EVERY CLOUD..

 Fostering has its many forms.

Once you agree to try for "approval" - a relatively simple and actually quite enjoyable process, you start to learn about the different fostering roles.

I mention this because, after decades in fostering, we decided to accept a request from Blue Sky to take a Parent and Child placement.

We 'd done standard fostering aplenty, done Respite  (where you look after a foster child whose foster parents need a break - maybe for a family wedding or even 6 nights in Malaga to re-charge their batteries).

There's Emergency, when a child needs a roof over their heads pronto.

And variations on the theme.

But for myself and my family, the Gold Standard in fostering I always saw to be Parent and Child.

Not our first sortie, we'd done it way back when it was called Mother and Baby; and that's pretty much what it remains, a young mother and her recently-born baby.

The pair have been with us for 16 weeks and last Thursday a Court sat to decide if the mother could keep her baby. All the many professionals who've been working on their case gave their thoughts and…success!

She can keep her son, but needs to agree to a plan to keep her progress on track. The plan will work the Court said, provided she stays with us, because, they kept saying, we're doing such a good job.

Praise indeed. Much joy and celebration. We now have a new shape to our foster-family and can roll up our sleeves for more challenges and tribulations.

But, have you noticed in life, and definitely in fostering, it's the little things?

Here's our big/little thing (well one of them anyway);

The young mum is great, really loving, devoted and keen to learn. The baby is robust and contented, but …

We'd forgotten what it's like to spend all day in that sort of semi-fug you're in when you were woken up half-a dozen times through nthe night by the most intrusive alarm bell known to nature, namely a crying baby.

We were waking up slowly in bed on the Saturday morning after we heard the good news. Drinking a cup of tea my other half describes as "blue" meaning strong. We've gone back to teapot and loose tea Makes a difference, especially if you want  the kick.

The way night-time works in this case is this; learing to look after the baby is the mum's responsibility, but one of our key duties is to ensure the baby's safetly and emotionalal wellness. We have a brilliant baby monitor that allow usis  to make sure she's getting to her son quickly enough and with the right soothing ways. If he's hungry we monitor the feed, then her technique for calming the baby and helping him back to sleep.  The camera is fixed, pointing to the cot, but we can hear what's going on.

By which time we're wide awake.

Nothing new for us, we've had babies of our own, we know the score, knew we'd have to have some waking nights.

Here's the funny bit, we were propped up in bed waiting for the baby to wake and the mother to get him changed, washed, dressed and ready for breakfast. Something ocurred to me; I said to him (other half, the rock);

"Y'know, they sometimes call it "sleep deprivation" nowadays; but it isn't quite as bad as I remember it.."

"I've noticed that" he replied.

Then he said;

"Give me yer teeth mother, I'll swill 'em".

Me "Eh?"

"It's easier because we're that bit older. Need less sleep as you go along."

He was right. 

Every cloud has a silver lining!

Mind, he still turned over and had another 10 minutes...

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FOSTERING OUR HOME TERRITORY

 As everyone who has ever fostered quicky learns, the business of "territory" around the house renews itself with each and every new child.

Each new child is allocated their own bedroom, that's a given. Our job is to arrange the bedroom so that the child sees it as their arbour. We try to match the child with the bedroom furnishings. We have neutral bedding awaiting, neither pink nor blue (it matters to many) and not Whinnie-the-Pooh in case the child believes themselves to be an adult. The storage places (chest of drawers, maybe a wardrobe) are empty and dust-free. There's a bedside light at a gentle wattage in case they need the light on to go to sleep.

And so on.

However…what about the remainder of one's home?

Ah. Here's where agile thinking is called for.

I seem to remember the poet Lemn Sissay writing how he'd been made to leave his foster home because his parents (devout Christians - I mention it because I believe Lemn did) discovered he'd taken a biscuit without asking (which he knew would be refused).

Territory.

We have to try to get it alright, and by "alright" I mean alright for all in the home, but most of all alright for the child. The reason I say most of all alright for the child is because we household family know where everything is and who "owns" what and in what way.

The new foster child has a lot to learn, and it's our job to help them with it.

Take our two new arrivals. Baby is 6 months old, but he still has his territory. Mainly a crib/cot, a high chair and a play space.

Mum is a different kettle of fish. 

She's 16. Is she a child or an adult? The answer is she flip-flops between the two.

She has her own bedroom which we've encouraged her to colonise to her needs and tastes, and by golly has she gone for broke. She even grazed our garage and found a storage cupboard in good nick which she installed to take more stuff.

She has the blinds of her choice, her rug to hide our carpet, her pictures in place of our prints.

It's the remainder of the house we have to be on our toes.

We have to tolerate her need to territorialise.

What does this mean?

In the case of this young mother, she puts stuff belonging to her and her baby in every bit of the house.

Boxes of baby things. Baskets of laundry. Tie-ups of used nappies. Carry-ons of snacks. Piles of unidentifiables.

She has placed them, unbeknown to her, in every corner of the downstairs.

Upstairs, the bathroom is now consumed by baby-bathtime toys and props.

Our Blue Sky social worker wanted to know all about this when she showed for her weekly support visit last Friday.

She said it was healthy because it signalled the young mother wanted to be part of our household.

Obs the SW was correct, and as usual, insightful and helpful.

Thus for the last few days where before I've cursed there'd been nowhere to put a saucepan in the kitchen or a cup of tea in the living room..now I view this inconvenience as a tiny sacrifice in the wider, bigger goal of helping the girl and her baby grow and become OK.

Phew, though...

But only in fosterting

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BABY STEPS

 Doesn't matter how grown-up a new foster child is, building a bond between child and foster parent(s) is baby steps.

What happened was this:

We have a new Parent and Child placement alongside a longstanding permanent placement. 

