If you foster with an agency as opposed to with your Local Authority you get better support. OK that's just my opinion, but it's how it seems to me.

I'm not knocking Local Authority care and support of foster parents, but if a foster parent is with an agency they get not one but two social workers offering help, advice and support.

A quick word to non-UK readers of this blog, obviously different countries have different systems, but they're probably fairly similar.

In the UK our country is divided up into Local Authorities which govern local regions of the UK.  They're mostly based on counties. They don't have as much legslative power or authourity as US states have, but they control their own department that deals with fostering, and in the UK that department is called "Social Services".

So what happens here is that if a child needs to come into care it's the Local Authority and their Social Workers who enforce that. 

However, Local Authorities often have a limited number of potential foster carers on their books and that's when fostering agencies can help.

Agencies - and Blue Sky is standout - nurture foster parents from the get-go to approval, puting time, expertise and investment into ensuring that their carers are primed, ready, and - crucually set to be shepherded day-on-day by Blue Sky.

I didn't realise the hard thing of this until way baxck we were about 6 weeks into our fostering. What happened was this;

A girl had been placed with us who had endured many disturbing things in her real home. Khala.

Khala was sort of pre-triggered. "Triggering" is when a person is made to be upset by something that reninds them of something.

A child who gets triggered generally takes a while to become upset; they usually ruminate fof 10-15 minutes about things that have happened, then they get upset.

Khala was, what we labelled "Pre-triggered." Ready to go ballistic almost every moment. 

Me arriving at school to pick her up wearing a hat she hated: anger.

A key in the front door - meltdown.

Being offered a bag of crisps to hold her until tea; hysteria.

So. A tricky one. They all are, mostly.

The Local Authority Social Worker showed up and wanted to know all about Khala, which was cool, we got that; the child is paramount.

The day after next our Blue Sky Social Worker turned up.

And wantwed to know about US.

Look, of course she cared about Khala, but she knew that Khala was the main responsibilty of the `Local Authority. 

And Blue Sky's thing is their foster parents.

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PARENT AND CHILD

 I went to a dinner thing many years ago, the guest speaker was an Air Traffic Controller.

We used to live near a major airport and practically everyone we knew worked at the airport in one capacity or another.

The speaker was chosen from an after-dinner speaker agency a) because he would talk about the airport, and b) because he was known to be terribly funny.

He was hilarious.*

His opening line was pure gold;

"I've been an air traffic controller for 30 years. And I'm going to stick at it until I get it right…"

The expression of theatrical terror on his face had us holding our sides for a full minute.

I mention him because his joke has become a staple reply of mine when anyone asks how long I've been in fostering;

"I've been in fostering for 30 years and I'm going to stick at it until I get it right…"

See, the underlying theme of the gag is that there are always new things to learn, old things to improve on. The consequences of not being quite right in fostering are not as horrendous as a plane crash, but we are dealing with lives.

And improving what we do is one of the reasons we're considering applying for a Parent and Child  placement….again.

We had put our toe in the water with Parent and Child a long time ago. To give you an idea how long ago, it was then entitled "Mother and Baby". Blue Sky updated the title because they discovered that sometimes it was the father who needed help, and the child was not necessarily a baby.

Parent and Child is challenging in a singular, unique, and in many ways harrowing respect.

It's this; the foster parents can be called on to play a pivotal role in a major life-changing decision, namely; whether the parent is up to the job of parenting the child. Or whether it would best for all if the child were removed from the parent and put up for adoption or permanent care.

I hold my hands up and admit that when we first had a Parent and Child placement we wobbled.

We knew in our heart of hearts that the parent probably wasn't up to it, but held out in the hope we could help fix the parent's shortcomings and everything would be alright.

We probably tried too hard to help them stay together. Only out of compassion, but looking back; the child deserved a clean start. There was a waiting list of families who wanted to adopt, and they deserved consideration; the longer the child was being parented by an inadequate parent the more likely that some damage was occurring.

I have to say that Blue Sky were immaculate in guiding us and supporting us as we edged towards reporting to the Local Authority that the parent and child should be split up. The Local Authority needed to look after their budgets and Parent and Child is a big cost to their system. Also; they had the child's needs at the top of their agenda. Looking back, I believe they made up their mind pretty quickly that the child should be put up for adoption, but needed the foster parents (us) to indicate the parent's unchanging inadequacies.

Blue Sky looked after me and our family as their priority, that's how it works with them. They knew we were a family who found it hard to be hard, but sometimes you have to be hard.

