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Every year we do ‘kindness elves’ with the children over advent. Part cheeky and silly elf on the shelf, and part helping the children think about others and challenge them to do kind activities during December. It is a tradition I love - but also it can be a lot of planning.
We post these elves activities in social media - and then I panicked. What if people are looking at these lovely ‘kindness elf’ snippets and think we have it sorted. What if people are comparing their festivities to these insta worthy moments, because if they could step through the camera, if they could enter through our curated online presence, I think the reality would be very, very different!
Our truth is that Christmas can be really hard - like really hard - and for lots of reasons!
Christmas in our house is tricky. It is for lots of homes, especially those with neuro diverse or looked after children in them!
Our house is currently deregulation central, with lots of big emotions, outbursts and VOLUME!
It is not all magical elves. In fact at some points it is hard to be positive and feel ‘magical’ at all!
I had so many ideas about what Christmas would be like with children, before I had children! Oh the traditions we would have, the activities we would do, the crafts we would make and the bakes we would bake.
And then I had children!
My beautiful wonderful children have added so so much to my life, I would not change it, but their presence is not always picture book, it is not always perfect. It is messy, complex and often tricky. Their amazing presence has meant having to grieve some of my fantasies, and choosing joy as I replace them with reality.
One of the things my children constantly crave at this time is predictability and stability. At Christmas everything changes; routines, how the house looks, who is about, smells, locations. It is a lot. I wanted magical - they need mundane.
Our Christmas really is not that gram-able at all!
But then there are the elves! These snap shots of a ‘perfect Christmas tradition’.
I love the elves, but they take work, they need planning, and they zap energy. This year elf planning was hard!
This year I struggled. Creativity and, honestly, kindness was running thin in my world. I was tired! Pandemic exhaustion, grief, fibromyalgia and covid fear - this year has been a lot! Couple that with deregulated children….I had nothing left!
Yet told myself I had to do the elves. I could not let the children down!
Every year the elves do a treasure hunt for the children. As a family who love games, puzzles, escape rooms and treasure hunts it is normally one of the highlights- but this year I just could not face it! I was burnt out and just had nothing left!
So I did this:
19th December
Boo!!! you found us! Tee hee. OK not the best hiding place!
Emily and Simon do lots to create fun for you two, lets say thank you by creating something fun for them to do. Lets work together to make a treasure hunt for them to do. Ivy we know you are great at writing clues and puzzles. **** you are great at making maps and hiding things. We know together you can make something brilliant for them.
Love
Twink and Spark
I left it for the children to do themselves!!!
Oh the guilt I felt doing this was ridiculous. I felt like a failure, and that in some way, I had let them down! Oh the stupid things we tell ourselves!
But here is the kicker - the children loved it.
Instead of the common bickering, they planned, encouraged and played together for hours.
They loved it - and so did we.
Don’t worry, we were be back to deregulation and chaos fairly soon. But those couple of hours, born from me just having nothing left, were lush!
So whatever your festive season looks like - banish the guilt, don’t judge it by social media, be kind to yourself and embrace your reality xxxx
My Dad was, like us all, flawed. His flaws cut me deep at times, but he was still my Dad. I have never doubted that he loved me, and I love him.
My Dad loved me, but in my darkest moments I do wonder if he was proud of me. As I strolled along an avenue of trees musing on legacy (as I always do) last week it was strange to think that I am now his! That I, an overweight, secondhand clothing wearing, makeup free, home hair cutting foster carer and charity worker is the legacy of a fashion photographer!
Late at night when I can not sleep and the thought demons take control, I wonder if he wants a do over!
That thought, mixed with grief is one hell of a toxic cocktail!
My grief has caught me by surprise! The physical heaviness in my chest and just need for space has been, at times, overwhelming, especially in a house with four children during a pandemic. The weight of the loss (oh the irony) has felt unbearable.
Sometimes the simplest things just break me. Today it was this comic about girls using tools that broke my resolve.
When I left home my Dad gave me a tool kit. It was full of tools he was confident I knew how to use, because he had taught me! Tools we had used together to install showers, make tree houses, fix toilets, and build ponds (complete with waterfalls). Tools we then went on to use together in my house to make furniture, plumb bathrooms and build a home.
