From Here to Fostering

From Here to Fostering
Experiences are everything.......

Wednesday 27 November 2013

All Good Things.........




The time has come. So that she will be all ready to welcome her foster children in the new year, Firtha has found herself a new flat. She needs to be all moved in and settled before she sits in front of 'The Panel' (whom we can only assume will include the prime minister and the chief of police in their number based on how strict the process has been so far), in March.  The comiseratory texts have already been coming through from anxious neighbours, concerned about how I will cope. "Shall I bring you tea first thing for a few days to ease you in?" and "available as counselling/crying partner at the weekend if needed?" etc. Fritha is not amused - "What about ME?! I am the one moving out and being forced to live without Toby!" (She will miss the rest of us too I am sure. Toby just happens to be going through a particularly super cute stage). 

My grateful replies are unemotional. Mainly because I am in COMPLETE DENIAL. But truly, this Saturday, she will pack up her few bits and bobs (and few they are - see blog instalment number two) and lug them up the hill. Taking the second turning off the roundabout at the top of our road, she will carry them up her new street and into her new flat. It will take approximately 2.5 minutes to get there but this is not the point. She and I will liase daily about dog walks and supper (worried she will simply live off her homemade dhal and nothing else if left to her own devices which whilst yummy, is hardly balanced) but this is not the point either.
The stark reality is that she will not be walking up the stairs to my bedroom each morning with Toby on her hip and a cup of (just the right colour) tea in her hand for me to sip while we discuss our plans for the day. She will not be yelling "Are you having a good time?!" to no one in particular, as she yanks on her oversized yellow Hunter wellies and charges out the door for the first of her many daily dog walks. (The queen's corgis themselves are jealous of Digger's life). She will not exclaim delightedly of a Tuesday morning that my antenatal class the night before "sounded like a dinner party!" in a celebratory rather than a bloody-hell-that-was-loud-and-annoying way. I won't be hanging her clothes up to dry with ours. She won't be asking me how to work the tv anymore (endearingly she still does not know - this is the risk/downside of having a social life). When installed on the sofa with my (pregnancy) malteasers, she won't be next to me pretending to hate Coronation Street whilst simultanesouly asking me a million questions about why David has been kicked out of the marital home. She won't be there all the time. Only typing this now is it starting to sink in. She is leaving. My chest is hurting.......
And where are we going to ever find someone who can even have a hope of comparing with her? Find someone we must though if we are to continue to pay the pesky mortgage, so please do get in touch if you know of anyone who would be delighted to live with Rupert and I, two small boys, a tiny baby, many, many pregnant couples coming in and out and several nocturnal mice. (Shall have to trick someone into moving in using spareroom.com I imagine). Either way, it will not be the same. Ever again. End of an era and all good things come to an end are offensive understatements which don't even touch the sides. Bah.

In the words of Tennyson; "Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart." But then again, as advised by the very wise Dr. Seuss; “Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.” Quite right. I need to stop being so sad. Really I should be very grateful. Some poor people never get to live with Fritha for nearly a year. Some poor people only have one mummy instead of two as Will earnestly points out. (He himself is proud to be in the category of those who have two). And after all, Fritha is the one that has to move out and Live Without Toby! Besides, in order to ensure that the children who so badly need to be living with her are safely installed in her care, it has to be done.
The flat is gorgeous. Really, REALLY lovely. With a courtyard garden for Digger to wee in, a butlers sink, (totally Downton Abbey), and a sofa that you will dream about lovingly for years to come after first sinking into it. Perfect for all her meetings and workshops and whatnot. And a gorgeously warm home for some very lucky children. And we should jolly well think so too considering the rent she is paying. (I would type the amount but I imagine that if I did my computer would explode). Too horrifying for words but a reflection and sign of the times. Happily the earnings from her foster caring should cover it and if she has any internal organs going spare then she could raise enough to extend her weekly shop beyond the ingredients for dhal. And if not, she'll just have to come back home......

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