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 ocassionally 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 alledgedly 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's 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 befoire, 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 bhow 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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A GAME OF SARDINES

 Going back a few years we had a young lady stay with us, Nicky. I've touched on her story once before In the blog, but something came up yersterday which jogged my memory of her.

She'd had a terrible childhood. Both her parernts had learning difficulties and had profound hearing loss. Her father was serving 10 years in prison for a crime against another member of the family, that's all I'll say about that.

The girl and her sister liked to go shoplifting on Saturdays, and one time came back with two live rats they'd stolen from a pet shop. When they got home they released the rats in the house…chaos.

Nicky had a fantastic social worker who would visit and often get into a disagreement with her about why she was in care, and why she couldn't go home yet.

I noticed that she was often comparatively at peace for the rest of the day after their ding dong..

"Yes," said the social worker when Nicky was out of the room, "You see she needs a bit of chaos. It's all she's ever known. Your home and family are lovely, you're in harmony. She struggles unless she's got a some mayhem going on, and I'm happy to provide."

The thing that came up (and when I say 'came up' I mean exactly that) was this;

At the supermarket they were selling fresh sardines. It's been such a ruddy cold winter, and sardines remind me of holiday lunches at Mediterranean beach cafes, so I bought a dozen.

I cut the heads off and gutted them. I wrapped the gunge tight in tin foil and wrapped some kitchen towel around it, ready to take it outside and put it straight in the rubbish wheelie, because our dog has been known to raid the kitchen bin for scraps and I didn't want her eating fish innards.

But, despite my best efforts, I turned my back for 10 seconds and the dog snuck in and made off with the package. I didn't notice at first, but when I did I raced into the hallway and there she was, looking proud as punch with a sheet of baco foil and a soggy ball of kitchen roll. Licked clean.

She'd eaten the lot.

Now, as a crusty old colonel once remarked when returning to the dinner table from a comfort break:

"Generally speaking when I've eaten something I don't wish to see it again."

How much more true is that sentiment when applied to something nasty a dog has eaten…

She was ill on the landing, just a bit. Then at the top of the stairs; a lot. Then in the living room.

All the while we were frantically trying to anticipate the next event and get her outside for it. We had some success, her final two clearouts were on the patio.

Then we turned our attention to clearing up the mess and soaking it out of the carpets.

It was horrible work, and the odour alone made me retch several times, never mind the sights. 

Here comes the payoff…

The kids LOVED it. Not in any sense in an unpleasant way; they simply found release in everything being fraught and topsy turvey..

I'm not going into further details, picture the madness for yourself.

The experience has evolved into a standing family joke;

"Mum, any chance of sardines for tea tonight?"

"Mum, is it true that it's good for the carpet?"

etc etc etc…

I'm certain I'll never use chaos as a tool to help a looked-after child feel at home, not in a million years. But, as the T shirt in Forrest Gump put it "S**t happens."

And when it does it helps to have some foster children around.

Helps the situation, helps them sometimes too.

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I'M NOT WASHED UP!

 Fostering is all about helping a child from outside your family feel comfortable in your home.

How you do this depends on a) understanding your own home, and b) understanding the foster child.

It's all about working out where the child fits.

I want to flag up the task of WASHING UP.

Age plays a huge part in the whole integration thing, as does personality.

Then there's the matter of how much damage, and what type, the child has met prior to coming into care.

From Day One when a new child arrives, you beaver away trying to place them into your home.

Me; I rarely sit them down and have massive heart-to-hearts.

I know an excellent foster mum who does. She sits her foster children down once a day after school, one-on-one; for a pow-wow about their day, their emotions, their opinions…everything.

Not for me; too formal. It would feel to me like the job interview or a visit to the doctor.

Not the usual, comforting, topsy-turvy exchanges that are true family fare.

Example;

Most children coming into care have no experience of doing household jobs.

Mainly because the jobs rarely got done anyway, but also because the children were seen as a nuisance and were best kept out of things.

So. It's right and healthy to ask everyone in your home to pull their weight. Children benefit from being tasked to trundle the wheelie bin out front, take a black plastic bag up to their room and de-garbage the crisp packets, juice boxes, apple cores and the rest. 

The key for me, in getting this done, is them seeing me enjoying doing chores. 

I put music on when I cook. Washing the car? LOVE it. 

Cards on the table time; I don't ask our children to do many tasks. Why? Because usually I have to go in after them and put it right. Especially the washing up. 

Washing up is a job that appears to the average adult to be child-friendly. It involves water, which some think is automatically associated with fun. As for the drying up; what could be simpler than wiping dry some sparkling plates and cutlery with a nice clean tea-towel?

Long story short; I don't ask my foster children to do the washing up. Not no more. No, I've learned.

See, for one thing the washer-upper has it over the dryer upper because they finish first and are off to play. No fair. 

A bigger thing is this; I want my kids to enjoy their food, to appreciate their meals and the chat and banter that can go with eating. When they know they've got a boring rotten old job to do after eating, it spoils the whole experience.

There are other things, such as that they often make a bad job of it and plates get put away with gravy stains on the underneath and greasy smears on the forks. You end up fixing the problem yourself.

