Cast your mind back to summer 2019 I was on a cruise around Greek Islands; it was heaven. I returned to face the hardest task of my life of winning a council tender at work that saved / retained 20+ jobs. I did this successfully and approached my 49th birthday in November planning my next holiday feeling I had thoroughly deserved it. I booked a week in Spain for October and whilst there booked another at the same place for Easter 2020 as it was so good. I was also sorting out plans for the next 12 months in time for the year after for my 50th; three weeks in Egypt including a Nile cruise to satisfy my obsession with Agatha Christie. And to get my 50th year started a 3 day luxury spa courtesy of my sister in January 2020 was also planned.
My husband and I have been together 7 years and there is a 10 year age gap. He's younger. With my daughter being 30 we had a pretty great lifestyle “with no baggage”. We are not loaded but enough for 2 holidays a year, nights out, city breaks, Sunday afternoon drinking, dates and meals out, sleep overs and days out with the grandchildren aged 8 and 1 then. Proud owners of our fur baby Che. For 8 years I have been CEO of a charity and absolutely love it, have amazing colleagues and have seen much success both personally and as an organisation. Life was so good and spontaneous.
Life is still good; but fuck me is it different!
28th November 2020 our grandchildren came to us via a social worker. I was shocked and confused as we had no details until later. I won't go into the details as the statutory process isn't yet completed but they were at risk at home following an incident that left the one year old with unexplained injuries. Initially we were told it would be a few days, then a few weeks, then 26 weeks minimum and now it's been 38 weeks. We had our grandchildren a lot before this and did loads with them so we just carried on doing what we did which was being the best grandparents we could.
This wasn't enough.
To officially care for our own grandchildren we had to agree to undergo assessments to be kinship foster carers. 9 hours of 1:1 meetings with a social worker asking about my entire history, career, childhood, relationships, networks, marriage and finances. They needed 4 referees to comment about my parenting of my daughter. It was invasive and upsetting talking about my daughter and how her life choices (choice of partner) have put her children at risk. But we had no choice but to participate.
From the get go there were very practical things to sort. I had no car seat, nappies, clothes and the baby was sleeping in his travel cot in a bathroom. As children go on a care order there are a variety of statutory appointments with little or no notice. Medical appointments for the children, with GP and xrays for the injuries and medical assessments for us, a lecture about my weight. It would seem I'm not too fat to be an amazing grandma but too fat to be a foster carer. The social worker asked are you aware of your calorie intake and how much exercise are you getting? Well it’s no surprise with the stress and lockdown I’ve got even fatter!! There is no understanding that one might work or have commitments and responsibilities; they make appointments for meetings, call you and expect you to comply with little or no notice.
Initially we were told that we could supervise contact at our home with the children and their Mum as she wasn't the direct risk. But, we weren't to leave them alone, at all not even to use the bathroom in our own house. This was very restrictive as visits were sometimes 4 hours. We couldn't leave the children with a babysitter unless social services had done a DBS so that was just my Mum.
The first month, the whole of December, my head fell off. School runs, nursery, after school care, appointments, supervising contact, parenting, never ending laundry, social services assessment and stress with my daughter being in denial about what happened to the baby was a complete head fuck. I cried, sobbed nearly every day but just did my best to function and make things "normal" for the children. I was so lucky that the charity where I work gave me a month off to sort out whatever was needed and for the first time in my 30 year career I walked away from the office and didn't give it another thought for weeks.
Once I realised they were staying for 26 weeks I changed our Easter holiday to Spain to include them both.
The supervised visits started at 6 a week and we really struggled to manage this both time wise and emotionally. 6 days after they moved in the baby was 2. I didn't take any photos of him with his birthday tea because he still had a black eye. Each visit or text or call had to be written up and so I was spending time making copious notes. Notes that I felt sure would condemn my daughter at times but were a requirement of being a foster carer and if I didn't do them, they couldn't stay. It was a moral dilemma. But I wasn't taking the risk of the children being placed elsewhere.
1 month after moving in it was the older ones 9th birthday and after spending nearly £240 on a bowling party, gifts and birthday tea at Frankie and Bennys etc I wondered if I may have over compensated slightly. 2 days later it was Christmas. I woke up on Christmas eve in a blind panic because although I had loads of gifts for them it just occurred to me I hadn't organised anything from "Santa". I felt sick. Jumped in the car and went on a shopping spree; it was hell. I hate shopping at the best of times.
