BACK TO SCHOOL

Here's a tricky question which I get asked often;

"What's the best thing about fostering?"

The best thing changes day by day, sometimes by the hour, sometimes minute by minute.

Sometimes you get fantastic little moments that knock your socks off. They come and go, like the one that's just happened today.

But it's the big 'best things' that endure, such as the simple fact you're doing something that's just plain good. There aren't many walks of life where you get uncompromising respect. The Foster Carer can look in the mirror and give yourself a quick pat on the back. It's not WHY I do it, or any Foster Carer does it, but it's gratifying nevertheless.

The other deepest things are the times when you can be confident you've made a difference for a child. Actually that one takes the beating. Then there are the visits from your Blue Sky Social Worker which help you focus on the positives.

Those three strong emotional pleasures are shored up by practical plusses; fostering is a respected profession so we are supplied an allowance which more than covers the costs of looking after someone else's child. It can't be called a salary (for accounting reasons - after all we're fostering 24/7 so counting the hours we are asleep but on call you could argue it's a 168 hour week. If we were paid the minimum hourly wage we'd be on £71,722.56). The actual allowance is substantial and covers more than our costs, but it's not quite up there.

Then there's the endless parade of great moments like this;

Our middle foster child came downstairs with a few days of the school holiday left and said;

"When are you going to tidy my room?"

Don't you just love loaded questions? I watched a YouTube about it. Manipulators call it a 'presumptive call to action'. The question is not asking whether you're going to comply, but when.

I should have replied something like;

"Here's a bin bag, if you can fill it with rubbish from your room and whizz it down in less than 5 minutes you can have a ...."

"A what?"

"A surprise. Of your choice."

I've worked this bit of counter-spin before but on this occasion was taken unawares and replied badly;

"Er well I was going to wait until you were back at school before..."

Which wasn't clever. It raised the spectre of going back to school, and that's sure to lower the mood and sure enough foster child went into a shell. Nothing big, just a sulk. A sulk I know well, blimey I pull one myself (privately) from time to time, not that they ever do me any practical good. They klind of feel nice though, some sort of self-righteous indignation.

School holidays are as big a challenge in fostering as they are in any parenting. My strategy is to let them get bored for a few days, then start organising a few low-key things while talking up the one BIG thing that is scheduled for the final days before back to school. If I was rich it would be a huge party or taking a bunch over to see Panic! At the Disco. 

I usually settle for a sleepover. They go back on a Tuesday or sometimes a Wednesday, so a Saturday night sleepover means time to recover. Sleep-overs are actually "Stay-awake-overs". They try to be up and doing crisps and diet coke into the small hours. Who wouldn't?

So I lifted the mood by saying;

"Got the final guest list for the sleepover?"

And got the reply;

"Robin says he has to come."

So I said;

"Problem?"

"Robin's a pain."

"Oh surely not, Robin's alright."

"You would say that wouldn't you."

"Eh?"

"He Instagrammed that everyone says you're the best mum out of everyone's."

OK. Blimey. Foster child pulled a face which meant something like "So maybe you aren't so bad after all". And I said something like;

"Well being a mum is hard and I'm sure all your friend's mums are great."

But as I went about my jobs I reflected on another 'best thing about fostering' moment. I'm obviously not the best mum out of all of the mums, but; my foster child was proud I was his 'mum'.

And that's one heck of a best thing.

So back to school with all's well!

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INDEPENDENCE

One of the most interesting dimension of fostering is helping children find independence.

A child's journey from needing everything done for them to being able to do everything for themselves is a big part of parenting and maybe an even bigger part of fostering.

Only it's a different journey for the foster child. And for the foster parents.

Take Bethany, an eight year-old girl who arrived at our house with boxes of stuff. She had too many possessions to fit into her bedroom, we had to store overflow stuff in the garage. Among the stuff were no cuddly toys, in fact no toys at all. It was all fashion clothes, party shoes and adult possessions such as fancy hair appliances, stereo music players, and so on. She even had two phones.

