FOSTERING; LOVE ON LEGS

 Lots of people ponder about becoming foster carers, and many, so I understand, end up browsing the Secret Foster Carer to get a bead on what it's like.

Fostering is hard work in many respects, but also one of the best things anyone can do in life.

It's up to you if that's a good deal.

It's definitely a good deal for the child/children you'll help along the way, and that's a big part of the good side of the deal.

Other people can be a bit strange when you tell them you foster. I suspect they're people who are wierdly embarrassed that they aren't doing anything to make the world a better place so they almost want to shut out the simple fact that they are suddenly in the company of someone who is a simple, down-to-earth foster carer.

We're not super heroes, not champions of the universe or gold medallists; but it's almost funny how many people cringe when you find yourself saying "I foster".

Not that it's something I say to people unless it becomes appropriate in the conversation.

Around Christmas I find myself at a small number of gatherings. For example, youngest foster child's school does the de rigour Nativity Play which they follow up with cheese and wine (bean size knobs of Tesco cheddar on toothpicks plus a watery white or an even more watery Spring Water).

I hung on for it, showing willing etc.

Got talking to a lady who wanted me to know her and her hubby were going to France for Christmas, so I acted interested like you do. She banged on how they'd had a nightmare getting a flight as their initial booking turned out to be over subscribed so they'd been jocked off and had to accept a passage to a different French airport or await a vacancy for a flight to their preferred destination. Which would be stressful.

You can picure her, right?

She told me about their life in France, the quality of the charcuterie, the little things she found irksome such as the long wait for your second course (because they cook it from scratch rather than microwave a batch from a month ago). She had a lot to say about foreign food.

I learned how her family were going to convene in France and how well her sons were doing, one was a sales rep for a firelighter company, the other had a job on a superyacht as a steward, currently off the coast of Dubai.

I even had to listen to how they wanted to extend their conservatory but the council were being difficult.

I also learned she had food fads, she told me about her reservations with pasta, raw meat and peanuts.

Someone brought a tray of cheese bits round and she waved them away.

So I found myself rescuing the conversation by saying "We're at home again this year."

She went "Oh yes…family?"

I replied; "Sort of. I foster."

To which she instantly replied;

"I still struggle with lasagne."

Yep.

"...I STILL STRUGGLE WITH LASAGNE."

Check it out in all it's glory. A left turn away from the beautiful matter in hand; fostering.

She couldn't begin to go there.

Almost like some people can't say the word "cancer" for fear it'll come and get them.

Tiresome.

There aren't many things a person can do by way of vocation that leads other people to want to change the subject.

For example I once bumped into a near neighbour in the supermarket till queue and asked her how she was doing, so she told me (at length) how she'd moved sideways from management consultancy into property development and virtual currency investment. She was nada, but straining at the leash of self importance.

You've got her, right?

Then she asked, in the token way people do;

'What are you up to these days/'

I replied;

'Still fostering."

To which she replied, instantly; 

'I have a sister who knows someone who works in the Care industry.'

She had two spare bedrooms now her sons were on their hind legs, but no sense of usefulness.

It's tragic how many kids need a safe home and a decent family environment that so many people are sticking their fingers in their ears and refusing to hear they could do something..

Can you help?

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KEEPS YOU ON YOUR TOES

 Every day is a new day in fostering.

Everyone in fostering knows this.

It's not the big things, which can come along like unexpected hurricanes.

It's the little things, behind which sometimes lurk big things.

Take middle child, and yesterday.

Child had endured the school Nativity Play. 

Child didn't have a part, but as the parent one shows up out of willing.

I've attended roughly every Nativity Play for every child in my care, starting as natural parent through to this year.

Jeez, I must be up there with the Guiness Book Of Records greatest number of school Nativity Plays ever seen by one parent.

I was even (strangely) cast as Simon Peter in a Nativity Play at my school, when I was age 9, making me the Gary Lineker of Nativities.

So. Driving home middle child says;

"You know that hymn?"

Me: 'Which one?"

The one that goes "And man will live for evermore because of Christmas Day?"

Me: (Singing) "Hark now hear the angels sing?"

Child; "Christ was born today"

Us together: "And man will live for evermore...because of Christmas Day."

Me: "Yes, most people remember that one."

Child: "Its rubbish isn't it? People don't live for ever. The lady next door didn't. And if she had of done it would have been because the doctors could make her better. And not because it's Christmas."

Oh Lordy…they say; "Out of the mouths of babes…"

So I figured that next door neighbour Ann's passing had had an effect on the children, made them thoughful.

This one wasn't going to be brushed aside with my trademark distraction "What flavour ice cream do you want after tea?"

But how does a humble foster mum answer questions that have confounded scientists and theologians for thousands of years? 

So I explained, as best I could that Christians, along with people who follow many other religions, believe that when people die, if they've been good people, their souls go to some kind of Heaven forever. And maybe get reunited with loved ones. Pets even, maybe.

The mood lightened a bit. The idea of dogs running around with a pair of angel wings is funny. Isn't it?

And would a pet budgie need a set of angel wings to go with the wings it's already got?

Then we talked about life in Heaven, both of us probably knowing that if it exists in any way it's probably nothing like we could ever imagine.

But we agreed there'd be ice cream.

Child opted for chocolate ice cream to follow spag boll.

Panic over. We arrived home and the TV went on with something on Netflix.

Keeps you on your toes does fostering.

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THE CONVERSATIONS YOU HAVE

 Our next door neighbour has passed away.

Ann was late eighties, and had been unwell for some time. Her passing was peaceful, her family at her bedside.

I popped round next day and offered our condolences, which was much appreciated. Her husband was weepy, but said how much he loved her. Then he said this;

"I'm ninety and I've got this far without ever seeing anyone die, and now I have, and it would have to be her wouldn't it?"

On returning I mentioned what he'd said and the children's ears pricked up.

Naturally they wanted all the details. I had precious little extra information, but was suddenly cowed by a burdening sense of responsibility.

In fostering one ends up doing and saying all sorts of unexpected things, all in the name of helping other people's children make their way in life.

It had never ocurred to me I'd one day be explaining one of life's greatest mysteries to other people's children.

