DILEMMA SOLVED

 A while ago I mentioned a problem facing one of our foster children, the one I'm calling Alicia.

Alicia is transitioning from male to female, and doing it with pride and purpose. And we're proud of her for her courage, integrity and unending kindness.

Alicia flattered me by letting me in on a dilemma she was facing.

It's rare to get an update on a troubled child from the child themself. I find that children in care only own one thing outright, and that's their own thoughts and memories. And so they guard their privacy like the crown jewels that they are.

Alicia had been invited to the birthday party of her aunt. Big party; the aunt was turning 50. She apparently wanted her birthday to be one of those Big "0" events. The aunt was very excited about her own party; she'd mailed out invitations with RSVPs, complete with dictats about the guest list. It was to be "Family, close friends and their partners and children only. The invite also briefed everyone on what stuff guests might care to bring, arrrival times, order of events (eg the cutting of the cake). Parking, even.

She was leaving nothing to chance.

Half of the above I learned direct from Alicia herself, the other half by being unable to avoid overhearing Alicia gossiping with her friends in the downstairs room off our kitchen.

Here's Alicia's dilemma.

The aunt considered herself very close to Alicia. She'd allowed the young Alicia to stay with her couple of times as a stop gap when Alicia's home had temporarily broken down.

However. Alicia isn't a kid anymore, she knows herself and her own heart and mind.  When the aunt learned that Alicia was transitioning the aunt virtually disowned Alicia. The aunt had told Alicia via Alicia's real mother that she was not to come to the party as Alicia, but must come as her former self, a boy called Troy. Alicia was to dress as a male and not talk to anyone at the party about transitioning.

For Alicia it seemed to boil down to either complying or refusing. Refusing meant not attending.

If Alicia showed up as Alicia there'd probably be a scene, and Alicia didn't want things to be all about her.

So, what happened?

Alicia played a blinder. She found a better way forward.

First up, she showed a bit of genius in her analysis of human nature. I heard her tell her friends that she reckoned that her aunt's problem was that she didn't want people to think that Alicia's transitioning was any fault of the aunt. 

If Alicia was correct it reminds us all how frightened for themselves some people are.

Alicia hatched a plan.

She would tell the aunt that she wanted to bring a guest; a friend.

The aunt would veto the request as she only wanted 'family, friends of the aunt, and official partners'. In other words if a person wasn't on her list they were not allowed.

Alicia's position was;

"I am who I am and I'm not going to live a lie, not even for a single afternoon".

A beautiful way out. The aunt declined her request so Alicia could say a polite "I regret..." back.

My guess is that almost anyone at the party who noticed "Troy" was a no-show knew why. The aunt sounds like a case in point.

Alicia? I'm not going to pretend she didn't have her ups and downs about it, but she has great support from social services, Blue Sky, and her network of friends. Plus I think she knows that her fostering family are in her corner.

I hope the aunt blew out all her candles.

But that her wishes don't come true.

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FOSTERING AND BEDTIMES

 Bedtimes are slightly different in fostering.

If you don't have children to put to bed you don't know you're born, as my dad used to say.

If the Bedtimes are simply those of your own children then things can still get complicated, but a routine gradually takes shape. The routine takes everything into account; age differences, which day of the week it is, the order of events, and more. It starts with the youngest and works its way up to the eldest. The first of the bedtime routines might kick off for youngest at 7.00pm, and might not finish until eldest at 9.00pm. Repetition is important. If you can get all the little events set in stone there's less wiggle room for argument.

We must never forget there's an understandable drive in kids to stay up as late as they can wangle. However if you have an unchanging family dynamic you're halfway there.

However. The business of Bedtime is slightly altered once you start fostering.

We had three children of our own when we began fostering. Our first foster child was aged ten, a couple of years older than our eldest, so technically the foster child should have been the last one to go up. Whether or not the foster child gets an extra half-hour downstairs after all the others have gone up is one of those seemingly innocuous things that are actually huge. Bedtimes are one of my regular conversations with our Blue Sky social worker when we get our 2/3 hour visit. These visits, by the way, are tailored to everyone's needs. Mine are currently monthly.

We chat about all the issues. In the case of our first foster child the issues included whether our own children would somehow feel miffed that a total stranger has somehow usurped them. We talked at length about what it would mean, especially to our eldest. In our case our eldest, though only eight at the time, was pretty level headed about most things. We took him into our confidence, explaining that if he went to bed cheerfully and without argument he would be a good role model for our new foster child. Our eldest rose to the responsibility. In return eldest would receive longer time in bed with the light on for reading.

BTW, for 'reading' make that 'game time' - we knew it, and he knew we knew it, but so what…? 