Short story long; the child was adopted.

The parent became pregnant again within months her third child, it was all over Facebook. She was not yet 18. Our understanding is that all three are adopted.

We plan to discuss that we might try Parent and Child again with our Blue Sky social worker, to make sure we're not simply trying to prove to ourselves that we know how to learn. Fostering isn't about the foster parents, it's totally about the child.

Since middle child went home (sigh) we have a spare room with a double bed and a cot in the loft...

I'll keep you posted…

* The Air Traffic Controller had us in stiches with stories. Here's two of his;

One morning the pilot and co-pilot of a London to Manchester shuttle were bored. So as the passengers filed aboard they put on coats over their uniforms and sat in empty passenger seats. They allowed 5 minutes to pass before the pilot stood up and said;  "I'm due at a meeting in 35 minutes I can't wait any longer. My father was a pilot in the war, it's not that hard. Can anyone here navigate?" The co-pilot got up and said "I've got an O level in geography". The pilot said "That'll do. Let's you and me take this crate to Manchester.." And off they went up to the cockpit, with the passengers suitably gobsmacked.

And; one afternoon, on a ten hour flight to Los Angeles, the plane on auto-pilot, the pilot tied two long lengths of string to the joystick, one on each arm. He then began backing down the aisle, holding the string taut. When he got to the end of the plane, next to the toilets he said to a woman passenger;

"Could you keep her on a steady course, I'll only be a couple of minutes."

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FOSTERING'S BIG QUESTION; WHO'S NEXT?

 When a foster child goes back to their real home, it means a number of things for the foster home.

One stands out.

You now have a spare bedroom, so the excitement begins again.

We're in that boat today, now middle child has returned home.

First up, Blue Sky check out where we're at with our fostering. They do this with all their foster parents who have a room available. They need to verify that the family in the foster home are ready willing and able to take a new child, and if so what sort of profile would be best for all concerned.

Would we prefer an infant or an older child? Are there any specific features of a potential placement that we would be uncomfortable with?

I usually reply "Try us, send us the child's details, the worst we can do is say "No thanks."

We haven't said "No thanks" yet.

In our way of fostering all children are challenges with the potential to be immensely rewarding, and it's our job to help them feel rewarded and rewarding, and to get them to reward us with their progress through a difficult childhood.

When asked about the profile of our next child I sometimes joke with our Social Worker; "Oh, any of the Sound Of Music children would be okay." and we break into a quick burst of "The hills are alive…".

Then return to the real world.

Fostering desperately needs more Carers.  Everyone who fosters should see themselves as in recruitment.

I've got someone nibbling at the hook right now, an old acquantance I hadn't spoken to for donkeys, who got in touch out of the blue. She said she merely wanted to 'catch up', but quickly raised that she'd heard from a mutual friend that I fostered.

She asked; "How are you finding it?"

It's a hard question to answer in ten seconds; I knew she wanted her first inquiry to sound matter-of-fact and off-the-cuff. But she was deffo interested in learning if fostering was for her.

I replied; "Well I first got approval around the time Duran Duran were the number one band. So if I can stick it out that long, there must be something in it."

The chat meandered elsewhere, but I was pretty sure she'd been Googling "Fostering", and I'm also pretty sure the topic will come up again between us, but it's important I don't get pushy.

Why foster? For me, it's the best thing I've done for literally countless reasons. Those reasons range from the endless highs you get when children say things such as "Can my family come and stay with you to learn what it's like to be a proper family?" to the highs you get when a child that's arrived in turmoil finally settles one afternoon after school with a bag of Hula Hoops and a bottle of Ribena, sucking their thumb while cuddling the dog on the utility room sofa watching a superhero cartoon on a knackered TV with a look of peace all over them.

Fostering helps pay the bills. Foster parents receive an allowance for each night the child is with them. It covers the bills (the child's clothes, food, transport and other) but still leaves a substantial amount to help the foster parents maintain their home and family. Plus (not to sound mercenary) the Tax people treat the income in a special way such that we retain the lion's share. 

I'm not saying people should consider fostering for the money, but we all have to eat and mend the roof.

Short story long; we had our Annual Review with Blue Sky yesterday. Goodness, Blue Sky leave no stone unturned. Our SW filled in a 10 page questionairre about us and our fostering. We signed it off and it was passed up to an independent Review Officer who read it cover-to-cover, then we all got together for a video conference that lasted best part of two hours.

We passed. No recommendations!