His legacy may not be that of a glamorous fashionista, but more a daughter who can fix a roof; And I hope like hell he is ok with that!
It is a quiet spring morning as we wander through the park today. We have braved the busy morning and manic school run and finally it is just the two of us! The busyness of a house with five children in slips away as we meander with the early sun on our faces. The birds are singing and the daffodils smile at us as you snuggle into me in your sling. We babble together as I point out birds and trees to your inquisitive and enquiring eyes. This is our walk, and one we take often; But this morning it feels different, electric, tinged with something else. Today you are One!
Happy birthday my precious and wonderful little girl. Watching you grow and change these last few months has been a great and wondrous joy. What an honour it is to share this moment with you.
As I relish in the joy of this moment the significance is not lost on me. Today I am the fortunate one. I am the mum, the foster mum, who gets to relish this moment. I am the woman who gets this moment, and the profoundness of that is not lost on me. I am acutely aware that my gain is others loss. That me holding you now in the spring sun means that others can not.
My mind drifts to the loss of your birth mum. Casting her as the villain in this piece is a disservice to her story and yours. The journey that led you to me was tough, and layered, and multidimensional. There were failures, but that does not negate her loss. Today you are in my arms not hers, and I feel her pain. I am aware that my joy is her sorrow. I feel for her empty nest and hope that good will come of this loss, that the pain will lead to restoration and recovery. It is a naïve and ill conceived prayer, but it is mine none the less. She is part of you, and I can not love you, without loving her. My love for her hurts. Today her loss hurts.
My mind drifts to the expectant but empty arms of your adoptive mum. Again my gain is her loss. I get to relish this moment, and she waits. Every one from now on will be hers, yet I can not escape the feeling that I robbed her of this one too. No photos or texts will make up for the fact that still she waits. That you wait. I am your limbo, she is your forever and the burden of that sits heavy. I am a caretaker, and the privilege, weight and honour of that feels all consuming on days like these.
My mind drifts to you and how this privileged moment should have been shared with your forever. How I will always be the back up plan for your life, but you deserve more. This moment, your first birthday was not intended to be like this. I will do my best to make it special, but this is not the ideal. You, oh precious one, should have had better, and I am sorry other’s choices have robbed you of that.
As we walk I whisper all my hopes and dreams over your now drowsy head. I hope you know love. I hope you feel safe. I claim that your past will not hold back your future. I relish in the thought that the beginning is not the end. Your worth is endless dear girl, may you always know that.
As you drift to sleep in my arms I let a few tears fall. A tear of the joy of the moment. A tear for your birth mothers pain. A tear for your mummy's wait. A tear for all that has been taken from you. And a tear for my looming goodbye.
Today you are one and it is bitter sweet but you are wonderful.
A banana skin? Well this is not just any banana skin! This is the banana skin of a little boy who asked to try a banana and loved it. This banana skin belongs to a little boy who yesterday had an hour long meltdown because someone else was eating a banana (no where near him) This is the banana skin of a little boy who told me he hated all fruit and would never eat it and would hurt me if I made him.
In the grand scheme of things this banana skin is fairly inconsequential- but to me this banana skin is trust, hope and triumph!
Today has had far more challenges than triumphs, as will this week, month, year.... hey that fostering/parenting/life. So here I am photographing banana skins - I am storing this moment to help get me through those darker ones.
And if your today was hard, and you need a chink of light, here’s a banana skin we can share!
Today my child is wearing the right socks for the right day, and I feel like a rock star!!!! Today I have cleaned up poo, vomit, and snot. Today I have wiped noses, bums and tears. It is not yet 10am! Today I have navigated happiness, excitement, frustration, anger, aggression. There have been hyper moments, and melt downs. Today is not a ‘bad’ day. Today is not a ‘hard’ day. Today is an everyday (ok not the vomiting! But fairly standard none the less.) In parenting advice they tell you to pick your battles! Well I am doing the opposite in my victories! I am choosing to be indiscriminate in my achievements. I am choosing to celebrate the small, mundane and insignificant . I am ‘all picking’ my triumphs! In a world that can sometimes make me feel like a huge failure. In a world of perfect Facebook families, and #livingmybestlife I am rebelling, and rejoicing in my ordinary! Today I accidentally pulled Friday socks out of the draw and therefore I am a unbridled domestic goddess, watch me take my lap of honour!!! https://www.instagram.com/p/Bns1QBTnLOlJdLvg6t1H5zbmRWvhdIOBUdVsuA0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1mxwvu3b1pjm0
To think the people who planted this probably never got to experience the wonder of this tree lined drive in their lifetime! As Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote so eloquently in Hamilton : What is legacy? Planting seeds in a garden you may never get to see.