We agreed that if our new foster child tried to pitch for longer staying-up time our trump card would be that we were tired, and since we were going to bed he'd have to hit the hay as well because he couldn't stay downstairs on his own.

This wasn't merely a tactical call; I remember we were genuinely whacked.

Bedtimes can be fraught at the best of times, but despite the battles there's always that moment of triumph when your plan has come together and they are all tucked up.

And me and my other half can have a breather.

And an early night...

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PRAISE BE ICE CREAM

 Catriona came to us in a flurry.

It could have been a disaster, but my oldest trick came through.

Normally there's a measured process about a child arriving at your home for fostering.

For carers with an agency such as Blue Sky the process usually begins with a daytime phone call asking if you might be willing to take a child who needs to be fostered. 

The phone call gives a pen picture of the child and her circumstances, and, if there are no obvious problems Blue Sky put you down as a possible. They ping your details to the Local Authority which has ultimate responsibility for the child, to see if you fit the bill. Blue Sky send you everything they have that's known about the child, so you can consolidate your willingness.

I can't tell you how exhilarating this episode is! The prospect of a child arriving into your care, becoming part of your home, enjoying your parenting - whatever they've endured - it's heady stuff.

Catriona arrived by a slightly different route.

The phone call came late one night.

Blue Sky had been contacted by a Local Authority which had suddenly taken a child into care.

See, generally a child is taken into care after a process of investigation into the home life of the child by Local Authority social workers. They trawl through the situations in the home and evaluate if the child/children are at risk of safeguarding issues. 

If the social workers decide there are sufficient concerns they trigger a high level pow-wow review of the child's vulnerablity, which then decides if the child is to be taken into care.

All very measured.

However, not so with Catriona.

My phone pinged. The time was just after midnight. Blue Sky calling. I was on their list as a potential emergency carer. 

The question I was asked was; would I be willing to take a child who police had found wandering the streets in a dubious part of town. The child said her name was Catriona, but blanked other questions such as "Where do you live?", "Who are your mummy or daddy?", "Why are you out of the house at this late hour?"

The officers contacted the Local Authority's 24 hour service, and they put the word out that a bed was needed for a child, and fast.

I said "Yes" and literally ten minutes later a squad car was on its way.

See, the alternative accomodation for Catriona was a police cell, and no-one wants that.

I dressed myself, did a quick zizz of the spare bedroom and boiled a kettle. 

Catriona arrived with two officers, a female and a male. Their care for the child made my heart glow. 

It was agreed that almost all the necessary paperwork could wait until the morning, they made a couple of phone calls, jotted some notes, told me what they'd noted, and departed.

Catriona was well presented, smart even.  It turned out that her good appearance was her own doing, her family didn't give a tinker's cuss about her.

She was totally tight-lipped. I asked about how she was, she shrugged. I asked if she needed the bathroon, she didn't even shrug, just stared down at the kitchen table .

So I fell back on my cheapest trick. I went to the freezer and said "Well as it's late I'm going to have a bowl of ice cream. Not sure whether to have chocolate or strawberry…"

I saw her perk up a little, so I added "How about you? Chocolate or strawberry?'

I watched her litttle face as she wrestled with the problem. The REAL problem.

The real problem wasn't chocolate or strawberry. The real problem was whether to relax and engage with a stranger of an adult.

Catriona gave in;

"Chocolate…please."

Cue engagement.

Ok, we didn't talk way into the night, but ice cream had broken the ice.

She absolutley savoured every spoonfull.

Catriona wasn't with us very long, a more permanent foster home was secured a better distance from her chaotic home.

But I'll never forget her licking the spoon.

Or, even better, her smile and nod when I asked:

"D'you want a drop more?"

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SAFE FOSTERING

 I can't fully remember the last block of time in our home when we didn't have a single foster child in our care.

This has been wonderful of course, but it also has it's constraints.

I can't remember the last time I was able to nip across the landing to the bathroom in my nightclothes without slipping a dressing gown on first.

Even if I was bursting😅…

Plenty of times I'm on the horns of a miniature dilemma. For example I might discover there's not enough bread for tomorrow's school lunches.

I need to buzz to the corner shop. Only 200 yards. But should I? My own kids are ok to leave unsupervised for 5 minutes, but when one or more of the children in one's house are foster children it's a bit different; you have to make some tight decisions. 

Do you know them well enough, even if they're old enough? Is there anything in their background that means that being left at home (even for a mere 5 minutes) could be a trigger?

Then I find I do a quick bout of "catastophising" (where you imagine the worst). You picture the boiler suddenly melting, or a plug fusing and flames belching out.