Death.

So hard. The questions they asked;

"Why do people die?"

"What's it like when someone dies?"

"We don't really go to Heaven do we? But is death the end?

In answering suchlike questions I found myself trying to imagine what each child had already heard about death, and accentuate the positive aspects of how it could work for them.

As the conversation went along I began to get a bead on why death interested them so much; for children in care it all had to do with their separation from their real families.

I've often noticed that foster children care far more about their real mum and dad and brothers and sisters than one would imagine. 

You tend to assume that having been removed from people who either neglected them or treated them with actual cruelty, they'd be relieved to be in a better environment. 

It simply isn't so.

The children have bonded with their abusers, and they not only worry about them, but long to be returned to them.

And, as the chatter about death and angels and ghosts and cemetries expanded, it began to dawn on me that they were worried that their 'significant others' might die before they went back to them.

A big worry alright.

So I re-worked the conversation into a re-assurance; 

a) that their mums and dads and their whole family was well, and young, and

 b) if they became ill the Health Service would treat them and their social workers would ensure that everyone was informed and stayed in touch.

All that sort of stuff.

Some positives came out. In fostering you simply cannot have too much information.

Middle child said that it was thought that his granny hadn't long left, and that he was fond of her; she baked drop scones and was partial to giving him a pound for no reason.

Nobody had any idea about the child's grandmother, so I made a note to bring it up next time we get a visit from our Blue Sky social worker.

Youngest observed that his family had put down their elderly dog, but hadn't told him until the came home from school, and it made him sad that he hadn't said goodbye. This child was definitely scarred by the experience, and I pictured the child imagining every time they came home from school hearing that someone even more important than the dog was no more.  I promised that would never happen in our home and that everyone would be kept informed about everything, there'd be no more sad surprises.

Of course, the entire conversation was made all the trickier by one simple stark fact. A fact so humungous that I don't know how I got through a challenging bit of fostering mostly intact.

Namely my own beliefs which are;

No-one really knows what death is like or what happens when you die.

But as a foster parent with responsibility to ease the weight on a displaced child's life I took to telling some gentle half-truths, such as saying that there might be life after death and if there is we might get to be with all our friends and family for ever.

I seem to remember finishing by saying it's up to each of us to work out what we believe and live our lives according to the morals we believe in.

And if that's God at work, He is real and alive, at least in our heads.

Pretty profound for a mere foster mum.

Yay! Me for Pope!

Ann's funeral is Friday.

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MOVIES THAT FOSTER CHILDREN ENJOY

Fostering brings all sorts of things into one's life. I sometimes wonder what people who don't foster actually do with themselves.

It's not only the little jobs that multiply, it's the brain-work of trying to understand the significance of the little things in the life of your foster child.

The child I'm thinking about this time is our youngest placement, who has a thing about "Frozen".

Why would a child from a down-and-out mundane chaotic family be entranced - captivated in fact - by a tale about royalty and magic?

So; "Frozen" is a Disney cartoon film. A fairy story about two sister princesses with magic powers. Their parents die at sea. The eldest sister is crowned Queen. At the coronation the younger sister falls in love with a guest, a Prince. The older sister is jealous and retreats to a castle in the icy waste, but casts an accidental spell on her realm, plunging the whole nation into an eternal Winter of snow and ice. The younger sister, aided by her Prince, is tasked with finding the older sister and undoing the spell.

Right? Wanna get your head round why our foster child watches this every afternoon after school? And all weekend. "Frozen" is on our backroom telly almost every day, almost all the time. 

Why?

It's a good movie; the animation and the voice performers are top drawer. Successful? It's up there with the highest grossing movies of all time. 

But the question stays the same. Why does a damaged child from an emotionally impoverished  and dispersed family, who is in my care, watch "Frozen" at every available moment?

The child will plomp on the sofa, our dog will join. Child will snag a biscuit and a box of juice, find the remote wherever it's hiding, and get "Frozen" up on screen. Child doesn't even need to reel it back to the beginning, just presses 'Play" and watches wherever it kicks in.

I talked about the "Frozen" infatuation with our Blue Sky social worker.

In fostering, if you have the stamina, every little titbit helps with your picture of the child, and what to do to help them.

"Frozen" is about a chaotic family that breaks into bits. One of the kids tries to fix things.

Life is bleak and the fixer is trying to bring sunshine.

We think that fractured families are a modern day thing. But 'Frozen' touches a nerve all over the world.

The story of "Frozen", all about a damaged family, but tarted up as about royalty and magic, was written two hundred years ago. Hans Christian Anderson.

Befgore there was organised fostering.

Makes you think

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COPING

A reader who signs as "L" writes;

"Hi SFC, I hope you're doing ok. We're struggling a bit with the transition to having a new member of the family - who is a delight. I won't go into detail so I can respect privacy, but I'd love to hear your words of wisdom about whether you've ever "bitten off more than you can chew". The child is wonderfully behaved at home but often sent home from childcare, and has a diagnosis list a mile long that I'm sure we can support with - just worried about the balancing act with the otherkids (and sleep!).

signed L"

Hello L. 

Thanks for getting in touch. The path through fostering is lined with rewards, but for sure their are cracked slabs along the way. 

I guess your question boils down to two asks; "Have I had to cope with the near-uncopable, and have I ever worried that in coping with the near-uncopable I'm not giving enough to the rest of the family."

Yes to both. 

Surely anyone who's fostered for any length of time replies "Yes to both".

THE UNCOPABLES

My first placement on returning to fostering (after a break to concentrate on my own two young children) was uphill all the way. It was a respite job. His regular foster parents needed a break, and I soon found out why. He was ultra-hyper - I don't think that's a bona fide diagnosis, but I'm sure people know what I mean. He wasn't on any medication, or counselling.  I suspect that if he'd been a full-time placement with me I might have buckled, and if that outcome is threatened it's the duty of the foster parent to protect themselves, and get help from Social Services and social workers. 

Six months later I was asked to look after the same child again for another respite break, and I'll never forget the smile on his face when he came through the door. He realised that I must like him enough to try to cope with his swings. He was better the second time. I met him in town years later, holding down a building job and pushing his toddler in a pushchair alongside his partner. 

