Foster Mum Quotes

Between a cold kitchen window gone opaque with the stove’s wet heat and the breath of us, an open drawer, and the gilt ferrotype of identical boys flanking a blind vested father which hung in a square recession above the wireless’s stand, my Mum stood and cut off my long hair in the uneven heat.

It ascended by levels: Da's cameo recessed against the glow of the tuner's parade,the drawer of utensils withdrawn past its fulcrum, the disembodied face of my brother miming and distorting my desperate attempt by expression alone to make Mum look up from me and see him, I no longer feeling my features' movements so much as seeing them on that writhing white face against the pantry's black, the throttle-popped eyes and cheeks ballooning against the gag's restraint, Mum squatting chairside to even my ears, my face before us bother farther and farther from my own control as I saw in his twin face what all lolly-smeared hand-held brats must see in the fun-house mirror- the gross and pitiless sameness, the distortion in which there is, tiny, at the center, something cruelly true about the we who leer and woggle at stick necks and and concave skulls, goggling eyes that swell to the edges- as the mimicry ascended reflected levels to become finally the burlesque of a wet hysteria that plastered cut strands to a wet white brow, the strangled man's sobs blocked by cloth, storm's thrum and electric hiss and Da's mutter against the lalation of shears meant for lambs, an unseen fit that sent my eyes upward again and again into their own shocked white, knowing past sight that my twin's face would show the same, to mock it- until the last refuge was slackness, giving up the ghost completely for a blank sack gagged mask's mindless stare-un seen and seeing- into a mirror I could not know or feel myself without. No not ever again.

I reach out and trace my finger over the lines. Ben said I need to make the frame first. It’s made of twelve pieces of wood, six underneath and six on top criss-crossing each other like a potato waffle. I pick up a piece of chalk and draw it on the blackboard. Then I draw two stick men on top for me and Ben. I stand back and look at the pictures. There’s no way I’m going to let Shark Face help. This is mine and Ben’s. I don’t care if his mum did text my mum last night. She said Shark Face was looking forward to coming down this afternoon. But there’s no way I’m going to have that twerp hanging around. The light flickers as a bus rumbles along the road above my head. I pull the tarp off Shooting Star and take a deep breath. She looks nothing like Ben’s diagram. All

When Christmas came a month after we arrived at the Cheltenham, we sort of assumed that Helen and Steve would invite us to their house for the holiday. We had often spent Christmas with them before we went into foster care, when Mum was still alive, and we knew they had been told that we were no longer at Cathy and Pete’s, but no invitation was forthcoming. One of Mum’s cousins, who we had only ever met two or three times, kindly offered to have us for a few days, but he explained that there would be a lot of family members there who we wouldn’t know. When

loved them and they were the new kids on the block. I called my mum. ‘Are you sitting down?

The atmosphere inside was terrible. Brenda stared into the distance whenever I was around her and hardly spoke to me. Little Jim passed me in the hall “you shouldn’t have done that” he said without malice. Was he scared too? Why was everyone scared? What didn’t I know? I walked into the kitchen “Hi Brenda, what should I do now I’m late for tea?” I asked her honestly. “You can do whatever you choose Tracie” she said staring through the kitchen window. It kind of reminded me of my first memory of mum. I was shocked she sounded like she really didn’t care. She wasn’t even fake caring any more she just plain didn’t give a shit. “Thanks” I said and walked towards the living room where Caroline and Rita were sat. Rita got up and walked past me to go to bed. “What’s going on?” I said to Caroline. “We didn’t know where you were” she said shaking her head at me. Did nobody get it?

Macclesfield was like a wound I couldn't stop picking. I didn't know if I'd ever heal or if my constant pulling at the scab would leave me open to infection but I did know I had to keep doing it. I had to find out what lay beneath each layer of skin even if it meant that I felt more and more pain. It could have been another form of self harm or it could have been a part of my journey I just had to make. Either way I was compelled to continue. Could I get Jodie and Jonathon back? Could I see them playing again? Would Courtney accept me into her family? Perhaps I'd belong there until I got my family back together? Okay so I couldn't grow up with Alan as I'd liked but I could try and fit in with Clive and Phil. The thought hurt, I could easily turn to crime but how would that help with the social services?

He doesn’t have to, Chloe.’ Her mum moved the mug a little further from the table edge, and sighed. ‘Why do you try to see things in black and white when there’s a whole kaleidoscope of colour in between?’ ‘What are you saying?’ ‘That people do things for all sorts of reasons – whether good or bad, right or wrong, misguided or not – and that to have any hope of understanding what’s going on, you need to find those reasons. You don’t have to agree with them, or accept them, but you need to know what they are. There’s no difference between living a life based on lies

Kim could swear that the doctor’s voice lowered slightly, gently. Or she could just be completely paranoid. The words childhood and trauma were spoken more like a whisper. ‘No, it was in college, I think.’ The doctor said nothing. Kim spoke with a half-smile. ‘My childhood was pretty normal; loved sweets, hated cabbage, normal arguments with parents about staying out too late.’ Alex smiled at her and nodded. ‘I think it might have been the stress of exams.’ Just in time, Kim realised the doctor had used her own technique of remaining silent against her. Luckily she’d realised before she’d revealed any truth of her childhood at all. ‘You know, Kim, it’s surprising how many times you used the word “normal”. Most people say that about their childhood and yet there is no such thing unless you live in a television commercial. What did your parents do?’ Kim thought quickly and chose the sixth set of foster parents. ‘My mum worked part-time at Sainsbury’s and my dad was a bus driver.’ ‘Any siblings?’ Kim’s mouth dried and she only trusted herself to shake her head. ‘No major losses or traumatic events before the age of ten?’ Again, Kim shook her head. Alex laughed.