FOSTER CHILDREN AND BAD DECISION-MAKING

 One of the things you wonder about in fostering is; what becomes of the children when they leave you and go out into the world?

It's troubling enough worrying about what direction your own children will take, but at least you'll know their story, and can always be there for them if needed.

And in any case, your own children haven't been scarred by chaotic home life, then removed and placed with total strangers. All that baggage is hardly the best start.

There's one common trait I often see in chaotic parenting;

Bad decision-making.

The seeds of poor judgement in important matters are probably sown early in chaotic parents, during their own childhood in fact. Their own parents made bad decisions, yet defended those decisions throughout life rather than admit they got things wrong, own up, apologise and try to improve.

Take Colin.

The state of Colin's home life only came to the notice of Social Services as the result of a bad decision by the dad. He acquired a dog.

I say a "dog", Colin showed us images of the beast on his phone. And what a beast it was. All teeth and jowls, reminded me of Bill Sykes' dog in "Oliver".

Colin's dad acquired the dog from a man he'd heard was trying to offload it as he had to leave it at home all day while he was out "at work" and it "wasn't fair on the dog'.

Colin's dad came home from the pub one night with the dog; "Gunner".

Gunner was an anxious dog and couldn't settle. He barked all night. So they put him outside in the yard. Where…surprise surprise …he barked all night.

The neighbours got fed up, but rather than confront the family about Gunner (probably fearful of the father's reaction) they called the council and a Dog Warden called.

Colin's father was upset, then angry. In front of the children he threatened to have Gunner put down telling the Dog Warden "If that'll make you happy!" Colin's mum started shouting at her husband for "Getting the bloody animal in the first place!" and the children were terrified. Colin's father's temper tantrums often backfired on them.

The Dog Warden asked a number of questions about their care for the dog. The parents said there was always someone in the house during the day so Gunner never felt lonely. The parents may have thought it was ok to say that the children hardly ever went to school, assuming that would be a credential.

The dog warden began to wonder if there was a safeguarding issue for the children.

They clearly shouldn't be shut in all day with a volatile dog that could easily be taken for dangerous. 

There were other red flags. The Warden spoke discreetly to a number of neighbours who'd come forward about the dog. They had plenty of negatives about the family and the plight of the children.

When he got back to his office he emailed colleagues at Social Services, and one thing led to another. Social Workers took the view that Colin and the other children were at risk for a number of substantials; neglect plus emotional and physical abuse. Never mind the dog.

Their removal into care was approved and Colin arrived at our house

We have a dog, and Colin, once he got past his fear, bonded with her. And told us all about Gunner.

And all about how his dad made bad decisions.

The dad left school early saying the teachers were useless and education was for losers. The only thing he'd been any good at was singing, he'd made the edge of the school choir. He boasted he could have been a pop star but never really bothered.

He got work on a building site thanks to the dad of one of his mates and decided against saving up for a van (something he told his family for years was "next on the list"). Instead he spent his cash on beer, drugs, tattoos and following his football team home and away.

Then he got his girlfriend Cheryl pregnant.

Then he got into nicking. He told everyone (including Colin) it was a victimless crime because the owners had insurance, and he sold his wares on at bargain prices so everyone's a winner.

All the while, Colin is growing up watching his role model father act proud of his achievements. Which is how he re-invented his bad decisions.

Colin told us that whenever it was Karaoke night at the caravan site his dad would get up and sing the same song;

"My Way" by Frank Sinatra.

If you know it, you'll know that Colin's dad is trying to tell the world he's proud of his bad decisions. And seems to be recommending bad decisions to Colin.

So. 

Colin gentled himself while he was with us. Sometimes our dog would follow him up to bed and sleep on his floor, which he absolutley loved. You always, always see progress in foster children while they are with you, it's wonderful. Then they go, and are at the mercy of the world again.

I don't know where Colin is now, a piece of me hopes he's got a sloppy labrador, a career of some sort and is planning a white wedding with his fiancee.

Whatever; good luck Colin, thanks for your time with us, we loved having you!

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YOUR BEST FRIEND

In fostering you quickly appreciate the importance of your best friend.

Your bestie. The buddy who who can be trusted to be discreet, and who understands what you're doing in fostering. Worth their weight in gold.

I've known my best friend since I was a teenager. We buddied up because the same things made us laugh. Plus, we had similar values, particularly about how important it is for people who 'can' to help those that 'can't'. My friend became a nurse, I ended up fostering. 

We continue to meet up every couple of weeks and Facetime almost every day. We share our ups and downs. Her ups are that she runs her own food hub, her downs are mainly that her partner is struggling with mental health and her daughter's marriage is on the rocks. She tells me all her latest. I listen. We talk about it. 

When it's my turn I tell her about the comings and goings in our home. She listens.

The big thing is that the two of us listen to each other. We don't offer advice unless requested. We can tell that the other is listening because every so often they ask a question about what the other is saying that connects with what's just been said.

Listening.

SO important.

A good listener can make you feel so much better about everything because they step inside you and you become a twosome. You double in size whereas the rest of the time you're a onesome, on your own with your thoughts.

A long while ago I made a heady discovery, namely that I have another best friend.

Our Blue Sky social worker.

