HOME FROM HOME

 Anyone who's had a child of their own will know this one;

You're in a supermarket looking for the peanut butter which they re-locate to keep you browsing.

Suddenly you hear a baby crying.

You freeze. A shiver runs down your spine, your body tenses.

It triggers memories of a call to action from the past, when your little one needed you. You'd fly out of bed and run to their room, or drop the potato peeler and, drying your hands on your pants, run to the source of that urgent noise.

Yet on this occasion you're down by the milk, the baby is 3 aisles away and definitely not your problem. But. 

A child's crying is as big a hit to the emotional gut as you can get.

What happened today was this.

I collected youngest foster child from school. Child was quiet in the car, not theatrically needy, but thoughtful.

When we got home the child sloped off upstairs as normal, to change out of school clothes, but didn't come down as usual for a quick snack. I offer a "holding snack" between coming home and tea-time, after all it's 5 hours between school lunch and our 6.00 o'clock tea so it's only fair. And foster children often need to know there's food.

But the child didn't show up. 

I started tea.

Then.

The dread sound, from upstairs. A child sobbing.

Quietly at first, but it grew and grew. When it reached a certain point on the Richter Scale of sobbing I sussed it was a cry for help so I paused the microwave and went patiently upstairs. Never act urgent in fostering, be cool, learned that from an old fostering hand early doors.

Got to the child's bedroom door, it was shut. I said softly:

"Hello? You okay?"

There was a pause in the wailing. Then the wailing came back louder than before.

OK, this was a kid who wanted someone to care. So, as a foster mum, you care.

Long story short, I stood at the door and talked. Most of all I listened. The child had been awarded a badge for being pupil of the month. Or something like that, I haven't got the facts on this badge. It's a cheap badge which is stick-on rather than a sharp point.

I suspect the school chose the child partly to help encourage self-esteem and pride, but it backfired.

Out in the playground a bunch of other kids gave the child grief for being…

Wait for it…

A parentless loser. Someone who should go home (child is ethnic) and (I kid you not) someone who's never read Harry Potter.

In other words; the badge made him feel ten times worse. It triggered his memories and feelings about the many negatives in his whole life so far.

It was a moment that fostering spins on. 

OK so, first I asked if he wanted spag boll for tea or a Maccie D, which he deserved after a rough day.

The concept of sitting down with a Maccie D when everone else was spag boll appealed, but he didn't want any discussion about the badge thing.

But he'd been distracted, and was onto food. So I asked;

"Salt and Vinegar or Cheese and Onion?"

Always give them a choice, so they're in charge.

Poor dear kid, their home, the world, their school; is pain.

Not their foster home.