THE BIG CAHUNA OF FOSTERING

Our most recent arrival, Romeo, has been with us about a month.

So honeymoon over.

The 'Honeymoon', if you're new to fostering, is the period of the first few weeks during which the child is comparatively co-operative, polite and even-tempered. The professionals use the term 'compliant'; it's more than that in my book.

Cynics use the phrase 'familiarity breeds contempt'. In my book, that one couldn't be further from the truth.

In fostering familiarity (and it's exactly that - think about if: family=familiarity) breeds the opposite of contempt. But love has a funny way of showing itself in foster children.

Once they are confident you can be trusted they push your boundaries. They need to know how far you'll stretch, and what happens when you snap.

It's the Big Cahuna of fostering.

How far do you stretch?

I took Romeo to his first Contact since he came into care. Normally they go weekly to meet a significant family member, starting week one, but Romeo only has his mum, and she's been in serious rehab after overdosing.

Don't get me started on Contact. It's a government-devised law, part of the Children's Act. It means well, but hell, everybody says they mean well and this device needs flexibility. It ain't got any, so foster parents the length and breadth of the land have their job wrinkled by this dictat that we take the children to meet the people who fell short with running a family once a week and we have to pick up the pieces afterwards.

Romeo had spruced himself up and was excited/anxious all the way there. The Contact was happening at a Contact Centre. A Contact supervisor would be present.

I got my first glimpse of his mum, not the frailty I'd imagined, quite a sturdy-looking person, some sort of blue in her hair, tattoo peeping over her collar. 

I sat and waited for an hour. The Contact had been scheduled to happen during school hours so I didn't have to worry about finding a sitter for my other charges.

Afterwards Romeo came out and walked towards me looking untouched by the experience. I got him into the back seat and strapped onto his booster.

I said;

"I've put your favourite on the seat". A banana.  He's discovered he likes bananas. They aren't his absolute favourite, that would be Orange Fanta, but you don't want to throw petrol on a fire.

Golden Rule of Contact for me? DO NOT ASK HOW IT WENT.  Contact is too painful, too punishing, too tender to have it's complex intimacies invaded by a stranger (which, for a few hours after Contact, is what the foster parent is reduced to being; a stranger).

In fact, Contact often reduces the foster parent, in the foster child's eyes, to being less than a stranger; you are part of the dark forces that are swirling around them; an embodiment of their troubles. Maybe they sometimes think you are to blame.

So we drive off in silence. I try my distractions;

"Spag Boll tonight" ( A big favourite)

Reply: "Don't care"

"It's only two o'clock. You ought to go back to school really, but I think we'll call it a day. So when we get home you can have the X Box to yourself"

"I hate the X Box!"

A banana is chucked, with controlled force, against the back of the front passenger seat. Harmless enough, but when you're driving you have to be on red alert. 

A bunch of rude words later the poor lad is squirming in his seat. Writhing, almost, the crossed seat belts suddenly seeming more like a straight jacket than a safety thing. Not hysterical, just wound right up. Then he retched.

"Gonna be sick!" I find a safe place and pull over. He's been sick once before, so I always take two plastic carrier bags (5p each), an old towel and a kitchen roll stashed in the door compartment.

His car sickness is caused by everything in his life, although as we all know, children who are prone to car sickness are especially troubled by being in the back seat.

My other children will be getting home in just over an hour, I can't stay in this lay-by much longer, I've just noticed it's actually a bus stop, and the bus will kick up a stink if I'm parked here when it turns up.

Foster children should always be transported in the rear of the foster parents car. It's more than a bit of advice, it's kind of a rule; Blue Sky are keen on it.

However; there are mitigating circumstances and safety is the key one. 

"I think" says I, "We'd better get you into the front seat".

It was as if I'd waved a magic wand. He was going in the front seat!

He. Romeo Tovares, age eight, of no permanent abode, without father or family unless you count a mother who may have behaved God knows how in front of him at Contact twenty minutes ago. 

He; someone who the universe had decided could not matter less...was going... to sit in the FRONT SEAT.

THE FRONT SEAT!!!

We drove home in silence, but a dignified one. I knew what he was thinking, beside's hoping that lots of adults would notice this eight year-old man sitting up front. He was thinking that if he behaved himself he might get to sit in the front seat more often.

