by Cathy Glass
‘Reece, have you never used a knife and fork before?’ I asked lightly. The girls looked up.
‘Don’t know,’ Reece said.
I skewered another piece of chicken on to his fork and left him to take it to his mouth, which he did. Then he attempted to use his fingers for the boiled potatoes.
‘Would you like a spoon?’ I asked, for I could see the peas and gravy were going to cause him a real problem. Reece nodded. I fetched a dessert spoon, which he used quite successfully, so I guessed that that was what he had been used to. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ I said, smiling.
He grinned back. ‘I use me fingers for Chicken Dippers and burgers.’
I nodded and thought that here was another child who had never had to master a knife and fork because they had only ever eaten ‘finger food’. I’d recently read a newspaper article which had highlighted the number of ‘well brought up’ children from good homes who didn’t know how to use a knife and fork properly because so much of their diet hadn’t required one.
Reece had a very healthy appetite and wanted seconds. Although he was heavily built, he wasn’t so much fat as solid, and as he was a growing boy I gave him a second helping, and a yoghurt and piece of fruit for pudding. Considering that he obviously wasn’t used to sitting still at the table and using cutlery he had done very well and I praised him. However, as soon as he’d finished the last mouthful of banana he was up and off, zooming around and yelping at the top of his voice. Lucy and Paula read him another story while I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Then I read him a story before explaining it was time for his bath.
‘Don’t want one,’ he said and was off the sofa and chasing around again. Paula came out of her room and tried to take hold of his arm, narrowly missing a headbutt.
‘Reece, don’t do that,’ I said. Then to Paula: ‘Let me. I’ll call if I need help.’
I waited until he was doing a return lap of the landing and caught hold of him lightly by his arm. I encircled him as I had done before to get him off my bed. He struggled briefly before laughing and relaxing against me. I gave him a cuddle; then, with a mixture of cajoling and promises of a bedtime story, I managed to run the bath and get him into it. Reece wasn’t able to undress himself (another skill I would have to teach him another day) so I did it, and as he sat in the bath pretending to be a shark, I realized that neither had he the first idea about washing himself. It would have been helpful if the previous carers had written down some of this detail so that I could have anticipated and better accommodated Reece’s needs in the first few days. As it was, apart from knowing about his love of burgers and Chicken Dippers, I was working in the dark. I showed him how to lather the soap on to the sponge and then encouraged him to run it over his body. Although I was happy to wash his back and neck it was important to teach him to take care of most of his washing, particularly his private parts. This is another example of giving a child responsibility for his or her own body and nurturing self-respect.
‘Wash your feet and knees,’ I encouraged, ‘and between your legs. Do you have a name for your private parts?’
‘Willy,’ he responded with a laugh. ‘Sharks have willies but no legs.’
‘Well, wash your willy and your legs.’
I waited while he squashed the sponge on various parts of his body, which would be sufficient for now. Then I ran the sponge over his shaved head — there wasn’t enough hair to shampoo. Letting out the water, I wrapped him in the bath towel.
A mixture of more cajoling and repetition saw Reece into his pyjamas, and after another bedtime story, for which he sat on the beanbag with me squatted beside him, I eased him into bed.
‘I want Henry,’ he said, snuggling down and obviously finding comfort in being cocooned beneath the duvet. I guessed Henry was a soft toy he took with him to bed and that he would be in either the rucksacks or the toy boxes, which I hadn’t had a chance to unpack yet.
‘What does Henry look like?’ I asked, as I undid the first rucksack.
‘A hippo,’ Reece said.
I smiled. ‘Henry Hippo, that’s a good name. Did you call him that?’
‘Don’t know.’ So I thought that Henry Hippo was probably an old favourite and had come with all the other ‘Don’t knows’ from home.
I began rummaging through the first rucksack, which contained an entire school uniform, hardly worn, and presumably from one of the schools Reece had been excluded from. At the bottom of the bag my fingers alighted on something soft and furry, and I pulled it out.
‘That’s not it!’ Reece yelled.