If you're new to the world of fostering the term "placement" is the professional phrase for a child coming into Care.

Our permanent child is nothing more or less than family, we've even written the child into our wills. This youngster is one of the greatest inspirations to everyone who crosses their path and a treasure of a human, we're so proud to call the child "ours" and can scarcely believe the gift. 

When Blue Sky rattle our cage with the accusation that we played a large part in the child's renaissance we scoff it off. We know it's a big part of their job to keep our peckers up (which they do), but hey I find nobody who's any real good at anything is much good at taking praise.

Little things though, we mustn't let them go unnoticed.

Baby steps.

So what happened was this;

Our Parent and Child are a young teenage mum and a 5 month old charmer of a baby boy. The mum, put bluntly, arrived with resentment that she and her baby were deemed in need of Care. She missed her real family (her mum, a stepfather and seven siblings). Understandable. She missed the chaos of her home, missed being allowed to spend all day, all week, all month, all YEAR in her teensy bedroom. She'd hardly been out and about for two years.

She didn't fit in to our family, and seemed as though she wanted that to be how things were and get the disparity acknowledged in case it might mean she could go home.

In fostering you get used to this one. The child sometimes acts like they aren't part of your family, which, of course is entirely authentic.

So, after a few weeks what happened was this;

She (the young mum) ordered herself a Maccy D something-or-other to be delivered. She'd been awake with her baby since 5.00am. She'd tended the baby beautifully with love and skill all morning. When the baby went down for his mid-morning nap she ordered her treat.

Then things got exciting.

I'd made myself a humble lunch; a wilting tomato from the bottom of the fridge on a slice of bread.

I plonked myself at the kitchen table. The young mum I expected to continue her act of not belonging.

She decanted her fast food onto a plate, I was waiting for her to do her usual and disappear to eat.

No.

She came and sat next to me at the table. And chatted.

Yes…chatted! Mujer a mujer (woman to woman). About nothing major. About Ariana Grande and how you pronounce her name. About Erling Haaland, what a human he is.  About whether she should bling up the baby's pushchair.

Then came the moment.

THE moment.

She finished her Maccy D thing. That is to say she left nearly half of it because she doesn't want to get huge. She stood up to put the remains in the bin and take her plate to the sink.

And…she reached across and picked up my empty plate.

Took both plates to the sink and washed them up.

In terms of triumph it was a world-record breaking gold-medal winning 100 metres dash with nobody coming second.

She and I were tied winners.

My heart; size of an airship.

Only in fostering.

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THE MERIT OF THE MUM TAXI

 When one, as a foster parent, is looking after a parent and child one has to juggle  a lot of balls.

If one has another foster child alongside the parent and child, one absolutley MUST ensure that the other child gets at the very least equal priority with the parent and child. The arrival of a parent and child can draw one's attention so utterly that one's other foster child can feel neglected. The resident child will definitely wonder why a new set of foster folk were needed/wanted. They think to themselves "Aren't I good enough?" or something along those lines. 

Normal. 

A parent and child present themselves as a big unit. In our current case the unit is an adult (almost) young person who has her own needs and a tiny baby with total dependency on their mum and their mum's support network. And all day - and all night - the support network is primarily…me. The foster parent. There are hardly enough hours in the day...

However, as is often the case if you stack your cards right, fostering comes up trumps.

What happened was this.

Our resident foster child is a Permanent Placement. No family to go to. We're the child's  family. Child knows it but we suspect they haven't entirely chased away the terrors of being alone and unwanted.

Once said to me "Please don't die. I'll end up in a shop doorway…"

Ouch.

I could write a library of books about this particular kid, I wish I could. The kid's story is so unbelievable he is my hero with knobs on. 

But, the bottom line is that the kid is human, and definitely feels wafts of resentment that our home is suddenly transmogrified into a nursery. The new focal point is a couple of strangers.

This is where our Blue Sky support kicks in. The minute we took in a parent and child they started showing up all over our diary. Telephoning us right left and centre "Everything OK?"

And always, I mean ALWAYS asking how our resident foster child is getting on with the new arrangement.

These people are consumate professionals.

The $64,000 question is this; when you take in a parent and baby, how to make sure one's existing home set-up doesn't risk one's resident children feeling left behind.

Solution. If you're going to go the extra mile with parent and child (and 1.30am feeds are an extra mile alright) you go the extra mile with your other foster child.

So.

1.30am Saturday morning. Baby had a good bawl and settled on a bottle. Mum was exhausted but is getting the hang.

My phone buzzes. It's resident foster child. Been to a gathering of a few mates. Only about 20 minutes walk away but "Er ..wondered if anyone was up…er for a lift..like."

"Sure" says I, "No problemo. Thanks to the baby I'm wide awake. Pick you up from outside the Giggling Squid ye? Ignore I'll be in my DG."

I said nothing as we drove back to our place. 

He disappeared into the kitchen, knocked up a big bacon sandwich and crashed.

He got it, got one of life's big deals, wherein you give and take.

Next day he said to me;

"I still find it difficult having a load of new people here. But I get why you do it, and actually respect why you do it."

He didn't need to add "And it eases me asking for a 1.30am ride home "  which was in there.

And. We're all strengthend that our resident child is as at least as important to us - maybe more - than our parent and child.

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A GOOD DAY AT THE OFFICE

 So. If you saw my previous post you'll know what I'm talking about when I announce…

                                   SHE KEEPS HER BABY.

It was a tense couple of hours in court, a virtual court mind you, Zoom or somesuch. The mother's solicitor arrived at our house bright and breezy an hour in advance, didn't mind that our dog tried to rob her of what she carried into the house "No" she said firmly "That's my court coat". Sure enough it was a cut down black gown, designed to fit in with the gravitas of the proceedings, and add emphasis to her presence. Nice touch.

