'GIMME A BELL"

 One of the biggest changes I've seen in fostering is mobile phones.

Put simply, they didn't used to be an issue when I started fostering because they didn't exist.

Today; they exist alright, and are almost at the very centre of the lives of every youngster, and from a very early age.

It begins with babes in arms noticing that their parent cherishes their phone almost as much as their baby. "Hmmm..." thinks the wee one, before they have developed logical thought; 'These little metal bricks must be important the way mummy plays with one all day. Then there's those plastic bricks they point at the TV to make Peppa Pig appear; they're important too. And fun."

The babe learns that they've got to get their hands on phones and remote controls, just like mum and dad do.

Mobile phones are children's gateway into the world of social media. And that's where they become a challenge for foster parents.

When it's your own children you travel alongside them on their journey into social media, right from day one. You share the decisions about when to get their first phone, what sort of deal it's on, and what controls you put on it. 

Children coming into care have all sorts of different history with their mobile phone, and for the foster mum or dad, managing their usage becomes a big part of the overall job.

I've never met a single foster parent who didn't have a stack of stories about kids and their phones.

Is social media a big problem? Gee, go ask the Australians. As I expect you know, their government is attempting to ban the use of social media for all children under the age of 16.

As my eldest put it when he saw it on the news feed (on his mobile phone…)

"Good luck with that one then."

And that young person is absolutely spot on.

Here's my favourite tale about mobile phone challenges in fostering; I love it - it tells you what people who are trying to help their young stay safe are up against.

So... this foster mum had a teenager in her care who wanted total freedom on her mobile. The youngster liked to disappear into the bedroom and tap away on forums, chat rooms, Facebook and the rest. This would very much not do. The teenager had mild vulnerabilities (bullying, peer rivalry, jealousy - the usual suspects) so mum got together with Blue Sky and they worked out a strategy for helping the young person reduce their phone activity and that way limit their exposure to negative social media.

It was agreed that there would be a large empty fruit bowl placed on the telephone table next to the front door. Every family member would drop their phone into the bowl on returning home, so it was out of use for all to see.

The foster mum expected resistance from the child, but to her surprise she got total compliance.

Every afternoon after school the bowl proved the child's mobile phone was sitting harmlessly in the hallway.

The mum reported this wonderful upturn to her local authority social worker…who was suspicious.

The next time the social worker visited it was a school holiday, so the child was upstairs in the bedroom - without her phone.

The social worker said "Right. I want to try something".

She fetched the child's mobile phone and opened the back of it.

I know this sounds a bit intrusive to some; private property and all that. But the social worker reminded the foster mum that the Local Authority had guardianship of the child while in care and that meant duty of care.

So she opened the phone and sure enough…the Sim card slot was empty.

Turned out the youngster had bought a second phone and kept its existence from everyone. All you do is remove the Sim card from your known phone, put the known phone in the bowl, buzz up to your room and insert your card into your secret phone.

And off you go into the ether of social media.

Clever.

Apparently it's a well-known trick and social workers are tooled up on it.

Short story long, they effected a clampdown by turning off the home wifi at 6.00pm; the children all used the wifi so as not to use up expensive airtime on their phones.

On top of that they maintained the reminders about the dangers of social media and the importance of staying safe.

Meanwhile, back in Australia the kids are sharing tricks to get around the government ban. They're way ahead of the AI the Aussies are using to block under 16s. One girl got approved by a robot by offering a picture of her mum.

Another got allowed usage by offering a photo image of…Beyonce.

Beating the block has become part of the game.

Kids of today 1, Artificial Intelligence 0.

In a way it's frustrating. In another way it's a tad inspirational...

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THE TYRANNY OF THE ELF

 We have a four-year old family member staying with us, his mum and dad have got the builders in. 

It's only for a fortnight, we talked it through with our social workers; thumbs up. My foster kids love a raucous household and I'm pottering until half eleven every night putting the house back together…

We were set for a blissful pre-Christmas hootnanny, then…

…blot on the escutcheon.