My other uncopable was with me for 5 years. Up all night, anxiety attacks, despair, anger, you name it. But the child persevered with their own repair programme (just like the first uncopable did). It was slow going, but worth it. He outgrew his own nightmares.

Hard for me to compare my experiences with your current child as you've thoughtfully kept details private. All I can say is that I feel good for hanging in there and for the children who progressed.

FINDING TIME FOR THE REST OF THE FAMILY

I'd talk to them whenever I could. Level with them. Apologise, even. 

Turned out they were more concerned for me (getting into a frazzle) than having their own needs cherished as before.

My partner was a rock; pleased to see me doing what I can and see me getting pleasure from doing the right thing.

Our social workers were a big help. The child performed spotlessly when they were visiting, but social workers know which way is up, they knew the child wanted to stay with me so wouldn't risk a meltdown in their presence.

The child is now lined up to go to Cambridge, so something clicked somewhere along the line.

SLEEP

Ah, I remember sleep…

In fostering it's often more a case of; "napping' or 'dozing' or 'forty winks', or my favourite which is; 'sorry, I nodded off just then, you were saying?'

It's tough, but no worse than the early years of one's own family, so at least one's been there before.

And then, the child gets to their teens and sleeps 'til midday. Only we don't. We still jump up wide awake at 6.00am! Hey ho...

OTHER THOUGHTS

Interesting that your child is wonderful at home, but overwhelmed by diagnosed conditions in childcare. To be blunt it sounds like you're better at coping than the 'professionals", as many like to call themselves. Between you and me and the gatepost, maybe they need to pull their socks up. Sending a difficult child home isn't childcare at its best.

Have they ever asked you how you do what you do, what your strategies are? I bet not.

Shame. I'm 100% sure you're a magnificent foster parent and should be made to feel appreciated and revered even, at every turn.

However my guess is you'll go forward with this placement, the impact you've already had must be profound. That's why the child wants to stay with you. And I have a feeling you're in it to win it.

Yours,

SFC

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IT'S A 24/7 THING

The latest figures about fostering are saddening.

In the last 3 years 3,000 carers have left fostering.

Big business is moving in; residential care homes for older children in care are springing up; one new one every day.

I don't know enough about these homes to deserve to have a view, but the newspapers seem allied together in their take on them; namely that they're not good for the young people, but good for investors.

Then there's been discussion alongside these allegations that some normal family foster homes are no less chaotic than the homes the children have been removed from.

One article I've just finished reading claimed that some local authorities "pay" foster carers £50 a week, which the article asserted, is less than the minimum wage.

All I can say from first hand experience is that Blue Sky give much better financial support than that. Much better.

Fostering is a full time job, but we foster parents aren't "paid". We are given an allowance. It enjoys healthy tax status, ie it's not taxed as a wage partly because the country needs foster parents, and partly because, when you're looking after someone else's child 24/7, you're literally on call 24/7.

24/7 hours times the minimum wage would have our reparation up to £135,000 per year. Per child.

Another article I found quoted that some vulnerable children get placed in special units, others in what were described as exorbitant residencies, mainly because the Local Authority is required by law to find a room for a child they take into care.

At the end of the day, all we can do as foster parents, is carry on parenting.

Nice moment this day before yesterday, I woke up about 1.00am; movement downstairs.

I heard the big dog (we've got 2 at the moment) on the hall floor. Then the kitchen door got shut….gently.

Then I got a whiff of cooking.

Someone…had let the dog out for a wee, was knocking up a midnight feast, and wanted to keep it secret.

Hmmmm.

So: I need to know who's using the cooker. But also need to keep it non-interventionalist (is that a word?)

Plan; I went downstairs in search of a glass of water to wash down paracetamol to beat a headache. 

I went into the kitchen and acted as unbothered as I could.

It was middle foster child!

I said "Don't mind me, I'm wanting a glass of water. Headache."

Child; "Ye, I'm just making a snack."

Child has been getting into cookery, which we encourage enormously. Child is old enough to be trusted with the microwave, and you want them to achieve and feel the beginings of independence. But you stay vigilant. And I've drummed kitchen safety into the young person.

I went back upstairs, and stayed awake until I heard child head up to the bedroom with a plate of something.

I was up first next morning and can tell you the child's cooking is better than the child's clearing and tidying of the kitchen.

Don't care.

Love fostering, so much.

C'mon everybody, let's go!

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WHY IS CONTACT LIKE A TORCH?

 There are things to moan about in fostering but I try not to.

From time to time fostering is taxing, but you knuckle down and sort it.

There's always a Blue Sky social worker behind you.

On the whole fostering is grand.

Probably the one thing in fostering I'd change is "Contact".

I'd make Contact more elexible than the "once a week" dictat that almost always is a bit of a spanner in the works.

Not so much for me, but more importantly, the child. Children in care are, more often than not; mucked up by Contact, especially in the first weeks. Having to be taken to meet up with their 'significant others" is upsetting. By the time we get them back to our home they're edgy at best, often thoroughly mixed up.

"Contact", I looked it up, is enshrined in UK law as a well-meaning clause in the Childrens Act. It's perfectly well intened;d to help maintain a relationship between the child and the parents that we're supposed to be aiming to re-connect.

I can imagine the MPs and civil servants sitting in Committee nodding the idea through because it's seems to make sense. A good idea idea in principle. I'm sure they consulted social workers, maybe even fostering agencies. I'm equally sure they didn't listen to foster carers much, if at all. The Comntact law needs to be made more flexible, to freflect the needs of the individual child and their family.

Going back a few years I was required to take a child to have Contact with a family member who'd abused the child. The adult insisted and the lawyers agreed there was no getting away from it. I had to take the poor kid to sit with the adult for an hour, once every week. Then the Contact stopped. Why? Becaiuse tyhe adult went to prison for what they'd inflicted on the poor kid. The Contact law hads to be followed while the police and Crown Prosecution investagted allegations and set up a trial. It took a whole year.

Imagine any other victim (ok, in the eyes of the law 'alleged' victim) being forced to sit with the alleged perpetrator for an hour once a week? All the while trying to get their life on track? Madness.