And I was thinking; watch out for more bouts of car sickness in case they are a ruse to sit in the front seat. But, while some foster children can turn on real tears like they said Shirley Temple was able to, you can't fake being actually sick. 

But mostly I was relieved to get the journey home done safely, and calm some of Romeo's angst. Until next time...

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THE CARER'S LIFE

Fostering isn't only about looking after other people's children until they are able to do it themselves.

It brings other things into your life when people find out what you do.

Early in the holiday period a member of my family asked me for help. He isn't someone I'd describe as close, but he's visited our house a couple of times - for family gatherings - since we started fostering. He's middle-aged, single, and has lived with his mum all his life. She's just been taken into care after being ill for a year.

He sounded quite distraught on the phone and said "I'm in a bad way". He said he was frightened to talk to anybody else, even his doctor. I invited him over.

We took him to hospital as one of his physical symptoms was chest pains. When he came out we got him to our GP who gave him some valium. Even took him to a Chinese doctor, who was very helpful too.

Christmas Day came, there was no way he should spend it alone in his mum's bungalow, so he came over. Ended up coming over every day until New Year. We told the children that "Uncle Brian has had a hard time lately and needs cheering up, it's what Christmas is all about".

On Christmas Day the phone rang; we do rounds of calls to people who are too dear to send Christmas cards to, but this wasn't one of those, this was Helga, an old friend who lives in London. She was Christmassing in France with her French partner and their seven year old son. She wanted someone to talk to about something, didn't want her family or friends to know.

Her partner has been having an affair and she's had enough. Been going on for at least two years, she'd suspected almost straight away. Who needs to overnight in Leeds when the meeting ended at five? Why does he really need two mobile phones, one of which is fingerprint protected for "classified business communiques"?

Anyway, it's come to a head and they're splitting. She was in bits and needed to cry down the phone to someone. She'd visited us a few times and seen a bit of what goes into fostering.

So I let her talk and weep, no problem; except I've got a family Christmas to organise for a foster family including Romeo, the new arrival.

Plus there's Uncle Brian on the sofa, party hat on the side of his head, who mustn't forget to take his valium.

I've noticed this a lot about fostering. It's down to the word "Carer". Friends and family figure that you're a caring sort and maybe even think that you enjoy helping other people. I've had parents come up to me in the playground and tell me their problems. I try not to give advice, they just want to talk to someone who's discreet and...cares.

I'm no different from who I was before fostering, I'm not qualified in any kind of counselling or Samaritan-type work. I've attended some enjoyable training sessions at Blue Sky, but frankly I doubt I'm much cop at it, except they often come back for more.

The important thing, I remember from training, is not to say much, but listen, and show you're listening.

I think there are more people looking for this kind of help in our society than ever before.

And, just like we assume that someone in a track suit is fit and that a taxi driver will know how to give directions, plenty of folk guess that someone who fosters is a better bet for a kindly ear than most.

I just hope they don't think we've got a magic wand.

Mind, Uncle Brian is on the mend, and Helga's giving her man another chance.

And the foster children? They saw with their own eyes they weren't the only ones with problems, that its healthy to care about family and friends, that giving is more enjoyable than getting, and that giving takes many forms.

Who do I offload on?

My Blue Sky social worker is due her visit in a couple of days, there will be many boilings of the kettle.

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HOW I DEAL WITH MISBEHAVIOUR (WELL...TRY TO)

A reader, Nathalie, has asked a great question having read "The Paradox Of Fostering". Normally I reply to comments  beneath the post, but this needs a more detailed reply. She wrote;

"This post was interesting to me, because I feel quite challenged by the notion that a foster parent such as yourself would 'put up with' behaviour like 'getting snipes about being useless, bad language when no-one else is about and snubs'. I understand why the child might act that out, especially when you point out that they are transferring what they know of family to the equivalent family roles in the foster home, however I'm interested in how you respond to that as a carer?

I would want to be (calm, but) very firm and say that speaking to a woman like that is not acceptable behaviour, so that they are unequivocally clear on the issue - that they may not even be conscious of. 

I wouldn't want my kids seeing me let that slide.

What is the bluesky guidance on this?" 



Thanks Nathalie, very important, let's talk about it.

When there's a conflict between foster parent and foster child there's a secondary and all-important conflict going on simultaneously in the foster parent's mind;

Control versus de-escalation.