The lad's dad showed up late on the first night with a bag of stuff, and assembled a slightly disturbing grotto on our kitchen table; whacky toys, a mysterious note and an even more mysterious cloth Elf.

This was my first encounter with…

…The Elf On The Shelf!

I asked him what it was all about. He explained;

"It's an American thing…"

So: if you already know about The Elf, skip the next paragraph.

The Elf On The Shelf is a spin-off from a children's book of the same name. It was written 21 years ago, which, the USA being such a young country, makes it a tradition. The Elf's job is to spy on the family's children then report back to Santa whether they've been naughty or nice. Nice = presents, naughty = no presents. Plus; every morning The Elf sets the family a mischievous task.

Every bloomin' morning!

The Elf on our kitchen table always collapses on his side overnight. Next morning he looks like he let himself go at his office party and was refused a cab. Shabby. Oh, and the naughty/nice thing is a straight nick from Santa (proper tradition, Santa's 4th century).

Not exactly Tolkien, this Elf On The Shelf is it?

There's been hoohah Stateside. Child psycholgists and educationalists are lining up to warn that it prepares children for being scrutinised by unseen forces and that good behavour (kindness, thoughfulness, politeness) shouldn't be in pursuit of tacky gifts.

My beef is different, it's this.

Parents of small children have quite enough on their plate without another complicated and sometimes expensive task at the end of the day.

Running a young family in modern times is already as hard as it gets, especially if one or both partners work. Double ditto if someone is bringing up little ones alone.

I mean; look at the Holiday schedule. Trick or Treat is followed by Firework Fortnight (in the USA it's Thanksgiving) Then comes Black Friday. Then the Nativity Play, gifts to buy and wrap. Somewhere around this point in the calendar young parents have to tool up with a toy Elf and an endless supply of mischievous tasks and build a fancy display; but not until the kids have finally nodded off.

Every night!

Apparently plenty of parents get competitive with each other, creating ever-more complex tasks and (obviously) boasting about them on social media. 

Some poor parents get left behind by it all. They go through the motions, but would rather re-charge their batteries after a long day's slog. A bedtime story, a peck on the head; then feet up.

I mean to say; what with all the shopping and decorating and gifts; parents are running on fumes.

And a tight budget.

Luckily, my current foster kids don't care for The Elf. For them the whole nonsense is too juvenile for street-wise folk such as them.

My Blue Sky social worker reminds me that Christmas is the busiest time for children coming into care. Reckons it's largely down to alcohol (or whatever) and being cooped up together for so long.

But perhaps the relentless pursuit of joy (an elusive quarry no?) has something to do with it.

PS I mentioned "The Elf On The Shelf" to my social worker when we hooked up a couple of mornings ago. She has a four year old, and is doubtless a wonderful and tireless parent. When I uttered the dreaded Elf word…you should have seen the look on her face...

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NEXT BABY STEP FOR A FOSTER MUM

 Fostering; where a family (or a solo adult) takes in a child who needs caring for. The fosterers could be a mum and dad with children of their own, or a single person. They could be in work or between jobs, or retired. Might be religious or not, might have pets* or not. There's no template for us fostering folk. 

It takes all sorts.

Nor is there a template for the type of fostering one might go for.

For example; there's the common or garden placement of a child whose real family home has broken down in some way. The child is considered at risk. But even with that sort of fostering every child is unique, every chaotic family are a case in point. 

But there are other ways to foster. Respite care is a good example, where the fostering family takes in a child whose foster parents need a break or maybe have to go off for a family wedding or suchlike. Respite care is very rewarding in many ways.

Then there's Emergency care, which is where a child needs a bed for the night and needs it pronto. Emergency carers need everything from a bedroom ready to be used to a new toothbrush still in its carton.

There's all sorts of in-between fostering, if I can put it like that. But the one I'm aiming to go for next is Parent and Child.

Blue Sky have been nudging me to think about it for a while now. 

What made them think I might be up for it? That's easy; they don't miss a trick these social workers; sharp as the proverbial tack.