Actually it was very enjoyable, very therauputic. In my experience of the workplace from the past you rarely recieved a quality interface on how you are in your job, what's working, what could be even better. But that's what the Annual Review is.

The Annual Review usually ends with the Review Officer inquiring "What's next for you in fostering?"

Which translates as "Please keep going!"

To which we replied "We're thinking of asking for a Parent and Child placement…"

In many ways, one of the biggies.

I'll keep you posted...

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PUTTING ONE OVER

 Sometimes being in fostering has hidden perks.

So there I was in the doctors' waiting room waiting my turn. I was wet and cold with the winter rain outside.

I needed the doctor to see about a trapped nerve in my neck. It came on suddenly, I'd lain awake at night in discomfort, wondering where it had come from.

Probably picking up toddlers and holding them to my right shoulder (have you noticed almost all mums and dads of babies hold them with their head to the parent's left side, but when they get toddlerish you hold them to the right?)

Sorry, off message.

So. There were about 6 of us sat there staring at our mobile phones, me too, and because I'm who I am I said out loud:

"This weather makes everything feel worse doesn't it?"

There was a muttering of agreement, but one lady chipped in;

"It just goes on doesn't it? Cold and damp and grey. And they say the planet is warming up."

I didn't pick up on that. The planet is not just hotting up, it's burning up. I didn't want anyone thinkng I was a Just Stop Oil militant, although sometimes I wish I was.

Two of the other people waiting were men, they didn't join in the muttering, some men feel difficulties pitching into conversations women are having, I don't know why.

One of the women waiting was rather grand. She was togged up in her best, made up to the nines, hair well done, possibly a wig. Some people with not enough to do in their day turn a trip to the corner shop for a carton of milk into an event and deck up like they're going up west with a new man.

I put my foot in it.

I said; "Oh look at us all on our phones."

The grand lady said, grandly;

"I don't allow them in our house past the front door. When my children and grandchildren come to stay they have to put their mobile phones in a basket next to the front door."

Her remark was about showing herself being ahead of the game.

But you have to be up early to be ahead of a foster parent.

I'd recently been on a Blue Sky training session about mobile phones. Fascinating. I was able to reply to her;

"There are ways young people get round that sort of rule."

She replied "Oh yes? And what that may be? Their phone is sat there in the basket next to the front door."

So I replied;

"Well, I'm not saying your children or grandchildren do this when they come to stay with you. But let's face it, you're confiscating something that's important to them, and you simply might not be as far ahead of them as you think."

She replied; "How can they use their mobile phones when the phones are in the phone basket?"

So I said" "I'm in fostering. We get training in things like this. Do you want to know how the kids get round your phones-in-a-basket rule?"

"Yes!" she replied, a bit smug. How could anyone outwit her?

Answer; a foster child.

So I explained.

"They buy a second mobile phone for peanuts, you can pick one up for a fiver on eBay or at the market. When they get home from school they take the Sim Card out of their second phone and put that phone in the basket. Then they go upstairs, put the Sim into their number one phone and on they go.

The look on Mrs Posh's face was priceless.

It's the sort of street cred stuff we get tutored in by Blue Sky. It helps us know what's going on. The question of how we deal with what's going on in our home as foster parents is down to our own wit, but we have the the support of our social workers. 

Cheap of me, I know, but I enjoyed putting one over on Mrs Grand.

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FOSTERING THROUGH THE NIGHT

 Night time is always worth plenty of thinking about in fostering, because for the foster parent it can seem a lonely time. We get plenty of support, there's always someone at Blue Sky, or whatever one's agency or local authorority is, we can phone or email if there's something. 

During the day.

But out-of-hours (night time), we inevitably feel a tad more alone. Blue Sky have a  24 hour service and that's great, I did call once, and got good advice, but the officers don't quite feel the same as the social workers who know your case inside out.

It's easy, sometimes, to get your foster child to bed. The process towards bedtime almost begins when they get back from school. Weekends are slightly different, but from the evening meal onwards, bedtime looms.

Some kids are cool and go upstairs fine. Some argue the toss wanting another half-hour.

One way or another we parents push a bit and get what we need. 

Then we come downstairs and settle in front of the telly.

But in fostering night-time doesn't end there.

99% of the time, the actual fostering does; the job is done until the following morning. But some nights it's different.

The difference is down to the fact that we know our own children and their sleeping patterns, and have learned them from the day they were born. We get their quirks of going upstairs, getting into bed, being left alone after the usual "Night night, sleep well, see you in the morning."

But when you foster, the evening routine has a twist on normal parenting, not  necessarily a twist for the worst, merely a new thing.

