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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