A CREAM CRACKER UNDER THE SOFA

 When I began fostering I went to great lengths to keep each foster child's bedroom neat and tidy.

As soon as I returned from the morning school run I'd poke my head round their door and collect up empty crisp packets and apple cores, pull back the bed to air it, pick up clothes from the floor and try to match odd socks lying everywhere.

All that palava.

I've had teenagers of my own, I know that untyidyness is a normal part of their journey. But for kids in care it began to seem to me that some of them took it to a new level.

Asking a teenager to tidy their room is like asking a baby not to cry. It's just impossible.

So, for a long time I fought fire with fire.

Their bedroom is a tip? In goes I with a bin liner and a Dyson.

War. Me versus rubbish.

To a large extent my efforts were in the best intererests of the kids. Basic cleanliness, good hygiene and self-respect are valuable lessons in life. Not only that; this was my house and I wanted it up to scratch.

On top of those motives; social workers need to check a foster child's home life, including a quick gander at their room. They don't go in with a magnifying glass and a dust meter. They can tell with a quick head round the door. Look; if social workers aren't up to speed on teenagers' untidyness, no-one is.

All the same, back in the early days of fostering I was often frustrated. The child would come home from school and go up to a neat and tidy bedroom and next morning it would look like, as the phrase goes, a bomb had gone off.

The sheer untidyness of some kids in care was almost a work of art.

The clutter! They seemed to think that the purpose of possessions was to chuck them everywhere!

Then, one day, I had to take Katy, a particularly untidy 14 year-old, back to her real home for a visit.

It was a revelation.

On the outside the house was a smart newbuild social housing home.

On the inside it was a tip.

Debris everywhere; in the hallway, the kitchen and the living room. Katy's mum had been watching daytime TV on a giant screen, the sound full on and subtitles. Katy ran up to her room to pack her stuff; clothes, personal music, make-up and suchlike.

I sat on the other end of the sofa from the mum. In between us was piles of detrius; an open packet of Marlboro and a plastic lighter, a half-empty bag of Doritos, a TV listings magazine, a pack of chocolate digestives, an inside-out pullover, a scattering of unopened brown envelopes etc etc…

In between the sofa and the TV was a sizeable glass coffee table piled high with an empty KFC box, a full ashtray, an opened can of full-fat Coke, a sock, several coffee mugs, a wine glass, a box of Kleenex, a corkscrew, a magazine of word puzzles etc etc...

Most disturbing was the large tub of Sudocrem with its top off.

Oh, and a jar of E45…

When I say "Most disturbing", those things fell back into second place when a one-eyed cat hopped onto mum's lap demanding attention. The cat somehow symbolised the tone that shop-soiled stuff was in charge of the home not the mum.

When my Blue Sky social worker dropped in a week or so later she wanted to know all about the visit.

We talked for an hour about the clutter, and Katy's untidyness.

A penny dropped. I bet you got there first dear reader…

Yep. Katy needed to re-create her home life in her foster home in order to feel safe.

Home from home.

So: with Katy I eased off the tidy-ups for the best possible motive. Only a bit, mind, I'm human after all…

Is that a cream cracker under the sofa…?