FOSTERING AND BEDTIMES

 Bedtimes are slightly different in fostering.

If you don't have children to put to bed you don't know you're born, as my dad used to say.

If the Bedtimes are simply your own children things can still get complicated, but a routine gradually takes shape. The routine takes everything into account; age differences, which day of the week it is, the order of events, and more. It starts with the youngest and works its way up to the eldest. The first of the bedtime routines might kick off for youngest at 7.00pm, and might not finish until eldest at 9.00pm. Repetition is important. If you can get all the little events set in stone there's less wiggle room for argument.

We must never forget there's an understandable drive in kids to stay up as late as they can wangle. However if you have an unchanging family dynamic you're halfway there.

However. The business of Bedtime is slightly altered once you start fostering.

We had three children of our own when we began fostering. Our first foster child was aged ten, a couple of years older than our eldest, so technically the foster child should have been the last one to go up. Whether or not the foster child gets an extra half-hour downstairs after all the others have gone up is one of those seemingly innocuous things that are actually huge. Bedtimes are one of my regular conversations with our Blue Sky social worker when we get our 2/3 hour visit. These visits, by the way, are tailored to everyone's needs. Mine are currently monthly.

We chat about all the issues. In the case of our first foster child the issues included whether our own children would somehow feel miffed that a total stranger has somehow usurped them. We talked at length about what it would mean, especially to our eldest. In our case our eldest, though only eight at the time, was pretty level headed about most things. We took him into our confidence, explaining that if he went to bed cheerfully and without argument he would be a good role model for our new foster child. Our eldest rose to the responsibility. In return eldest would receive longer time in bed with the light on for reading.

BTW, for 'reading' make that 'game time' - we knew it, and he knew we knew it, but so what…? 

We agreed that if our new foster child tried to pitch for longer staying-up time our trump card would be that we were tired, and since we were going to bed he'd have to as well because he couldn't stay downstairs on his own.

This wasn't merely a tactical call; I remember we were genuinely whacked.

Bedtimes can be fraught at the best of times, but despite the battles there's always that moment of triumph when your plan has come together and they are all tucked up.

And me and my other half can have a breather.

And an early night...

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PRAISE BE ICE CREAM

 Catriona came to us in a flurry.

It could have been a disaster, but my oldest trick came through.

Normally there's a measured process about a child arriving at your home for fostering.

For carers with an agency such as Blue Sky the process usually begins with a daytime phone call asking if you might be willing to take a child who needs to be fostered. 

The phone call gives a pen picture of the child and her circumstances, and, if there are no obvious problems Blue Sky put you down as a possible. They ping your details to the Local Authority which has ultimate responsibility for the child, to see if you fit the bill. Blue Sky send you everything they have that's known about the child, so you can consolidate your willingness.

I can't tell you how exhilarating this episode is! The prospect of a child arriving into your care, becoming part of your home, enjoying your parenting - whatever they've endured - it's heady stuff.

Catriona arrived by a slightly different route.

The phone call came late one night.

Blue Sky had been contacted by a Local Authority which had suddenly taken a child into care.

See, generally a child is taken into care after a process of investigation into the home life of the child by Local Authority social workers. They trawl through the situations in the home and evaluate if the child/children are at risk of safeguarding issues. 

If the social workers decide there are sufficient concerns they trigger a high level pow-wow review of the child's vulnerablity, which then decides if the child is to be taken into care.

All very measured.

However, not so with Catriona.

My phone pinged. The time was just after midnight. Blue Sky calling. I was on their list as a potential emergency carer. 

The question I was asked was; would I be willing to take a child who police had found wandering the streets in a dubious part of town. The child said her name was Catriona, but blanked other questions such as "Where do you live?", "Who are your mummy or daddy?", "Why are you out of the house at this late hour?"

The officers contacted the Local Authority's 24 hour service, and they put the word out that a bed was needed for a child, and fast.

I said "Yes" and literally ten minutes later a squad car was on its way.

See, the alternative accomodation for Catriona was a police cell, and no-one wants that.

I dressed myself, did a quick zizz of the spare bedroom and boiled a kettle. 

Catriona arrived with two officers, a female and a male. Their care for the child made my heart glow. 

It was agreed that almost all the necessary paperwork could wait until the morning, they made a couple of phone calls, jotted some notes, told me what they'd noted, and departed.

Catriona was well presented, smart even.  It turned out that her good appearance was her own doing, her family didn't give a tinker's cuss about her.

She was totally tight-lipped. I asked about how she was, she shrugged. I asked if she needed the bathroon, she didn't even shrug, just stared down at the kitchen table .

So I fell back on my cheapest trick. I went to the freezer and said "Well as it's late I'm going to have a bowl of ice cream. Not sure whether to have chocolate or strawberry…"

I saw her perk up a little, so I added "How about you? Chocolate or strawberry?'

I watched her litttle face as she wrestled with the problem. The REAL problem.

The real problem wasn't chocolate or strawberry. The real problem was whether to relax and engage with a  stranger of an adult.

Catriona gave in;

"Chocolate…please."

Cue engagement.

Ok, we didn't talk way into the night, but ice cream had broken the ice.

She absolutley savoured every spoonfull.

Catriona wasn't with us very long, a more permanent foster home was secured a better distance from her chaotic home.

But I'll never forget her licking the spoon.

Or, even better, her smile and nod when I asked:

"D'you want a drop more?"

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SAFE FOSTERING

 I can't fully remember the last block of time in our home when we didn't have a single foster child in our care.

This has been wonderful of course, but it also has it's constraints.

I can't remember the last time I was able to nip across the landing to the bathroom in my nightclothes without slipping a dressing gown on first.

Even if I was bursting😅…

Plenty of times I'm on the horns of a miniature dilemma. For example I might discover there's not enough bread for tomorrow's school lunches.

I need to buzz to the corner shop. Only 200 yards. But should I? My own kids are ok to leave unsupervised for 5 minutes, but when one or more of the children in one's house are foster children it's a bit different; you have to make some tight decisions. 

Do you know them well enough, even if they're old enough? Is there anything in their background that means that being left at home (even for a mere 5 minutes) could be a trigger?