She came down to tea on her first full day with us dressed for dinner at the Ritz, but to be fair to her she didn't own a T shirt or a pair of jeans.

The overwhelming thing about Bethany was her sadness. She had the heaviest heart I've ever come across. Never laughed, never even smiled.

She was overweight, had hardly been to school, and despite an outer worldliness that belied her tender years, the inner eight-year old Bethany was still an infant.

It took us a while to get to the bottom of her story. You have to do the digging in order to work out how best to help the child. Our Blue Sky Social Worker and I put our heads together. Bethany's Local Authority Social Worker provided as much background as she could and we sussed out the rest.

Bethany's mum was a person I'd describe as 'hard'. I met her for the first time when I took Bethany to have Contact with her. As Bethany and I walked across the car park of the  Contact Centre the mum leaped out of her huge shiny 4x4 and roared;

"Where's her coat? She'll freeze!"

I would also describe the mum as 'domineering'. As she led Bethany inside and I turned to go back to my car to wait, I heard her bark at Bethany; 

"Step it up sister I haven't got all day for this..."

'Insensitive' too then.

Back home with us Bethany began to drip-feed us with insights into her life so far. We knew that she had two younger brothers who were in care elsewhere. We knew that the mother held down some sort of management/buying role with a high street fashion chain which explained their extravagant social housing home - one of those ones with more flat screen TVs than books. 

By the way, in my fostering time I've seen some pretty dire privately owned homes, and some pretty high-end social homes.

As each day went by we picked up more details about Bethany's childhood, and know what? It turned out there had been no childhood. 

Bethany had been recruited by the mother to carry out free child-minding, probably from the age of 3 or 4. She had never been played with, never had friends round for a tea party, never made a sandcastle or been to a pantomime or the circus. Her childhood to date had been one of surrogate parenting, housekeeping, cooking, cleaning and general servitude. 

Something occurred to me at the time and I raised it with my Social Worker during our investigations. I said to her;

"Y'know what keeps nagging at me?" I asked, "Bethany's childhood isn't so very different from my grandmothers, except nan wasn't showered with gifts."

The reply put me in my place;

"That was then and this is now. Having a proper childhood is a human right. Beth didn't merely pitch in with the jobs which is what your gran did, Beth was a modern-day slave and the gifts were shop freebies and no substitute for love and care."

She was spot on. 

So. The fostering job with Bethany was to let her go into reverse and have a childhood BEFORE we set her on the road from childhood to independence. 

She stayed with us for eight months, during which time the mother was deemed by the professionals to be a 'functioning sociopath' (hard, domineering and insensitive). The professionals decided that she would struggle to show true love and care, but could be negotiated with to abide by a set of parenting guidelines which would be periodically checked. If she stuck to them Bethany and the boys could go home and stay. The mum could continue to bank the various benefits which augmented her salary and - very important to her - keep up appearances (imagine her shame if colleagues found out her kids had been removed).

The parenting guidelines were aimed at avoiding the neglect that the children had been exposed to while the mother pursued her lifestyle. Examples include not being left alone at home for a whole weekend while the mother went on a romantic soiree to Dieppe and the children being allowed an education and contact with other children. There were a couple of other outlawed activities I won't trouble you with but which almost landed the mother in Crown Court as well as the Family Court.

To the best of my knowledge the intervention worked for the children. I told Social Services that if Bethany ever went into care again to call me first and that hasn't happened.

What did we do during her time with us? We gave her a childhood, as best we could. I taught her to swim, my other half taught her to ride a bike. At Christmas she played along with the Santa thing.

We also respected her urge to grow up. She saw in the New Year at our house and made a roomful of adults roar with laughter when she drew "Gone With The Wind" in charades and put on a memorable performance.

I suppose it's obvious that I miss Bethany. But then I miss all of them.

I guess I found my independence in the usual way, but in fostering I found something even better.

Inter-dependence.

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NEWEST FOSTER CHILD UPDATE

Our latest foster placement, Ryder, is coming along.