Put simply; we don't know how our foster children sleep.

Just think about the lighting thing;

Some like a nightlight, some like a landing light left on and their door half-open. Some like a full bedsite light on. I had a 17 year-old once, could only sleep with the main bedroom light and the bedsite light on.

Some need to go to sleep wrapped in a duvet on the sofa and get carried upstairs once they've gone.

Some simply fight sleep and are still flipping and flopping at 11.00 o'clock.

A quick story about a girl called Kathy who came aged 14. 

Sorry, this story is unsettling, but has a happy ending.

Kathy's father had been imprisoned, and before she arrived we knew and were informed about the reasons for his conviction. Her mother was limited, and deemed unable to look after the children.

Kathy displayed a need to have her bedroon door permanently shut tight. At first we didn't think anything about it. She would come home from school, go to her room and shut the door hard.

She'd eat with us, then go back to her room and get behind her door, which she shut hard, good as gold.

One night not long after she arrived she'd gone to bed, and my partner happened to go upstairs and ten minutes later she came stomping down in a right tizz.

Long story short; she was triggered by the sound of heavy footsteps outside her bedroom door.

In fostering we foster parents often put two and two together and get four.

We devised a way of going upstairs when it was our bedtime that helped Kathy's nightmares. We tried going upstairs softly softly; succes rate about 4/10. The we tried making abit of noise that was plainly us; 8/10.

Me: (quite loudly) "Here we go upstairs to bed, me and Jim! (not my partner's real name)..  me and Jim, Jim and me… night night anyone who can hear us, tomorrow's Spag Boll, get your order in at breakfast if you want garlic bread or dough balls. G'night all!"

It wasn't a cure-all. How could it be? We had been advised on Kathy's life up to coming into care. She had a mountain to climb and in fostering we foster parents often offer the first little ladder.

I believe our efforts to help her get a good night sleep helped.

We sleep a bit less in fostering. But we sleep better than many.

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EACH CHILD IS UNIQUE

 Remember when we had a working class, a middle class and an upper class?

And 'blue collar' workers and 'white collar' workers?

No?

I do. 

Ah, categorisation was easy not so long ago. Nowadays we have more 'demographies' than you can shake a stick at.

Thanks to fostering I've come to treating each person as an individual and finding out their personal story rather than pigeon-holing them. My thing now is to try not to jump to conclusions about a family because they live on a particular housing estate, or drive a Range Rover, which was a trap I used to fall into.

We looked after a lad, I'll call him Tyrone, who had been removed from his single mum. They shared a modest house on a notorious estate. Social housing. Blue flashing lights every Friday and Saturday night. Tyrone's mum drove a top of the range brand new 4x4 (probably on lease), had a 5 foot TV, and held down some sort of semi-executive financial job with one of the big supermarket chains. 

She was at war with Tyrone's father, a big man with a police record. I was asked to take Tyrone to Contact with his dad. That sort of thing isn't a problem for the foster parent, the routine is that you hand the child over to a Contact Officer, and when it's over they bring the child out to you. You don't have to even see the parents, unless everyone wants to and it's agreed and supervised.

Tyrone's dad lived elsewhere.

Tyrone used to be left alone in the house when his mother went out drinking every night and came home with different men and a multiplex of substances.

Tyrone was a picture of neglect; a child whose mother and father each made it clear to him that he was unwanted, a nuisance. I often wondered if his mum was glad of the respite when social services took him away, if you can believe that. 

We went to work on helping Tyrone develop a sense of belonging and self-worth. It's often a cornerstone job in fostering, and a mighty rewarding  one.

Contact is sometimes sweet, sometimes tricky; not always easy for the child; we foster parents make it work. 

The Contact was in the community hall in the centre of Tyrone's housing estate - a place some people used to call a 'sink estate'.

Tyrone and I arrived early and rather than sit in the car for half-an-hour I suggested we go for a stroll. This was Tyrone's home patch. We hadn't gone more than 100 yards when two young women, both pushing pushchairs, came walking towards us. As soon as they saw Tyrone they lit up and went;

"Tyrone! Hello mate! How you doing?"

Tyrone waved and they exchanged a few pleasantries. 

Tyrone and I carried on walking and went past a house with a low brick wall. Sitting on the wall was a large older woman and a smaller, younger, tattoed girl, both smoking. The same thing happened;

"Hello Tyrone! You alright kiddo?"

Another brief, friendly chat.