See, I'm now a young gran! Yep, a 'nana' to give me my official title, and the whole experience has put my maternals back in full bloom.

I'm cuddling cushions and encouraging the dog onto the bed in the morning.

Last time our social worker was here I banged on about how I'd bought curtains to pull across the front door and keep out the letterbox draught. I'd bought a new rug for the living room. Cleaned all the insides of our windows with vinegar.

I'm nesting.

And therefore easy prey for the proposition of looking after a parent and child.

The Parent and Child isn't necessarily a young mum and a newborn, although I'm told that's the most common profile. It's the one that would suit me best to get me started in what is, after all, a specialist type of fostering.

Thing is, I've done it before, once, way back a long while ago, before I joined Blue Sky. Bottom line is that I believe I could have done better. The young mum was 17, it was her second baby. Looking back I went hell for leather to help the mum shape up and be good enough to keep the baby. Her first-born had been removed and put up for adoption. In the case of this young mum I was instinctively driven to do my utmost to help the mother keep her baby. With hindsight I should have given more priority to the baby's needs, and adoption was the best thing for her.

I learned on the job as I went along.

I can't overstate by how much Blue Sky's support and preparation is superior to what I had way back then. 

I'm going to be helped, advised and guided every step of the way this time, and I can't wait.

Blue Sky appears to have staff dedicated to Parent and Child, and one of their head honchos is a fantastic person who… used to be a foster carer. Not only that, she used to specialise in Parent and Child.

When it comes to help and guidance, you can't beat someone who's walked the walk as well as talked the talk.

I had a virtual meeting with her to get the ball rolling, it was scheduled for two hours.

Three hours later we relunctantly pressed "Leave the meeting".

She's my new chum.

And I'm going into Parent and Child…me and my new chum plus my regular social worker and her team. Together.

_______________

* Pets. I've only heard of one circumstance where pets were a deal-breaker. A single man who'd enquired to be a foster dad. He informed social workers that he owned a collection of live snakes, one measuring eight feet long. All of which had the run of the house...

 

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JOHN LENNON WAS RIGHT...

 I bumped into one of our neighbours in the high street recently.

She's not someone I'm particularly connected to, but our paths cross and we have an occasional chat, usually a gossip about things going on in our road.

I asked her if she was busy and she told me all about how she and Chris were settling into retirement and finding things to do. Eventually she asked: "And you? What are you up to these days?"

"Oh," I replied "Fostering."

"Goodness!" she floundered; curiously at a loss; "Are you STILL fostering?"

Her use of the word STILL annoyed me a bit, to be honest. The way she said it.

What did she mean? Am I getting a bit old for it? Haven't I got it out of my system yet? When am I going to start acting normal?"

I thought about it all day.

I ruminated away…the woman is a bit older than me. Would I say to her "Oh, are you STILL alive?"

I dropped it into the conversation next time my Blue Sky social worker came over for one of her lovely visits.

She reminded me how huge is the need for more foster parents. One organisation reports there are 60,000 children in care, and 90,000 who need care. 

The two of us got to wondering whether the neighbour, recently retired, and her husband, also recently retired, have been considering applying to foster.

Maybe they just need a nudge, maybe they find the prospect daunting.

Maybe she's fearful of being told she's too old to foster.

She ain't.

I had an idea; I asked my Blue Sky social worker if they had some cards I could keep in my bag to give to people who I thought might be interested.

She's getting back to me with the idea. I hope it kicks in, I've always wanted to announce; "My card!"

Getting started in fostering isn't a huge leap, it's a series of baby steps which one takes with strong supporting hands guarding the would-be foster parent along the journey. They won't let you fall.

They want you to succeed.

My experience with Blue Sky was as follows; I phoned their office and after a friendly chat on the phone they sent someone to visit us. He'd been in the house for 5 minuites before announcing;

"Right! I've seen all I need to see! You're definitely worth taking to the next level. You can expect another call from Blue Sky."

Turned out he was 'Stage One". A quick shufti to make sure we had the basics; a normal family home with a spare bedroom and enough brain cells to do joined up thinking.