We had a pow-wow as to which bit of the downstairs would be best for the mother, her baby and the solicitor to appear in, and how it would work using their devices. It was agreed that the mother's phone had a great camera and mic, so she would be on that, the solicitor would be separate, on her tablet. The baby would be present, bouncing in his favourite thing, a sort of static walker with lots of robust toys hinged to it. I guessed the solicitor wanted the court to see the attachment between mother and baby.

I agreed to be on stanbdby in the kitchen in case they needed someone to look after the baby for a bit if he got disgruntled (which he hardly ever does, he's a really happy one). 

And then the moment arrived. They closed the door to their 'courtroom'. The court was in session.

The mother had seemed extraordinarily calm all morning. More equitable than she'd been the last few days as the tension mounted.

It was me who was all over the place with a mixture of hope and dread. I couldn't help but try to rehearse how to console the mother if the court decreed she must hand over her baby. At the same time I knew that if she was confirmed as the baby's mother there was a lot of hard work ahead, because… well because you know how life works, there are always strings attached whenever one gets what one asks for.

And so it turned out.

She keeps her baby.

However…

The court stipulated that the mother is required to work a tick-box list of skills to advance her independence. A parenting assesor will visit in three months time to judge if she's making progress and whether she's getting on quicky enough. Her social worker is drawing up a list of things she has to improve on.

On a practical note; she must 

learn to budget her money 

learn to cook for herself without relying on her foster parents to amuse the baby 

learn to use bus and train because she's too young to drive 

learn to spend less time on her phone trading on Vinted (and all the other marketplace websites)

On a more emotional level she must

learn to recognise and understand more about the baby's needs and how he signals them to her

learn to fret less about dirt and dust (she's ten steps ahead of 'neat and tidy' she's somewhat over-enthusiastic)

learn to process her fears of (to name but three) strangers, insects and the dark - or if she's can't conquer suchlike, learn to disguise the effect they have on her so they don't disturb her baby

The court laid down that if, after three months work she's nearing being an independent parent the Local Authority will get the green light to start looking for a supervised lodging for her. 

If and when that happens we'll say goodbye and good luck to the both of them.

However, after the court gave its verdict, all we heard muttered our way by the professionals was;

"It might take a bit longer than three months".

The joys of fostering continue!

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D DAY FOR OUR CURRENT FOSTER CHILD

 Looking after an older foster child can be rewarding in all sorts of ways.

They're often able to tell you about how you've helped them, which younger ones can't.

Teenagers who've been presented with the almighty challenge of being removed from their family home and placed with a strange family are weighed down by having to make sense of what's happened to them.

For younger ones, it's just simply beyond them, so they simply get on with life.

The young mum we have staying at the moment (with her baby) is gradually starting to feel at home here. Or so it seems. The professionals (social workers, guardians, solicitors etc) seem agreed that she and her son are largely on top of things. The baby is a lovely young fellow. He's stable, contented and up for the world.

The young mum has her sadnesses but in general is making a good job of a difficult lot.

See…in a couple of days a court will decide if she's a good enough mother for her to be allowed to keep her baby, or have the infant taken away and put up for adoption.

In all my years fostering I've never had to help a child (the mum) deal with such a particular prospect. I've watched and made records of the mum's dedication to her baby. I've also listened to her when on several occasions the whole thing threw her off balance and she quietly wept; "I can't do this..."

What did I say on those occasions? Only that in my own experience the shock of becoming a mother to a newborn baby hits almost every mum just as hard. I told her "I had my moments of fear and confusion too.. who wouldn't?"

We've got through those moments. The court has to decide if she could deal with those moments without a foster parent on hand.

Me? I've found it tough but rewarding. The toughest bit is remembering that my job in fostering these two is to collect cold, hard information about the mother's mothering. If, for example, she were to have a meltdown and run up to her bedroom in distress leaving her baby on the floor on his change-mat, something like that would have to be recorded and would weigh on the court's decision on whether she can be trusted with her baby.

The young mum hasn't got any blots of that magnitude on her copybook, the most challenging shortfalls she's made have been minor. But; I'm still required to note them, and write them up in my daily report.  And (this has been hard) read out loud to her my daily report every day so she knows what I see and hear of her mothering.

In two days time the court will decide.

The young mum's solicitor (an amazing fiesty young woman, so bright and kind) is driving down to be with the young mum throughout the day. The latest word is that the case has been given a new judge; a woman alledgedly very empathetic.

Talking to my Blue Sky social worker we end up agreeing that the foster parent in me is doing a professional job. I shall respect the court's decision as based on the baby's welfare.

And the human in me is doing a human job. In other words, my heart cries out for mum and baby to be confirmed as mum and baby.

Two days to Decision Day. The young mum couldn't eat a bite of her evening meal, not a morsel. That's no problem, she'll probably snaffle something from her shelf of the larder later.

I cannot but wonder eternally how young people who we foster parents are entrusted with pull it off.  And on the whole, they do.

Stars, some of them...

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HOW TO GET A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP? FOSTER!

 Yo! I just had a sweet fostering moment.

Our eldest foster child is still with us despite reaching adulthood.

He's a 'permanent'. He has no home to return to, and he continues to need us to give him a home.

He's making slow but sure progress towards independence, which is the aim. He might be eligible for accomodation elsewhere in a time to come, but at the moment he needs our home.

Needs me.

He and I have a well-established relationship. I've been managing his foibles for a good few years now. If you knew what happened to him as a child, knew the things he's suffered, knew any of the horrors and agony of his early life, you'd wonder how he manages to walk and talk in a straight line.

Between the two of us we've rolled up our sleeves and got him aimed in the right direction. There've been times when it's been nothing but blood sweat and tears for the both of us.

Sorry, that's a bit of an exageration; there's been no blood. Well, no literal blood, maybe a few gallons of it metaphorically.