The trip to the spa with my sister was postponed as I felt it was too soon to leave the children for 3 days and I was due back at work. We rescheduled for June.
So New Year came and I went back to work full time. Managing the supervised visits became very difficult as we were restricted to evenings after work. After a couple of months we reduced the visits to 5 a week and so had Sundays off. By now the day time routines kept us busy until 8pm and so conversations with my husband were limited to after 8pm and I was in bed for 9pm.
Did I mention that the youngest wasn't sleeping through?
I kept thinking the holiday we had booked to Spain for Easter was keeping me sane.
So weekends changed to swimming, trips to cinema for Disney though rather than Quentin Tarantino, the zoo, soft play centres, McDonalds (yuk) and going to the park. We stayed in as it was too hard to get a babysitter due to social services rules and I was too knackered. The fatter I got the less I felt like socialising anyway. Supermarket shopping with 2 children became a fucking health hazard. I don't know how people manage.
Success used to be getting grants for work, developing new services, awards, great outcomes for clients and good news from my colleagues; now it’s getting to work at a reasonable time and knowing the children are bathed, in clean clothes, dog is walked, everyone's had breakfast, brushed their teeth, homeworks done, Brownies fees are paid and I’ve brushed my teeth! The bonus comes if the youngest has slept through and the children haven't had a fight.
I told my husband if he wanted to leave he could. He refused. This wasn't what he signed up for I thought. He says it was; for better or for worse.
We've had to adjust. My once meticulously tidy and clean house is full of plastic shite; odd socks and sweet wrappers. Its changed not just our house, but our our time, our energy and our whole lifestyle but we have gone from being joyous, fun, care free grandparents to the disciplinarians, care givers but boundary setters, we are the meanies now who say bedtime, brush your teeth, time for homework etc etc. It's shit, it’s the worst part really.
We are now potty / toilet training the youngest and his next milestone will be parting with the numerous dummies stashed all over our house. That will be success!!!
In the first 16 weeks me and my husband had 3 nights out. I can't remember if we had sex, we must have...…….
Then the official lockdown started...………………. but I already felt locked down before that.
In 38 weeks my husband and I have been out alone 5 times.
Spain was cancelled.
The spa was postponed again.
The 26 week interim care order has lasted for 38 weeks and counting and we have another 10 weeks at least before we know the authorities recommendations for the children's long term future. It's all still temporary and we won't know until November what the final legal decisions are to be, all court activity was delayed by Covid.
Covid brought additional challenges as it has for everyone.
· School picks ups were limited to 1 person so as the car driver that had to be me.
· The nursery shut and so the youngest was home for 4 weeks.
· My husband worked from home for 18 weeks.
· I spent time alone in the house twice in 20 weeks. This has been hard!!!
· I was 60 hours down on my time sheet in May. This caused much anxiety until I worked them back.
· Obviously we stayed in as instructed and my Mum was excluded and this broke her heart. I’ve deliberately omitted the impact of all this on the kids. But staying in with no activities has been hard to keep them entertained, like lots of families.
Every cloud has a silver lining though.
My grandchildren are safe; happy and thriving.
I've had an opportunity to bond with my grandson that I wouldn't have had. I was already very close to my granddaughter.
I've learned how to do a French plait.
The children whilst demanding make us laugh every day.
I've been inundated with offers of moral and practical support from friends.
My Mum (now back in our bubble) has been an absolute rock.
The spa is booked for October – yaaay.
None of us have had Covid; unlike so many others. We have all been well.
My mental health took a battering but I’ve accessed counselling and other support to stay well.
What I thought I couldn’t possibly cope with for 26 weeks has now been 38 and will continue possibly forever. I can do it. We are doing it.
Life is still good, we have settled into a routine (that sadly doesn’t include as many porn star martinis as it used to) and for the most part we are a happy family. I spend my money on spiderman underpants and slime. Terrible twos are a bit annoying but they will pass. The lockdown only formalised my sense of isolation and feeling trapped within my own life. I think that surviving this means we can all survive anything. I am not sure about the dog though; he may need some counselling.