I'm adamanent that the first few weeks in fostering are a bit raw for every child and the "significant others".  Contact was devised before mobile phones and Zoom which would do the job just as well and allow discreet supervision no problem.

Mind, I'm the last one to advocate technology because I'm a bit of a dinosaur myself when it comes to gizmos.

Example; I keep an old-fashioned torch (flashlight if you're American) in the drawer next to the bed. Why? In case of a power cut.

I lent the torch to one of our foster children who was going out Trick or Treating and it never came back.

So I bought a new one on Amazon.

I didn't expect what I got.

I got a torch, yes, but one that works like this:

You click the "On" button and it flashes. On/off, on/off…and so on until you click the button a second time. When you click the second time it starts to strobe. Like in an old-fashioned disco. The sort of strobing that has newsreaders warning people vulnerable to fits that "the following report contains flash photography."

Click the button a third time and you get what you want, namely a beam of light.

My kids tell me I don't need a torch as there's one on every mobile phone. But if there was a power cut I'd want to maintain as much battery life in my phone as possible. That's my argument anyway.

Why am I telling you this? And what's it got to do with Contact?

It's this; somewhere in China is a gigantic factory that makes torches. The people at the top sit around making decisions about what facilities their next brand of torch will have.

They probably decide that the harder they try to make the torch have all sorts of features, the more thay can justify pushing the price up.

So the customer has to buy a strobing, flashing torch.

Who ever in the whole wide world needed a torch that strobes?

Nobody.

Nobody ever.

Ever.

But, every torch you can buy will make you click it several times before you get to the only thing you want, which is a beam of light.

The guys who sat around deciding how their next torch should work probsably never needed to use one. Or else they'd know that you never need a torch that strobes.

These strobing torches (by the way, my new bike lights have the same 'feature' - they strobe) are madness.

So, my bedside torch is inconvenient, annoying and arguably dangerous, because I have to fiddle with it to make it work.

And when I get off my bike I have to switch the lights through the complete cycle of options.

Designed by people who have no experience with torch use, and who probably don't ride bikes after dark.

Exactly like how Contact came about...

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BEST THING EVER

Foster parents get asked; 

How do I get into fostering?

What sort of person volunteers?

I can only speak on behalf of me and the many fostering folk I've met in my time.

We meet at training sessions, support meetings, supervision events, coffee mornings, social things, anniversary do's. Christmas dinners.

Sometimes, when chatting you find yourself asking other carers; "What did you do before fostering?"

It's not a question I like to ask or be asked, because there's so much more to people than their jobs.

But it occurs to me that potential carers might find my story helps them pick up the stick and run.

My story is thatb I think I'd always liked young people. After all, I used to be one.

I remember being misunderstood and neglected by so many adults. Teachers, bus conductors, shop assistants… they all seemed think I was just a kid so why bother?

When I was old enough I volunteered at my local youth club to be a helper, and got hooked.

But volunteer youth work doesn't pay the rent. Once married we needed a second income. I landed a job running a desk at an Estate Agents. I used to have to write 'copy' for each new house they put on the market; "A delightful ground floor two bedroom apartment with a modern kitchen/diner". You get the picture.

I got to know the local newspaper sub editor who I sent the 'copy' to.

He ended up asking me for a drink, and we ended up an item.

Then… recession...

Made redundant I did some shelf stacking at Tesco and was about to start a car valetting business when the sub editor of that local paper got in touch. Said he needed someone to write lots of words in return for very little money.

A contact, it's how the world works.

Obs I agreed, so now I'm a 'journalist'. And just about making ends meet.

And partnered to a good guy and happy.

But. There was a bit missing.

I kept stirring my pot about fostering.

So, one afternoon, in between writing up "Faulty Iron Started Blaze" and "Residents Fury about Dog Waste", I Googled "Fostering near me" and Blue Sky came up top of the list.

I phoned. We talked.

And here I am, happy, years on.

The fostering "allowance" - the money one you get for fostering - covers the expense of a child in your home plus a bit more for your time and effort. It's not a life changing payment but it's a big help with family expenses.

But there;s more to fostering than the fortnightly cheque.

Nothing, besides my own family, has made me anywhere near as happy as fostering.

If you're giving it some thought, take it a bit further and make the call.

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FOSTERING AND FOOD

 Food, as I often say, is SO important to most foster children.

This truth was one of the first things I learned when I began fostering.

The importance of food begins with finding out what's the favourite food of a new child who's on their way to you. If you are able, you cook that meal on day one.

Blue Sky always try to get this information to the carer because they too know what a bridge-builder it can be.

I always keep a bag of dry pasta and a jar of Dolmio on standby, because from time to time I've been asked to take in a child for a night or two, and one time this happened after the shops were shut.

Pasta is a universal favourite. Why? Probably because there are no green bits…

I use lollies and ice cream medicinally; that is to say I raise the possibility of a cornetto at the right moment if a child is working their way out of a bout of sadness. Change the topic to something delightful.

Until this week, my crowning contribution to the world of fostering/food has been to put a bowl of fruit in the child's bedroom and tell them it's theirs. They can eat as much as they want, whenever they want. They OWN it.

But this week saw a new weapon arrive in the ongoing war of the joy of food versus the occassional melancholy of the average looked-after child.

What happened was this;

I'd agreed that the son of a former foster child of mine could come over to us for the whole of a Saturday. The boy is very at home here, he loves our dog, loves the fact that I know his favourite nibbles are Fanta and chocolate buttons, and loves that he can watch movies which the whole family gather for.

Our current eldest foster child is Alicia. Alicia is transing and doing very well, if only the media would leave them to sort; it's their lives, their choice, if they don't interfere with anyone else, end of.

So. I'd explained to Alicia there's be a young guest at our house all day.

She (Alicia identifies as female and that's all I need to know) came down after a think and said;

"I'll cook if you like…"

Words do not fail me but I can't use the ones I used in my head to express to myself my excitement and…joy!

This was a massive step. A bold bid towards adulthood and acceptance.

I didn't make a fuss, merely said "That'd be great. Tell me what you need."

The list was sent to me by phone.

Chicken fillets.

Chicken stock.