He'd been so cruelly abused by 'parents' that anyone who steps into the role of 'parent' to him is automatically the enemy. And, from the moment he arrived, that became me.

My Blue Sky social worker kept reminding me it's not unique for a foster child to begin by resenting their foster parents a little.

I wasn't phased by the young man's opposition, been there before, I have the T shirt.

One doesn't go into fostering to be loved and revered. 

The joy lies in mentoring progress towards a better place.

And this young fellow had a long and troubled journey to undertake. 

So. He and I embarked together, an odd couple because he had resentments towards his guide. I symbolised something he'd come to fear and hate; the parent.

We bumbled along though, with him challenging me every chance he got, refusing even casual niceties such as "good morning" or a friendly pat on the head for a good joke or for him doing the washing up halfway well enough.

He wanted no intimacy or engagement with anyone even slightly parental. The school said the same. He even had trouble with friends if he saw them acting as if above him.

We had a fascinating Blue Sky training session on it.

Transactional Analysis it's called. Psychologists agree that there are countless occasions where a person unconsciously adopts the role of parent over someone else who is made to feel like the child.

My young foster person was deeply cautious of offering any engagement with anyone of the parent class. Consequently I got no direct reward for my fostering of him, but was easily sustained by his growing success at school, at sports, at art and music.

He was getting somewhere.

But he still cut me out, pretty much.

Of course I coped! For one thing I had a tireless Blue Sky social worker to help me, and so she did, throughout.

I say 'throughout' not because the resentment has ended. It hasn't.

Although…

Earlier this morning (ie 4.00am) my phone tinkled. You never turn off your phone in fostering, I don't care what they say about radiation.

It was my grown-up foster boy.

He'd spent the evening in a bar watching England versus Mexico.

He was mellow, kind of…happy.

He's old enough to have a beer, all his mates do, we keep an eye. He's sensible.

Would I possibly drive down and pick him up?

Obs, yes.

He got in beside me and immediately started criticising my driving (normal). "Too slow."

I wove around a pothole.

"No point!"

etc.

I told him there were cold roast potatoes left over from Sunday lunch.

He curled his lip;

"Nah"

We pulled onto our driveway.

He sat still for a moment then went;

"Gimme your hand."

I gave him my hand.

He embraced it in a way I'll remember if I live to be a thousand.

And took himself off to bed with a huge bowl of cold roast spuds, and the last beer from us watching the game.

He had no work later that day, his boss had closed the business knowing no-one would be any good. Made them come in on the Sunday before to square things.

Eldest said he needed one last beer to make sure he nodded off. Planned to sleep til mid-afternoon.

Not me. 

My sleeping draught is this wonderful fostering thing.

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JARGON IN FOSTERING

 I've talked about this before, but it doesn't go away.

Children coming into care will often be carrying emotional baggage.

It's to be expected that at some point they'll become emotional.

We foster parents come to anticipate that initially a new child will present themselves as 99% at first; but are brewing up their fears and anxieties and all we have to do when the moment arrives is allow them to let off some steam.

It doesn't last long, and when they've let it out they generally repair quickly and it's business as usual.

The thing that irks me, and has down my many years in fostering, is that there's no structured set of terms that we can use to describe a foster child's distress when they hit a bump in the road.

Or a pushback.

The main reason that there needs to be a glossary of terms is because we foster parents are required to write a record of events, and I've never come across a definitive term for a wobbly.

When a foster child finds things all too much - and how could any child fail to be affected by being taken into care? - they get upset. However the desciption "the child became upset" is usually too vague to depict the child's discomfort.

Some years ago a child came to us who was being examined by an eminent clinical psychiatrist (a £600 a day man, so someone told me). He visited our home several times to asses the child and, I suspected, to assess if I was up to fostering a particularly interesting child.

The psychiatrist and I got on like a house on fire. Mind, if you think about it, if a top psychiatrist doesn't know how to click with a fellow human being there's no logic.

The thing I'm on about came up between the psychiatrist and myself one afternoon in my kitchen. We started listing all the words that are used when a foster child finds everything too much.

Such as:

"An episode"

"A tantrum"

"A meltdown"

Being Irish, the psychiatrist threw in a few of his own such as;

"A hooly"

"A bogchroich"

I came back with a couple of English ones such as;

"Threw the toys out of the pram"

The psych rejoined with some medical ones;

"An emotional event"

I countered with;

"Went up the wall"

"Flipped their lid"

We laughed a lot….

The reason I'm bringing this up at this moment is that a new term has surfaced which has the blessing of the professionals. They've embraced it as modern, colourful and a tad medical...

I'll tell it in a moment.

Last evening the young mother of the baby who are with us as a Parent and Child couple found everything a bit much.

She went temporarily elected mute, weeping, and sitting on her bed rocking back and forth.

I knew that her condition would blow over, but it was a situation that dear old Blue Sky are geared up for.

I called their 24-hr Out of Hours service.

Brilliant.

My phone got hot as concerned professionals honed in on events and poured out help, advice and support. You're never alone in fostering.

See, I'd used the new magic word.

When Blue Sky asked me what the problem was I was able to conjure…

"Well, the mother is…overwhelmed."

And everyone got it in one.

Just to round this off; the mother was 100% in the morning and has been more than fine all day. Bought me a bunch of roses and my other half a tub of mixed nuts (his joke is that he likes mixed nuts). 

Moreover her parenting skills continue to develop apace. She Blu-Tacked a weaning chart she'd bought onto the fridge door and is counting down to the day the baby takes his first food.

Thing is; the word "overwhelmed" has different shades of meaning. And what with the roses, the nuts, and the mother's excitement about her baby's impending milestone I felt a bit…

…overwhelmed.