I imagine it might be possible to exert oneself with calm but firm command, but in my experience if a foster child is prepared to cross the line they've crossed it plenty before, and have been subjected to plenty worse than a calm but firm explanation of why it's unacceptable; to no effect.

I'm more interested in de-escalation than coming across as the boss. The foster parent needs to retain authority, but not at the risk of provoking worse behaviour or alienating the child. If you de-escalate professionally you have retained and enhanced a better form of authority. 

Zero tolerance in fostering, unless you get the Von Trapp children, is a non-starter. You expect some mild difficult behaviours, as with most children. Some things you just turn a deaf ear to. Teachers call it 'selective hearing'. Otherwise you spend all your time pulling them up. In time the unwanted behaviours fall away, if you've kept on the right terms with the child.

Yes, there are lines that can't be crossed, but the reality is, as in war, there's a big expanse of no-man's-land and no actual line drawn in the middle, and foster children are good at positioning most challenging behaviours in this grey area. I worked in a youth club in a rough part of town many years ago, one of the other volunteers was a police officer, a desk sergeant, lovely bloke - used to turn up in his uniform. 

With the very best of intentions he decided to draw up a list of bad words which were unacceptable and those that could be used. It was running to three pages of A4 when he gave up, partly when it was pointed out that "Blimey!" - which he had on the 'Acceptable' list - is short for "God blind me". As for "Burke", also on his 'Acceptable' list, I'm afraid I can't tell you what that means...all grey areas.

If a child said to me "You're useless!' because there were mushroom bits in the Bolognese sauce, and I was frazzled or going through a patch of low-self esteem I could hear it as an insult to myself, and I might be tempted to make an issue of it. 

But I try to remember why the child feels rude or angry. I try to reply "Sorry, I forgot how mushrooms make you sick, let's take the bits out". I've even been known to reply; "That's me, Miss Useless 2016". Then I try for a smile with "Defending champion actually". Then; "Unbeaten in uselessness since the "Most Useless Person Europe 1998. I came second". Makes me smile anyway. 

De-escalation.

Then change the subject with; "Do we want a lolly or ice cream for pudding?"

So, I'm afraid, good luck with being unequivocally clear on what's acceptable with a child who's been through hell. At least for the first few years.

I try to hear what the child is really saying, which is:  "I'm frightened" "I'm lonely" "Nobody loves me".

My line in the sand is drawn where it helps the child most, not where it suits my pride or self-image.

If my own children, or younger impressionable foster children witness challenging behaviour I help out the upset child first, then talk it through with the others afterwards. I talked to my children about fostering in advance and I keep talking. They are part of my team. They get it. Does it work 100%? No! We once ended up with an unofficial door slamming competition after one new child brought the door slam into our house. I joined in for a bit, it was mildly therapeutic. After I withdrew from the competition they carried on for a bit and it petered out.

This is my way, other brands are available. Yes, in the past I have sometimes put my foot down hard, but it neither ended the child's anger that caused the behaviour or made me feel better about myself or improved relations with the child. 

But; everyone in fostering is different. We all bring our own backgrounds and baggage to the job, and I respect other approaches, even if I don't agree with them always, and bite my tongue at support meetings.

Blue Sky's position, as I see it, and I'm not an official Blue Sky spokesperson, I only know my own thoughts, is the same as local authority social workers and Independent Review officers I've met; 

Don't allow yourself to feel abused, don't allow yourself to be put in the slightest danger (unlikely), in the worst possible instance (very rare) use the restraining technique's we are trained in.  These extremes are simply extreme; extremely unlikely.

The rest of the behaviours, which are stock-in-trade for many fostering situations; mild grumpiness, sulks and deliberately snippy 'pleases' and 'thank yous'; are water off a duck's back.

The best advice anyone at Blue Sky has ever given me, which I'll freely pass on here is; use common sense.

Your own common sense that is, not mine or anyone else's.

Common sense is, after all, the most evenly distributed commodity on earth. Everyone thinks they have the right amount.

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(SINGS) "HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LIDL CHRISTMAS..."

One of the carers who posts very welcome comments, Mooglet, has been wondering about how we deal with the problem of real parents who come up short with Christmas and birthday presents.

An interesting one, thanks Mooglet.

I think fostering feels this quandary most sharply at Christmas and birthdays, but it's probably an issue for the child all the year round. We try to give them the normal generosities parents offer children, not just appropriate gifts but appropriate loving care; and they put two and two together and realise their previous experiences weren't good.