Then I find I do a quick bout of "catastophising" (where you imagine the worst). You picture the boiler suddenly melting, or a plug fusing and flames belching out.

These dilemmas are always sorted with common sense, in the above case I'd err on the side of caution. But they add a layer of reasonable concern to the normal considerations of safe home life.

Example;

Eleanor came to us aged eleven. A very adult aged eleven, as can often be the case with children coming in to care. They've been around the block more than the average child their age.

During her third week with us she asked if she could take her pocket money to the corner shop and get some sweets.

Eleanor had done her homework. She had found out that my youngest was allowed to go to the corner shop as long as she came straight back, and, Eleanor pointed out, our youngest is two years younger than Eleanor.

She knew where the shop was - she'd spotted it from the car on the school runs.

She remided me that to get to it she didn't need to cross a road.

She's saved her pocket money and deserved a humble bag of Haribos plus the feelgood feeling of being grown up.

And trusted.

What would YOU have said?

I didn't say anything that would have reminded her that she was in care, that would have risked harming the process of creating respect and care between us.

So. Just as with my own kids, I asked her not to speak to anyone except the person on the till. I asked her to go straight there and not spend too much time browsing (I knew she'd dawdle a little - all part of the fun).

I didn't tell her I'd be watching all the way there and back. See, we have a rather sparse hedge on the side of the front garden. You can see through it, but passers-by can't see you.

Perfect.

Mission was accomplished, total success. The spag boll didn't even catch, I'd turned it off to avoid distractions.

My other half, when I told him said; "Like I always say, you should've been SAS".

Funnily enough, Eleanor never asked to do it again. I guess she was just ticking it off as a credential; interesting.

Like I always say; fostering is wonderful. 

On top of that, it's nothing if not interesting.

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HERE COMES A SCHOOL HOLIDAY...

 Approaching every school summer holiday I resolve to get ahead, have things planned. Don't get caught unawares as I usually used to.

Result; no change. The last day of term - the summer term especially - still creeps up on you unannounced, camouflaged by end-of-term exam stress, sorting out if your foster child is staying with you throughout or not, stocking up, booking days out and travel.

And if you're going abroad for your summer vacation, good luck. We took a foster child to Spain a few summers running and it was great, but we resolved after Brexit to go no further abroad than the Isle of Wight. However if you do need guaranteed sun bear in mind it's a long haul day even if it's a short haul flight. Whatever your plans, enjoy!

Every school holiday in fostering - even the 'short' half term breaks - follow the same pattern.

Your child spends the first day 'chilling', luxuriating in the bliss of freedom.

Day two, up goes the shout "I'm bored!"

And besides all the standard day-to-day duties of the foster parent, you are now an entertainments officer.

You offer organised activities, saying;

"There's a playgroup/football club/cricket/golf/pony riding/swimming/rock climbing thing organised in town."

To mixed response. When I say 'mixed response' I'm talking somewhere betweem "You're joking!" and "No chance".

Jobs, to earn extra pocket money, often get some traction. "Jobs" such as accompanying me on the dog walk, which gets a taker now and then, or cooking the evening meal (aka making a huge mess in the kitchen for muggins to clear up). They fill another day.

I think I've learned to do nothing in the morning, but talk up what's planned for the afternoon (the 'something to look forward to' ploy.

They can whittle the morning away on tech or TV while you hoover and peg out a wash.

Know what's my jewel in the crown? There's an old field near us we can walk to, and take the dog. It's got a medium sized tree near a shallow stream. I bring a carrier nag with some snacks in it (aka "a picnic") and they'll stay all day. Making up games, getting wet, climbing a bit of the tree, snacking. Shrieking as the dog goes for a splash.

Laughing, running, lying on their back in the sun.

They don't want the day to end.

I don't either…

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FWIW

I heard that our late and much-missed Queen was being given a guided tour around a newspaper office in Fleet Street. She stopped to have a word with a veteran hard-bitten journalist.

"How long have you worked here?" she asked.

"Forty two years." Came the reply.

"Goodness,' said Her Majesty "You must have seen a great many changes in that time?"

The man thought for a moment then replied;

"Not really…"

The Queen didn't miss a beat, she went; "How interesting..."

and drifted away.

I mention this story because it's just dawned on me that I've been an accredited foster parent for nearly as long as that world-weary hack.

And am I dulled by the neverending ups and downs of fostering?

Not yet, not by any stretch.

But if her Maj had asked me if I'd seen a great many changes in fostering my answer would be the same as the man's.

Because the basics are what they always were and always will be; to help a needy child/children get through a nightmare part of their young lives, providing each child with what they need as individuals. A freshly made bed, the right clothes, good food, good company and the warmth of a good home.

Plus helping them get back to their real homes with a better chance of the chaos being reduced or even conquered.

Oh, for sure there's a bit more paperwork in places. Rules and regulations get tweaked and polished, but I always keep in mind a great bit of advice I was given by a Blue Sky director way back. He said "If ever you're not sure about something, there's always common sense to come to the rescue."

One thing that has changed is this. Back when I started there were no mobile phones. And you don't need me to tell you that we are all ultra-reliant on them for SO many things.

Parents have had to learn a whole new language in order to have any useful engagement with our kids in care.

How many of the below are you familiar with?

• IMO: In my opinion.
• BRB: Be right back.
• JK: Just kidding.
• NVM: Never mind.
• TBH: To be honest.
• TMI: Too much information.
• YOLO: You only live once.
• IRL: In real life.
• LMK: Let me know.
• NBD: No big deal.
• NP: No problem.
• FWIW: For what it's worth.
• FYI: For your information.
• GG: Good game.
• FOMO: Fear of missing out.
• TFW: That feeling when. 

 

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UNANNOUNCED DELIGHT

 Just had an "unannounced visit".

So; this is where your Blue Sky social worker turns up without giving notice. Happens infrequently, but I'm glad it happens.

It's something that one can see the importance of, but a newcomer might take it slightly the wrong way; as if someone's suspecting one of putting on a performance of fostering when one knows a social worker has booked a visit in advance, and the rest of the time one fosters to lower standards.