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YOU CAN CHOOSE YOUR OWN FAMILY - IN FOSTERING

Just when you think you've experienced all the joys of fostering, along comes a new one.

This is about a piece of wisdom you hear from time to time.

"You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family".

You've heard it too, or some variation - sometimes people say; "You can choose your friends but you can't choose your colleagues". Same ballgown, diffferent ball.

This last weekend delivered a triumphant discovery, namely this;

IN FOSTERING YOU CAN CHOOSE YOUR FAMILY, FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES ALL IN ONE!!!

What happened was this (and I'm able to tell this one near enough like it is).

About 14 years ago we helped with the fostering of a newborn boy. We supported the baby's single mother, and the mother's younger sibling. The fathers were unknown and the mother ended up in prison. The sibling joined us as our foster child and became permanent (Chosen Family). The mother and baby stayed close to us; we'd look after the baby every other weekend to give the mother some time (Chosen Family).

The boy grew up without a father; bonded instead with my other half (Chosen Family).

One of my husband's hobbies is cricket, and at the start of this summer (2026) the boy caught the bug. Out of the blue he independently joined a local cricket club who were in need of young blood and they pitched him straight in at the deep end. 

He was not only named in the starting eleven for the first team…he was down to open the bowling. I know enough about cricket to know that opening the bowling is a singular honour…and they'd never even seen the boy play.

Hardly anyone had seen him play. He only had his first ever game for his school a few weeks ago. Word had spread that he could bowl like the wind. He's only 14 years but getting on six foot, anyone can see he's a whirlwind.

Such excitement! 

There was only one snag; no kit. No bat, no pads, no gloves, no helmet (compulsory these days). And his dear mother (Chosen Family) is on universal credit, struggling to make ends meet, but proud.

The situation called for a massive pull-together.

(Remember, this little piece is all about being able to choose family, friends, and colleagues, and how fostering gives us the opportunity).

My husband called a friend (Friend), an  ex-colleague of his (Colleague), someone he's worked alongside for years who is a cricket nut.

The ex-colleague phoned a bloke he knew (Friend) who had a big bunch of cricket gear in store. It happened that my husband also knew the self-same friend of his ex-colleague because they'd played cricket against each other donkey's years ago and got on (Friends). But hadn't spoken for decades.

Back came the answer "Yes". The bloke could - and would - provide all the gubbins required, packed into a tip-top cricket bag absolutley free, he was glad it was going to a good cause.

We arranged the transport.

The equipment arrived in time, my husband went across the county to watch the boy's debut. The boy proudly showed husband his Newberry bat (apparently the bees knees), the second-hand but top-end gloves, and a helmet that had clearly seen action.

Then came the stinger.

The cricket equipment was personal.

It had belonged to the bloke's son (Family).

My husband sat in the sunshine drinking in the experience. His fostering son (Chosen Family) playing cricket among men wearing cricket stuff blagged from a dear colleague's dear friend who wanted a deserving owner of his son's old kit.

The bloke (200 miles away) spent the afternoon texting my husband at the match to see how the boy was going along.

Friends. Colleagues. Family (fostering family).

The Holy Trinity surely.

Only, I think, in fostering.

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WHEN THE FOSTER CHILD "GETS" THEIR NEW FAMILY'S DYNAMICS

 In fostering, if you stick at it with your foster child you always get somewhere. It can be slow progress, sometimes it takes your Blue Sky social worker to help the foster parent understand that progress is happening.

Occasionally the foster parent doesn't need nudging. It jumps out and bites you.

What happened was this…

Hang on.

A quick bit of background to set the scene.

If you're new to fostering or maybe thinking about signing up it's worth me mentioning that when a child arrives they're a fish out of water. Think about it. New place to live, new home, new people, maybe new school…blimey…who could cope?

Well they do, (mostly). But it must be unimaginably hard. They've not only been abandoned of the familiar things in their lives, but the familiar people. Their mum and dad. Or stepmum or stepdad. Or mum's latest boyfriend and the older sister who does the actual caring (aged eleven). Nightmare stuff, but the nightmare is familiar to them, and nine times out of ten, they long to go back to it.

Instead, without them grasping it, the fact is that they're taken into care for their own safety.

What happened was this…

No, hang on, one extra bit of background. My other half and I have mock arguments for fun, one of which is about the dishwasher. I love the dishwasher, he doesn't. He prefers to wash up after a meal and get the things dried and put away. He says he doesn't like coming down in the morning and have to empty the dishwasher.

My retort is that when he does the washing up there's often smudges on the plates and cutlery.

He comes back that the dishwasher often bakes food bits onto things and they have to be re-washed by hand. 

He says dishwashers are bad for the environment, I say they use less hot water.

We spar about it twice a week. For fun.

What happened was this…

Our latest "placement" ("placement" is fostering-speak for foster kids), have been with us about 8 weeks. A teenage mother and her baby. She's still shy, unsure of herself around a new household, and acts like she thinks she's the cuckoo in the nest.

She's heard our dishwasher 'argument' a good few times.

So. Last Sunday we cooked and ate a traditional Sunday roast, which finished with husband starting to wash up and me starting to load the dishwasher. I told him to sit down and take his turn filling out the spreadsheet for our accounts. (NB, foster parents get reasonable tax breaks on the allowances we recieve, but the Revenue folks still want to make sure we're not Mexican money launderers, so there's paperwork).

He started making ha-ha complaints about how difficult the spreadsheet was.

I called back that if he wanted I could show him how to do a spreadsheet.

He muttered under his breathe that if I wanted he could show me how to wash up.

It was typical banter.

But guess what?

The young mum, readying to take her baby upstairs for bath, heard his mutter and got it. And spluttered a fake suppressed laugh, and went upstairs giggling.

She was in on the family.

When she'd gone out of earshot I said to other half;

"Starting to feel at home isn't she?"