I guess we foster parents have to look at each individual case to decide how to explain it and help them with their feelings.

Maybe the real parents don't know they are coming up short, maybe they didn't get much in the way of presents or love themselves.  Our social workers can help by giving us whatever background information they can.

Maybe the parents have financial dilemmas. I can't remember if I've ever looked after a child whose real parents had independent incomes, and, while the government give winter fuel payments and a cold weather payment, people on benefit don't generally get any extra for Christmas; it might not get spent properly anyway.

I remember a child who came to us once, just before Christmas, a teenager. She was going home for Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

We bought her Christmas presents and a stocking-full of nick-knacks, all carefully wrapped.  She said she wanted to open them in front of us on Christmas Eve just before we drove her home.

She said that the previous Christmas she'd been given a Lidl carrier bag with half a dozen unwrapped Lidl things in it; biscuits, a chocolate santa. A 99p deodorant spray. That sort of thing.

She wept with each unwrapping. Gosh, I'm filling up remembering. Her big present was a mobile phone; we'd discussed it with her social worker and it was what she craved. On top of that we did our best to buy her things that matched her aspirations, such as grown-up cosmetics, false eyelashes. We put some thought in.

By the way; her previous Christmas - the Lidl carrier bag - that was from her foster carer. Not a Blue Sky carer I have to say, but a foster carer nevertheless.

The girl said she didn't want to take the presents home and unwrap them on Christmas Day because it would embarrass her mum, so she had awareness.

The concern here is how we foster parents help our foster children deal with the differences between our parenting and the parenting they had before they came into care.

I've always tried to stick to the facts and avoid opinion and try not to seem to criticise the parents; that's the advice we get at Blue Sky. But however you present the facts the obvious implication is that their parents could have been more generous, more loving, more caring.

They can work out for themselves that I do what I think is right, and that I probably think that what their parents did was wrong.

A harsh truth indeed, for some. But it's their truth, I don't upfront it.

Anyway what are we foster parents going to do or say to soften the blow? I'm damned if I'll give up lavishing my own children and family with their usual happy junk in order to protect my foster children from knowing what they've been missing.

Thanks again for the subject Mooglet. Does that seem about the size of it to you too?








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THE PARADOX OF FOSTERING

In the last post I was going on about what Christmas is like in fostering.

One thing I deliberately didn't mention was our new arrival; Romeo. It's been his first Christmas with us, he only arrived a couple of weeks ago.

He's settling in. That is to say he knows where everything is, our basic routines and a bit about what each of us are like as people.

We are getting to know him, and matching the experiences we know he's been through with the behaviours.

EATING AND SLEEPING

The two basics to start with.  His eating is below standard; refuses to drink water or vegetables. He likes junk food available at all times, in his room, playing the PC. He doesn't always eat it, takes a bite then lets it sit at his elbow. Comfort of knowing he'll not go hungry. At school lunchtime he leaves some of his packed lunch in the box so he's got food available all day at school.
He sleeps okay once he's gone to sleep, but kicks against bedtime. Normal child in this respect, except he rejects bedtime stories: "stupid", gets out of bed and kneels at the top of the stairs making the smallest of noises in order to be detected (wants to know we won't get cross with him for being out of bed). Probably more to this than fear of dark and being alone. We wait for clues. We think he wants to stay vigilant to re-assure there's no rough stuff going off downstairs.

COMPLIANCE

By 'compliance' I mean responding to reasonable requests to do things no child wants to do such as pause the PC and help lay a table or go clean teeth before school. He now trusts me enough to dispute the request;

"Wait. I'm nearly at a new level".

"I brushed last night and I haven't had any sweets".


GENERAL BEHAVIOUR

Not shy any more, except of the other children in the house. They are all older and he's learned from the playground there's no mileage in trying it on with a bigger child; you'll get your comeuppance in ways which our other children wouldn't dream, but he's not yet secure that he can trust them. With his foster parents, different story, and a common one; he's transferred his own family to us; the 'dad' is frightening, the 'mum' must be challenged, so I'm getting snipes about being useless, bad language when no-one else is about and snubs.

HIS REAL FAMILY

His mother is out of hospital. He is worried sick she's going to die. They had a conversation on the phone before she was released.  She sounded drowsy but bolshie with me. Then I handed the phone to Romeo and he didn't get a word in, just "Yeah", "Yeah"and "Nah". The absence of "I love you" or anything close when the call was ending was pointed. "Bye" sufficed.