‘No.’ It was a soft toy but in the shape of a shark.
I began on the second rucksack, which contained some new books. As I took them out and placed them on the bookshelves in the recess of his bedroom, I saw that they were all about sharks, or ocean creatures including sharks. ‘Who bought you all these?’ I asked.
‘Carers,’ Reece said.
I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to indulge Reece’s love of sharks, given his biting, but doubtless the carers had acted with the best of intentions by giving Reece something he liked. Further down this bag were some large-piece jigsaws, the pictures on the front of the boxes showing underwater scenes with fish and sharks. The boxes were new, so I guessed a well-meaning carer had bought these too. I pulled out a couple of short-sleeved T-shirts emblazoned with pictures of sharks, but there was no sign of Henry Hippo.
‘Do you know where Henry is?’ I asked, dearly hoping that Henry had been packed. I took the lid off the first toy box.
Reece didn’t answer. He was lying in bed, watching me intently. Although the toy box was new, it contained lots of old small toys, many broken, so that I guessed the contents had come from home. As I rummaged through I saw that the theme of sharks dominated here too. There were models and toys of sharks in plastic, rubber and cardboard, in various poses of swimming, all with their mouths open, displaying rows of barbed white teeth. They had clearly been well used, for many had been chewed and had bits missing. One particularly nasty creature, which was a model of a shark’s head about ten inches across, had half its teeth missing but the grin on its face said that it was still capable of doing real damage and enjoying it. When social workers take a child into care they always try to bring as many of the child’s clothes and favourite toys as possible so that the child feels comfortable with what they know around them. Usually these things are loaded into carrier bags, so I assumed one or more of the previous carers must have bought the new toy boxes, rucksacks and suitcase. Reece was still looking at me carefully, not saying a word; clearly these toys were poignant reminders of home.
‘Well, it’s not here,’ I said.
I shuffled over on my knees and took the lid off the second toy box. To my great relief and Reece’s delight, at the top lay a grubby, well-chewed, but clearly much-loved hippopotamus soft toy.
‘Henry!’ Reece cried.
I smiled and tucked Henry in beside Reece. Then I had a quick glance at the toys that had been under Henry in the box. It was no great surprise that the shark theme dominated again, together with McDonald’s. The fast-food chain must have been giving away small plastic models of sharks and aquatic creatures in their children’s Happy Meal boxes, for this toy box was full of them. Putting the lid back on the box, I stacked it, together with the rucksacks, on one side of the bedroom, to be sorted out the following day.
“Night ‘night,’ I said to Reece, kissing his forehead. His face was buried deep into Henry’s soft fur, the toy’s familiar smell welcoming and secure.
“Night,’ came the muffled reply.
I went to the bedroom door. ‘Would you like your light on or off?’ I asked, as I ask all children on their first night. It is essential the child sleeps as they are used to and feels comfortable.
‘On,’ came the muffled response.
‘OK, but I’ll dim it a little so it doesn’t keep you awake.’ I turned the knob on the light switch down so that the room was
lit but not startlingly bright. ‘And Reece, do you want your door open or shut, love?’
‘Shut,’ Reece said.
‘All right. See you in the morning. Sleep tight.’ Only the top of his head was visible as his face snuggled into Henry. ‘See you in the morning,’ I said again and came out and shut the door.
I waited on the landing, for given how hyperactive Reece had been during the day, coupled with it being his first night in a strange bedroom, I was expecting him to be out of bed the moment I left the room, in which case I would keep resettling him until he finally dropped asleep. But five minutes later, when there had been no sound from his room, I gently eased open the bedroom door and found him fast asleep. He was exhausted and so was I. Closing the bedroom door again, I went downstairs, where Lucy and Paula were in the kitchen making a hot drink.
‘He’s asleep.’ I said. ‘Thanks for all your help. It’s much appreciated.’
‘Mum?’ Paula said, pouring milk into her tea. ‘What’s the matter with Reece’s front teeth?’ Lucy looked at me too.