When you start in fostering it's all a bit of a blur at first, but you soon pick up some patterns, such as the so-called honeymoon period. The child arrives and is usually compliant; curiously co-operative. Then they get to know us and our home. They relax - and express understandable sadness and anxiety. We get through those days and once the child settles the work begins for real.

Okay, yes sometimes Ryder still gets steamed up. Who wouldn't?  I would, anyone would. If you're a child who has been brought up in a home that is deemed unfit, well you're going to be brittle at the very least. The problem things in her home didn't begin just before  social services went in. The unfitness was in her case almost a generational problem and in my experience the problems at home besetting children who end up in care are usually in place from before the child was born. Probably long before the child was born.

That is the case with Ryder.

But. She's been with us a while now. And if she gets upset (which happens less and less) she knows to retreat to her room and come down when she feels better. Big progress on the self-awareness front, and she knows it, and is proud of herself.

Last week I went into her school because we had what is called a PEP meeting. PEP stands for Personal Education Plan. Every looked-after child is entitled to a Personal Educational Plan.

When you start fostering it's one of the first thing's that differentiate looking after a foster child from one's experience of having children of your own (if parenting your own child applies to you - it's not a criteria).

And the PEP thing is a superb thing.

The meeting is usually at the school and is attended by the school's childcare officer, my Blue Sky Social Worker, the child's Local Authority Social Worker, and the Carer.

Just go back and read that attendance rosta again; it gives you some idea of what a fantastic country we live in that so much expertise and loving care is made available to each poor mite that has to be given a breather from their real home. I'm not saying the UK is best in the world, but it's hard to imagine anywhere is better. Plenty of other countries should come over here and take a look see how it can be done. Hats off to our people.

From Ryder's last PEP it's clear Ryder has a way to go in several respects.

Ryder gets into disputes with classmates, although the school points out that the number and seriousness of the stand-offs are by no means standout; and since Ryder is in fostering her interactions are slightly more closely monitored. A pupil in care at any school has a childcare officer attached to them, and they keep a discreet eye on their clients.

There was never anything like this when I was at school, and it's a wonderful support mechanism, both for the child and for us Carers. If anything happens at school we get a phone call. If anything happens at home that the school needs to know about we know who to phone, and they know what to do.

See what I mean? The support and back-up in fostering in the UK, at this moment in time (2019), is out of this world. Thousands of young people are getting the help they need to start them on the straight and narrow.

Ryder is showing progress in English and Art. Maths is not too good, and PE is er...not a strong point.

As a child in fostering Ryder is entitled to something called a Pupil Premium. It's a sum of money set aside by the Local Authority to pay for anything special by way of eduction, so we're planning to get Ryder some one-on-one maths tuition.

See? The whole package just gets better and better.

It's important to remember that in fostering you're never alone, you've got an army behind you.

And the way it often works is that the Foster Carer is up front on the big white charger - only we don't expect a medal, the little victories are reward enough.

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OUT

Every warm weekend or evening brings the same nagging thought to us Foster Carers. It's something that probably nags most parents. Come to think of it, one hopes. I wish it was universal.

I wish it was a niggle that bothered the parents of the children who come into fostering, they're the parents who probably don't get guilty thoughts like one the rest of us parents do when it's warm outside. Namely;

"Shouldn't they be out on their bikes?"

It's kind of one of the general thoughts about parenting which are sharpened when one starts fostering. Fresh air, exercise, companionship. 

In our house on a typical weekend morning it's myself and my partner who are awake first.  We prop up in bed with our first cup of tea and think about the day ahead. We call our early morning chats a 'board meeting'.

The particular morning in question was last Saturday. The weather promised to be warm...so once again we agreed...they should be out on their bikes.

Or at least OUT.

So we sat up bed sipping tea and drawing up battle plans. We mulled over taking a line of bikes to Sainsbury's for the weekend shop.

That idea is dissed . What,...go round three roundabouts with traffic backed up and fuming? And rucksacks stuffed with groceries?

