Care and support

A day in the life of a foster carer

The alarm goes off. I struggle out of bed and wake up our very lively 6 year old foster child, James. The chatter starts, “I’ll have cereal for breakfast, have I got contact tonight?” As he bounds down the stairs towards the toy boxes that soon get upturned to find the object that will be chosen for show and tell. ‘A pocket size object’, I remind him as he tries to force two bundles of Pokermon cards into his trouser pocket.

While he munches breakfast I juggle with the packed lunch and the spellings we should have done last night. The taxi for school arrives early, 15 minutes early! Now it’s a mad scurry, as I try to listen to the chaperone apologising that they needed to do another pick up and I am handing over book bag, packed lunch, P.E. kit, cuddles, more cuddles! As I wave them off the phone rings - it’s the school wanting to discuss the Personal Education Plan meeting tomorrow (PEP) for James. That reminds me, I must sort out all my paper work, I don’t want to look unprofessional! I start to make a few notes – superstar awards, reading achievements. I make a start on the big pile of ironing, but the phone rings again. This time it’s a social worker wanting to discuss the PEP tomorrow.

I get back to the ironing. 11 o’clock, I must remember Pat my Link Worker is coming to do our monthly supervision. The phone rings - it’s the social worker again. James’ contact session with a relative that was planned for the afternoon has been cancelled due to sickness. I unplug the iron and phone taxi company to double check they will be picking up at usual time. My mobile rings, I’m getting quite good at keeping two conversations going at the same time. It’s the contact supervisor making sure the social worker has given her the right information. Next I ring the school, so they can inform James he will be coming straight home. I push the ironing pile down, amazing, it looks like I’ve done half of it!

Pat turns up, at last an opportunity to sit down and enjoy a coffee. I proudly show her my daily diary entries I have put so neatly in my diary she gave me. “Oh we have a new system now, here you are” she says as she hands me a pile of diary sheets!” Let me know when you need more photocopied”! I look at the clock, 12.30, she never hurries me, listens to all my moans and groans intently. Before she goes she reminds me of the Crisis Intervention Course she has booked me on.

The phone rings again, it’s my friend, another foster carer, we chat for almost an hour. It is great to have someone who is going through the same things to chat to. I soon forget about the ironing pile.

The phone rings again, this time it’s a student social worker who obviously heard that the contact session had been cancelled so jumps at the opportunity to come and do some life story work with James.

James bounds up the garden path, “I need boxes, empty boxes for tomorrow”, he shouts as he frantically empties the contents of my kitchen cupboards to find some. Luckily I am one step ahead. I produce a bag full of suitables for the 3D modelling the next day. Door knocks again and student social worker is here. Every pen, pencil and crayon is covering my dining room table and floor. James is not interested in the life story work, just how many pencils he can sharpen onto the floor. I tackle the dinner whilst they giggle and chuckle together.

We have dinner, bath and do reading. We then snuggle up on the settee by the window that we call the reading chair. I start to read The Gruffalo’s child, the phone rings again. “That was your friend,” hubby calls out, “she’ll pick you up at 7.15 for the support meeting”. I vaguely remember Pat reminding me earlier on!

As we have the bedtime cuddles and tuck little one into bed, it makes the whole day worthwhile. A little voice says “I love you soooo much”. “I love you too”, I reply. “By the way”, little voice says, “It’s non-uniform day tomorrow and I want to wear my favourite Pokermon t-shirt.

You’ve guessed it, it’s at the bottom of the ironing pile!

Roll on the weekend, no school, no taxis to deal with, no social workers, just us and of course the ironing pile!

(names have been changed)