Bumps, Bruises, bites and chicken pox
Good evening loved ones You’d think from the title that it had been a rough week, but really, it hasn’t. After a few years of luckless job applications, Matt was called for three job interviews. His spirits are high, not in expectation but in hopes that things are about to change. I had a chance to garden, enjoy cooking in peace, relish our new stereo, learn to crochet and devote all of my attention to the girls, a few times at least. We spent a few days among friends and a lot of time out of the house. The weather was beautiful, warm and dry. Jacinta and Genevieve moseyed along in little girl land: playing different games, learning from and about each other, experiencing new things.
It seems to be part of Jacinta’s make-up to fall over a lot and complain about it, but she has taken a few real blows this week. (Matt used to be renowned in Michigan for finding a way to injure himself, I don’t think he complained that much though.) The mosquitoes were a bit rough on Wednesday during French and ate up Jess’s little legs. As we roam the property, Jacinta tends to lag behind in class, often coming up with her own idea for an activity and acting on it. As the teacher, I must move on without her. Otherwise I’d lose control of all of the children. Inevitably, she figures it out after a few moments and in her efforts to catch up, trips, falls and skins her knee. This is the second class now that she has spent fifteen minutes first crying, then sitting and observing class in sorrow. Her friends are still young enough that they don’t mock her for crying over seemingly little bumps and bruises, but they are starting to ignore her whining and move on. It had been a big day though, having been in town for hours before class. For a while she was jumping around happily as we walked from shop to shop. Not paying full attention, she banged into a bench, bruised her hip, then fell over from the pain onto the sidewalk and scraped her knee and bellybutton. This could just be part of being three, growing and learning how to handle her body as it grows, like a puppy growing into its oversized paws. Genevieve doesn’t help much though, for she hardly cries when she falls over, gets stepped on, gets splinters or whacks her head.
Forget the bumps and bruises, those “mosquito bites” ended up taking the cake. Jacinta is tough in her own way. Usually her bites don’t bother her, but this time they were particularly itchy. Matt wondered on Thursday whether they could be chicken pox. All-knowing me said, “No, I saw those mosquitoes biting her in French class, I kept slapping them because I forgot to put spray on.” So I took her to play group, even to the pool on Friday, never giving the chicken pox another thought. Friday night Mary came home and inquired about Jacinta’s bumps. Yep, chicken pox and I exposed her to loads of children at her most contagious phase. Oops. Now it all makes sense. Not that Matt lives to tell me, “I told you so,” but he has just earned the opportunity as all of our friends have scored the opportunity to contract the chicken pox. Jacinta didn’t show any signs of the pox coming on, but she is intensely itchy now. She tries very hard not to scratch the pox. It’s amazing what the power of suggestion has on this girl. If someone told me not to scratch something that terribly itchy and I was three, I’d keep on scratching. She stops and waits for lotion. We had to skip dance class today. “Can’t I just go to dance and sit and watch with you Genevieve?” It felt so wrong explaining the spread of disease to a little girl. Instead, Jacinta taught Evie, Keith and I dance class outside on the veranda. We wore mismatched shoes and did our hair, Jacinta with four buns and 16 clips in her hair, and had “funky dance” class.
Knowing what we know now, we shouldn’t have gone out as much this week. Even so, I think getting out of the house more made our times at home more energetic. We all went to choir again, Matt strolling home with Jacinta after a short while. Jacinta loves her “daddy night.” She proudly recounted how she went to sleep, “on the couch listening to pretty music with daddy.” Monday afternoon I took the girls to the river beach park when the tide was out. The sun’s intensity had gone, the tide pools were full and made warm little bathtubs for Evie. The water does wonders for my spirit. Surely I am biased, but I believe it clears a lot up for the girls too, not to mention the salt on all of their bites, cuts and scrapes. Today we met up with some friends at the beach who have given up thinking they can avoid the chicken pox. I am just grateful they’ll spend time with us. Being shut in until the girls have gotten over the chicken pox sounds hard, but we do always find fun things to do here, especially with Keith’s help and energy.