This happened over and over. Everyone knew Tyrone. Everyone knew everybody. Except me. I didn't get a word spoken to me, or even an acknowledgement that I was looking after one of theirs.

That's what Tyrone was; 'One of theirs".

Their community.

I could sense the distinct and heady fragrance of... family.

Tyrone didn't have a mum and dad. He had hundreds of mums and dads.

I live in suburbia. It took several years after we moved in before I got to know even the names of some of our neighbours and even then we only got formal, irrelevant chit chat. Tyrone had an entire village.

Tyrone came when I was newish to fostering. I'll give you a clue to how long ago;

10 years back I attended a childrens award ceremony for young people who were either in care or had been in care. My foster child at the time was getting a trophy. It was a great evening. It was at a posh hotel, so to make it a night to remember for our child we booked a suite at the hotel and stayed the night. He had sausage and chips from room service and watched cartoons before nodding off in his adjoining bedroom.

Next evening, while sat at our table waiting for our foster son to be announced I became aware of a pair of eyes on me. A big man, with a small smile at the corners of this mouth. 

Tyrone! 

I went straight over and caught up with him. Married, one child, good job as a self-employed builder. 

Tyrone was announced and went up on stage to collect his award.

Our kid went up after Tyrone and punched the air heading towards centre stage. You never forget moments like that.

So. Tyrone had been brought up on an estate that sociologists (remember them?) would have labelled socio-economic group "E", ("A" being Knighstbridge, "B" being upper middle class suburbia and so on). 

But in terms of communuty it was an A.

I don't know how much my fostering helped Tyrone on his way. I'm absolutely certain that the warmth of the community was a big factor.

So, from that experience onwards I try to make no pre-judgements about kids and parents based on their affluence or lack of it, or their job, or lack of one. 

Of course I reserve judgement on some of the things that happen in homes that children are removed from, but they are specifics and each deserves specific thought.

Each family is unique, each child even more so.

No pigeon holes.

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DO WHAT YOU CAN

 As they grow up children develop two personalities, the public one that we all see, and the private one.

If the child belongs to us we get to know both of their personalities and how to manage them.

We usually know when our own child is upset about something but doesn't want to talk about it. We can often work out what it is; it might be a problem with a friend or a setback at school. Or maybe they've lucked out on their current Gamebox game.

We can work out that if the scissors aren't in their usual kitchen drawer someone's probably borrowed them to cut their own hair and haven't put them back. We usually know them well enough to say either;

a) "Your hair's looking nice"

Or

b) "Have you seen the scissors on your travels?"

Or

c) We say nothing at all, but have a quick shufti in their room next time they're out and check the bathroom sink for hairs as it's the favourite place for a quick trim, nice big mirror and a door they can lock.

We know them inside out and that makes parenting them all the easier.

Different in fostering isn't it?

When a new child arrives we've usually seen paperwork about their history, but that never prepares us fully for their actual arrival. From the moment they step through the door we begin a lightning fast learning experience; the more we can understand them, the better we can foster them.

We knew, for example, that one of Raphael's favourite meals was pizza, but didn't know that he never, ever, ever.. ate the crusts. That is, he never wanted to. We found out soon enough that he'd been forced to eat crusts. Crusts were some sort of trigger. He was frightened/repulsed by them. As soon as we made the discovery I took to snipping the crusts off with the same pair of scissors that had frecently gone missing. Raphael had borrowed them to  trim his own hair.

But he hadn't been with us long enough for me to know which response to the scissors thing of a, b, or c would be best. You don't want a pair of kitchen scissors to stay in any eight-year old child's bedroom longer than necessary, just to be on the safe side. Nor do you want to make a mountain out of a molehill. 

Didn't need to make the decision, as he came downstairs later the same day carrying the scissors by the blades and walking very slowly, with the scissors scrupulously  pointing downwards.

From his behaviour we began to learn that his parents had drummed certain things into him to make sure he was "safe". Yet social services judged that on their evidence his home, and his parents' parenting, was unsafe. Yet his parents, who we hadn't met yet, had strict rules about things they thought made proper parenting. They made him stay at the table until he'd finished every last crumb of his food, which they believed would somehow make him a better person.

They'd made Raphael brush his teeth to a slow count of one hundred to 'get rid of all the germs'. We drew this out of him when we asked why he brushed his teeth for an age three times a day.

Our social workers were professional about the nature of Raphael's parents' parenting, but advised us that our latest young arrival was being brought up in a household where he was subjected to extreme supervision. Social Services had been alerted by his school, where teachers had grown concerned about Raphael's anxieties. His constant hand-washing, his huge meltdowns if his painting wasn't a new Mona Lisa. 

