I'd pick him up from the last train, him smelling a bit of smoke.

I had my suspicions the smoke was more than plain baccy, and talked to our Blue Sky Social Worker often about it. We agreed that his local authority SW should be informed informally of his possible activity, and the response was something like "Let us know if his behaviour becomes a concern." They promised to raise it with him, but meetings between children in care and their local authority Social Worker are often behind closed doors, because one of the things the SW is ensuring is that the child is happy in the home and their fostering is up to scratch. So they need to be able to speak freely.

This lad was due to recieve some sort of trust fund at age 18, and he was looking forward to independent life. We were told his dad, who was a bad apple to put it  mildly, put some money aside for him before he was sent to prison - for quite a long sentence as far as we could tell.

Independence is huge for almost all children, including and perhaps especially foster children.

The sad thing is I've just learned his independent life didn't last very long.

A fellow fosterer who I know well attended a training session and got talking to another fosterer she'd never met before who told her about he lad, who had stayed with her for a period, but they'd found him difficult and he moved on. Funny, I never found him anything but charming.

One thing I remember vividly is him sitting down to dinner with us on the first night and saying with a look of wonder;

"I've never sat down for a family meal before."

I believed him too, although it might have needed a pinch of salt to stand up in court.

To the point.

The fosterer told my friend the lad is dead.

Drugs.

Poor lad.

Thing is, I believed he had a chance.

I'll go on believing they all have a chance, but sometimes the way things turn out for them is a bitter pill for them to swallow, and likewise those that cared for them, and loved them.

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