How about we load the cars with bikes and go up to the Hikeway? The Hikeway is a footpath about three miles from us where cyclists battle against serious hikers, casual walkers, dog-walkers, pony-riders and the sporadic odd squad of motocross motor-bikes. Not to mention the occasional trio of Range Rovers chasing a hot air balloon. You can get a hamburger from the mobile kiosk at the other end. A couple of enterprising kids will wash your car at the start point for £5, worth £3.

Okay, scrub those ideas. But. They should still be out on their bikes. Not stuck inside with the curtains drawn.

Here's the thing; the two of us got to thinking anarchy;

Namely; maybe as parents we get strong-armed into thinking that children's lives and futures will somehow be worse if they're not OUT.

But what is OUT?

Is OUT such a big deal?

Maybe, me and my other half mused, (while plotting how to get the other one to go down for the second cup of tea), they're just as well off being IN. If that's what they want.

We talked about being IN when we were kids. A big truth dawned. Back then there was nothing IN for us. The TV didn't come on until tea time and at weekends there was no childrens TV.  Telly was for grown-ups and mainly males in black and white. The radio - if we kids ever had access to one -  told us kids that weekends and evenings didn't matter. The radio put on their second-rate output.

So why as kids did WE go OUT? Certainly our parents were less fearful of danger.

There was less traffic. There was less media about kids being snatched (it was just as big a danger back then, but different press coverage). Parents back then didn't see themselves as entertainment managers.

Most of all, we went OUT because there was nothing IN.

But now...there is loads IN!

IN is fantastic!

IN has three hundred TV stations showing fantastic stuff all day. IN has a pocket computer (mobile phone) which when connected to home Wi-Fi opens out onto the whole wide world...and at the same time lets you hook you up with close friends who are also curled up in their own bedrooms and are  desperately hunting what it is to be who they are and what they might make of this life thing and choose to try to be,  but hey here they are.

Another thing about why kids like to stay IN is that we modern parents are surely more 'in' than our parents were. More 'with it'.

So, we allow. We don't go cracking whips or herding kids into walks or parks. We like to let water find its level. I always quote how my dog used to know when he needed roughage and would eat rough grass.

So then, on this Saturday afternoon, at about 2.15pm, eldest foster child appears in the kitchen;

"Me and Ludo are going out." (Ludo is the current bestie).

The information is delivered with as much flippancy as a 14 year old can drum up, ie a lot.

They went OUT. Minus bikes. They were on foot.

Monster fostering moment.

By the way, monstering fostering moments fly in aplenty you just have to be cute enough to notice.

You spend hours anticipating this and that and then they happen.

As I write these words I don't know where eldest foster chid is with Ludo.

Well actually, what I mean is that I don't know to the nearest three feet of where they are, because I have an App on my phone which eldest is in agreement with which means I can click on any time I want and get a pinpoint.

So they're as good as IN.

But they're OUT!!!

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FOSTERING AND STUDS

People sometimes ask Foster Carers;

"Is it true that you have  to get the child's parents' permission before they have a haircut?"

It's one of those titbits of quirky misinformation about fostering that are out there. Maybe 'misinformation' is a bit strong, what I'm talking about is that some members of the public think that fostering is beset by red tape, rules and pitfalls. 

As far as haircuts go, yes, sometimes the real parents should be consulted. New clothes are another example; sometimes the parent might appreciate being in the loop. But it isn't a problem for us - we inform our Social Workers and they sort it, then get back to us with the decision on what to do.

Every child is unique, every fractured family that has children removed and taken into care is unique. We all work together to get it right for the individual child. 

"THE CHILD IS PARAMOUNT". That's the Blue Sky watchword - though I can't imagine any other fostering body is far off that maxim. So if a child wants a one cut over the ears, or a pair of jeans slashed at the knee, there needs to be a sound argument against before it gets vetoed. For example if the child's school bans shaved temples, no problem, that's out. If the child's step-grandmother has a beef about trendy clothes, that's a different thing.