Sometimes I feel like Viktor Navorski (Tom Hank’s character in The Terminal) screaming 'I Wait' at a CCTV camera. In the film he is wanting to enter America, but can not go in legally. The security guards say they will open the electric door for him to 'sneak' in. Instead, he chooses to stay and wait it out, despite how hard that is.
Every fibre of his being must have been wanting to run – run into freedom and away from all the stress, yet he chose to wait
'I Wait'
'I Stay'
'I Remain'
They could be my words. Every fibre of my being may want to run, but I choose to stay, to remain, to wait!
Sometimes one of the hardest things about being a foster carer is just staying! Gritting your teeth, digging in your heels, and waiting. Staying put for children who need you to not give up on them.
I love my children, but sometimes they are hard. Hard in a way that is ridiculously difficult to explain. Lots of my children struggle to have good attachments (bonds with others). In simplest terms, from an early age they learnt adults were not reliable, and that sticks! They deal with this in two ways; On one hand they seek attention from any adult who will give it too them. Like all of us, they desperately want reassurance, affection, and contact. On the other hand they push away from their key care givers. They do this because they subconsciously believe they are going to rejected anyway, so why not reject first. Sadly they also believe they do not deserve to be loved. (if you want to understand more google attachment theory there is much better info out there than this rubbish explanation)
My precious children learnt, when as babies their basic needs were not met, that they on a fundamental level, do not deserve to be looked after. They believe they do not deserve to be loved and that heartbreaking inner monologue now rules their life. My children can faces daily battle with their own self hatred and believe they have no worth. Even sadder than that, they can believe everyone else feels that way about them too. My precious child assumes I hate them, as how could anyone, especially anyone so close to them, really love them. All of that internal emotional spills out of them in anger that is often directed at me, or a silence as they isolate themselves or maybe sabotage. (The sabotage can be destroying something physically, like a toy, or an event with extreme behaviour)
In this world simple things become very hard. Needing a shower becomes a minefield. Why? because it is rejection through this skewed lens. It must mean I do not want to be with them, or I think they are not good enough as they are. Homework can take hours, as it is easier to not try, than to fail. A gentle no is received with rage. In the heat of anger a no is never just that, it is rejection, punishment, denial. Ultimately it is seen as hatred! When your child hates themselves so deeply and feels so undeserving of love – every word you say, every action is tinged with that same motivation. I hate me – so you must too hate me too.
My daily fight is proving to a child who believes they are unlovable – that they are loved! Deeply, unconditionally, unequivocally - LOVED
That is a hard fight. That is a long long road. A road that sadly we may never reach the end of.
But seriously - it is HARD! I understand the theory. I understand why I am screamed at daily. Why things are destroyed and household objects are smashed. I understand why I get bitten and hit. Oh, I understand - but some days it is everything in me not to run for freedom.
Loving in the face of anger and rejection is a skill I feel I fall short of daily. Loving when it costs and hurts and every fibre says run is tough.
But I wait
Wait as the anger passes
Wait as you reassure again
Wait as the rage dies
Wait as they seek attention
Wait as they push boundaries
Wait as they scream again
Wait as they reject you
Wait
I wait – some days it is with joy, others with a scream! But I wait!!!!! Wait with hope that everyday we chip away, a hope that everyday we make progress, a hope that everyday is not lost. Hope that even on those days when we go backwards, that tomorrow may be the one where we move forward.
I wait!!!
And some days there is a glimpse. A moment shines like the breaking of dawn after a long night. A smile. A hug. Light. You see pride on their face. You see them relax and drop the guard. You see them at peace. You see the real them.
It is those moments. Those moments you remember the battle is worth it.