The girls often track Keith down to play a few times a day, especially if I am doing something seemingly uninteresting, like dishes or talking on the phone. If he is able, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing or turn it into a game, usually with a cup of tea in hand. This week he taught Jacinta how to blow out an ostrich egg, which he will eventually paint. He used to paint emu eggs, but it’s now illegal to take them from emus, not to mention there aren’t many wild emus roaming here. There is an ostrich on a nearby farm though, I can’t tell you why. The girls and I felted another mushroom outside in the cubby house, pink this time. Keith helped us finish up so we could prepare three kilograms of apples to be dried in the dehydrator, also entertaining Genevieve when she needed help. The five new chicks needed some finely ground seed, so Keith got out his old steel mill and we ground up a bunch of seed together. Jacinta and I called out commands in French all the while, Genevieve tried to tip it all over. Matt and Keith cut down some vines and trees for the new chook pen while the girls and I watched from the cubby house. Activities which most of us would deem impossible with two tiny girls are no trouble at all for Keith, somehow. Today he took them both out to bury a dead bird, to give it a proper goodbye and a flower to lie beside. We are pretty lucky.
Tuesday was a good day for planting leafy annuals and also Jacinta’s pre-school day. I left her drawing at 9am, with no tears and went home to rock sweet Genevieve to sleep, in silence. I assumed she’d keep up the pattern and sleep two hours, but that was my mistake. Keith kept her busy for a long while as I enjoyed the morning in the garden. I planted broccoli, red cabbage, three types of spinach, two types of lettuce, purslane, celery and some mystery seeds. I had prepared the beds over the weekend. But after reading up on what extra nutrients were needed, I used my peaceful morning to do it right this time. My carrots and beets have been terrible and this is a tell tale sign (I have just learned) of a phosphorus deficiency. This can be solved by adding wood ash to the soil, easily done. I had already added some chicken manure, blood and bone and lime. Because my girls were both in good hands, I had the brain and the time to act on this new wisdom. I did everything in my power to make these good veggies and it was fun, not at all exhausting or stressful. With Matt’s help, I have kept the seeds watered since. So if they don’t work out, I’ll have to go back to square one.
Square two might be where my citizenship status stands, in becoming a dual American-Australian citizen. This week I had a few medical tests done, blood work and a chest x-ray, both with my cooperative little girls in tow. They really were! I am always pleasantly surprised when I pull them into potentially difficult situations and expect the best. A few of our Australian friends question their government’s right to mandate an HIV test for new citizens. Given how much the government has already given me in medical services when I am not even a citizen, I am quite happy to jump through their hoops in order to guarantee these privileges for the rest of my stay in Australia. The people working in these institutions seem to treat people with more respect than many people working for governmental institutions like the INS, Social Security, and the Secretary of State in the USA.
I talk up the generosity of Australia’s social system because I come from a place where handouts are scarce. I tend to demonize the USA for its weak fight against poverty, but I have not seen enough in my short life to offer many alternatives. I thought I had a few answers. I have now learned of the failures of a generous government, whose handouts are plentiful and not always well spent. I had heard of Aboriginal communities whose quality of life was terribly low. Trying not to be racist, I turn a blind eye to what we sometimes see in Macksville on Thursdays when weekly government checks arrive: a lot of people buying alcohol, some of whom happen to be aboriginal people. Trying not to be racist, I have picked up aboriginal women in need of a ride somewhere and tried not to notice the alcohol in their bags and on their breath. Keith comes from different country, Kamillaroy country. He is not a local, not one of the Gumbayngir people. He is proud and works harder than anyone I’ve met, and saddened by the actions of some aboriginal people. This doesn’t keep him from picking up a drunk man and driving him home, just to show kindness. Tonight I read an article that shocked me, turned my body cold in helplessness.
Aurukun is a largely aboriginal city, home to the Wik people, with a proud history of fighting off the white man. Today it is known for housing great aboriginal artists and dancers, also for being one of the most depressing communities around with unbelievable crime, sexual abuse, violence, alcoholism, and lack of education. The article was written in response to the nation’s apology to the Stolen Generation. The author responded to the apology saying that it meant nothing to the Wik people, who haven’t mixed much with white people. Things have gotten so bad in this area, fuelled by government handouts providing cash for alcoholism, that children are lucky to have a sober grandparent, surely not a chance of having a sober parent. Many children see juvenile detention as a right of passage, and a great way to get three good meals, a warm bed and a good education. Once back home they entertain themselves with crime, vandalism is one of the best games. The parents are not parenting, because their parents were out drinking, gambling, stealing cars and fighting. I won’t rehash the horrors of the six page article. What shocked me most was to hear some of the elders of the Wik people propose that all children be Removed from this area for their education and their safety. They want to send them to boarding schools and to adults who can actually teach them something positive. Removal again, this time it seems reasonable. When we can no longer pass on any lessons of value to our children, who will teach them? But this would be what the white people who originally started the Removal Policy thought, that what the aboriginal parents were teaching was of no value. This is an overwhelming dilemma for the moment, surely more overwhelming for the people of Aurukun than me. We can only wish them strength and peace in the struggle and wisdom to the government in aiding in what ever way they can.