The next stage was a series of visits from a Blue Sky social worker to get some details about ourselves, our family, and our home. They even checked out our immediate family members and friends, simply to get a picture of how we might foster, how we might structure our fostering.

Blue Sky's discovery that we had a couple of difficult family members didn't put them off; if anything they were encouraged. Fostering needs carers who have experience of managing family people who think two and two make five...

Then came a formal review of our application to foster; a small roomful of kind but constructive people checking out that we measured up. It felt more like a massive pat on the back than a rigourous exam…

And then?

You're in!

It was the best piece of cake I've ever had!

Oh, and as I always tell people who ask, my abiding memory of the review happened when they announced that we had passed, and asked if I had any questions.

"Yes" I replied, turning to the man on the review board who was also a foster dad. I said:

"Do you have any advice?"

He thought for a moment then replied;

"All you need is LOVE…and a lot of it..."

Know what…?

He was spot on.

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A MOST UNUSUAL FOSTER HOME

 I often find myself reassuring people who are thinking about becoming foster parents about the lengths Blue Sky go to to ensure that each foster child is a good 'fit' for their carers' home life. This includes any foster children already in the home.

They call it 'matching'.

For example, a few years ago we made our family available for providing respite care; 'Respite' is where a foster child comes to stay with a fostering family for a short period of time in order, usually, to help out the child's regular foster parents.

Sometimes it's just for a weekend, sometimes a week, sometimes an indeterminate period depending on the exact circumstances. However long the period of respite lasts, it's temporary.

Yet despite it's short-termism, Blue Sky always go the extra mile to ensure a 'match'.

Here's a typical example.

We were asked to consider providing regular respite for a young teenage boy. We were flattered to be picked for consideration as the foster home he was with was over 100 miles from us. If it had gone ahead Blue Sky would've handled the transport.

The boy, 'Carlton', was a white Zimbabwean by heritage who needed respite care during school holidays. Both of his foster parents worked; one was full-time the other part-time, and arrangements had been agreed that there'd always be one of the parents on hand when he was home, but they couldn't give that guarantee during school holidays.

Our home was covered for school holidays as I was full-time fostering and always on hand.

Our house was almost like a youth club back then.

Blue Sky went to work collecting information about the lad, his story, his character, his likes and dislikes, his food preferences; the works.

One titbit about him caught the attention of our eagle-eyed social worker.

"Hmm…" she muttered. "I'm going to have to find out more about this…"

She'd spotted something in the boy's notes, namely the identity and profile of the family that had provided his respite care up until this point but were no longer able to do so.

Listen to this, it'll tickle you I think.

Our social worker came back to us armed with as much information as possible. She wasn't in possession of the names or address of the respite carers, but she was able to collect enough peripheral information.

They were…

... aristocracy!

Yep. I can't explain why I found that surprising and intriguing, but I did. 

They lived in a converted castle, on a country estate. Hundreds of acres of woodland and wheatfields, a river, a trout lake, deer, pheasants, a stable with horses (a couple of which were thoroughbreds they ocassionally sent to the races). 

Did I mention their castle had a moat and turrets? It had the remnants of kennels for forty hounds from when they used to lead the local hunt. 

Oh, yes. The thing that caught our social workers attention was this.

They had a gun room.

Ah. Good spot by her.

She made more inquiries.

Turned out the boy had learned to ride, fish in the river and…join in the shooting. All proper and above board of course; he wasn't allowed anywhere near the guns. But he worked as a general gopher; a pheasant-beater, a junior hound-master collecting the game that had been shot. The Lord (or Earl or whatever he was) regularly invited banking friends for weekends and Carlton would mix it with City-slicker Hedge Fund managers and the Wolves of Wall Street.

Carlton had become a part-time member of the hunting shooting and fishing fraternity with such enthusiasm that he'd put himself down to join the army at the earliest opportunity. Apparently his real family had fled Zimbabwe in the final days of the country being under minority white rule - partly because his stepfather had been a farmer and had been involved in the fighting, siding with the losing side. He was sought after by the incoming authorities.

