DIM AND DIMMER

 Saul is now so settled he has his place in our family. This is a situation that we aim for even though it can mean that if and when he goes it'll be a wrench.

One of the first things I remember learning at a training session - and making sure I put into practice - is that foster parents should offer attachment to a new child from the moment they walk through the door. Even if the child is only due to stay one night.

Come to think of it, how could anyone not?

I guess the thing is that when we start to foster we are in new territory. Even if we've had children of our own, fostering is markedly different; it's someone else's child. I remember being nervous about doing what came naturally as a mum in case fostering a child was different from rearing a child of your own.

I was pleased and relieved to be instructed that from the get go, you should reach out to the child.

Sean got the full treatment the moment he arrived. I stuck metaphorical sticking plasters onto every emotional cut and scratch he had.

Here's a small token example that's satyed in my mind.

Saul didn't like the dark. No surprise there, most children don't.

His bedroom is small, we sometimes call it the box room. I've found that certain children like small spaces, they feel more secure.

The first night I put Saul to bed I didn't wait for him to get frightned about the dark, I simply said;

"I usually leave the landing light on and the bedroom door about half open. Shall we see if that suits you?

I turned off his main bedroom light and waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to a bedroom lit on ly by the light from the landing.

"Too dark." he whispered.

I opened the bedroom door a bit more.

"Still too dark".

I turned on his main light.

He didn't like that either. Hmmm.

His bed has a small table lamp next to it. I turned that on and turned off the main light. He didn't like that either, it made scary shadows on the wall.

Nearly stumped now. Except…I was aware he was taking comfort from my attention to his needs. 

I had a brainwave. In my bedroom I have a bedside lamp that's got a dimmer switch. I fetched it and set it up. Saul was intrigued, not only in the dimmer switch. He was fascinated that I was prepared to give up my lamp to help him feel ok.

The whole effort worked, kind of. He had a source of light that he could entirely control. When I went downstairs ten minutes later (I hung around to help him feel accompanied) he was brightneing then darkening his room. He was asleep.

He woke about 2.00am, at least it was 2.00am when he woke us up, crying. I got to him in the shake of a lamb's tail, see I sleep in trackie bottoms and a t shirt ever since I heard the tale of a foster carer who had to take a child to A and E in the  middle of the night in her nightie and dressing gown as there wasn't tkime for her to get dressed.

First thing I did was turn on his light, that calmed him down. And talked to him. I said the usual things about how everything was alright and that he was safe and that it's normal to feel funny first night in a strange bed. I was building up to my best trick;

"Would you like a bowl of Frosties or a bag of crisps?"

Not because he was particularly hungry but because he was distracted by having the opportunity to make a nice decision.

He now sleeps through.

Did I get my lamp back. Not yet.

Did he go for cereal or crisps?

As I remember, both.

Obviously.

Read More

HOME ALONE

In fostering you can't help but become wondrous at the mysteries of the mind, especially the mind of a child. The mind of a child who's been to hell and back is something to behold. And if you're going to do any good for a crumpled kid you have to get curious about what goes on between their ears.

Digging down while respecting the child's privacy is always fascinating and almost always useful. It's become a thing I've learned to really love down the years

Triggers are big in fostering. They're the little token symbols that remind children in care about upsetting things they've been through. 

You recieve a child into your home who is ok most of the time, but then suddenly gets upset. From nowhere. Something made them angry… but what?

Sometimes it's easy to interpret;

I've mentioned before the foster mum whose child kicked off when she'd noticed she'd forgotten to put out the wheelie bin to be emptied. The look on her face - a frown - was enough to trigger memories of what might happen when a parent had a grim look on their face.

I had a child who got upset when I opened a ring-pull can of baked beans because it triggered memories of her dad opening cans of beer and what happened next.

By the way I'm not a psychologist. But then, most psychologists aren't foster parents…

We were watching Home Alone with little Saul, who's been with us a few months now and we're all knitting together well. He knows us and we know him. But in fostering you're endlessly uncovering new layers and Saul is no more or less complex than the average child who has endured a bad time at their real home followed by the intense disruption of being removed and taken to live with strangers.

So there we were watching Home Alone two Saturday evenings ago. It was cosy in the living room, Saul sat on the end of the sofa with a duvet over his legs in case he nodded off. He doesn't sleep all that well during the night and sometimes is exhausted before his bedtime. There was popcorn (the new microwaveable stuff is fantastic BTW) and Fanta or diet coke. 

This had become our routine Saturday night treat.

We'd roared with laughter every time the heroic Kevin toughed out being left behind and put on a brave face.

Then, right at the end something strange happened, which we barely noticed at the time. 

Remember the bit at the end when Kevin's mum gets home ahead of everybody else and discovers Kevin who's beaten off the burglars? She looks down at Kevin and says;

"Oh Kevin. I'm so sorry."

Well, at that moment Saul let out a stifled wail and pulled the duvet over his head. I had a little tear in one eye as it's a tender moment and I figured Saul had been touched by the reconciliation.

You hardly notice quirky things like that at the time and even if you do you have no reason to attach any significance to them.

When it came to bedtime Saul was a bit difficult. He didn't want to go upstairs and when he did there was an argument about teeth-cleaning which turned into a bit of a scene. Ten minutes after I finally got him settled and went downstairs I heard crying from his bedroom. Long story short I squatted on the floor outside his bedroom door for what seemed like an age until he dropped off. 