These dilemmas are always sorted with common sense, in the above case I'd err on the side of caution. But they add a layer of reasonable concern to the normal considerations of safe home life.

Example;

Eleanor came to us aged eleven. A very adult aged eleven, as can often be the case with children coming in to care. They've been around the block more than the average child their age.

During her third week with us she asked if she could take her pocket money to the corner shop and get some sweets.

Eleanor had done her homework. She had found out that my youngest was allowed to go to the corner shop as long as she came straight back, and, Eleanor pointed out, our youngest is two years younger than Eleanor.

She knew where the shop was - she'd spotted it from the car on the school runs.

She reminded me that to get to it she didn't need to cross a road.

She's saved her pocket money and deserved a humble bag of Haribos plus the feelgood feeling of being grown up.

And trusted.

What would YOU have said?

I didn't say anything that would have reminded her that she was in care, that would have risked harming the process of creating respect and care between us.

So. Just as with my own kids, I asked her not to speak to anyone except the person on the till. I asked her to go straight there and not spend too much time browsing (I knew she'd dawdle a little - all part of the fun).

I didn't tell her I'd be watching all the way there and back. See, we have a rather sparse hedge on the side of the front garden. You can see through it, but passers-by can't see you.

Perfect.

Mission was accomplished, total success. The spag boll didn't even catch, I'd turned it off to avoid distractions.

My other half, when I told him said; "Like I always say, you should've been SAS".

Funnily enough, Eleanor never asked to do it again. I guess she was just ticking it off as a credential; interesting.

Like I always say; fostering is wonderful. 

On top of that, it's nothing if not interesting.

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HERE COMES A SCHOOL HOLIDAY...

 Approaching every school summer holiday I resolve to get ahead, have things planned. Don't get caught unawares as I usually used to.

Result; no change. The last day of term - the summer term especially - still creeps up on you unannounced, camouflaged by end-of-term exam stress, sorting out if your foster child is staying with you throughout or not, stocking up, booking days out and travel.

And if you're going abroad for your summer vacation, good luck. We took a foster child to Spain a few summers running and it was great, but we resolved after Brexit to go no further abroad than the Isle of Wight. However if you do need guaranteed sun bear in mind it's a long haul day even if it's a short haul flight. Whatever your plans, enjoy!

Every school holiday in fostering - even the 'short' half term breaks - follow the same pattern.

Your child spends the first day 'chilling', luxuriating in the bliss of freedom.

Day two, up goes the shout "I'm bored!"

And besides all the standard day-to-day duties of the foster parent, you are now an entertainments officer.

You offer organised activities, saying;

"There's a playgroup/football club/cricket/golf/pony riding/swimming/rock climbing thing organised in town."

To mixed response. When I say 'mixed response' I'm talking somewhere betweem "You're joking!" and "No chance".

Jobs, to earn extra pocket money, often get some traction. "Jobs" such as accompanying me on the dog walk, which gets a taker now and then, or cooking the evening meal (aka making a huge mess in the kitchen for muggins to clear up). They fill another day.

I think I've learned to do nothing in the morning, but talk up what's planned for the afternoon (the 'something to look forward to' ploy.

They can whittle the morning away on tech or TV while you hoover and peg out a wash.

Know what's my jewel in the crown? There's an old field near us we can walk to, and take the dog. It's got a medium sized tree near a shallow stream. I bring a carrier bag with some snacks in it (aka "a picnic") and they'll stay all day. Making up games, getting wet, climbing a bit of the tree, snacking. Shrieking as the dog goes for a splash.

Laughing, running, lying on their back in the sun.

They don't want the day to end.

I don't either…

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FWIW

I heard that our late and much-missed Queen was being given a guided tour around a newspaper office in Fleet Street. She stopped to have a word with a veteran hard-bitten journalist.

"How long have you worked here?" she asked.

"Forty two years." Came the reply.

"Goodness,' said Her Majesty "You must have seen a great many changes in that time?"

The man thought for a moment then replied;

"Not really…"

The Queen didn't miss a beat, she went; "How interesting..."

and drifted away.

I mention this story because it's just dawned on me that I've been an accredited foster parent for nearly as long as that world-weary hack.

And am I dulled by the neverending ups and downs of fostering?

Not yet, not by any stretch.

But if her Maj had asked me if I'd seen a great many changes in fostering my answer would be the same as the man's.

Because the basics are what they always were and always will be; to help a needy child/children get through a nightmare part of their young lives, providing each child with what they need as individuals. A freshly made bed, the right clothes, good food, good company and the warmth of a good home.

Plus helping them get back to their real homes with a better chance of the chaos being reduced or even conquered.