Egg noodles.

Free range eggs.

Carrots.

Spring onions.

Garlic.

Dark soy sauce.

Paprika.

Chilli sauce (or powder).

Coriander.

Parsely.

    

Blimey. Game on.

The day arrives. The guest lad had; a) walked the dog, b) chilled on his phone, c) raided the larder for chocolate buttons and d) raided the fridge for Fanta. Most of all he was chilled, which was the idea of the visit. To give him a break, and his mum. 

Around 5.00pm the time-honoured household discussion of which film to watch began, and as it did, so Alicia made her way into her kitchen. HER kitchen.

We settled for Top Gun Maverick, the follow up to Tom Cruise's Top Gun.

"He's 62 and still does his own dangerwork." My other half observed as the opening titles rolled.

"No big deal, so do I." I replied, with one eye on the kitchen and Alicia chopping and slicing using the big knife.

Halfway through the movie Alicia shuffled into the dark room carrying bowls, one for each of us.

Each bowl was beautifully presented, identical. No matter who you were or how old, you got 3 fried chicken pieces and 2 hard boiled egg halves nestling side-by-side. You got noodles, glazed carrot strips and diced spring onion, all swimming in an amazing aromatic broth, topped with chopped fresh herbs.

TV xchef Rick Stein would charge £29.00 per plate, and if he was around, bore you with pontification.

Not Alicia. She took her bowl upstairs.

Then, half and hour later, Alicia came downstairs to "put her bowl in the sink".

Nah sister. I got why she came down. Wanted to know the meal was okay.

Well, she got bombarded with compliments.

Resulting in me shouting over Tom Cruise's mac 3 jets;

"So leave the washing up to me."

And so she did.

As I heard her going upstairs I tried to imagine how she was feeling.

Competent, capable, appreciated. Skilled. Skilled in one of life's key skills, namely cooking. Not merely cooking, but cooking for other people. For guests.

Getting on.

Growing up.

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HARD TO BELIEVE. BUT 100% TRUE.

 In fostering you can sometimes forget that you're in fostering.

And that's a splendid state of affairs.

Because it means one thing and one thing only;

It means that your ship is steady despite there being an unusual load on one side of the boat.

But if you can absorb the special stuff that fostering brings to your home, and notice that you're going along on the straight and narrow, you're doing something right.

"Becks" was eight when she came to us. Her first name was Rebecca, which she hated.

Her dad had chosen it because before he met Beck's mum he'd had a fling with a woman called Rebecca, who he continued to pursue.

Wrong, on so many levels. A child shouldn't learn of such things.

She told us she didn't like "Becks" either, which her stepdad coined as he was a Man U fan.

But we agreed on "Becks" and she answered to it.

Becks had the usual amount of baggage.

Every happy child is identical in their happiness, every foster child is identical in the amount of sadness in them, but unique in the specifics that have made them unhappy.

Becks was quite a long term placement. The longer they're in your care the more they grow into being a member of the family.

Then all of a sudden you find yourself half-forgetting they are fostered.

It's a mind-set that doesn't last long because the reminders of the child's fostering status come thick and fast. Ordinary kids don't get visits from social workers, special care at school, supervised meetings with family members.

The latter of those unusual events - "Contact" it's called - didn't happen much for Becks. Her real parents didn't want to know, and her stepdad probably knew nothing because he'd vanished the night the police were called and social services took Becks into Care.

However she had an aunt who, out of the blue, asked to meet up with Becks, so I got to meet the aunt. She was lovely. 

Long story short; the aunt ended up asking social sevices if she could take Becks in. 

Take her off our hands.

Social services did the necessaries. Becks would need a new school, and while that was being sorted Beck's wishes were heard and explored.

The move was on!

To me it felt a bit of a blow, but it was going to be good for Becks so I was happy. It was good for the lovely aunt too because her kids were grown up and being a natural parent she had so much love left over.

Brilliant.

For me, the kicker was Becks' parting gift to me.

She had already said that she and her aunt had agreed she could ditch the hated name of Rebecca and the shortened version "Becks".

Her new school had agreed to respect her wish to be called something different from her official name.

Then, one moment, when she and I were alone together, she said;

"From now on," she said, "Me and aunty have agreed on a new name for me."

I asked her what her new name was.

Her reply was yet another reminder that she was my foster child, not my real child. Real children couldn't do really say what she was about to say.

She whispered my name.

So I replied; "Yes?"

"No," she said.

"That's my new name…"

Dammit I'm filling up again…

Ain't fostering grand!

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I'M WITH THE AGENCY...

 In the UK there are basically two ways to get into fostering.

I have a quirky little quirk that'll amuse you in a moment…

One way to get involved is to contact your local authority social services department directly. There's such a crying need for more foster parents that it's likely you'll see their advertsements for people to come forward.  If you follow that route the local authority will help guide you through the process of getting approved. They advise and support you through the various checks and requirements you need to become a foster parent. 

If and when you get approved you'll be allocated a local authority social worker who'll represent the children who come into care with you. The local authority, have overall responsibility for the child and the child's wellbeing. 

I wouldn't dream of putting anyone off fostering no matter what method they choose. 

But, hand on heart, in my view there is a better way than going direct to your local authority.

The better way, for me is to go to a fostering agency.

I switched to Blue Sky as my fostering agency about 12 years ago, and obviously I'm happy because I'm still here.

There are lots of reasons why an agency is best, but one reason is standout, namely this;

If you're with a local authourity you're allocated a single social worker to support your placement, and their priority is the child.

If you're with an agency such as Blue Sky you're allocated a single local authority social worker whose priority is the child AND a Blue Sky social worker who's priority is YOU.

Obviously the local authority social worker cares about the carers as well as the child, and ditto your Blue Sky social worker cares about the child as well as you. But with Blue Sky YOU get five star treatement from your Blue Sky social worker.

In my case we're visited once a month by each child's LA social worker, and once a month by our Blue Sky social worker.

In my experience neither LA or Blue Sky social workers gave off that they were checking up on me or our household, they visit to help. Not just to help, support, and advise; they do things that reduce the burden. They'll speak to the child's school on our behalf if there's an attendance problem. They'll talk to the child's parents to help the child - and me - cope with the child wondering if their parents are ok.