Children (and adults) often fall victim to hyper-anxiety for almost no reason, but his school gently took him aside and became aware of the regime he was living under in his own house.

So, with Raphael, we went to work. We made small but important adjustments around the house to help him loosen up.

We'd leave the washing up, we'd not polish the cutlery at teatime, we'd leave his socks on the floor of his room. 

These were all things we were informed, had been taboo in his home.

How much of a help was our fostering, using this programme? We'll never know. At best, probably a bit.

We tried.

Bottom line is this; we worked our way into our foster child's personality, and unobtrusively tried to use what we learned to help him. You can't do much more than that.

Probably a maxim for fostering; "Do what you can for them, you can't do much more than that."

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WHEN THEY GO HOME

 Middle foster child is getting ready to be returned home.

It ought to be a red-letter day for foster parents, because the job of fostering is, in a nutshell, helping the child's family come together again, with safety for all ensured.

It's always tinged though.

When the child is driven away from your home, posessions neatly packed in proper luggage, a few mementoes should be included. This one's going to get to keep a daft baseball cap formerly belonging to somebody who left it here after a gathering. The child likes to wear it backwards so the slogan faces forward; "I'm not arguing, just explaining why I'm right".

There'll also be a card from everyone in the house at the bottom of one of the bags so the child won't get it until they're unpacking. It'll consist of a few words from each of us, a few memories of happy days here, and best wishes for the future.

I'm going to write a paragraph about the time he got separated from us in a giant Tesco. He'd wandered off, or maybe we'd wandered off. We hooked up again after no more than a minute, and always knew where he was because his mobile phone had a wee app that allowed us to track his location. When we found each other again we all laughed. We said "We were getting a bit worried about you!" to which he replied "I was getting a bit worried about YOU!"

Brilliant moment. I'll also write a line about how much we'll miss him, but hope things work out better than ever for his future.

I'll probably mist up when waving goodbye, always happy about the emotions in fostering. Part of my sadness at slight loss are triggered by an experience outside fostering; and I can't remember if I've ever mentioned this on the Secret Foster Carer blog. Our next-door neighbours lost a child who died. They were - and still are, many years on - distraught and in limbo about the loss. They are wonderful people and utterly heroic. In the months afterwards I spent as much time as I could sitting at their kitchen table drinking tea and listening. They were hugely grateful, especially the dad, who struggled with the loss more than his partner and their other children, or so it seemed. From time to time he asked how come I could be so helpful about their loss, and I said I could only guess that it came in part from getting in touch with the sensibilities of loving care you need in fostering, plus the experience of exposure to family difficulties.

Here's one big thing about it; their child had his own bedroom, and the bedroom is still exactly as it was when the child left home to go to the party from which he never returned. Discarded socks are still on the floor, the bed's unmade, the door kept half ajar, just as it was when a police officer knocked on their front door to bring them the worst imaginable news.

When a foster child leaves to go home, it's nowhere near the loss our neighbours are still suffering, but you still miss them, and have to deal with an element of loss. I find it helps to return their bedroom to neutral as soon as possible, get it ready for a new arrival. 

The departed child is high in your mind until the phone rings and Blue Sky's placement team say;

"Would you consider taking a child who…"

Heady stuff.

My partner and I had a rough day the other Sunday; eldest foster child was feeling low, our eldest real child is not in the best place, the elderly dog we're looking after to help out a family member is going downhill fast. My partner has two close family members both needing profound medical treatment. It's harrowing how sometimes in life things bundle up.

We sat in the living room early last Sunday morning drinking tea, and found ourselves going through all the foster children we've had placed with us.

We went through the full list, remembering each of them easily enough, only struggling about the order they arrived here. We managed all their names, and swapped reminiscences of each of them; funny moments, poignant ones. We really enjoyed remembering them - memories are always a bit rose-tinted - and found ourselves laughing and privately reminding ourselves that fostering is the best thing we've done. We shared our fears that one or two of them might be struggling now, just as so many ordinary young people are.

By the time we were ready to flip from tea to coffee, we were feeling 1000% better.

I've got a painful shoulder at the moment, it spasms now and then, probably caused by picking up and carrying our sturdiest grandchild for the last year or so. My GP says it'll mend itself but in the meantime offered to prescribe Diazepam to relax the muscles. 

I declined. Fostering relaxes me - not all the time - but when I really need it, it's there for me.

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