There is no easy way to transition back to my simple life, but I must, because it is my reality. It does no good focusing so heartily on someone else’s reality upon which I have no effect at this point in life. Of course it sounds trivial, but I was having “problems” knitting a circle, so I learned to crochet this week. My friends Sara and Trish taught me. I am trying to make a ladybug toy for sister’s baby who is due next month. I read an article about fussy eating in pre-schoolers and found new energy for working with Jacinta on stubbornness. Eat it or don’t, no guilt trips, “It’s in the fridge if you get hungry.” Things are going better now that I have dropped the battle of wills and turned it into her choice. Matt was always really good at that in working with the youth at the church, and tried to help me in my teaching back in Michigan. I guess you forget things when you have your own children. Genevieve is communicating more now, she is so funny. If she piddles on the floor in between diaper changes, she’ll come and find us, point and say, “oook!” Sometimes she’ll puts on new clothes or a hat and go straight in to show Matt, as if that is the only response. She climbed up on the desk for the first time today, but she was trying to be sneaky so she didn’t call out, “ook!”
I started playing a new French circle game with Jacinta last week and Genevieve caught on too. It is a song about a little bear in hibernation. After we sing and skip around the sleeping bear, we count “un, deux, trois!” The bear then says, “Je sors!” and chases the singers or it says, “Je dors,” and continues sleeping. Jacinta loves it, we play over and over. Today she sang it on her own for the first time, with all of the right words. When Genevieve hears the song now, she waits until we count and then runs away screaming as if she is the bear. These girls warm my heart when it freezes. Matt’s hopeful smile warms me up too, after getting a job interview following a few years of that unemployable feeling.
Hope you’re all well. Try and send some hopeful vibes to some place in need, to someone in need. My mom broke her tailbone on the ice. My step dad is slowly recovering from a slight stroke. My step brother is having troubles with his speech. My sister is about to have a baby, and I am so very far away. So I’ll try and send some hopeful vibes their way and out to Aurukun.
Peace,
Shana
It seems to be part of Jacinta’s make-up to fall over a lot and complain about it, but she has taken a few real blows this week. (Matt used to be renowned in Michigan for finding a way to injure himself, I don’t think he complained that much though.) The mosquitoes were a bit rough on Wednesday during French and ate up Jess’s little legs. As we roam the property, Jacinta tends to lag behind in class, often coming up with her own idea for an activity and acting on it. As the teacher, I must move on without her. Otherwise I’d lose control of all of the children. Inevitably, she figures it out after a few moments and in her efforts to catch up, trips, falls and skins her knee. This is the second class now that she has spent fifteen minutes first crying, then sitting and observing class in sorrow. Her friends are still young enough that they don’t mock her for crying over seemingly little bumps and bruises, but they are starting to ignore her whining and move on. It had been a big day though, having been in town for hours before class. For a while she was jumping around happily as we walked from shop to shop. Not paying full attention, she banged into a bench, bruised her hip, then fell over from the pain onto the sidewalk and scraped her knee and bellybutton. This could just be part of being three, growing and learning how to handle her body as it grows, like a puppy growing into its oversized paws. Genevieve doesn’t help much though, for she hardly cries when she falls over, gets stepped on, gets splinters or whacks her head.
Forget the bumps and bruises, those “mosquito bites” ended up taking the cake. Jacinta is tough in her own way. Usually her bites don’t bother her, but this time they were particularly itchy. Matt wondered on Thursday whether they could be chicken pox. All-knowing me said, “No, I saw those mosquitoes biting her in French class, I kept slapping them because I forgot to put spray on.” So I took her to play group, even to the pool on Friday, never giving the chicken pox another thought. Friday night Mary came home and inquired about Jacinta’s bumps. Yep, chicken pox and I exposed her to loads of children at her most contagious phase. Oops. Now it all makes sense. Not that Matt lives to tell me, “I told you so,” but he has just earned the opportunity as all of our friends have scored the opportunity to contract the chicken pox. Jacinta didn’t show any signs of the pox coming on, but she is intensely itchy now. She tries very hard not to scratch the pox. It’s amazing what the power of suggestion has on this girl. If someone told me not to scratch something that terribly itchy and I was three, I’d keep on scratching. She stops and waits for lotion. We had to skip dance class today. “Can’t I just go to dance and sit and watch with you Genevieve?” It felt so wrong explaining the spread of disease to a little girl. Instead, Jacinta taught Evie, Keith and I dance class outside on the veranda. We wore mismatched shoes and did our hair, Jacinta with four buns and 16 clips in her hair, and had “funky dance” class.