‘I don’t know. I’ll ask the dentist when I take him for a check-up. I’m sure it’s something that can be corrected by an orthodontist when he’s older.’ I hesitated. ‘I know this sounds odd but Reece has the nickname Sharky. I think it could be because of his teeth and that he bites.’ They both looked at me. ‘His toys and books are all about sharks. It was a label that began at home and they encouraged him to behave like a shark and bite. He bit me when he first arrived earlier, so please be careful. And obviously we all have to work towards getting rid of that ridiculous nickname.’
They nodded and I could see from their expressions that they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because who on earth calls their child Sharky and encourages him to bite?
‘We’ll get him interested in something other than sharks,’ I said. ‘Something that doesn’t bite, like cars or aeroplanes.’ And it occurred to me then that perhaps all the zooming around the house Reece had been doing with his arms outstretched wasn’t a plane or prehistoric bird but a shark skimming through the water in search of prey. Anyway, thanks again. You were both a big help.’
They smiled and handed me a very welcome mug of tea. ‘Oh yes,’ Lucy said, ‘I nearly forgot. Jill phoned while you were out and asked how we were doing. I said we were all fine.’
Chapter Five:
Safer Caring
I went to bed early that first night, at ten o’clock, expecting to have a very broken night’s sleep; children, unsurprisingly, are often unsettled for the first few nights, in a strange bed and a new house. But Reece must have been exhausted, for I wasn’t woken until five o’clock. Then it was with a vengeance!
I was just starting to surface, with my eyes flickering open, when I heard Reece’s door fly open with a loud bang, followed by the sound of Reece in full flight. His feet thumped along the landing and he was making a high-pitched yeooowing noise, banging on the walls and bedroom doors as he went. He had done a full circuit of the landing and was on his way downstairs before I was out of bed. I threw on my dressing gown and went after him. Apart from stopping him from waking the girls (if they hadn’t already been woken), I needed to start to get him into the routine of staying in his bedroom and amusing himself until I was up and dressed.
I caught up with Reece downstairs, where he was trying to get into the living room, which I locked at night for security. ‘Reece,’ I said over the noise of his yeooowing. ‘Reece, sshhh, quietly, love.’ I placed my forefinger to my lips and, with my other hand lightly on his shoulder, turned him to face me.
‘Yeooooow,’ he went at the top of his voice.
‘Ssshh,’ I said again.
‘Yeoooow,’ he continued. Then, bringing his chin down towards his shoulder, he tried to bite my hand.
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘No, you mustn’t bite. It’s naughty.’ He snapped again at my hand, which was safely out of reach. ‘No, Reece, don’t bite.’
‘I can bite, I’m Sharky.’ Which I had guessed and ignored. ‘Want to get in here,’ he said and, pulling away from me, he thumped on the living-room door with his fist.
‘No, Reece,’ I said. ‘Now quietly. We are going back to your bedroom, where you can play until it’s time to go downstairs. It’s too early. It’s not morning yet.’ I knew there was no point in suggesting he went back to sleep, as he had clearly had enough sleep and was now completely recovered from the previous day’s exhaustion.
He thumped on the living-room door again; then, with his mouth wide open, he tried to sink his teeth into the metal doorknob. The resulting sound of his teeth on metal set my own teeth on edge, and I thought it would do nothing for the enamel on his.
‘No, Reece,’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself. Come back to your bedroom.’
He turned and, breaking free from my light hold on his shoulder, was off down the hall, and then up the stairs. I caught up with him on the landing and, taking him by the arm, went with him into his bedroom, where I closed the door.
‘Yeoooow! Crunch!’ He went at the top of his voice. ‘Yeooow! I’m Sharky.’
There was a great temptation to say, ‘Well, Sharky had better play quietly with his toys,’ but I didn’t. ‘Reece,’ I said, again taking him by the shoulder and trying to get him to look at me. ‘Reece, I need you to be quiet, love.’
‘Yeck! Yeck! Crunch!’ he went.