The dad is not on the scene.  Romeo has two older stepbrothers of his father's who are with their mother, and a stepsister by his real mother who is with the father (not Romeo's father) and this guy's current girlfriend and their two children plus her son from a previous relationship.

HIS LIFE BEFORE CARE

His social worker has done a great job piecing together how things were for him, and we foster parents owe them for that because the more we know about their past the easier to understand how they are and what we need to do. Romeo was more neglect than abuse. His dad was in and out of his life; he used Romeo's mum's social housing as a convenience; a bed when he wanted, food and presumably other necessities and niceties. They fell out a lot over substances; she wanted to escape, he wanted to bulk up. The dad was physically absent, the mum was emotionally absent. Romeo looked after himself as so many kids like him have to, and knew when to keep out of other people's way, but had the normal urge to engage and seek support and affection, which was non-existent.

So that's where his anger will most likely be; when he is treated with kindness.

You get used to the fostering paradox; the kinder you are the more unkind they can be. Your kindness reminds them of a birthright they never got at home.

I have sometimes had more peaceable relations with some foster children when I was out of steam and reduced to giving them no more than the basics and precious little TLC.  It goes against the grain though and I'd rather risk a hissy fit for being nice.

Contact with the mother is planned. I'm not looking forward to the first school morning either, but then there's this;

PEACE AND CONTENTMENT

He was sat playing Minecraft on Christmas afternoon. He was gently humming.

Onwards!

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CHRISTMAS 2015 AND FOSTERING

Christmas and fostering.

We could be here all day on this one.

The more Christmases I foster the more hard work it becomes because you learn stuff and build it in next year and end up with a bunch of practices the size of Encyclopaedia Brittanica.

And there's absolutely no guarantee it makes much difference; but you try, you try. Every year it throws up the same mystery for me and I suspect many people in fostering.

Can I get something off my chest? I get cross with all the TV cooks making endless fancy Christmas recipes of indulgent stuff with home-made sponge bases and cuts of meat you never see in Sainsburys which they tell you to 'ask your butcher to prepare for you'.

The media generally portrays idyllic family gatherings. You get the feeling you're the only household not hosting 27 laughing back-slapping souls; glamorous sons with noble wives who've flown in from Durban, granddaughters down from Oxford. Cheerful children, twinkling grandparents.

Humbug.

The first thing is to set your fostering sights realistically; foster children are likely to appear greedy and ungrateful. They are neither, of course. Their materialism is no different from anyone's they just lack finesse in going after the goods. And they don't know how to be gracious, not surprisingly.

They might moan about certain aspects of your idea of Christmas, maybe even try to make out that they had a better time before coming into care. In some ways of course, they did; they weren't from a broken up home back then and they often got everything they wanted and more ( I find chaotic parents often compensate for lack of care with expensive treats).

They might get grumpy about your own family traditions. You might want to play Buckaroo on the table at midday because you always do; they'll not get into that will they? Their Christmas traditions might have been that everyone was under the table by midday.

The build-up to Christmas Day is just as fraught. Foster children miss their real home and their real mum and dad more at Christmas than any other time of the year, the Contacts beforehand are tense, the present-swapping is so poignant, the phone calls to family, if allowed, are difficult. They have a wobbly about something trivial, but the real reason is because of what being in care at Christmas does to their insides.

The days after  Christmas can be rubbish for them as well; that dead period between Boxing Day and New Year's Eve; toys all played out, weather bad but not actual snow, TV dreadful.

So what's the fostering mystery? It's this;

Every year you know it's going to be a mighty slog, fraught with pitfalls and dramas. But every year you long for it, plan for it, lie awake daydreaming of the best Christmas ever. You shop til you drop, you cook and cover the house with decorations, you go the extra mile to get their presents dead right, you wrap them beautifully and hesitate what to write on the tag ("From Mum and dad"? "Merry Christmas, love...."?  "xxx"?).

You slog through Christmas embracing all the emotional carnage, remembering it wasn't  much easier before you fostered.

Now you are fostering it's a fantastic stretch of days; you're all together under one roof (you can hyper-foster), you are giving them toys, fancy food, affection and warmth. 

Yes there are tears sometimes. But Christmas gives us a chance to do such intense fostering that maybe we should wish it could be Christmas every day.