Oh, for sure there's a bit more paperwork in places. Rules and regulations get tweaked and polished, but I always keep in mind a great bit of advice I was given by a Blue Sky director way back. He said "If ever you're not sure about something, there's always common sense to come to the rescue."

One thing that has changed is this. Back when I started there were no mobile phones. And you don't need me to tell you that we are all ultra-reliant on them for SO many things.

Parents have had to learn a whole new language in order to have any useful engagement with our kids in care.

How many of the below are you familiar with?

• IMO: In my opinion.
• BRB: Be right back.
• JK: Just kidding.
• NVM: Never mind.
• TBH: To be honest.
• TMI: Too much information.
• YOLO: You only live once.
• IRL: In real life.
• LMK: Let me know.
• NBD: No big deal.
• NP: No problem.
• FWIW: For what it's worth.
• FYI: For your information.
• GG: Good game.
• FOMO: Fear of missing out.
• TFW: That feeling when. 

 

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UNANNOUNCED DELIGHT

 Just had an "unannounced visit".

So; this is where your Blue Sky social worker turns up without giving notice. Happens infrequently, but I'm glad it happens.

It's something that one can see the importance of, but a newcomer might take it slightly the wrong way; as if someone's suspecting one of putting on a performance of fostering when one knows a social worker has booked a visit in advance, and the rest of the time one fosters to lower standards.

Part of the reason I'm all in favour of unannounced visits is that way back we took in a child whose parents were often reported to Social Services by neighbours, but the social workers would telephone ahead and fix appointments to visit and check. The children were intimidated into saying they were loved and cared for, despite the fact they were being abused.

There's light years between that scenario and Blue Sky's levels of care - which prioritises us foster parents, not just the children - but I keep it in my mind as salient.

And, crucially, "unannounced visits" aren't random; everyone gets the same and the same amount of them. It's a standard.

But the thing that takes any edge off these visits is the way Blue Sky do it.

And BTW I have no idea if fostering folk who work under local authorities or other agencies get unannounced visits; all I know is how our people do it.

They turn up with big smiles. Make you feel like they enjoy your company so much they were made up when they were allocated making a surprise visit to you.

The thing about unannounced visits is that Blue Sky social workers have a job to do; to double check we carers are okay and getting everything as good as we can. But one can always sense that they're careful of not making us feel under scrutiny.

No-one wants to be under scrutiny, but it's one of life's neverending burdens; the boss, management, one's schoolteachers, parking wardens…the neighbourhood nosey parker who checks other people's wheelie bins are put out right…

However. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, does this type of checking up better than Blue Sky.

So;  our social worker turned up, beaming smiles, like it was a drop-in for coffee and gossip. 

And in a way it was exactly that; she came in, fussed our dog, went through our tub of herbal tea bags choosing a peppermint tea and settled at our kitchen table with me and my cuppa, and we had a blast. Nattering and laughing, it was a real boost.

But. The professionalism was never out of comission. 

She wanted know how are things, how's the fostering, how's our life, how is fostering working with the rest of our family lives.

Then; a bombshell.

One of our children struggles to get to school. We do everything we can to get the child to school, but the child is dealing with medical/emotional challenges (nothing alarming, simply the residue of a lifelong chaotic family). In our house we manage the child's school attendance using common sense. We get the child to school every day, sometimes it stretches our commitment, but it's what they need.

Once in a blue moon it's not do-able. Same as with other children, and our allies; Blue Sky, the local authority, the school itself, recognise and understand.

As chance would have it, the unannounced visit happened to be a day when our foster child had simply no chance of going to school. The child's fears, anxieties and suppressed angers, were too much.

So; downstairs I had a social workere checking out we were getting our fostering right. And upstairs we had a foster child who should be at school but isn't.

The child struggles to engage with people, but is improving.

The child struggles with authority thanks to poor parenting.

The child has always resisted engaging with social workers, but we're working on it.

I texted the child that our social worker had dropped in unannounced.

Never expected what happened next.

After a half hour the child suddenly appeared at the kitchen door. Swanned in and said a confident "Hi" to us. Our social worker didn't milk the moment, but I could tell she was lit up.

Child sauntered to the kettle and made a cup of instant.

Then the child came and sat with us and chatted. A milestone.

Yes, there were machinations going on; the child was saying "Look how much I benefit from skipping school sometimes."

Bottom line; it all worked out Jim Dandy.

The child is starting to attend school better and better. Our social worker was knocked out.

And I got to feel a rush of pride and happiness that my fostering was going along okey dokey.

And for me, as ever, fostering is more than okey dokey.

It's the bees knees.

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