I can honestly say that every single visit from a Blue Sky social worker has left me uplifted, galvanised and ready to more and better.

Here's a quick taster of Blue Sky going the extra mile.

Every year they throw a shindig for all their foster carers who've been doing it for ten years or more. They call the Ten Year Club. 

It's not a hullabaloo at Stringfellows or anything like that. It's a pleasant civilised lunchtime meal at a swish location. You get to have a fruit juice-fuelled craik with people who have similar staying power as yourselves.  

Blue Sky make you feel valued. And proud.

So here's my little quirk…

This year I couldn't attend. There was an impending birth in my own family around the same date. I opted out and Blue Sky said how much I'd be missed but understood.

The next visit I had from our Blue Sky social worker started and finished like this:

Social worker; "So. Where are you guys going for your Ten Year dinner?"

Me; "Eh?"

Social Worker; "You shouldn't miss out on a slap-up meal just because of a baby on the way…how is she by the way?"

Me; "She's well. Seven pounds three which for three weeks premature is pretty robust. Er…a dinner?"

Social Worker; "Yes. Choose your venue. It's Blue Sky's 'Thank you' for everything you do."

Me; "It's on you?"

Social Worker; "Of course!"

So. I sat at the kitchen table with my Blue Sky social worker narrowing the options. I could take my other half uptown to a five star hotel piano bar. Or a quirky shack that does foraged food then the owner, a reformed City trader who now has hair down his back, plays accordian.

Our conversation segwayed into fostering; we talked about the child, our wellbeing, did a few bits of paperwork.

A Blue Sky visit is usually two hours. No fly-by-night thing. With twenty minutes left on the clock she suddenly said;

"So. Come on! The Ritz or the Shack?"

And we got back on track. It went to and fro about our best and worst ever restaurant meals, why you don't see dessert trolleys anymore.

She got up to go, saying;

"We're not going to let this go. We're buying you a meal for two at the venue of your choice, whatever you want. It's to say thank you."

So. There's a snapshot of why fostering in partnership with an agency can be the best way.

Whatever new people choose, good luck.

And welcome to the best thing anyone can do.

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FOSTER KIDS WARM TO OTHER FOSTER KIDS

 We've been fostering with Blue Sky for fifteen years now.

So something must be going right…

We'd originally started fostering twenty years before, but then our own children came along and we put fostering on hold.

Thinking back to then, what we thought was that we needed to put all our time and effort into out own kids.

On balance, we got that wrong.

A family can benefit from welcoming a foster child. An agency like Blue Sky works hard to find the right match, and supports the family. Big time.

Abigail is a child who was taken into care and Blue Sky were asked to help find her a foster home.

Abigail was taken in by a fostering family who had become friends of ours.

Friendship happens in fostering, you make new pals for life. We foster carers meet up in training sessions and coffee mornings and support groups and connect.

The family who took Abigail in had become friends of ours, as in curry evenings and days out.

Abigail turned out to be a child who wouldn't come out of her room.

Her carers had hard work to get her to school. She wouldn't go most mornings. There's not a lot one can do when the child simply digs in. You try all sorts of strategies, the social workers pitch in, but if a child won't get in the car what are you going to do?

Don't get the wrong impression, Abigail was unusual in her resistence. Look, no child really wants to go to school. I didn't. Did you? But I didn't stay up in my room refusing to budge. I knew there'd be consequences for me if I did, and anyway, I wasn't hugely anti-school, I simply felt that sometimes I'd sooner stay in bed…

Abigail would have none of it.

It began to become a defining issue. Local Authorities have ultimate duty of care for looked-after children and they have a zero-tolerance policy on looked after children and their schooling, namely; they have to go to school.

So. Abigail's foster parents, Ylena and Petre, had it all to do. They'd tried everything, but their Blue Sky social worker persevered with ever more strategies.

And eventually, one worked.

Their social worker asked the school Senco how many other children at the school were looked-after children. The answer was surprising. No less than seven!

Abigail had let it be known that one of her reasons for refusing school was her phobia about being singled out as a foster child. Her resistance was not to the book-learning, but to the chaos and anarchy of the playground.

The Blue Sky social worker and the Senco came up with a brainwave. They started a lunchtime club. For guys in care. It was done sensitively and with discretion, but the core credential was key.

They'd get together in a room that had previously been for spillover staff to drink coffee during breaks. It was personable; comfy armchairs, light and airy. The club members were politely requested not to use their phones. The Senco rigged a TV to show You Tube clips of moments from Toy Story, Shrek, and superheroes. She laid on a plate of biscuits (Hobnobs, obs) and there was juice.

The 'club' broached all age groups. The older pupils became parental about the younger ones. There's be informal competitions about whose background was worst. Club members started to go round to eavch others houses or meet up in town.

Bottom line; when those guys were in their 'club' they were all normal, for want of a better way of putting it. They had a common ground, namely that, through no fault of their own, they had a vulnerability and trepidation about those youngsters who like to poke fun.

To be fair, Abigail didn't turn around straight away, fostering isn't like that. You have to plug away.

But her resistance to going to school receded.

Job well done.

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HOW TO CONNECT

 One of the things you often have to do with a foster child is to help them get used to other people.

Shyness is one thing - it's normal. But foster children sometimes have something different; almost a phobia about people.

Often they've been deprived of normal company.

Katie came to us aged 8. Katie was nigh on incapable of interacting with anybody. She was bright and articulate, mainly because she watched telly a lot. Telly was her window on the world. But telly is one-way traffic; the viewer is sedentary, not interactive.

Katie had no idea how to interact with people. She struggled to connect with her social workers and would try to hide or pretend she was 'busy' when they called.

She was ok with me and our other family members, because she'd learned things about connecting with people she shared a house with.

But she'd hardly ever attended school, and her home life was isolated. Her significant others had no extended family or friendship groups because for one thing they had none of the skills, for another they were fearful there'd be trouble if anyone found out what a strange household they'd created.

So they shut up shop.

Katie was overawed in the supermarket, she'd never been in such a teeming environment. She resisted school, and got angsty during the car journey every morning. If I had a friend over for coffee Katie would shut herself in her room. 