Part of the reason I'm all in favour of unannounced visits is that way back we took in a child whose parents were often reported to Social Services by neighbours, but the social workers would telephone ahead and fix appointments to visit and check. The children were intimidated into saying they were loved and cared for, despite the fact they were being abused.

There's light years between that scenario and Blue Sky's levels of care - which prioritises us foster parents, not just the children - but I keep it in my mind as salient.

And, crucially, "unannounced visits" aren't random; everyone gets the same and the same amount of them. It's a standard.

But the thing that takes any edge off these visits is the way Blue Sky do it.

And BTW I have no idea if fostering folk who work under local authorities or other agencies get unannounced visits; all I know is how our people do it.

They turn up with big smiles. Make you feel like they enjoy your company so much they were made up when they were allocated making a surprise visit to you.

The thing about unannounced visits is that Blue Sky social workers have a job to do; to double check we carers are okay and getting everything as good as we can. But one can always sense that they're careful of not making us feel under scrutiny.

No-one wants to be under scrutiny, but it's one of life's neverending burdens; the boss, management, one's schoolteachers, parking wardens…the neighbourhood nosey parker who checks other people's wheelie bins are put out right…

However. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, does this type of checking up better than Blue Sky.

So;  our social worker turned up, beaming smiles, like it was a drop-in for coffee and gossip. 

And in a way it was exactly that; she came in, fussed our dog, went through our tub of herbal tea bags choosing a peppermint tea and settled at our kitchen table with me and my cuppa, and we had a blast. Nattering and laughing, it was a real boost.

But. The professionalism was never out of comission. 

She wanted know how are things, how's the fostering, how's our life, how is fostering working with the rest of our family lives.

Then; a bombshell.

One of our children struggles to get to school. We do everything we can to get the child to school, but the child is dealing with medical/emotional challenges (nothing alarming, simply the residue of a lifelong chaotic family). In our house we manage the child's school attendance using common sense. We get the child to school every day, sometimes it stretches our commitment, but it's what they need.

Once in a blue moon it's not do-able. Same as with other children, and our allies; Blue Sky, the local authority, the school itself, recognise and understand.

As chance would have it, the unannounced visit happened to be a day when our foster child had simply no chance of going to school. The child's fears, anxieties and suppressed angers, were too much.

So; downstairs I had a social workere checking out we were getting our fostering right. And upstairs we had a foster child who should be at school but isn't.

The child struggles to engage with people, but is improving.

The child struggles with authority thanks to poor parenting.

The child has always resisted engaging with social workers, but we're working on it.

I texted the child that our social worker had dropped in unannounced.

Never expected what happened next.

After a half hour the child suddenly appeared at the kitchen door. Swanned in and said a confident "Hi" to us. Our social worker didn't milk the moment, but I could tell she was lit up.

Child sauntered to the kettle and made a cup of instant.

Then the child came and sat with us and chatted. A milestone.

Yes, there were machinations going on; the child was saying "Look how much I benefit from skipping school sometimes."

Bottom line; it all worked out Jim Dandy.

The child is starting to attend school better and better. Our social worker was knocked out.

And I got to feel a rush of pride and happiness that my fostering was going along okey dokey.

And for me, as ever, fostering is more than okey dokey.

It's the bees knees.

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HOW TO STAY SAFE

 Safeguarding is a big thing in fostering, but there's a bit more to safeguarding than keeping the child safe.

You (the foster parent) have to make sure you keep yourself safe too. 

A few words about keeping yourself safe…

…on one level it's a matter of taking sensible precautions to make sure nobody could misinterpret any aspect of your fostering and hold anything against you. From time to time we get the real parents hoping to pick holes in our fostering.

I understand their need; their child has been removed because the real parents have been judged to be getting their parenting wrong and, rather than look at their own behaviour, they take the mindset of "Who do they think they are, these foster parents? They think they're better than me?" And they start searching for flaws in what we do.

It's rare, I've only had to deal with this twice in a couple of decades.

Eg: At Contact, one mum: 

a) "Where's his coat? It's freezing. I'd never let him outside in this weather without a coat!"

b) "He says he's allowed up until midnight on Saturdays, I'd never allow, it's bad for him."

c) "You shouldn't give him sweets after Contact, his teeth'll fall out."

Mind, this sort of nitpicking is mild compared to what can (on rare ocassions) be out there;

I attended last month's Blue Sky support meeting. These meetings are about bonding with fellow foster parents and sharing with and supporting each other.

Most of the morning was taken up discussing a particular incident that resulted in a ten year-old foster child being removed from a foster parent.

It seemed that what happened was…

The foster mum was escorting the child from a car park towards a Contact Centre to meet his real mother, and had to cross a busy main road. It had a Pelican Crossing, which got them halfway, then they had to wait.

The real parent was in her car, and watching.

Watching like a hawk.

The Pelican light showed "Don't Walk", but there was a sudden gap in the traffic. The child made a move to cross, but the foster mum grabbed his hand and he stepped back onto the island.

Then, jokingly, the foster mum mimed giving him a clip round the ear. She didn't touch him, and remembered saying something like "Don't be silly, I'm not scraping you off the road." The child laughed, might have learned an important lesson, and waited for the green man.

The real mother made a formal complaint to the local authority (who have ultimate juristiction over every foster child).

And almost before Blue Sky could swing into action the child was removed and on his way to an emergency foster home!

So now Blue Sky do their "Thunderbirds Are Go" thing. They fly over to the foster mum and work out what actually happened. 

Plus they completely assure the foster mum that Blue Sky help, support and protect the foster mum.

It all worked out great.

Long story short;

It was a sucessful Support Meeting. Foster parents all supporting a comrade. All discussing the minute detail of the incident. Talking about;

Did the foster mum use too much force grabbing the child's arm to keep him off the road?

Was the swish of her hand a bit threatening? (The real mother alledged she hit the child, but the child confirmed it was an 'air shot'. Done in fun, but with a message).

Result; the child was back with her wonderful foster mum in a trice.

The Support Metting moved on to what we'd learned. Stuff such as;

a) Stay aware of anything could be misinterpreted by someone with malice aforethought.

b) Blue Sky will always guard your back. And do it brilliantly.