Yes, there are a rules and regs, but our Social Worker helps us with them to keep the placement on track. Most of it is plain common sense. That's how the bulk of fostering works; common sense.

Look, fostering is no doddle, but we Foster Carers have an army of professionals behind us to back-up, give guidance and support. And help us get on with the job.

Social Workers are miracle workers. Ordinary folk like myself who get into fostering find ourselves backed up by one of the most vital, good-hearted, professional bodies of people out there.

The reason this topic is in my mind is that last Saturday one of ours had their ears pierced.

Ouch...in many ways.

One big ouch is that this particular child is always a bit saddened when they are reminded that they are different from children in ordinary families. It's been agreed all round that in our house we try to develop the sense that the child is the same as any other child. We keep the professionals in the background and the professionals are...professional, they get it. So when the child sneaked alongside and asked about having their ears pierced, I knew I'd have to consult, but I played my ace card at such moments and replied "Interesting. I'll have a think and get back to you on that."

It's a response that buys time. I pinged an email to my Blue Sky Social Worker who advised me to email the child's Local Authority Social Worker about it.

Don't know if I've made it clear in past blogs but the fostering system works something like this; Blue Sky Social Workers are primarily focussed on supporting their Foster Carers. Local Authority Social Workers have final responsibility for the child. Of course everyone at Blue Sky cares deeply about the child, and the Local Authority cares about the Carers; but there's a small but important distinction of responsibilities which helps enormously.

So in the case of ear-piercing the final decision had to come from the Local Authority Social Worker, who came back with a yes.

I emailed the news to Blue Sky and we agreed that there was no need to burden the child with the details of all the work that had gone into what ended up a simple yes. I then checked with the Local Authority Social Worker that it would be okay for me to give the child the good news, and if the child understood it to be my decision, all well and good.

One; the child would think I was cool, modern and on-side - and that might buy some extra good spirit.

Two; the child would avoid being reminded they were in care, and feel part of an ordinary family where decisions - unless the law says otherwise - are taken by the parents (or the responsible household adults).

If the child asked me how the decision had been reached I would be honest with them because you try to never tell foster children fibs. But if they don't ask, and want to believe it was foster mum being a good egg, so be it.

And Saturday's piercing went well. I had to attend as an underage-but-old-enough person has to have a guardian on hand. Child came out looking good. I've genned up about salt solutions and the special tape you buy from Boots for when they have to take their studs out for PE.

It was painless all round, and like I said, the studs look good.

FYI I'm not thinking of having my ears done.

When I was young one of my friends had it done by a friend in the park and it was messy. Piercing became one of those things I was put off from for life.

Nothing could ever put me off fostering.

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ENJOY THE MOMENT

Fostering folk get reminded about Mindfulness from time to time, either by the media or sometimes by our Social Worker. Quite right.

If you're not careful you spend all day thinking about problems and jobs and don't spend a moment peacefully reflecting on all the good stuff.

Take tonight, it's a Friday evening and the home has filled up. There are three friends of one of our foster kids plus our other foster children, and my own brood. It's like a youth club in here. I could easily fill my head with all the responsibilities and clearing up I'll have to do.

I'm sat at the kitchen table where I have a view through to the TV room. My other half is also hovering invisibly.

There's pizza, potato wedges and diet coke for all and they're laughing away at Homer Simpson being stupid. Laughing and chatting. I'm not eavesdropping but I can hear snatches of them talking amongst themselves, for example; someone at the school several of them go to, someone called Lauren, is keen on someone called Ollie. Mrs Hampson, the maths teacher is not that bad, and then on The Lego Movie 2, the discussion is whether it's a bit nerdy for people aged 14.

Sounds like harmless banter, but it's much more than that. The sheer normality of it is magical.

Non-fostering folk wonder what fostering is all about. If fostering is about any one thing it's about maintaining some kind of a 'normal' household despite the unusual dimension of a young person from outside the family who is in the house all the time.

What is a 'normal' household? How long have we got...?