"Yep" he replied, then he went;

"I often wonder what that must feel like…"

Me: "ha ha"

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SQUABBLES BETWEEN CHILDREN

 Settling squabbles between real brothers and sisters is one of parenting's dark arts.

I bet every parent who's had more than one child knows this for a serious fact of life.

When I say it's a 'dark art', what I mean is that the schisms between real siblings run deep and run complicated.

We parents do our best to settle disputes fairly and with justice and kindness;

"After giving this disagreement careful thought I have come to the conclusion that…"

Then there are the occasions when only one phrase will do:

"Because I say so!"

And this is how tricky it can be even when, as a real parent, you know the combatents inside out and understand all the subtleties and nuance.

Now imagine what it's like to be judge and jury of a couple of foster children you scarcely (by comparison) know!

What happened was this;

We've been joined by a Parent and Child; a teenage mother of a baby who's a few months old.

The mother is learning to parent the baby hands-on, all day and night. And doing it well. Her social worker has asked me to free up an hour and a half every day of "me time", for the mother so she can get her breathe. The mother opted to have from 7.30pm until 9.00pm in front of the telly with a can of Cherry Coke and biscuits.

Fine.

But.

We have 2 telly's downstairs; a big one off the kitchen, and a medium one in the living room.

Our eldest foster child has always had first dibs on the big telly after dark because he likes to cook himself fancy late night snacks while watching stuff.

But, in her early days with us, the young mother begged the big telly for herself citing a bunch of complicated reasons including the fact that there are gaps in the living room curtains that made her feel vulnerable.

We fixed the gaps and asked her to use the living room and give the kitchen area back to our eldest foster child.

The first night, the young mum folded, saying that she'd needed to use the kitchen to prepare some formula milk, but had felt scared to ask our eldest foster child if she could come into the kitchen.

A seriously shy young person.

I'd noticed they'd been a bit standoff-ish with each other, daft of me not to clock there was the germ of a rivalry.

I called the two of them together, but, as is so often the case with today's young, they found it hard to talk.

Then…brainwave!

I got them to exchange phone numbers and agree to message each other about comings and goings in the downstairs when they're both downstairs.

So far it's working even better than I imagined. They are tapping away to each other ten to the dozen.  Engaging. Chatting.

I meet countless older people who don't understand what a fantastic tool text messaging and the internet is for empathy and embrace.

They're wrong.

Our kids are right.

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FOSTERING AND…SPIDERS…!

 Boredom is never a problem in fostering. Because you never get any.

I've always hated being bored. I think people should hate being bored. If you're bored it means life is slipping through your fingers, like Abba said.

I love my fostering because it's always interesting, and I sometimes get an unexpected pat on the back.

So, today was a delight.

As I've mentioned previously, we're hosting a Parent and Child placement right now, and as ever in fostering, I'm finding out more and more about the mum and her baby with every passing day.

Every passing night come to think of it, but we'll talk about night feeds another time…

No, see, what's gone down over the last 24 hours is this;

The mother is a mid-teenager, the baby is now 5 months old. They've been with us nearly 3 months. In that time we've learned that the mother has a 'thing' about cleanliness and tidyness - which is cool in the parent of a baby (unless it goes too far, which she doesn't).

She also has a thing about…

SPIDERS!

Oh goodness, does she have a thing about spiders.  For example; she keeps 3 lights on in her bedroom and a torch by the bedside so she can watch out for a spider. Most nights she thinks she sees one and texts me to come deal with it.

What she calls a 'spider' is what we used to call a 'money spider', as in:  if you're visited by one of those microscopic babies money will come your way. They're not even big enough to be called tiny. In fact I doubt they're spiders at all.

We've had a long spell of hot weather and bugs tend to come out, so we get the odd little ladybird and such. But our Parent is beside herself when one appears.

Problem.

Now, in fostering, problems are what it's all about. Or to be precise, solving problems is what it's all about.

I'm a bit squeamish about spiders myself, but I don't let on because that might validate her anguish and make things worse.

So we bought some "Spideraway", a spray to use in your room to keep them out. We checked and double checked that it was safe, and it was. So safe a baby 'spider' came out to stretch it's legs the same night.

Not just spiders BTW, no. Flies, moths, bugs of all types.

Then…brainwave.

We bought her a mosquito net.

It came the same day (Jeff Bezos goes from strength to strength yes?).

And we set it up over her bed.

It's a flimsy structure but it KEEPS BUGS OUT.

So she's happy. 

If nothing else she feels looked-after.

Her solicitor visted and said out loud "We're all enjoying this placement.." (The "we" being the dozen or so professionals entwined in this case).

Know what she said then?

"We don't have too many success stories…"

Our mum and her babs is a "Success".

Result.

A good day in fostering. I felt like rewarding myself. 

With my own mosquito net…!

Seriously, it looks so good, it does what it says on the tin and it only cost thirty quid, there's nothing more annoying in the middle of a summer night than a mozzy buzzing in your ear...

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PARENT AND CHILD AND LOVING IT

 We've got a nicely full home at the moment. One of our two medium-term foster children has been found a family home (kinship fostering) and another has gone to their real home (which is always Plan A if it's feasable), timing is everything as you'd predict.

So;

It's week 8 of our latest arrival; a Parent and Child placement.

Biggest problem so far? I'd say this; the mother is learning the enormity of parenting. An enormity that's even more enormous for a single parent. A single parent who's barely aged mid-teens. A girl who's away from home for the first time in her life because Social Services decided that the young mother's own parents were already on their radar hadn't got what it takes to teach her parenting and that therefore the baby might be at risk. 

The dear girl is learning that, while her ex-classmates are getting home from some weekend gathering at someone else's house at 1.00am, she's also awake; trying to comfort and feed a demanding babe-in-arms.