The remainder of the Support Meeting went to how we could help the foster mum, who felt bruised by the incident. I think we did.

You're never alone in fostering, but when you are alone with the child, pay attention.

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HOME EDUCATION?

 There's a worrying trend taking hold across the UK; namely more and more children are being 'home educated'.

If home education was being done by trained professionals that would be one thing.

But it's not.

Sad to say - I confess there are not enough facts and figures to confirm my fears - most home education is nothing more or less than that parents simply can't be bothered with the effort it can take to get their kids to school.

Children are required to be educated. Hard though it often is to pursuade them, they HAVE to go.

Unless.

While the government, or to be precise the Department of Education, takes the stance that "all children between the age of 5 and 18 must be in education either at school or college" they appear to often tag an ambiguous "or otherwise" onto the back end of this pledge.

It's perfectly understandable that many children are simply unable to cope with the tumult of great big schools teeming with loud gigantic pupils and teachers too rushed off their feet to notice.

It right and proper that the system allows some flexibility there.

Then there are children so wayward that they disrupt every class, every aspect of school life. The school ends up excluding them. 

The state has the right to fine parents who take their children on holiday during term time, and occasionally we see a headline-grabbing story where that has happened (highly publicised to act as a warning, perhaps).

The big worry for me, and most foster parents is the allegedly growing number of children who aren't in school because a) they don't want to go and b) their parents can't be bothered.

We had a girl, 15, who came to us from a badly chaotic home having hardly been in school at all.

Both her parents had physical, mental and emotional problems.

We found an academy school for her, and for a few weeks she 'gave it a go'. It was a 20 minute drive, and I did the driving.

Then she got fed up with it. Excuses ranged from stomach ache to being bullied. A teacher, she said, had implied she was overweight. She was disciplined one moring when the traffic was a bear and she was 10 minutes late. Her 'friends' turned on her. She hated the packed lunch I made her, and the school food was disgusting. She had an embarrasing spot on her nose.

You get the picture.

One morning she was due an appointment at our local hospital to give a sample of blood for tests.

She refused because it would mean she'd be an hour late for school and there'd be ridicule.

But, I won. And it was the first turning over of a new leaf.

How? I bribed her. No other word for it.

I said "Look, if we do this blood test thing the route to school from the hospital takes us past the MacDonalds on the roundabout.

She got the offer, the deal, in a heartbeat and jumped in the car.

Never, EVER, underestimate the gold standard treat that is a MaccyD takeaway.

So, yes, she enjoyed a MacDonald breakfast every morning on the way to school for her entire stay with us. 

The school was happy, social services bought it, Blue Sky bought it (with the same reservations as I) the state rested easy, I accepted the stand-off. 

But. The reason I wanted to talk with you about the problem of children missing out on school is unlikely to be solved with well-intended manipulation.

One thing that's going to start happening is that children will be increasingly coming into Care who have no reading or writing skills, can't dress themselves, don't know how to use a knife and fork. And the rest.

What's the answer?

That I do not know, which is why I'm not a politician, I'm a humble foster parent.

Proud of my past and present.

A bit concerned about the future.

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THE GOLD THAT IS FOSTERING

 Had a wonderful visit from Blue Sky yesterday. It was our regular social worker plus her boss.

We all sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and talked about…fostering.

Then we talks about fostering, followed by fostering, then went on to fostering.

You get my drift.

I can't fully express my gratitude for the support that's available in fostering. People think you're on your own, and nothing could be further from the truth.

The boss, who I'd only met once before, and only for 30 seconds, turned out to be (as I had expected), bright and kind. Those are the 2 traits my family hope for in people, and try to instill in our foster kids. We attempt it by being a good role model, and rewarding kindness and good thinking.

When I say "bright and kind" in reference to social workers I'm always impressed a) by their professionalism, their knowledge and precision of thought, and b) their humanity, empathy and powers of engagement.

If you are working with a foster child that has issues (who doesn't?), it's marvellous to sit down with people who, for want of a better way of putting it; "get it".

We talked about our transitioning child. Alicia is journeying from one gender to another. 

I'm afraid that if the subject comes up when you're talking to people, they say something ill-informed such as "Well, it's all the rage now isn't it?"

Not your social workers. They have a dynamised understanding. They understand your foster kids, they understand you (the foster parent) and your family. They understand your background, your hopes and fears for your kids, and kids everywhere.

You're never, ever, alone in fostering.

I said as they left "Your visits really put a spring in my step"

And d'you know what one of them replied?

"Visiting you always puts a spring in our step too."

Fostering. Pure gold.

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THING IS, TODAY'S KIDS ARE DIFFERENT FROM US

 Our transitioning foster child seems to be doing really well. In Care you have to be aware that things can be going on in a foster child's heart and mind that they try to conceal. But how to spot those things? 

That's one of fostering biggest challenges.

The longer a child is with you the easier it becomes.

The better you know them the easier it is to ask the right questions. 

And you've always got your social worker visiting who wants to know how you and your children are doing.

Transitioning must be incredibly challenging, especially when the 'child' reaches  the edge of adulthood age when youngsters start to become aware of romance…love...attraction. 

All that jazz.

Our child often has friends round socially, one or two of whom are transitioning. The ones who aren't transitioning are highly supportive of their friends that are. It's an absolute joy to watch and hear them laughing and chatting without a hint of the judgementalism that too many people who know nothing about the matter chuck at people who, in the main, just want to be themselves and not bother - or judge - anyone else.

I've had conversations with our other foster children about 'Alicia' and they are 'cool' about the whole thing. I'm nervous in case during Contact they talk to their family members about the fact we have a transitioning child, and the family show hostility, but it hasn't happened yet.

No, what has happened that knocked Alicia off course is that a close family member is highly anti transitioning. It's a woman, an aunt. And I had to eek the information out of Alicia because she hoped to deal with it solo.

But it turned out she WANTED me to ask her. She wanted to bring me up to speed on the concern, but needed to control the flow of information. Fine, I was happy to oblige.

It turned out the aunt who is anti-transitioning is having one of the big "0" birthdays and wants (and expects) a big party. The aunt has let it be known that she'll welcome Alicia, but she has to dress and act as the "Troy' he used to be.