Surely no-one knows what a 'normal' household is. We tend to think it's a house without a ripple. In that case my house is not and has never been normal much of the time because there's usually something going on. Most of my friends in fostering tell each other most of the time that their place is also marginally off the scale of normalcy. We all have children living with us we've never met before who we are trying to prepare to go home to a family that has previously gone pear-shaped. That's pretty unusual in itself, but on top of that the specifics of each individual foster child make the house even more unique. Don't get me wrong; if you want to know about the joys of fostering dip into just about any previous blog post of mine. I'm not talking about unhappiness or difficulty, I'm talking about uniqueness. Each foster child is unique, and working out their individuality then working with those characteristics is key.

But when I sit down with non-fostering friends, guess what? Their homes are also unique in different ways. Here are some examples of fine friends of mine and their family's uniqueness;

Sister One has a daughter who has been trying for a baby for long enough and is going to give up trying as she's becoming depressed. Her grief over the loss of someone who has never been alive is so painful the family are consumed with sadness and confusion trying to help.  

Sister Two - a working mum - has an adult brother who is bullying her and the other sister into being the ones to care for their elderly parents who are showing signs of needing help. The brother thinks caring is woman's work, and that the man's job is to take command and tell the women what to do. He believes that his contribution; controlling his parents care without actually lifting a finger will entitle him to his third of the estate, which will be all the larger if the parents are cared for in their home - by the daughters - rather than in a Care Home.

Sister Three is struggling with a pair of daughters who've both had kids by men who are no longer on the scene. 'Nuff said.

Sister Four has job worries; she's a laugh but a bit of a tinker and has been caught claiming work expenses for things she shouldn't. She had to go to Edinburgh on an overnight trip and claimed a bag for her pyjamas. A £450 Dolce and Gabbana bag. And the accountants have picked it up...along with some other discrepancies. 

And so on. It seems that very few of us have much peace around us, and in fostering unusual activities go with the territory. You have to make sure you find your peace along the way.

So tonight's houseful of various youngsters easily became a delight. We had a throng of children of all backgrounds - some okay, some damaged - getting on like a  house on fire. Laughing in unison at the TV, listening when a younger one would ask about a joke they hadn't quite understood then the young one listening while one of the older ones would explain. Bonding almost like families down the centuries; young and old, brothers and sisters, talking and listening to each other round the campfire (er...48" TV). Yep, if you get your mind working for you, life is good.

It's been a good week.

On Wednesday I had a text chat with one of our foster children, I signed off with a mum's  "X" and got one back. Progress.

The same evening eldest foster child (who some nights gets to eat tea in the bedroom for reasons I won't go into) brought the tray down - unusual - with the entire corn-on-the-cob eaten, all but one of the skinless sausages eaten, and all but two of the baby potatoes eaten. Huge.

And the previous Sunday Ryder said that she'd like to call me "Mum" instead of by my first name (which is where I always start with new children in care).

Y'know what? Every other day in fostering I say to myself; "Enjoy this moment girl. This is as good as it gets".

Then tomorrow shows up.

And trumps it.

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AT THE TABLE

Life is hard in many ways. Parenting, to name but one aspect of life, is no bed of roses.

Hang on. Wouldn't a bed of roses be a nightmare...?

I'm sidetracked.

Life = hard. In fostering our foster parenting comes with its share of unique challenges, big and small. However unlike ordinary parents I have access to Blue Sky support and Social Worker back-up and solutions.

For example; in fostering Contact can be a big issue. Contact is where Foster Carers bring their foster children to meet the child's family and it can upset them. Our Social Workers work with us to fix.

Foster Carers also face the same challenges of ordinary parents, such as mobile phones and when and how they are used. That question gets more than enough media attention, and occupies the minds of parents and teachers the world over.

In our house we don't allow phones at the meal table, which leads me to one of the smaller challenges in fostering (and parenting in general) which gets no attention.

Don't laugh, please. I'm totally serious here.

The problem is...

                            ...what to talk about at the meal table.