No wonder Carlton's DNA felt at home on the country estate.

His local authority were a hundred per cent vigilant about keeping Carlton from so much as touching a shotgun, but he become enamoured of the lifestyle, and an enthusiastic advocate of controlling wildlife, and mixing it with enemy forces.

We had to decide whether Carlton would find respite life on a normal suburban estate a bit tepid. Blue Sky established that his permanent foster home was much like ours. They assured us that Carlton would benefit from our provision of something that the aristocrats didn't do so well, namely a bog-standard loving family.

But something niggled with us that it might be a shock to his system.

Then we got round to talking about how he'd fit with our family members, and that was when a penny dropped.

Our eldest foster child (at the time) was just starting to find his feet. Until this time he'd been painfully shy and lacking any confidence, but he'd started to hear his own voice. He took views on issues, and developed pride in his noble opinions.

Eldest was on the way to somewhere better.

Blue Sky and I sat around the kitchen table wondering about the impact of having Carlton for respite might have on our eldest foster child.

Carlton had reportedly grown into a strong character with clear views. For example he would argue for military action (by no means unusual thinking among teenage boys, but not prevalent in our house at the time). 

After much thought we said "Sorry but no" to having Carlton for respite care. Blue Sky totally understood and moved onto rustling up some other options. The very next offering was Nagwa. She was a "Yes" and it worked a dream.

And our eldest? 

He continued onwards and upwards, happily oblivious of the care everyone had taken to ensure that newcomers fit into every part of our wonderful family.

Sometime shortly after this, eldest announced he was vegetarian. And asked if he could attend a peace march.

His newfound commitment didn't last, but we laughed at how the conversations would have gone around the kitchen table if Carlton had arrived and started banging on about pheasant shoots and Afghanistan…

BTW we wish Carlton well and hope for his future, we never met him but he lived in our hearts and minds during an interesting period of our long and happy time in fostering.

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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…?

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FOSTERING AND SCREEN TIME

 We've just enjoyed a week hosting a four-year-old for Respite Care.

His foster mum needed a wee operation and her other half is an airport driver who works all hours and couldn't bridge the gap. Plus the guy wanted to care for his partner when she came out of hospital. They needed a week off fostering.

No problem. Respite is something we've always been up for.

We say to the kids when they arrive; "It's your holiday". And we try to make it feel like that.

After all, it must be a bit scary for them, having been taken into care in the first place, then sometime later being shifted somewhere else. The whole kiboodle of getting to know a new home and new people is a big ask.

Fostering (for us anyway) is about bringing the children on. Anything less is what I call incubation, which I'm only prepared to do when offering Respite.

What I mean is this; I will always take every opportunity to help the child progress (that's my priority in fostering) but when one hosts a child for a short Respite period, the priority has to be helping them deal with their new, temporary environment.

Cut to the chase; I spoil them.

I don't spoil them rotten; what I do is help them feel safe. And there are lots of ways of doing it.

Big example; I let them have plenty of screen time. 

More than I'd normally permit.

See, their screen represents a familiar world. When a child is uprooted from their real home, then uprooted again from their foster home, they can feel rootless - because they are.

So I allow them plenty of journeys into a world that feels to them like 'home'.

Some screen 'homes' are a bit worrying. I wouldn't want them to live in the world of Spongebob or other shows I could name, so I stay vigilant. 

The child who came to stay for a week was happy to watch the likes of Peppa Pig and one hosted by a beautiful person called "Rachel".

Believe me, these shows are like Sunday School, only better. They're steeped in great values and real connections with top end ethics. And they're fun!

The four-year-old arrived with a bag that included a tablet.

I showed him his bedroom, then made him a snack. He asked for his tablet.

He got it.

And he relaxed.

Then, next thing, he wanted to show me what he was playing/watching. We bonded.

I sometimes wonder if people who carp on about children spending too much time on their phones/ipads etc, ever bother to get informed.

Still: who cares?

Who cares? We foster folk, that's who cares, and we try to care about the right things.

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