She sometimes sits and has a little weep about where her life is at. But, to be fair, most of the time she's cheerful, resolute and philosophical. Or so darn tired she's on auto-pilot. 

What I'm reporting to to each of the ten or twelve (I've lost count) professionals who are attached to her placemnent is; she's a loving, responsible, tireless mother.

Biggest plus so far? Actually - and moreover honestly - there are too many to mention them all. A few;

• The baby is a delight. Even when he wakes the house up crying for his guzzles at midnight and 3.00am. He's already growing into being himself, very bossy - he even lords it over my husband who's ten times bigger than babe. Whenever hubby takes his turn at giving the baby a hold, he finds that the baby grizzles if hubby doesn't stand rather than sit, and is required to show baby the views from our front and back room. It's a power thing.
• The mother is a delight. A good mum, she's also learning budgeting and cooking skills. Tonight she's cooking everyone Nachos. Her other speciality is cottage pie. She's on her way, all she has to do is learn that the clever family chef uses recipes which are a) budget-conscious b) easy on the washing-up.
• Our home is a delight. Nothing sprinkles sunshine around a house quite like a baby and a loving young parent. Those of us who've been round the block a few times (and I'd include plenty of the looked-after children we've loved to have in our home), are - from time to time -careworn, battle-hardened old soldiers, given to bouts of world-weariness and even cynicism. Not these two kids! No, this young mum and her kid ooze with hope and innocence, an inspiration for the rest of us.
• We get delightful moments. The young mum did her first food shop at Tesco's with me and came away from the till saying "I never knew food was so expensive!" The mum gets and hour or so of "Me" time every day, but she came looking for her son saying "I was lonely without him". Oh and this one…(she's bright but has had no education), she asked me…"Did you live through the Black Death?"

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THE SMALLEST FISH ARE THE SWEETEST

I've a friend who has a lovely turn of phrase, such as;

"The smallest fish are the sweetest."

For example if she gets a £2 win on a scratchcard (not exactly life-changing)... it's;

"The smallest fish are the sweetest."

I thought of her yesterday when this happened.

We have a parent and child alongside our regular fostering at the moment. A young mum (age 16) and her 4 month old baby. With a Parent and Child (P+C) placement, the foster parents have to stay on track with the main tasks which are a) to ensure the child's safety and b) keep accurate records of the parent's parenting to help a judge decide whether the parent has what it takes to keep the child.

I'm new to it.

Blue Sky prepped me for the job, I spent hours looking up the latest research on child development and baby care on the unbelievably outstanding NHS website, but I was nervous right up to day one.

One of my concerns (and it's an ever-present with me) is whether the young people who arrive will ever feel at home.

We all need to feel comfortable wherever we have to lay our hat.

To begin with the mother showed all the signs of homesickness; phoning her mum for an hour every evening after the baby fell asleep, dragging me round Home Bargains buying up half the shop because her mum's birthday was only two months away, dressing heself up to the nines for weekly Contact with her whole family…

Homesickness can be cruel. In fostering we try to ease it with little touches. For example, the young mum likes 3 spoons of sugar in her tea.   Luckily she's been advised by Health Visitors to keep her sugar intake up as she breast-feeds. Now, we don't take sugar any more in our house any more, but I Amazoned a sugar bowl and now keep it filled.

For the first few weeks she was a fish out of water around our house, obviously. But we did everything we could to help her feel at home.

She and I had plenty of friendly chats, she welcomed having half a shelf of our fridge to herself for her own "bits"…I felt things were going in the right direction, but you can never be sure.

Then, yesterday.

My other half was in the kitchen finishing the drying up. The young mum came in and put her empty tea mug in the sink. Then she boiled a kettle and made a cup of instant coffee and took it back into the living room.

After the young mum went to bed I said to my other half "Thanks for my coffee earlier".

He replied: "I didn't make it, she did."

I told him that when she got up to put her cup in the kitchen I asked her to ask him to make me a coffee.

Only she didn't. 

She made me a cup of coffee herself, and brought it to me.

Wonderful.

I told my friend, the one who's good with phrases;

"Ah," she said "She crossed the bridge right there then?"

I nodded, and said; "And I know what you're going to say next…"

And the two of us chorused'

"The smallest fish are the sweetest."

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YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE GORDON RAMSEY

 Every time a new child arrives (and I really do mean EVERY time)…

…you have to find out what they like to eat, and even more important, what they DON'T like to eat.

And do it quick.

And, if you want the quiet life, you indulge their preferences and avoid their aversions.

Simples.

As time goes by you can work on things and improve, but not on day one.

But;  it might not be as simple as I made out at first. If the child has any type of eating disorder you'd hope it had been identified before they arrive and you, as foster parents, are advised.

If they have a clean bill of health it doesn't mean they aren't picky, and you usually have to move heaven and earth to keep them onside at mealtimes.

Feeding them right is good for their karma, good for household peace and quiet, and (if you know a few tricks and hacks) it can be good for their health too.

I'm not above blending brocolli into a spag boll sauce…or pretending the child is a giant and that the cauliflower is huge trees…

The reason food and fostering is in my mind is this;

We've been getting to know a teenage girl who is the single mother of a baby, they're both with us right now.

The first thing I asked our Blue Sky social worker when the placement was confirmed was;

"What would she most like for her first evening meal with us?"

The answer came back swiftly;

"Cottage pie."

No problem. It's one of the top ten comfort foods. Plus I got a snapshot of family mealtimes in the child's real home; cottage pie is easy to eat with a single fork off your lap while watching Series 4 episode 9 of your favourite drama. Plus it's usually pretty bland and unchallenging.

So. First evening meal with us we all sat round on stools at the breakfast bar and NOT at a formal table. She said she liked the food. I'd done brocolli as a side and she ate some. I'd done a basic salad (lettuce and cucumber) and she ate some of that too, drenching it in Caesar Salad dressing.