At the heart of the problem is our hope that the conversation will be inclusive and everyone joins in for an equal amount of time and everyone enjoys everyone's contribution whether it's informative, funny, thoughtful, personal or universal.

But blimey, I'd guess that 99 mealtimes out of 100 the conversations in our house stop-start and zig-zag out of control like a supermarket trolly with a wonky wheel.

Obviously our difficulties are exaggerated because at our meal-table there are several distinctly different sets of people. There are at least three different sets of adults in one pair alone; my partner and myself. Our sets are a) the real parents of two siblings b) the foster parents of three unrelated children, and c) two adults who are adult partners of each other.

So I might start off the conversation on a practical topic, one which I need to discuss such as asking my partner if the car is still making that noise. That's an adult/adult conversation that excludes all the children who don't give a monkeys about car maintenance.

Or I might start off with our own children and raise a family matters such as "Your nephew Michael has got engaged to Caroline". Which will interest one of our real children a lot, the other hardly at all, and be of minor interest to the one foster child who has met Michael and Caroline and of zero interest to the other two who don't know them from Adam.

Or I might start off with one of our foster children, perhaps; "Oh, Ryder, guess what? Your Social Worker rang to say it's cool for you to go shopping with your sister on Saturday." This sort of chat I try to get going from time to time so that everyone - family members and foster children - can share things about themselves and have a chance to offer advice and support to the other people at the table.

In a fostering home there are more sets of very differently connected people than the average household. In our house right now our own children have their time-honoured roles and they have learned to interact appropriately with everyone else depending on who they are talking with. As for the foster children; one of the older ones has not been with us anywhere near as long as one of the younger ones, so there's the unusual complication of which is the senior.

No matter how I try, I always feel I've ended up with a table of people who aren't sufficiently included or have opted out or plain don't care.

One thing I've noticed is that if a child doesn't say anything towards the start of the meal they somehow shrink into themselves and become timid of their own voice.

I try to remember that their school days are long and tiring and they may just want to eat in peace. But for some reason I can't resist trying to get a friendly, cheerful discussion going.

To be fair we've had some good ones;

There was the evening meal when earlier that day on the school run I nearly ran over a cat. I had two foster children in the back of the car and how they howled with laughter telling and re-telling the table of my panic and anguish.  For weeks afterwards if anybody had a hard time at school or any reason to feel sorry for themselves someone would chime in with "That wasn't as bad as the day of the cat!" and everyone would roll around re-living it over again.

Tales of woe can go down well, but you have to be careful for obvious reasons. I was more than once tempted to play the game they play at the dinner table in the film "Notting Hill"; the game where the person who can recount that their life is the most miserable gets the last Brownie. The moment has never seemed right, and in any case we'd be pretty sure who the winners would be...

I have found some things that work quite well sometimes.

If I kick the conversation off by mentioning a current band and do my children the service of getting something wrong, such as "Oooh, that Brandon whats-his-name from Panic in the Disco is a bit obvious." Everyone can join in by ridiculing my ignorance, then everyone's entitled to their say on the band.  The same goes with films and TV. It goes especially with computer games. But if I overdo it the youngsters can spot it, and they feel patronised - which is a conversation killer and a half.

What I'm aiming for is conversations about themselves. I want to talk about their school day, hear their thoughts about family life, their views on the world.

One neato I've done is to adapt a trick my other half picked up at work at an out-of-town meeting he attended.

At the start of the meeting of about 20 people they were asked to introduce themselves and tell everyone two things about themselves. One of the things had to be true and the other false and everyone had to guess which was which.

So what I do (sometimes, not every day) is say;

"Okay, let's play "Two Things"! How about we do two things that happened to this week..."

And from the kids you get stuff like "Number one; someone saw my science teacher in Homebase with a stud in his nose and Number two; our Art teacher's first name is Meredith."

So to start a a ball rolling I'll leave you with two things about me, one of which is true the other is false.

1) I once was so tired I slept for 33 hours.

2) My favourite artist is Dusty Springfield.

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