What happened was this.

We were fostering a young teenage lad, Aaron. He'd been through the mill in his real home. As a small child was routinely punished harshly for things he hadn't done.  Part of my job was to help him develop a sense of security that the outside world has more justice than his childhood home.

One evening we took the family to a Pizza restaurant. I'd booked by phone. After eating I settled the bill and got everyone heading for the car. However, Aaron asked if it was okay for him to walk home alone. It was a quiet evening, it wasn't too late at night, the walk was no more than six or seven minutes.

I said sure.

Aaron stayed in his seat while we set off, finishing his pudding.

Shortly after we got home my phone rang. It was the pizza restaurant. A voice said there was a problem;

"The young man who was with you inadvertently picked up a bag belonging to someone else and the owner of the bag is very upset."

I apologised. When Aaron arrived home, he confirmed that he had the bag, but denied that he'd picked it up himself. He said that a waiter had run after him and said "One of your party left this behind, you'd better take it home." So he complied.

I phoned the pizza place and they conceded that they'd been mistaken in saying that Arron had 'inadvertently' picked up the bag, and confirmed that the waiter had made the mistake. The restaurant sent the waiter to our house to collect the bag and apologise, but when he arrived he dropped a bombshell. He checked the bag and said' "The owner says there was a purse in the bag with cards and I don't see it in here."

Yike. The situation ratcheted up several notches. I had no option but to ask Aaron if he'd had a purse foisted on him as well as the bag. He said he had not. Then our phone rang again. The restaurant said the panic was over, the customer had found her purse.

But. Harm may have been done - to Aaron.

The following morning I phoned my Blue Sky social worker. The agency likes to be in the know.

We talked for nearly an hour.

I say "we talked" but what I mean is that she listened.

She took notes. She was being a professional best friend.

After I finished the tale, the first thing she said was;

"The last thing Aaron would do is risk being in trouble."

He response was SO spot on. It showed not only that she'd taken in all the details, but that she knew and understood a key facet of Aaron that needed to be protected.

Aaron, vindicated, seemed unaffected by his brush with false accusation. If anything he was fortified that the facts came out and his integrity was confirmed.

Confirmation that the world is not too bad, most of the time.

What's also not too bad is having TWO best friends; a social one and a professional one.

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DILEMMA SOLVED

 A while ago I mentioned a problem facing one of our foster children, the one I'm calling Alicia.

Alicia is transitioning from male to female, and doing it with pride and purpose. And we're proud of her for her courage, integrity and unending kindness.

Alicia flattered me by letting me in on a dilemma she was facing.

It's rare to get an update on a troubled child from the child themself. I find that children in care only own one thing outright, and that's their own thoughts and memories. And so they guard their privacy like the crown jewels that they are.

Alicia had been invited to the birthday party of her aunt. Big party; the aunt was turning 50. She apparently wanted her birthday to be one of those Big "0" events. The aunt was very excited about her own party; she'd mailed out invitations with RSVPs, complete with dictats about the guest list. It was to be "Family, close friends and their partners and children only. The invite also briefed everyone on what stuff guests might care to bring, arrrival times, order of events (eg the cutting of the cake). Parking, even.

She was leaving nothing to chance.

Half of the above I learned direct from Alicia herself, the other half by being unable to avoid overhearing Alicia gossiping with her friends in the downstairs room off our kitchen.

Here's Alicia's dilemma.

The aunt considered herself very close to Alicia. She'd allowed the young Alicia to stay with her couple of times as a stop gap when Alicia's home had temporarily broken down.

However. Alicia isn't a kid anymore, she knows herself and her own heart and mind.  When the aunt learned that Alicia was transitioning the aunt virtually disowned Alicia. The aunt had told Alicia via Alicia's real mother that she was not to come to the party as Alicia, but must come as her former self, a boy called Troy. Alicia was to dress as a male and not talk to anyone at the party about transitioning.

For Alicia it seemed to boil down to either complying or refusing. Refusing meant not attending.

If Alicia showed up as Alicia there'd probably be a scene, and Alicia didn't want things to be all about her.

So, what happened?

Alicia played a blinder. She found a better way forward.

First up, she showed a bit of genius in her analysis of human nature. I heard her tell her friends that she reckoned that her aunt's problem was that she didn't want people to think that Alicia's transitioning was any fault of the aunt. 

If Alicia was correct it reminds us all how frightened for themselves some people are.

Alicia hatched a plan.

She would tell the aunt that she wanted to bring a guest; a friend.

The aunt would veto the request as she only wanted 'family, friends of the aunt, and official partners'. In other words if a person wasn't on her list they were not allowed.

Alicia's position was;

"I am who I am and I'm not going to live a lie, not even for a single afternoon".

A beautiful way out. The aunt declined her request so Alicia could say a polite "I regret..." back.

My guess is that almost anyone at the party who noticed "Troy" was a no-show knew why. The aunt sounds like a case in point.

Alicia? I'm not going to pretend she didn't have her ups and downs about it, but she has great support from social services, Blue Sky, and her network of friends. Plus I think she knows that her fostering family are in her corner.

I hope the aunt blew out all her candles.

But that her wishes don't come true.

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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 reminded 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 bag 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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