Not letting go of his arm, I took the lid off one of the toy boxes and drew him down, so that we were both sitting on the floor. ‘Here, look at all these lovely toys. Let’s play with them,’ I encouraged.
Reece pulled in his cheeks to make his mouth narrow, which highlighted his front teeth. He then began making loud sucking noises, which I guessed were supposed to be an impression of a shark. I ignored it and continued sifting through the toys, hoping to gain his attention.
Half an hour later I was still there, seated on the floor of Reece’s bedroom in my dressing gown and trying to engage him in the toys and books. Reece whooped and yelped, snapped his jaws at invisible passing fish and every so often tried to jump on the bed or leave his room. It was imperative that I kept going until I had achieved what I had set out to: Reece remaining in his room and playing until I had washed and dressed and was ready to go downstairs. If I gave in now, it would set a precedent for all the future mornings and would be harder to change at a later date. As with so many behaviour issues, retraining relies on consistent and firm boundaries — i.e. endless repetition of the expected behaviour.
‘I need you to play in your bedroom until I say it is time to get dressed,’ I said over and over again, while picking out another toy or book, or starting a jigsaw.
Eventually, after another fifteen minutes, when Reece was probably as bored as I was with the sound of my voice repeatedly saying the same thing, he started to dive into the box of small McDonald’s toys of his own accord and began playing with them. I stayed for another five minutes, and then said: ‘Good boy. Now you carry on playing while I get dressed.’ I came out and closed the door.
I waited on the landing. A minute later Reece flung open his bedroom door and was about to zoom off again. I lightly caught hold of his arm and led him back into his room, where I resettled him with the toys. I told him again what I wanted him to do — to play quietly while I got dressed – and I came out and closed the door.
I waited on the landing and a minute later Reece appeared again in what I took to be full shark attack, snapping and yelping at the top of his voice. Again I returned him to the toys in his bedroom and, restating what I wanted him to do, came out. He reappeared and I resettled him, time and time again, doing what I had anticipated having to do the night before when I’d put him to bed.
Finally at 6.30 a.m., an hour and a half after Reece had first woken and got out of bed, he was playing with his toys in his bedroom, and I had the time I needed to shower and dress. He wasn’t particularly quiet — he was making noises which sounded as though they could be part
of the pretend play – but at least he was doing what I’d asked. I knew I would probably have to repeat the resettling process every morning for a week or more, but the investment of time and effort now would reap rewards later, when Reece would wake and automatically play with his toys until I told him it was time for him to dress and come down for breakfast.
It was Friday, and a school day, so I woke the girls at seven (being teenagers, they had managed to go back to sleep despite all Reece’s noise). Then I knocked on Reece’s door and went in. He was seated, as I had last left him, cross-legged on the floor, now surrounded by the entire contents of both toy boxes. I told him he was a good boy for playing nicely in his room; then I said that although it was still early, he could get dressed and come down if he wanted to, or he could stay and play with his toys.
‘Telly?’ he asked. I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I wanted him watching television at this time in the morning. It could become a habit, which certainly couldn’t continue when he started school.
‘OK, but only for a little while.’ I switched on the television and found some children’s programmes on BBC2 which Reece recognized, presumably from having watched the series before. He immediately fell quiet, completely transfixed and absorbed by the screen. I could see only too clearly the great temptation of leaving Reece in front of a television for longer periods than were good for him.
Half an hour later, with the girls washed, dressed and having had their breakfasts, I knocked on Reece’s bedroom door and went in. He was, as I suspected he would be, still seated in the same position on the beanbag and riveted to the children’s programmes.
‘Good boy, Reece,’ I said. ‘I want you to switch off the television now, get dressed and come down for breakfast.’
He didn’t answer, so I repeated the instructions; then, taking out clean clothes from his wardrobe, I repeated the instructions again. He still didn’t answer, so I explained again what I wanted him to do. Then I switched off the television. As soon as the screen went blank Reece jumped up from the beanbag and began stamping on the piles of small toys that littered the entire floor.