I had to drop into our high local wholefood shop yesterday.
Not a place I visit much, perhaps I should go more often, after all; good food is obviously better than ultra-processed.
When I say that I "had" to go, what I mean is; the visit was fostering-related so it was duty.
See, middle foster child has started to cook for himself.
This, as any parent will testify, is a milestone.
Why? Because this young man has always harboured self-doubts about himself. Like so many childrren taken into care he believes deep-down that his family break-up was his fault. That nobody really wants him. That he's not worth bothering with.
When he arrived he barely bothered with himself.
In fostering we work our socks off trying to improve each young person's self-esteem.
We tape all their drawings to the fridge door, hug them for finishing in the first half of the school egg-and-spoon race, video their performance in the second row of the Nativity choir.
We try to be real, but at the same time often over-egg the pudding and get told "Stoppit mum, it's no big deal".
Up to now middle foster child has always been fine with my food. I do spag boll, pasta (with Dolmio red, sometimes pesto), pizza (weekend treat). Sausages always get eaten, as does chicken anything. Green veg I hide in soups. Salad bits get eaten unnoticed in a burger.
Then suddenly, without warning; bombshell.
He was having a friend visit for Saturday tea and asked if he could cook their meal.
"Hans Christian Anderson!" I exalted (my mum's way of joyful swearing without crossing boundaries). Huge.
I asked him what ingredients he needed; he dictated a list. He was planning a Thai green chicken curry and needed items that we do not have in our larder of lost ambitions.
But purchase them I did.
Into the Tesco trolley went; Thai green curry paste, chicken breasts, and coconut milk. Nix on lime leaves but I did track down a sachet of lemongrass.
Foster child cooked while his pal sat at the kitchen table dealing his set of Tarot cards and telling our kid how his life would unfold. The aroma was superb.
Obs, mum did the washing up.
Here's the thing; did his interest in cooking end there?
No.
It gathers!
He still eats with us, but he and I share the cooker/oven.
And now; he's gearing up to cook for the whole family.
I got given a shopping list.
Spooling down it I realised there was no way it was a Tesco job.
Hence I'm in our wholefood shop.
Organic paprika, organic garam masala, cayenne, Himalayan pink salt (seriously), Sushi rice, Nori, wasabi paste, white Miso, and…(don't laugh) beetroot powder.
The lady on the till said:
"Someone's going to be cooking tonight."
I replied "My son. Tonight and most nights. He's discovered he loves cooking."
"That's lovely!" she said.
"Yes" I replied, "It's great if they begin taking care over their food, and celebrating eating. Means they are developing respect for themselves."
The lady went a bit rheumy-eyed.
"Yes…" she said quietly. Then;
"I must admit that now that I'm alone in the house I don't always bother to cook. Thanks. You've made me think."
One day I'll tell middle foster child he made a difference to someone he'll never meet.
Not today. Today there are other fish to fry.
Or to be precise; other fish to slice raw and roll in sushi rice before binding with sun-dried seaweed, served with a steaming bowl of miso soup.
Restaurant quality fostering!
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