One last thing; I myself don't like doing the washing. I hate the job. I was made to do it when I was young, every Sunday.  I knew my parents made us wash up and dry because they didn't like doing it.

And my foster children would know the same thing. And they'd be annoyed knowing I was getting out of a job I disliked by fobbing it onto them. And that's not a good look in fostering.

Now, in my current household... they LOVE  cooking (eldest is getting good). And there's almost a war over who gets to wash the car!

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MEALTIME MATTERS

 Mealtimes can be complicated in fostering. Food in every form is SO important to every foster child I've ever had. I can't overstate how valuable a piece of kit that food can be in the foster parents' toolbox.

Nobody enjoys feeling hungry, and it seems that most- if not all - children who come into care have suffered all sorts of deprivations in the food department.

Back in the day when I started fostering, the business of providing the family with food was a simple. Breakfast; cereal or toast. School lunchbox; a peanut butter sandwich, a piece of fruit, ready salted crisps. There were no juice cartons in those days, if the child got thirsty at school there was a drinking fountain. At weekends they'd get a slightly fancier lunch - mayber an omellete or a bacon sarnie. 7 days a week the main meal was the evening meal; meat and two veg.

However. The more I fostered, the more I had to keep up with trends, the more I got into getting their food spot on for them.

It wasn't a headache. Doing the best you can for your whole family - including your foster child - is one of the best things in life.

First off; whenever a new child is on their way to me, I ask my Blue Sky social worker if it's klnown what the child's favourite food is. And I rush out and buy whatever is needed to serve it up for their first meal at our house. This trick ALWAYS pays big time. If you're a young person sitting having your first meal with a strange family the last thing you want to have to do is force down food you don't like. Getting this one right isn't hard; they don't want coq au vin or lobster thermidor. 80% of the children I've had arrive at our house were fans of pasta or spag boll. Mind, nowadays the Big Mac is creeping up the leaderboard.

However; I write these words at the beginning of 2025; and things are starting to get complicated…

"Meat is murder"

Vegetarianism and veganism, both of them noble practices, are a growing issue in fostering. Knocking up a simple spag boll isn't simple any more: either the whole family eats one made with plant-based mince, or you have to have two saucepans on the go, one with ordinary mince, the other with soya mince.

These days I find that about 50% of teenage children in care go through a vegetarian phase. You have no option but to go with it.

Then there's food fads. 

"I don't eat nuffink green"

I get that kids have foods they simply cannot even look at. I used to feel nauseaus at school every Friday when it was "cheese pie" for school lunch. I had a brother for whom the humble tomato was a monster of Godzilla proportions. He practically up-chucked at their very mention.

We foster carers have to learn about each new child's fads, and most have quite a few.

"Can I have a biscuit?"

For so many children in care the concept of snack food in the house is seriously flawed.  I've had children who were practised in raiding the kitchen bin for scraps. Another kid used to snack on uncooked spaghetti strands when the parents were asleep because the parents wouldn't notice the packet was one or two stands short.

I try to tackle the snack thing by giving them a bowl of fruit in their room that belongs to them; to eat whenever they want, and offer pan au chocolate pastries and ice cream as ocassional rewards for good things.

"I like this but I don't like that"

This one is what used to be called "Picky".  Young people increasingly know what they like and they don't like. And are proud of their preferences, as if it defines their identity. To me and my other half, a pizza is a pizza is a pizza, Not to todays growing army of gourmet fast food afficionados.

Quick story;

A teenage girl I'll call Millie came to us, she loved food, was a bit on the large size. So what?

A bigger problem was getting her to attend school.

One morning she'd had the results of some blood tests and the doctor wanted to see her. She was stressed. I managed to pursuade her into the car to drive her to school, but halfway there she got a block on the idea and said she wouldn't go in.

We were already late, it was after 10.00am. But if I managed to get her into the building it would tick a box (local authorities track school attendance and chase us if the numbers are poor).

I asked Millie if she'd snaffled any breakfast.

"Nah"

So I said;

"Oh dear you must be hungry?"

Millie; "Ye, a bit"

Me; "If we go by MacDonalds will you go into school?"

A deal was done.

Now, forgive me if I have any details a bit wobbly, I'm no expert on the intricacies of the world of fast food…

We pulled onto the car park of a MacDonalds, it was about 10.15am.

I asked her what she wanted and she said; "A Big Mac"

I went in and asked, they said they didn't serve Big Macs until 10.30am.

I went back and told Millie she'd have to have a Macdonalds breakfast instead.

Millie blew up. 

Thwarted. 

She was being press-ganged into a school where she was bullied about her weight, the doctor was worried about her tests but she didn't know what the worry was, and her foster carer had promised a Big Mac and all she was getting was a puny Macdonalds breakfast.

Long story short; Millie and I sat in the car park until 10.31am and she got her Big Mac.

And boy, the look on her face.

Millie had her nosh, and it was nosh she'd won in her battle with a rotten old world.

Beautiful.

PS: I think about Millie often, and hope she's doing ok. Same with all your foster kids...

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