What to do?

I managed to make some progress with Katie using that regular standby; food.

As far as schoool went, I took to making an elaborate lunch boxful of her favourites which I'd give her in the car on the school run. She'd open the tupperware to check out;

a) the sandwich filling, which was usually a cheese slice and ham, on buttered white, crusts off. Not a mere peanut butter/marmite jobby which her classmates were stuck with.

b) a bag of smoky bacon ridgecut crisps. Not Walkers. McCoys. Top of the pile.

c) a tube of fruit yoghurt.

d) 8-10 seedless grapes.

e) 3 biscuits. Oreos, hobnobs or milk chocolate digestive, nothing less.

f) optional mini banana.

Plus; plastic bottle of water.

And…no messing… every day… a paper napkin folded into a triangle.

This operation got her to school, and, I suspected, helped her status with her fellow pupils because most of the rest of them had barely such a dandy lunchbox. Her food gave her status and hopefully some confidence to interact.

I'll never know though; because what goes on the the playground stays in the playground.

The supermarket was a challenge. 

Foster parents have no choice but to take foster children shopping because you can't leave them home alone.

They don't want to be out and about with a fosrer parent and are generally ultra self-conscious that other shoppers are staring at them and somehow aware that they are in care and that they come from 'broken' homes.

I do this trick; I gave Katie a wire basket and said gently; "Go do a wee shop for yourself."

After a couple of nervous goes she came to love the supermarket run.

Katie got cute at sneaking her luxury goods underneath healthy staples, for example;

a tray of grapes and a bag of organic lentil crisps would sit on top of a doughnut.

a bunch of mini-bananas would camouflage a bag of chocolate raisins.

I didn't say a word, the point of the exercise was that Katie was out and about and mingling.

My mount Everest with Katie was helping her get comfy with strangers visiting our house.

I had to remember that often, in chaotic homes, no-one visits for a chat and coffee. And the strangers who do show up are often trouble one way or another.

I have a good friend called Shirley.

At first Katie would flee to the hills and not come down for the rest of the day. 

So I said to Shirley "Next time you come I'm gong to give you a sachet of Revels. Pop them into your bag and I'll tell Katie that you've brought her a present.

Worked a treat. As the weeks went by Katie began asking;

"When's Shirley coming again?"

What we did was this; Katie knew that Shirley had a 'present' for her, so she'd come downstairs and lurk.

Shirley would ask Katie politenesses such as;

"How are you Katie?"

"Did you have a nice weekend?"

"How's school?"

And Katie would respond, because there was a bag of Revels in it for her to do so.

Katie and Shirley became buddies. They'd natter and laugh, it was a joy to see.

By the tiime Katie's family were ready to offer her a good enough home Katie was…

…ok at school …consumate with being a member of the public out shopping, and a hospitality superstar whenever Shirley showed up.

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CHATTING WITH YOUR FOSTER CHILD

 Sometimes I have the most revealing conversations if there's a foster child or two involved.

Here's an amazing one from last week;

Our Blue Sky social worker had dropped in for a visit. 

One of our own children happened to be at our house returning the lawn mower, plus there were two foster children home from school, one of whom was Alicia, who's transitioning.

Our social worker is brilliant at finding things out without the other person feeling they're being grilled. She asked Alicia;

"Anyway, I remember what I wanted to ask you, just out of interest, are there any other students at your school who are transitioning?"

It's a big school. Alicia answered;

Alicia; "Dunno…maybe two."

BS Social worker; "Do you ever meet them and talk?"

Alicia: "Kinda."

BS; "I know you're a bit of a hero in your school, are the other two ok?"

Alicia; "Hero? You being funny?"

BS; "Mrs Allsop says you're well respected."

Mrs Allsop is Alicia's Senco. Looked after children are so looked after in the UK. The Senco is the teacher whose extra role is to look after the looked-after children in the school. And Blue Sky ensure the Senco is doing the looking-after."

Alicia; "What does Allsop know?"

BS; "That other pupils say you're a bit of a hero."

Alicia; "What does Allsop know about heroes?"

BS; "Probably about as much as I do."

Alicia; "What do old people know about heroes?"

A silence as that sunk in. I said:

SFC: "Quite a bit actually. I liked the Hulk and Spiderman. Superman and Batman."

Alicia; "Last century."

BS: "Meaning?"

Alicia; "Boring. Totally goodsie-woodsie-woo. And the bad guys…so totally bad guys."

BS: "Whereas?'

Alicia rolled their eyes at how slow and out-of-touch 'old' people are.

Alicia; "Proper superheroes still have powers, but they're like…normal."

BS: "Normal? as in human?"

Alicia; "Yeh. Kinda, like... a mess. Wolverine right? A serious mess, his family are messed up. When he was 13 he attacked some big guy who'd attacked his dad, and thought he had to run away. His home life's a mess. He kinda goes missing from missions to sort out stuff at home."

BS: "I didn't know that."

We all agreed that none of us knew that. Alicia warmed up;

Alicia; "Most of them had a rubbish time when they were kids. Superman, Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, Wolverine...different powers yeh, but all of them, like,  their parents were killed when they were little."

The sound of actual pennies dropping would have been deafening.

Alicia; "So…yeah."

Our SW shrwedly felt enough had been said and switched the subject back to the comedy of the adults at the table being elderly. She said:

"Well my favourite superhero is the Green Lantern."

Which got gales of laughter, even from me.

Alicia; "See? Jeez. he's a doofus. Like, he's a pizza."

I jumped in;

"Speaking of pizza…"

A hopeful silence…

"It's Chilli sin carne tonight."

Sound of groans…

Me: "But if people eat their salads I might be pursuaded to rent a Wolverine movie for Saturday night…"

Alicia; "Nah, the world's got superhero fatigue. Wouldn't mind The Joker, probably not available yet…"

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ABBA V TAYLOR SWIFT

 Nathan is a good lad, been here nearly two years.

He's grown, but because 'growing up' is gradual and difficult to measure when you see the child every day, it's good to have a Blue Sky social worker visit you and go over progress.