The following Saturday I fished out Back To The Future and set everything up. It was either Michael Fox or Shrek. I don't know about anybody else but I find a lot of the animations haven't aged quite as well as children's films with real people. Anyway, it helps the evening jog along if it's a film we can all enjoy at different levels. Surprisingly Mamma Mia has proved popular with foster children of all makes and sizes. I waffle.

Saul didn't appear when called. Shouted down from his bedroom he didn't want to watch a film. Shouted he didn't care if there was popcorn. I went up to see what the problem was.

He said that films made him unhappy.  "All films" he said.

Me; "All films? Why?"

Saul; "Because they all end with all the family together and everybody laughing and hugging and that…"

"Jeez" I thought to myself "I've never looked at them like that before".

He was right. A child who's yet to have any kind of happy ending to any episode or adventure is going to feel bad. Envious at best. Aggrieved and angry at worst.

"And in Home Alone" he said "At the ending of it. When Kevin's mummy says sorry…"

I waited. I hadn't expected what he said next;

"Well mummy's don't say sorry. Ever. Never ever ever!"

Talked to our Blue Sky social worker about it. Saul was often left alone and used to be terrified of being alone. Whenever whoever was supposed to be looking after him returned he was even more terrified because…well I have to leave that as three dots.

We wondered about telling Saul about how Macauley Caulken is these days.

Not only that, I've decided that Home Alone is not the best movie for kids in care, it's not the first time a foster child has found it a bit thought provoking.

Read More

FOSTER PARENTS V REAL PARENTS

 One of the non-stop issues/problems in fostering is when the child in your care starts to think about the calibre of their real parents. and the quality of life in their real home.

They don't ask straight out in my experience. They sort of hint that they're starting to see things for themselves.

But the question starts to arise once they notice - if they ever do, because some don't - that the parenting of a foster parent is not just different, it's necessarily better. I hope that doesn't sound like a boast, it's not. The very central foundation of fostering is that children who are getting seriously bad experiences in their real home are removed and placed in a family where they will get better experiences.

This episode comes to mind.

He was a bright 13 year old called Roque. British himself, of South American/UK extract. Mum English, dad Brazilian.

He'd been with us for about 3 weeks when he had his first little wobbly; normal.

It arose from us telling him he could not go across town on the coming Saturday night to hang out with some friends and make his own way home, he said he didn't need a ride home. "Didn't need a ride" meant he wanted to be out until about 2.00am. How did we know? The dossier we had on him from Blue Sky.

We said no.

"No!?" he came back.

Obviously we dug in, there was no question he could do whateverwanted as he'd been previously allowed  to do under the flakey regime his parents had for him. They had let him go out, do what wanted to do. Not because they had developed keenly held views about freedom of choice or independence (which they claimed when Social Services aksed them about Roque doing as he pleased); truth was they didn't care.

He stood his ground, arguing he would be fine, he did it all the time, he knew how to look after himself…and so on.

So when we put our foot down, there was a standoff. He made to go for the front door. What do you do? We'd been advised by Blue Sky that if he left our home against our wishes we had the option to call the police - for his own safety. Then we would call Blue Sky's Out Of Office people (there's always someone on hand).

We told him that.

He shouted "Are you seriously going to waste police time with picking up some young guy who just wants to see his friends? Are you mad?"

I replied "Yes. Er..yes to the first bit. But no, we're not mad."

He yelled; "Why? Just tell me why FFS!!!"

I told him. It was because we cared. We cared that he shoudn't be out roaming the streets or hanging around all-night fast food takeaway joints begging fags or worse off late night revellers.We woud worry about him all night until he came home."

I'm not going to pretend that words like that have any instant effect, they tend not to. But many looked-after children have the skill to appear incandescent with frustration but beneath their tears and wailing, they're taking everything in.

On this occasion (and I've had plenty of this one) Roque had a dilemma; he needed to comply with us, he could see that, but he needed his dignity. We agreed that if he acceeded to our wishes he would earn himself a takeaway, did he want a Big Mac or pizza? Or Chinese? We woud have to go out and fetch it, this was in the days before Deliveroo and co.

My husband, I told him, was partial to fish and chips.

Thank the Lord for fast food, thank the Lord (whoever she is) for the technique of offering up distraction with the added clout of giving the child a sense of control.

On this particular evening it worked. Only by a hair's breadth, but it worked.

His first stipulation was anything but fish and chips. This gave him a hands down victory over his foster dad who had been firm about Roque not going into town.

Short story short we all sat down to a Chinese. 

Sweet and sour. Which about sums the episode up, except the epilogue;

Roque took the last of his Chinese up to his bedroom where he digested his treat along with the evening.

Half an hour later he appeared back in the kitchen.

"Can I have a coke?"

I didn't ask him to say please, there's a time and a place for everything.. I just said "Sure. Afraid we've only got Diet."

He went to the fridge and as he fished out a can he said one word, but I swear he said it differently to his normal throwaway, he said;

"Thanks."

A few days later I asked him if he knew how his mum was. She'd been taken to hospital with injuries, which was how come the police and then Social Services had got involved. We knew he was keeping up a text message relationship with her.

He said she was fine. He was worried about her, children in care worry immensely about their parents no matter what their treatment had been like.

Long story short (I'll unpack the detail another time) Roque began to wonder about his mum and dad and the way he and his sibs were either invisible or, if visible, in line for a rucking. He began bonding with my other half, loved staying up watching Match of the Day with him once he found peace in being denied his previous version of a late night Saturday.

Then he came out with this;

"I'm thinking of asking if I can stay here even if they say it's ok for me to go back to my mum's. Only, can she come and visit so she can… well…y'know...see what it can be like?"

Read More