SPOILING THEM

 I went to a Blue Sky Christmas dinner and found myslef sitting with a delightful couple. Came into the conversation that they were Muslim. I asked them what Christmas was for them and they replied with a gentle smile "Well, no disrespect, for us this year it's just another Thursday." Then they added; "Unless we are caring for a child who needs to celebrate Christmas."

Our current eldest foster child needs and deserves extra love and care over Christmas. I'm unable to elaborate why, their privacy paramount, suffice to say they find the Winter holiday a massive challenge.

Most children in care do. 

More than anything else, their challenge is their real family and how those people act towards their child, who someone else is caring for because they can't get it right at the present time.

Christmas is a challenge in fostering. And an opportunity.

Going back, 'Amanda' was 7 years old. She had been with us nearly 6 months and was comfortable around us, almost family.

Then Christmas came along.

Amanda, as many looked-after children often do, put on her act of "I'm cool with all this, you guys look after yourselves". So we kind of did.

The build-up to Christmas seemed ok, but the foster parent stays on look-out.

Couldn't have spotted what suddenly happened, no warning.

We heard a sad sound coming from upstairs. 

Amanda was inconsolable, angry, despairing.

Amanda cried herself out. When children in care have an episode they're often particularly reachable immediately afterwards. We talked.

Turned out Amanda was sad that her real family had never done Christmas beyond the partying; alcohol and...confrontations. Turkey? Forget it; no takeaways available back then so they ate crisps and soaked up the liquid with bread and cereal. Presents? No chance, apart from adults arriving with 'gifts' of bottles.

Did Santa come? Did he eat the biscuit put out for him and drink the glass of milk?

More likely he stayed the night and made a lot of noise in mum's bedroom.

We had to turn Amanda around, and it remains one of my joys of fostering that it happened. 

Let me say; like a lot of parents I'm confused about the materialism of Christmas. But; if it fixes something that needs fixing in a poor, lonely, distressed child, it's ok with me.

Amanda came down on Christmas morning a fish out of water. Our own children were already down and buzzing. They knew the drill. Under the tree was a pile of presents, and hanging from the mantlepiece were stockings, each tagged with the name of the child. Amanda saw one labelled "Amanda". I whispered that there were a bunch of big presents under the tree that also had "Amanda" on them.

She took her lead from our kids, who'd been through the ritual before.

They took turns to open each stocking gift, one at a time. They all had a chocolate orange in their stocking, plus a separate wrapped-up real orange.

Dad went into the kitchen and came back with toast.

Medium size presents from under the tree were opened next; CDs, headphones, a bobble hat here, some gloves there. Amanda unwrapped a story book about a comic hero; "Zaneshi".

Crowning moment was the final gift; each child had a main present.

When it was Amanda's turn my heart was pumping for a bunch of reasons. I was desperate for her to feel joy.

She tore off the paper and it dawned on her that her dream had come true.

She stared in wonder at the box.

It was a build-it-yourself model of the mountain lair of Zaneshi.

All Christmas Day - and for months after - Amanda coveted her Himalayan castle even more than she played with it.

Here's the kicker; a couple of days after Christmas she came to me in the kitchen  and asked;

"Mum? How do you peel an orange?"

Her orange.

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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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