We were at the hairdresser’s the other day and talking (as is customary when you enter a salon). The stylist was asking about family and I mentioned I had seven children.

As we got into the conversation she noted that the boys did not really look like David or I.

I explained that two of the kids were fostered.

“Oh, well, that’s different,” she said, “they’re not all yours”.

I think I laughed and made some off handed comment about being a baby machine but really, I’d like to know,

how is it different?

Just because they are not my biological children, doesn’t mean it is any easier than if I had birthed them

and yes, thay are all mine.

Anyhow, we continued to chat, mostly about the boys and then I mentioned that they were my sister’s.

“So, you’re not really fostering them,” came the response.

Huh?

Yes I am.

David and I foster them under the umbrella of the Community Services in our State.

We follow the rules that were set out to us by a court of law the day we took on full custody.

Being family just means things are  sometimes harder.

On many levels.

Community Services tend to be less… forthcoming, with… opportunities that are afforded carers who are not family and because the boys are family we refuse to use them like pawns in a game of crisis care.

They bend the rules alot more when it is family and not necessarily in a good way.

For example, when you are a carer and you foster a child, it is encouraged that you take children younger than your youngest, so as not to disrupt the family dynamics. When you are related… not so much.

There is a period of assessment and training for  most carers, a stringent list of things that must be done, with family it’s more a case of dump and run.

When the children are family things are complicated.

My sister and I don’t get along but that does not mean I don’t love her. In the early days, nobody wanted her to get her act together more than me.

Emotionally things can get very sticky.

The hairdresser asked me then why I didn’t just introduce them as my nephews.

I had this discussion with AJ many years ago, when I noticed he seemed uncomfortable with me calling him my nephew.

He chose the “foster son” title because he felt that our being connected made things more difficult, so I stopped and honoured his wishes.

I don’t talk about fostering alot.

None of us do anymore.

After eight years together, AJ and Mal are treated as just another two children in our family.

As far as we are concerned, they are ours.

We have ups and we have downs but most of the time we are all in it together.

On Boxing Day, I was feeling unwell and I didn’t really want to travel. I thought I might opt for a day on my own but that idea was quickly thwarted by Dave and the kids.

On the way home, AJ asked me if I was glad I came, to which I answered yes but voiced that they all would have been fine without me.

My foster son, my eldest boy, piped up and replied…”but a day without you isn’t a day at all, Aunty Tiff”.

It’s moments like those that make everything worth it.