Imagine.

Alicia's best friend at the moment happens to be a youngster who is transitioning from female to male. A wonderful young kid too. They're not an 'item' in the old-fashioned sense. I've noticed them in the back room watching Netflix with one arm round each other, but in a buddy way, not a "netflix" way (if you know what I mean…).

Alicia did it like this.

I'm cooking tea when she breezes through and says "Oh ye, I meant to tell you, I've been invited to a gathering with a bunch of family, so like, could I get a lift there… like…it's a Sunday afternoon…and yeah... it's like a bit y'know…complicated?"

I said "Sure".

She waited for a moment, then: "Ye, like…I don't even know if I'm definitely going or not."

I said if she wanted to go I'd drive there and pick up. I left it like that, for the time being. Her ultra 'casual' raising of the issue had been a big deal and I didn't want to pump for info.

Over the following weeks the picture got more detailed. She told me about the aunt, how they'd been close when she was little because her parents frequently lost the plot. Alicia'd lived with the aunt temporarily several times.

Alicia was economical with the truth, but I picked up on quite a few conversations she had with friends about the dilemma. 

It's amazing how kids think that when you're doing the washing up you lose the sense of hearing…

I heard them analysing the aunt and getting Alicia to tell them all about her.

I overheard kids not anywhere near old enough to be classed as adults bandying sophisticated well-informed perceptions about modern middle-aged people with eloquence and…

And….?

This "And" is the best bit. With understanding and tolerance. Saying things such as;

"There wasn't any transitioning in their day, we can't expect them to understand."

"It's normal for people to want children to remain children and feel disappointment when they grow up different from how they were."

Then there was this one, from Alicia;

"Y'know what I think? I think maybe she's worried that people will think it was her that made me want to transition."

I have no idea if there was anything in Alicia's insight. I took it as evidence of an awareness that can get a person out of a lot of personal scrapes in life, if they listen to their own voices offering useful observations about their own thinking and their behaviour.

I also overheard that Alicia wanted to take her best friend to the party for moral support. The friend who is transitioning from female to male.

Because they'd become 'close'.

Now, you want to know, did Alicia go to the party?

Can't tell you yet. The party is still 3 weeks off.

Watch this space.

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THE SADNESS OF THE TENDER HEART

 One of the big challenges in fostering is saying goodbye to a child who's been with you for some time.

It ought to be an unmitigated joy because it means you've played your part in helping rebuild the life of a distressed child and worked alongside all the other services to get the family back together.

In fact, I was advised when I first started fostering that the name of the game is to get them home again.

But Rome rarely gets built in a day, and sometimes the building blocks of getting a chaotic family back on their feet take an a while to get set up and tested.

However it's a triumph that's coloured by an impending sense that one is losing someone.

You know you'll miss them and their quirky ways.

The thing that makes it even harder is that one has to largely put them behind you. Oh, for sure there are ways of keeping track of a child's progress once they're back at their real home, but it's something that has to be done advisedly by working with your social workers to ensure that your motives are the child's welfare; I don't believe that natural curiosity is quite enough to merit monitoring them from a distance.

Sometimes social media helps; they might have agreed to sign you up to their FB account.

My approach is to talk to my Blue Sky social worker about my feelings; they are trained to be alert to these human reactions in foster carers and know how to help.

For example, I'm reminded of the importance of preparing the now-empty bedroom for the next occupant. One never quite knows the age or gender of your next child so I keep the bedrooms we use for fostering neutral. I give the room a deep clean and check safety things such as guards on the blind cords and electric plug guards. I stock up on the food that is almost guaranteed to be welcomed by a new child - who might arrive in the middle of the night frightened and hungry. A bag of pasta last an age as does a jar of pasta sauce. Biscuits and crisps ditto. I make sure I've got spare toothbrushes plus my fallback wardrobe of three sizes of clean dressing gowns and assorted (freshly laundered) children's clothes.

And, as I go about gearing up for my next arrival, I find the pleasant pain of missing the departed child is replaced by optimism about our next child.

Pretty soon my phone will ring with Blue Sky's Placement team asking "Would you be willing to consider taking a child who…"

And we're off again!

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BEST STORY EVER

 Most people think fostering is about children who are difficult, and it puts them off finding out the facts.

Yes, it goes without saying that most kids who are fostered have had some unfortunate experiences. 

But.

And this is a big 'But'.

Just as we all know plenty of people who had normal upbringings yet turned out to be trouble, there are bus-loads of children whose lives got off to a less-than-perfect start who turn out to be alright.

In some cases, more than plain old 'alright'.

One of my fostering friends at Blue Sky is dealing with this;

She and her partner have grown-up children of their own and have fostered since the youngest was old enough to leave home.

One of her current foster kids is a child who suffered more than I'm able to say.

I don't mean that I'm unable to find the words, I mean that if I told the story I'd be breaking a law that was rightly set up to protect the child's privacy.

The reason that I know the child's backstory is that my friend and I support each other alongside Blue Sky. We benefit from sharing, knowing that the other party understands the code of discretion in fostering. We're professionals.

So; I can share with her my fostering ups and downs, and she shares hers with me. And the sharing is of huge benefit to us, our foster children, and fostering.

This is her story to date, with a few tweaks to protect everyone, but it's a true story.

Her own, natural, children are cause for concern. She and her partner nurtured them from conception to the present day, gave them the best of love, the safest of homes, the most solid support that parents can muster.

One child is struggling to cope with modern life.  The child is in their 30s and can't seem to get any anchorage. Cannot stand living with mum and dad, but needs their support for rent. Drinks, and uses substances. Cannot keep relationships alive. Refuses medication and counselling.

A concern.

Another child is a highly succesful professional. But is struggling to manage responsibilities. Head of a self-owned company, has no manager to turn to for help and finds most of the staff who work for the business bringing all their problems to the boss. This child is fighting all the battles that success can bring; a big house - in need of building work, a flat they rent out that has a combative and neglectful tenant. The child's partner wants to live life as if they were in their teens even though they have two toddlers and a babe in arms.

A concern.