Then she asked, as casually as she could:

"What spices did you put in the cottage pie?"

"Er..none. Is it OK?"

"Ye. But I quite like…y'know…paprika. And garlic. And oregano and basil. Cayenne, but not too much."

Me: "Chilli powder?"

"No! Yuk!'

Me "Anything else?'

"Lots o' salt. An' pepper."

She went back to eating.

They say that during the first 3 seconds of meeting someone for the first time the average person collects and processes 5000 pieces of information about them, instinctively.

It's about the same the first time you discover a new child's food preferences.

And if you're on your game it tells you 10,000 things about the child, their past life, who they hope to become…

…and what to serve on day two.

I took advantage that we were talking about food and asked her about all her likes and dislikes. She enjoyed the telling. I got her full book of favourites and no-no foods.

It was a win/win.

She felt cared for.

My meal planning was going to be a doddle.

Although, I'm going to have to look up the recipe for Nachos.

If there aren't a million of Nacho ideas up on YouTube, I'm Gordon Ramsey.

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IT'S JUST TURNED 2.00AM...

 Six weeks into our first Parent and Child placement in 20 years and...

PHEW!

The parent is a mother aged 15, the child is 4 months old.

The mum is a truly lovely young woman. I describe her as a "young woman", though I suppose technically she herself is a child.

My priority as their foster mum is to ensure the safety, wellbeing and positive development of the baby, who is a truly lovely boy.

I have to be on full alert (without appearing to be jumpy or judgemental) `to everything that goes on between the mum and her baby. 

I guide the mum towards best practice in everything, not by telling her "Do this" or "Don't do that", but by setting examples so that the mum learns and understands by adopting good techniques.

The psychologist who assesed her back before she came to us submitted an 82 page report, the gist of which is that she should be helped to work things out for herself rather than think of parenting as a set of rules.

I'm pretty sure I knew that consideration before I was given a potted version of the report, and one of the (many) social workers/parenting assessors/health visitors/review officers - the list of professionals supporting this mother and baby is pretty long - kindly commented that I seemed to be getting that bit right without any need for coaching.

Example; the baby cries from time to time.

No surprise there.

Initially, the young mum would sit on the sofa with the baby horizontal in her arms and sort of gently bounce him in her arms, talking baby talk;

"Wassamatter little fella?" 

"Everything's alright…"

"Wassamatter…?"

Didn't pacify him.

So, I began saying, after a period of unabated crying;

"Shall I have him for a bit, give you a break?"

Staying in the same room as the mother I tried something I remember had soothed each of my sons when they were babes.

I simply stayed stood upright, holding the baby upright, with his head close to my face. I gently wrapped both my arms and hands around him so that he felt secure, and made soothing sounds, the sort he might have heard in the womb, for example; "Shhhhhhhh…" or a gentle resonant "Bedoomp, bedoomp…" (Like the comforting rhythm of a heartbeat).

And I moved slowly and silently around the room, changing the things he could see in order to distract him from his discomfort.

Whether it was the fact of being up high, or the swaddling in my arms, or the sounds I made right next to his ear…

Something worked, and he would stop crying in seconds.

My next job is to help the young mum watch and try to understand not merely that there is a way to soothe her baby, but that with parenting you're ALWAYS on the lookout for techniques that get results. You've got to keep exploring solutions to find the ones that work. 

What's good for Petronella isn't necessarily good for Paula.

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FUNNYISH MOMENT

 Funny how the mind works, and when its "On" I always end up thinking fostering.

So…

The cricket season has started (my other half cares about it).

How, you might ask, can cricket lead you to think about fostering?

My brain went like this…

Some years ago a 14 year-old lad came to us, a truly delightful kid whose dad had fled ages ago and his mum ended up going off the rails.

He'd had no life to speak of. Never had a holiday. Christmas and birthdays went unoticed. His schooling was described in his notes as "sporadic".

He spent most days and nights in his bedroom. His household didn't have a dime.

Then he joined us as a foster child, and took off.

Blue Sky helped enroll him at a decent secondary school where they played cricket. Someone tossed him a ball, and it turned out he could bowl. Fast.

So the very next game they had, the school had him open the bowling.

The match (his state school versus a public school) was played at the grounds of the public school.

At the time he was our only placement. My eldest son offered to drive him there and pick him up. And I volunteered to go along and watch.

Setting off early we got there an hour early. A proper posh school. The sports facilities were astonishing; four cricket grounds, innumerable rugby pitches, hockey pitches.. a golf course! I went up to their reception desk. A mahogany greetings room with leather chesterfields and marble pillars.

The receptionist asked if she could help. "Yes please" said little me, "I'm a parent, wondering where the cricket is happening?"

"It's on pitch number four, the Oval, too far to walk. Where are you parked." 

I replied;

"My wheels have gone off, so I'm on foot."

"Oh, no problem. I'll arrange a driver for you."

Then she said "Would you like lunch?"

I said I was okay.

She then said;

"Or coffee or tea?"

I okayed a tea,

2 minutes later a silver tray with a china teapot, a china cup and saucer, china milk jug, china bowl of white and brown sugar lumps and a sugar iced slice of cake with double cream.

Then the receptionist asked me this;

"When is your chauffeur returning to collect you."

Yep.

God's honest truth, I never make stuff up here...When I'd said :"I'm a parent" she assumed I was someone who could afford £50,000 a year fees.

What brought me back to thinking about fostering was the grand canyon of divide between the haves and the have nots.

Yet. I'm in touch with our kid, he's going along as well as any of the "Ollies" and "Julians" he played that day.

Best of all, I don't know much about about cricket, but I know when batsmen are getting their blocks knocked off. 

Which my boy did.

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