I know this is true because we've had children stay for more than one Christmas and it's amazing how they remember each detail from the past year and ask if it's going to be the same again:

"Will there be pork pie for breakfast again? Yeeeeugh!"

"Can I put the star on the tree again?"

"The dancing Father Christmas goes on the other end of the mantlepiece!"

Of course, plenty of foster parents and foster children are non-Christian; so when I say Merry Christmas at the end of this post I mean it in every language and in every faith as an expression of goodwill and affection;

Merry Fostering Christmas!










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GETTING TO KNOW THEM

Romeo is settling in well, has slept through the night since the first night hiccup. We keep seeing little flashes of life in his previous home coming out in his behaviour. I heard him say to the dog when no-one was around;

"Listen mister. You do exactly what I say when I say. Or else. And you know what 'Or else' means".

Chilling.

When you get a new arrival there are quite a few practical things to get done.

Stuff like signing the child up with your own doctor, booking trips to the opticians and dentist. The local authority sends a nurse to give the child a check-up.

I don't know if these things throw the child or make them feel cared for, I hope the latter, not that anyone likes going to the dentist.

The child's school has to be notified, obviously. A PEP has to be arranged. A PEP is a Personal Education Plan for the child. The Plan is constructed to meet the child's needs. It starts with a meeting either at the carer's house or the school. It's attended by; yourself, the school, your Blue Sky social worker and the child's social worker. Sometimes the local authority sends an additional officer with special knowledge of education. 

It always does my heart good to see so many people gathering with one aim in mind; to help a lost child. These are the sort of things our country should be proud of.

Everyone involved tries to keep the child at the same school if possible, but the school's office need to know someone else will be picking the child up from school, plus a new address and phone number. New email address too.

Whinge alert: Don't schools send out loads of emails with attachments where the attachment could have fitted in the body of the email and saved a pfaff?

All the mechanical business can divert your attention from the main job, which is getting to know the new arrival so you can make things better for them.

Sleep patterns. Play skills. Clothing whims. Bathroom habits. Conversational levels. 

It's a whirlwind forty-eight hours.

A big part of getting to know them is food preferences. 

Romeo, like most foster children, likes red food; pasta, pizza, baked beans, tomato sauce (on everything). Anything red, except tomatoes. 

Absolutely no salad stuff.

So; I can slip carrot and red lentil and tomato soup past him when he's not on vegetable alert by calling it 'Superman Soup', but to begin I feed them just whatever they can and want to eat. I have heard carers say they like to start as they mean to go on, but I'm not one for forcing a child who's just been wrenched from their family eat a plate of cabbage.

I ask his favourite food;  McDonalds, and we will have a McDonalds, maybe at the weekend, why not? All things in moderation. 

Food is huge for looked-after children. They are often underweight even in this day and age. I give Romeo a snack the minute he gets in from school; a cheese sandwich with a few crisps on the side and...three cherry tomatoes. No fork. Eating with fingers increases the chances of food being eaten by 50%, don't ask me why. I put a dollop of mayo on the plate and said; "Goes well with the cherry toms".

First day he left the tomatoes until last, but the business of dipping them in the mayo lifted the whole thing; he ate them. Yesterday he ate the (five!) toms first.

If you told a stranger that the biggest thing in Romeo's first two days was that he ate 5 cherry tomatoes they'd think you had low expectations.

These are the tiny, almost microscopic improvements in a child's chances that make this fostering game the thing it is; a continuous challenge to enhance every tiny aspect of their lives.

Oh yeah; maybe one day Romeo will go to Oxford or play football for England, but right now I'm as proud as you like that he's eating a salad vegetable albeit disguised as party finger-food.

Is Romeo sad or angry about what the world has done to him?

Not outwardly. Children the world over don't know when they are getting a raw deal, they think that whatever is going on around them, however awful, is the norm.

Inwardly though, he's incubating stuff, of course. 

One of the many mistakes I made when I started fostering was to assume the child would be eternally  grateful for a calm, fair household and return the goodwill with interest. 

I knew to logically expect some behaviour, but my heart kept hold of this idea that they'd never bring it out on me; not me, not lovely earth-mother saviour ever-loving ever-patient me.

Romeo will need to get some things off his chest. In the meantime I'm enjoying the calm before the you-know-what and seeing moments of a child at some kind of peace.

An eight year-old who has discovered tomatoes.

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