Third child is in a bad relationship but keeps on 'giving it one more chance". Some Satudays sleeps in the car in a lay-by. Plays online bingo and buys scratchcards and lottery tickets.

My friend will stand by her kids to the end, through thick and thin, even though stuff keeps happening.

Then there's long-term foster child.

This foster child had a singularly horrifying childhood. People were imprisoned for it, I won't say more than that.

When the child arrived at my friend's home there were plenty of difficulties, but my freind and her partner stuck it out. And in no time there were good signs, beginning with the day the child asked to call her "Mum" - always a good sign whichever way one plays the request. 

Spool forward to the present day. 

Her foster child is her 'golden' one! 

The child has independently found two part time jobs and is holding them down.  Child tidies and cleans their bedroom and does the domestics from emptying the pedal bin to buying 50 mini Easter eggs (with own money) to organise an Easter Egg hunt for the family toddlers in the garden.

It gets even better.

My friend told me that for the Easter lunch the child invited current partner. They are close. My freind overheard the child discussing something with current partner;

Child: "Yeh, so how many?"

Partner: "How many? Not sure.. five or six, why not?"

Child: "Nah, c'mon…too many. Three max. Probably two is right."

Partner: "Well I just think.. if they need a home…"

My friend wondered what they were talking about. Rescue rabbits?

No.

The child said;

"Look, we're talking about adoption here, it's like, a massive responsibilty and you need to focus big time on each child, so yeh…two. Max. And they need space, to grow into who they want to be. And they need parents who support them and don't, like, stand in their way. So, yeh. Two"

My friend took the dishes into the kitchen, her eyes filled up and her heart swelled up too. 

And that fluttering feeling in her head? That was the feather in her cap twitching away.

I kid you not, fostering is the best thing you can do.

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A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME...

 When a new foster child is on their way to your home for the first time it's natural to try to piece together what sort of child they might be from the information you've been given.

Blue Sky try to get as much background on the child, and get it to their colleagues (us foster parents) asap.

Sometimes the information is on the sparse side. Perhaps the child was taken into emergency care. The Local Authority social workers discovered the case and on their first visit realised they couldn't risk leaving the child in their own home. Rare but it happens. 

Sometimes the child's parents are uncooperative.

If the child is young they might not be able to articulate themselves.

I've learned to use every scrap of inoformation, even the stuff that turns out to be off the mark.

Talking to my Blue Sky social worker we realised what a feast of background lurks behind the one and only thing we know for sure about the child.

Their name.

It's said by psychologists that if you want to know what your parents hopes and dreams were for you when you were born, take a look at your own birth certificate.

I dug mine out and went through it with a fine tooth comb. My mum was, like many parents, aspirational for her kids. I gazed down on my 'birthplace' which was a hospital in an uninspiring part of town. My mum changed that location to "St Aubrey's Palace" which was a big house in a park 10 minutes from our house. See what she was doing?

It's similar with the parents of children who get taken into care. Similar but different.

We never see the birth certificates, but we're told the child's name.

And the child's name speaks volumes.

Thing is here, I can't use the real names of children I've had in my care for obvious reasons. But I can quote names and categories that are typical;

1. Slightly unusually spelled names. eg Loren instead of Lauren, Skarlett instead of Scarlet, Berni instead of Bernie. 

Parents hope the child will stand out as being not just any old Scarlet, but Skarlett, a special one.

2. Names that are part grand, part pop naff eg Jordan (as in the Bible and the model), Charlie (as in the King/slang for cocaine), Josh (as in Joshua of the Bible and the street term "josh' meaning "you're having a laugh".

Parents hope the child is percieved as having simultaneous gravitas and street cred.

I coulod go on, but you get the gist.

And sometimes I get it hopelessly wrong.

A child was on his way called Harley and naturally I pictured a child of Hell's Angels complete with all the anti-authority that accompanies bikers.

I was wrong. Harley was sweet as pie.

I was tempted to ask if he knew why he was called Harley, but never did.

Most people, if I ask them why they were given their first name, simply shrug and say "I dunno!" then add "I suppose my parents just liked it."

Noooooo! 

Go deeper folks!

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WOBBLIES

I got chatting with a fellow Blue Sky foster mum at a group meeting. What she had to say that morning came back to me today.

What brought her words back was this; one of our foster children had a wobbly.

Can I talk for a moment about 'wobblies' in fostering?

Many children have them, not only children in care. And for all sorts of reasons.

My fostering friend told me about a trip they'd taken to the seaside.

Sandcastles, paddling, candy floss, crazy golf, the pier, fish and chips… wall to wall happiness.

On the way back the child boiled over.

It had been his first day out.

Ever. 

Guess what had triggered the wobbly? He was feeling guilt about feeling happy.

Yep. Many's the conversations I've had with Blue Sky social workers about this one.

It seems to happen with certain children in care more than others and has something to do with the feeling that they believe that somehow they deserved the bad things that have happened to them. They can even think that the break-up of their family was their fault. They think they've been badly so behaved that they had to be taken away, so don't deserve to be happy. So when they get happiness they sometimes get guilt.

What can we foster folk do to help them when it happens?  The first thing I try is, where safe, to let the upset to run its course rather than make a great fuss to try to turn them around. Allow them let off a bit of steam. Be patient and sympathetic.

Er… that's it really.

I've found - almost always - that a child in care is at peace after a wobbly.

In the case of our current child's wobbly, the child had actually texted me a couple of days prior and written "I actually feel very happy at the moment." 

I suppose I should have been ready for a rebound, but hope always triumphs over expectation so the wobbly caught me unawares. It was harmless enough but for 5 minutes the child was saying things through gritted teeth, with tears squeezing through scrunched up eyes, things such as; 

"You don't understand…"

"You weren't there…"

"I don't know what I think…my brain is mad..."

I usually find the right moment to suggest they go up to their room and calm down, maybe come downstairs when they feel a bit better. I make it crystal clear they're not being banished. 

I never say things like "I understand" because I don't understand. It's true I wsn't there when whatever happened happened. And I have no idea how they cope with their own thoughts and recollections.

Wobblies blow over.