People often ask what is the toughest thing about being a foster carer is – and I touched on it here. Goodbyes are tough, they are heart breaking and painful beyond words. In reality though, the goodbyes are not everyday (the pain lingers and the threat of them hangs in the air), but they do not dominate the life of a foster carer. The tough bit, the really tough bit, is the every day. The tough bit is quite often just the staying!! The choosing to love. The choosing to remain, especially when faced with challenging behaviour, rejection and anger.
The tough bit is choosing when those electric doors slide open not to run! Not to run away from the hard, the pain, the rejection, the anger, the behaviour.
Staying is tough!
Staying takes a fury of love. A love that says that my pain is not bigger than this child's. A love that says I can take it – I CAN take it! A love that says – You before me. A love that says, your self hatred, self sabotage and self deprecation will not win
That love is strong, that love is fierce, that love consumes.
That love will cost, as you will have to make sacrifices.
That love will test, and it will go against natural instincts.
But I choose that love!
I choose to wait.
I love the band/spoken word group The Fugitives. A Canadian group I discovered in a small restaurant performing to a crowd of 15! Often their crafted words unleash an unspoken truth in me have not been able to express before. One such line (of which I will edit out the swearing) is : I would volunteer for 5 years of community service repaving the Trans-Siberian highway with dog poo if it would plea bargain one day off your unhappiness.
This is my choice – I choose to be elbow deep in poo, if it removes a tiny piece of my child hurt.
I wait!
As I write this I think of people I know who have had to have children move on due to an unplanned move. People who loved their children enough to know that your family, your love, your home was not the right place for your child. Really I am sorry for the pain that must of caused. Please know you did not run, but your bravery to seek the best for your child is amazing. You did not fail.
Today for me though, I am the one screaming in the face of rejection, self hatred and self sabotage.
Everyday I try to model positive body confidence to my girls - which is not always easy! It is especially hard when they say 'let's take #selfies ' I stare at the phone and see every imperfection, every blemish and line, every fold of fat and all I wish to change! Today I am choosing to see myself through my girls eyes! They think these photos are 'fun, silly, and pretty'. 'Look mummy you can see the kindness in our eyes making us beautiful'. Today I am choosing their view of me! #raisingGirls #projectIvy #bodyconfidence
This morning when I told Ivy we were going to a castle she was very excited. I asked if she wanted to be a princess? She looked at me dead in the eyes, pulled a face and said 'no, but I will rescue them and teach them to be mighty girls!' And with that my parenting was complete! #mightygirls #alnwickcastle #princess #raisinggirls
I am increasing convinced that love is the only answer. Loving someone at their worst hurts, it is hard and it costs but that truth right there is the only hope for change. Some days (especially after hard nights) I need to remind myself of this. #love #bethechange #fosteringjoy
The other day a man knocked on our front door and asked if he could have the Belfast sinks we have in our front yard. I apologised and said he couldn't as we were using them. He looked at them, in their scruffy state and looked back at me. I embarrassedly said they were planted with bulbs, to which he replied 'just looks likes weeds to me'. Now as cheeky as that sounds, there was truth in it. It did look a real mess! And then this! From the mess and chaos - a beautiful flower!!!! I think this could be my life at the moment. Things feel a little wild and out of control. New arrivals bring huge changes and challenges; dynamics shift, boundaries are tested and our life's rhythm gains some new beats. At some points it all feels too much, like the weeds are winning, and then it sprouts, as if from nowhere, that moment of success, that triumph, that break though, and suddenly we have hope. Today I was shouted at 'you hate me and I hate being here'. Today I have had 4 hours sleep as babies need to learn the difference of day and night. Today dinner was 'disgusting', despite being asked if we liked it before hand. Today a child threatened to smash up her bedroom, well just because (well really because attachment disorder is horrible) Today, there were weeds Today a baby settled for a nap without falling asleep out of exhaustion screaming. Today a child went to school thinking today was her day, and she would get class star as she was not going to shout out. Today I was hugged for the first time. Today there were flowers.