My social worker showed up earlier this week and honsetly, I couldn't do it without her. Mind, she says I could, but then she would would she?

She arrived at 3.30pm, so she could have half an hour with me alone, then Nathan would arrive back from school and she could touch base with him for half an hour.

I told her what was on my mind; a few days back Nathan had said to me in the car;

"When am I going home?"

That question might be the most asked big question that foster carers get from their foster children, and it hurts a little. 

It's only human of us to think; "Look, we give this child a stable home, good food and warmth, a clean bed; and they want to go back to the chaotic home they grew up in; unloved, ill-treated, unfed, freezing, unwashed, and maybe watching and hearing things that would make the blood run cold.

So I mentioned it to my social worker.

She replied; "I know!" Then she added "It's weird. People are drawn back to the life they know."

Then she asked; "Did you talk to Nathan about it?"

I said I did. I said that I reminded Nathan - he knew anyway - that his parents weren't in a good place. His dad was coming up on trial for assault and his mum, who was the victim of the alleged assault, had fled to Lincolnshire. His brothers and sister were living rough.

My social worker asked why it hurt me that he wanted to go home. She was helping me work with my feelings.

I said a piece of me felt rejected.

Then she said this; (hold onto your hat).

She said:

"I remember, two years ago, not long after Nathan arrived, you told me he'd asked if his family could come and live with you in your home, remember?"

I'd forgotten that. She went on:

"You and I talked about it and realised that Nathan wanted them to come and live with you so they'd learn from you how to be a happy family."

She was correct. She then said:

"What's happening now is that Nathan has learned from you how good parents manage happy families, how familes need leaders who help family members care for each other."

I nodded. Then she dealt a whammy:

"Over the last two years Nathan has learned from you and your family how all that works, and he wants to take it to his chaotic family and do for them what you've done for him".

He wanted to foster his own broken people!

My social worker departed and I started cooking tea. I asked Alexa to play anything by Abba, always a sign I'm happy.

Nathan came down and wondered could we listen to Taylor Swift instead.

He's eight years old, I should have mentioned earlier.

Fostering eh?

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IF A CHILD BECOMES "PERMANENT"

 We're going through a period with our middle foster child which some are describing as "seismic".

Now, I try to keep fostering on an even keel. Keep a lid on.The easiest way to work up a foster child is to make a big deal of anything.

For example, there's a poet, Lemn Sissay, who was a foster child and remembers being removed from a foster home by the foster parents' because he'd been caught taking a biscuit from the jar. I seem to recall the foster parents were devout Christians, no judgement on this blog, do so if you want.

What I'm saying is they made the mountain out of a molehill.

Big mistake.

What's going on in our home is this; middle foster child is being made a "Permanent".  That is to say, they become a formal member of our family. No going home for the child. His parents whereabouts are unknown and his significant others are each and every one of them incapable. Mental health.

The child is an orphan, in effect.

So he's joining our family.

You might ask; "Why not adopt?"

We offered but the child is old enough and bright enough to have a say in things, and, to everyone's surprise, has said that he wants to keep things as they are.

See; "No big deals please".

However, there are procedures. When a foster child becomes permanent there's a bit of a fuss, and it might seem to the child to be a big fuss about nothing. This is where my casual approach comes in.

Our social workers, our Blue Sky SW, and the local authority one, have been brilliant as ever.

They sought confirmation that our other family members would be ok with what they have to categorise as a change, which they did with great sensitivity, and got the information they sought.

Once that was done, and the child's school officers had been informed, the child's NHS records updated with his new permament address and new GP, the process got sent 'upstairs' - for want of a better word - for the big guns to chew on.

I wasn't ready for the razzamataz.

Blue Sky were professional and relaxed about it; their top brass are re-assuringly cool and take things in their stride.

But the further it went up the local authority food chain, the bigger the frisson reaction.

It reached a crescendo when the Head of Social Services; yep the HEAD, announced he was going to personally host the event at Social Services headquarters at which the change would be formally rubber-stamped.

For goodness sake!

Blue Sky advised us to go along with the jamboree. Blue Sky work hard to stay on good terms with social services, and they explained to me that having a foster child achieve permanent status is a big feather in the cap. Doesn't happen very often, so when it does the Local Authority like to push the boat out and amplify just how succesful their care programmes can be.

The event was a PR thing!

It fell to me to put a tin lid on the shenanigans so the child didn't get anxious or worked up.

I'd told the child in a matter-of-fact way that they were needed to sit in a boring meeting. I said they could sit at the back and wouldn't be required to say or do anything. It meant a day off school, which always helps, plus I promised to bookend the 'meeting' with a trip to MacDonalds, and follow it up with ice cream.

However…when we arrived we were shown into some sort of presentation zone. It was rammed. Heads of department, office bods, pen-pushers, bottle-washers. The dreaded accounts team.

Standing room only.

We were the only ones without bar-coded lanyards.

For goodness sake x2!

Me and foster child sat at the back hoping no-one would notice.

Announcements were made about the reason for the event, applause. Then the turn of the HEAD of Social Services.

He rose in his three piece suit and paused for effect.

Then he didn't stop. For 45 minutes.

He informed everyone how he had risen through the ranks to proudly become HEAD of Social Services.

He told the audience how much it meant to him to be of service and have the opportunity to help people and help society.

I found myself wondering where he'd been at 2.00am when our foster child was having night terrors, or a meltdown on the way home from Contact?

From the look of him, he was on his sunbed.

Then he moved onto the reason for the 'event' which was to celebrate a wonderful success story. And his part in it.

I kept glancing at our Blue Sky social worker who'd showed up to support us.

She kept shooting a knowing glance back at me while the bloke was going on about his success.

It ended.

The child had become officially our permament placement. Nothing else changed. Not the allowance, not nothing.

Our BS social worker joined the child and I for ice cream.

While the child was in the bathroom she said this;

"Social work is hard. Social Services deal with one nightmare after another, not to mention internal battles about funding and staffing. He only wanted his department to feel good about their work, and he needed to feel good about himself."

And another penny dropped for me…

Our foster child; we'd helped the child along the way.

And that had helped the HEAD of Social Services along the way too.

Ain't fostering grand!

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