And obviously we don't stop making moments of magic for fear of triggering another wobbly. 

On the contrary we keep giving them as many moments of happiness as we can. 

And helping them emerge from their occasional wobble with dignity and pride intact.

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GOING HOME

 As anyone who fosters knows; fostering can, from time to time, loom large in your home.

It's why Blue Sky sends one of their social workers to visit for a heart-to-heart once a month - or more often if needed - to make sure you're looking after yourself as well as your child.

No-one's alone in fostering.

I was putting a wheelie bin out when a nice couple walked past with a dog exactly like ours.

We chatted. She was a primary school teacher who'd thought about fostering but kept falling shy of taking the plunge. Shame, but I've heard it many times. I told her it was wonderful in so many ways. She said she was worried fostering would take over her life. I replied that fostering takes its place in the family home, not too much but not too little. 

Above all it brings something to the life of an innocent child.

I went inside and got on with the next job; repairing the broken garden step.The frost had got into the corner of the paving stone and it snapped off. Couldn't glue it back on, so I needed to shape a dollop of cement. I had bought a tub of quick drying. I found two offcuts of planks that could act as a frame, I just needed something heavy to prop them upright in place.

I found two old housebricks in the garden which needed to be taped to the planks.

I brought everything indoors and set up on the kitchen table on a sheet of old cardboard.

Middle foster child was hanging around the kitchen, probably hoping I wouldn't notice a fridge raid. He asked what I was doing. I explained.

Suddenly he went "Yuk!"

A little earwig/wood louse had crawled out of the brick and was trundling across the cardboard.

I grabbed the scissors and snipped off the bit of card with the little lady on it.

Then I picked it up and carefully headed out into the back garden. Child followed "Wotcha doin'?"

Me: "I'm taking her home."

Back in the kitchen child said;

"My dad; he squashes creepy-crawlies."

Me; "I try to get them home where they belong."

I think, and I hope that what I did sunk in.

And yes, in fostering we end up bringing light and warmth to the life of a child.

And much to our own life too.

 

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A MESS IN THE LIVING ROOM

 It's never any fun coming down ion the morning to a mess.

But once you have a foster child who's old enough to stay up watching TV after you've taken yourself to bed it's inevitable.

Eldest is now old enough and responsible enough. The TV has all the parental controls but there are channels that know who wants to watch what and how to programme films and shows that are groovy but safe.

Nevertheless you can't over-scrutinise their viewing. 

I had a teenager stay who loved a now-defunct daytime TV programme presented by Jeremy Kyle. You remember it? She loved it. I shared her devotion to the Kyle show at a Blue Sky support meeting and loads of other foster parents agreed; it was wildly popular with many kids in care. Why? We decided that they identified with the chaotic families on it'.  The kids had expertise in the type of disputes that were staged.

The child in question struggled to go to school. She claimed she was bullied, the school said she did her share of bullying, I suspected there was some truth in both assertions.

However, if she 'pulled a sickie', I ruled "No TV and no phone." 

She wasn't deterred. You have to admire pluck and guile sometimes, even if it adds to your workload.

She started going downstairs at night when she thought everyone else was asleep and turning the telly on with the sound very low.  Then tip-toe back upstairs later with no-one the wiser. She would have got away with it but for the tell-tale signs; an empty crisp packet here and there, one less carton of juice in the fridge. 

She was a hefty young person and she left an indent in the sofa cushions which I always plumped up before bedtime so that the place was nice to come down to.

I suspected she was maybe watching re-runs of the Kyle show which I believe one can do if you know how.

It was 'game on', as they say.

I won. Here's how.

Late one evening just before bed I went to the fuse box and closed down the mains power in the ring that served the room with the TV.

I did it for a handful of nights and she gave up.

She was a lovely girl to tell the truth. She'd had some right rotten times in her childhood for sure, but deep down was kind, caring, funny and clever. She hoped to work with animals and I helped her get information about work opportunities at dog kennels, petting zoos and local stables.

Y'know, maybe watching Jeremy Kyle made her homesick, because she badgered endlessly to go home. Her mantra, I'll never forget, was "How come I'm in care while the rest of them are at home playing happy families?"

…"happy families"…

I hope she's OK, she got home in the end, and her trail has gone cold.

Back to the current mess-maker; different ball game. He's entitled to be downstairs for a while, and is a great kid. The debris when I come down is legitimate but still a pain;

Trainers discarded, one on the coffee table, the other underneath it. Two socks left lying around, one on the sofa, one over by the TV. A hoodie down the back of the sofa.A soft blanket we drape on the sofa (for anyomne who wants a snuggle) left in a heap. An apple core, two crisp packets an empty juice bottle.

And…the remote nowhere to be seen.

Didn't take long to tidy, got it done before the kettle boiled. 

The remote was easy; down between the sofe cushions.

I didn't get bolshie about it. The youngster is coming along nicely and in fostering you have to remember the big picture.

Life has messed them around; they're entitled to make a wee mess themselves (...sometimes).

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GIVE FOSTERING A GO

 I got chatting with a lady from the other end of our road, and the subject of fostering came up.

She asked me a question along the lines of;  "Do you think fostering's for me?"

It's a hard question to answer, obviously.

I remembered a story I'd read in a children's book as a kid. It was about the Chinese wise man Confuscious.

In the story a person goes up to Confuscious and asks; "There are so many religions. How do I know which one is right for me?"

Confiscious pointed to an apple hanging on a tree, said nothing, and walked away.

The person went back to his friends and they got to debating what the great man had meant.

In the end the penny dropped, one said:

"Confiscious is saying that the only way to find out if you like apples is if you eat one!"

They agreed; "You can't tell if you like apples by thinking about them or looking at them… you have to try one!"

It's the same with fostering.

You have to pick up the phone and ask, either an agency or your local authority. Blue Sky's as good a first call as anyone. Their comntact details are on their website, Google Blue Sky fostering.

If at any point it turns out not to be your cup of tea you can say thank you, but no thank you. There's no ball and chain. What's more nobody judges anybody. Fostering is challenging and rewarding in equal amounts.

If you're thinking about fostering I wish you could see me now. I'm sitting in my kitchen looking out the window into our garden. 