So, this holiday was not what we were expecting. But it was the week when the tent thought it was a kite and was saved from the cliff edge by a football goal. It was the week when Ivy taught herself to swim. It was the week when the wind blew and the rain kept falling. It was the week we bonded with new family members and heard the words 'I love you' for the first time. This was the week we were blown away by the kindness of strangers. This was the week of pinterest successes alongside some life fails. This was the week when team work made the dream work. This was the week we beat the high tide, just. This was the week we became caravan people. This was the week we made smores wearing goggles to keep the smoke out of our eyes. This was the week we spent precious time with some of our favourite people. This was a week we will look back and laugh about - maybe not just yet though!!!! This was the week that memories were made and it was immense!
Being a foster carer is truly one of the biggest joys of my life. I count what I do as a huge and undeserved privilege. Do not get me wrong – it is tough. Tough for a hundred reasons which I really should share more! Choosing to love, to hang in there on dark days is tough. Choosing positivity, calm and consistency in the face of anger, and rejection is tough. Choosing to keep going, when you are tired, out of ideas and frankly at your wits end is tough. But these are my choices – and I love them. I really do love what I do. I love my children (all 21 of them!!!) and love my life. However there is one thing I totally hate – one thing I hate having to do (and it is probably not what you think)! What I really hate is, telling you what I do!
Ok, lets be honest there are lots of things I can not stand about what I do. Goodbyes are definitely up there (I wrote about that a few years ago, and on reflection having said 16 more goodbyes I still totally stand by it. It does not get easier – but it is right!)
So let me explain myself. When anyone asks what I do, or if my children are twins, or if they are 'mine' I brace myself. (a quick aside – they are all 'mine'! Whether I carried them in my womb for nine months or have only held them for 24 hrs, they are all mine. Their names are carved into the palms of my hand. It is them – all of them - I think of first thing in the morning and last thing at night. We may not share DNA but they are mine – now and forever. The only difference is I get to keep some of them longer than others! Sorry! Rant over – who am I kidding today is just a ranty one!!!) My answer to all of those questions is the same, 'I am a foster carer', and as I utter those words I get ready for the stock response!!! This response is normally said with great love; I don't think anyone means it to be as painful as it truly is. But it hurts. Here is what people say - 'I could not do that I would just love (care for) them too much'
Can I just say something, and just leave it here for a second – I LOVE my children. I LOVE them. I love them a lot, I love them deeply, greatly – I also LOVE them to much!
Pause – breathe
I know when people utter those words they do not mean offence, in fact often they mean it as a compliment – but really it is not! It is normally followed up with something like 'that takes a special kind of person'. Yes, an uncaring, cold, heartless, unloving/uncaring kind of one???? Every time those words are uttered my heart breaks a little. I hate the misconception that this comes easily. That I can 'control' my love so goodbyes are manageable. I don't. The love I have for my children is raw and wild. It is fierce and unpredictable. It is deep and significant. Each one of them has scarred my heart indelibly. So here is my secret answer, whispered from my heart to yours – I don't think I can do this either. But I choose. I choose to live this life, love my children despite my weakness, despite the pain and the heartache. I love them too much as well.
So please next time you ask a foster carer what they do, watch your words. Please know they are carrying with them the pain of every goodbye and the joy of every hello. Please know your language has power.
And while I have my rant on – wow I really am going for it today. Please know 'it does not get easier'- something often said when we tell people how many children we have said goodbye to. All that has changed from goodbye number one, and the goodbyes I am currently bracing myself for in the next few weeks, is I know how much this one will hurt! I know what it is like to smile and be positive, to rejoice at your children's future while feeling like you have been cut to the quick. I know the pain of a goodbye, and trust me that does not make it 'easier'. If it was easy, if I could wave off my children without a care, if I could manage this – then it would be time to stop. My children deserve to be loved with an unstoppable tornado. My children deserved to be cherished beyond measure. My children deserve to be longed after and deeply missed. If it was ever 'easier', if I did not love 'too much' – then frankly I have no right to call them mine – I have no right to call myself a foster carer.
Sorry for my ranting – I should not type out of pain!! But really thank you, to all who have stood by us and held us up. Thank you to you who have grieved with us, and not rushed us out of our pain. Thank you to you who have loved too much with us. They say it takes a village, and we are so deeply thankful for ours – you know who you are.