And pointing at that proverbial apple.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe you have a phone call to make.

X

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SURFING AND FOSTERING

 It's easily the most asked, and also most difficult question in fostering.

"When am I going home?"

For one thing there's nothing bigger in the minds of foster children than going home.

Equally, there's no bigger question we have to answer.

Kyle asked me a couple of days ago. I had said at teatime that we were taking everyone on a summer mini-break. He hung back when I said people could get down from the table. It was just him and me for a moment. He didn't beat about the bush;

"When am I going home?"

When asked, the first thing I have to do is get past my own selfish emotions, namely a fleeting disappointment that someone wants to leave my care. It's a poor reaction, but human. I never let it show, and it recedes as soon as I gear up to respond. 

And look, they always want to go home, no matter how chaotic 'home' is.

I say 'always' but to be precise I've had a handful of foster children who I believe didn't want to go home. In most cases that was because there was virtually no home left to go to; parents sectioned, imprisoned, shot through with drugs, simply disappeared…

But the vast majority, in my experience, crave the familiar chaos. They hope their family will turn over a new leaf. But even if the family continue to fail…well, blood is thicker than water.

For fostering folk our response needs to be, first and foremost, informed. One needs to know how things are in the child's home background. But you don't have to worry about doing any research, one's supporting social workers - Blue Sky and Local Authority - provide regular updates.  They inform us with professional tact and accuracy. They're discreet but straightforward. If it's a case of them needing to say; "Isobel is in care for the long haul", they won't put it like that, they'll give you the facts; "Her mother is reported to be unlikely to take on parenthood again due to years of substance abuse that appears to have left her permanently damaged. Also there's a warrant out for her father who is holed up in the Costa del Somewhere."

The second thing to understand is the child's current wants and needs. The big thing here is that what one says is "age-appropriate", which is trickier than it sounds. I've looked after 7 year-olds who were more mature and wise than the average adult. Then there are children that are vulnerable and require TLC in buckets.

Then you have to anticipate their reason for asking the question on each occassion. Every child has a subtly different trigger each time they ask. One big thing can be that often they are motivated by an urge to be there for, say, their mum or their sibs in case they're in danger or despair.

So. 

Kyle asks "When am I going home?"

He knows his parents are all over the place, there's been trouble with the police, paramedics, court cases and so on. 

So I reply:

"I'm not sure about the very latest news on you going home (True). It's what everyone's working on (also True). I know it's hard for you and that you miss your folks (very True). Your social workers are visiting soon and I'll get an update for you (yes, True again)."

Then I said something like;

"While I think of it, we've got a couple of body boards in the garage, but we'll need one more for the mini-break. Any chance you could find one on the internet that would suit you."

He belted off to surf the net in order to surf the ocean. A kids bodyboard you can get for £6.99, and we definitely needed one more. 

Feels a bit odd spending part of one's fostering allowance on a frippery.

Only, a frippery it ain't.

It was the teatime talk of holiday that triggered (I think) his thoughts of his home life. It was a risky link away from sadness, I guess I was trying to assuage any guilt he felt that he'd be wiggling his toes in the sand while the usual mayhem was going on back home. But…I wanted him to get positive about the holiday.

Kyle and his sibs, I'm informed, have never been on holiday.

Lots of kids in care feel guilty when they're having a good time. 

He's a lovely guy. 

It's a privilege to help him on his way.

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DEAL OR NO DEAL

 Kids like to look cool, I was the same. Foster children are no different, why should they be?

I took our eldest - "Alicia" - to a gathering at Blue Sky for foster parents with older kids. My social worker had told me discreetly that some teenage foster children become a bit introverted and tend to spend a lot of time in their room instead of with friendship groups.

Easy to see why. When a child is taken into care they see themselves as different from the rest, and don't want to be profiled as "a foster child".

Alicia is transitioning and a bit more self-sconscious than the average teen.

The format was that parents would have coffee and cake in one room and the youngsters would use a separate room. They'd have cold drinks, crisps and fancy cakes, board games to play and a speaker system connected to a lap-top with music on it. 

The children would leave their phones at home.

Alicia feigned she wasn't interested in the event, wouldn't attend. But the Saturday before she'd come downstairs and asked me to look at a coat she liked, on the internet.

It wasn't my cup of tea, the jacket. Alicia corrected me "It's not a jacket it's an over-shirt". Or did I get that the wrong way round? The thing is, as the parent, you have to behave out-of-touch - which I don't have to work hard on. She insisted it would go with her sort-of combat trousers and sort-of army boots, and I could see that.

It was £29.99.

A deal was being struck, and good for her.

The deal obviously was; she'd allow me to drag her along to the event if I forked out for the jacket.

It was a no-brainer, for me. 

As you know if you're already a foster carer, we get an allowance from Blue Sky which more than covers the expenses of having a foster child, and leaves resources over that can be chanelled however the carer chooses.

It's not "pay" as such - or else it would be taxed like normal income. The government gives foster carers tax concessions to make sure we feel appreciated, and to max out the allowance.

So I clicked 'buy', paid for 'next day' delivery, and it arrived.

She ran the parcel up to her room to open it. 

Half an hour later she appeared in the kitchen in the full outfit. The new coat/jacket/overshirt looked a tad big, but she'd grow into it.

On the Tuesday before the event she asked for the hairdressing kit we keep at home to tidy anyone's hair if either it's a) in need of a trim or b) they're too embarrassed to go to the barbers/hairdressers. Alicia was in the latter category. It's going to be a long time before she can get up the courage to visit even a unisex salon.

Long(ish) story short(ish);

It turned out the event was her first social thing since she took the decision to be who she believes she really is.

It was a big deal, and she carried it off so well! In the car I told her I was proud of her.

And you can guess, I reckon, what this great young person said to me in reply? Yep;

"I'm proud of you too."

Then.

"The thing I really need is a new hoodie to go under the overshirt. That's why I got a size bigger, so a hoodie would fit, and I've seen one that's sick, I'll show you when we get home…"

Always a good moment when your foster child refers to your house as their 'home'.

Another deal in the offing.

Cool stuff fostering, eh?

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