Knowing what we know now, we shouldn’t have gone out as much this week. Even so, I think getting out of the house more made our times at home more energetic. We all went to choir again, Matt strolling home with Jacinta after a short while. Jacinta loves her “daddy night.” She proudly recounted how she went to sleep, “on the couch listening to pretty music with daddy.” Monday afternoon I took the girls to the river beach park when the tide was out. The sun’s intensity had gone, the tide pools were full and made warm little bathtubs for Evie. The water does wonders for my spirit. Surely I am biased, but I believe it clears a lot up for the girls too, not to mention the salt on all of their bites, cuts and scrapes. Today we met up with some friends at the beach who have given up thinking they can avoid the chicken pox. I am just grateful they’ll spend time with us. Being shut in until the girls have gotten over the chicken pox sounds hard, but we do always find fun things to do here, especially with Keith’s help and energy.
The girls often track Keith down to play a few times a day, especially if I am doing something seemingly uninteresting, like dishes or talking on the phone. If he is able, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing or turn it into a game, usually with a cup of tea in hand. This week he taught Jacinta how to blow out an ostrich egg, which he will eventually paint. He used to paint emu eggs, but it’s now illegal to take them from emus, not to mention there aren’t many wild emus roaming here. There is an ostrich on a nearby farm though, I can’t tell you why. The girls and I felted another mushroom outside in the cubby house, pink this time. Keith helped us finish up so we could prepare three kilograms of apples to be dried in the dehydrator, also entertaining Genevieve when she needed help. The five new chicks needed some finely ground seed, so Keith got out his old steel mill and we ground up a bunch of seed together. Jacinta and I called out commands in French all the while, Genevieve tried to tip it all over. Matt and Keith cut down some vines and trees for the new chook pen while the girls and I watched from the cubby house. Activities which most of us would deem impossible with two tiny girls are no trouble at all for Keith, somehow. Today he took them both out to bury a dead bird, to give it a proper goodbye and a flower to lie beside. We are pretty lucky.
Tuesday was a good day for planting leafy annuals and also Jacinta’s pre-school day. I left her drawing at 9am, with no tears and went home to rock sweet Genevieve to sleep, in silence. I assumed she’d keep up the pattern and sleep two hours, but that was my mistake. Keith kept her busy for a long while as I enjoyed the morning in the garden. I planted broccoli, red cabbage, three types of spinach, two types of lettuce, purslane, celery and some mystery seeds. I had prepared the beds over the weekend. But after reading up on what extra nutrients were needed, I used my peaceful morning to do it right this time. My carrots and beets have been terrible and this is a tell tale sign (I have just learned) of a phosphorus deficiency. This can be solved by adding wood ash to the soil, easily done. I had already added some chicken manure, blood and bone and lime. Because my girls were both in good hands, I had the brain and the time to act on this new wisdom. I did everything in my power to make these good veggies and it was fun, not at all exhausting or stressful. With Matt’s help, I have kept the seeds watered since. So if they don’t work out, I’ll have to go back to square one.
Square two might be where my citizenship status stands, in becoming a dual American-Australian citizen. This week I had a few medical tests done, blood work and a chest x-ray, both with my cooperative little girls in tow. They really were! I am always pleasantly surprised when I pull them into potentially difficult situations and expect the best. A few of our Australian friends question their government’s right to mandate an HIV test for new citizens. Given how much the government has already given me in medical services when I am not even a citizen, I am quite happy to jump through their hoops in order to guarantee these privileges for the rest of my stay in Australia. The people working in these institutions seem to treat people with more respect than many people working for governmental institutions like the INS, Social Security, and the Secretary of State in the USA.
I talk up the generosity of Australia’s social system because I come from a place where handouts are scarce. I tend to demonize the USA for its weak fight against poverty, but I have not seen enough in my short life to offer many alternatives. I thought I had a few answers. I have now learned of the failures of a generous government, whose handouts are plentiful and not always well spent. I had heard of Aboriginal communities whose quality of life was terribly low. Trying not to be racist, I turn a blind eye to what we sometimes see in Macksville on Thursdays when weekly government checks arrive: a lot of people buying alcohol, some of whom happen to be aboriginal people. Trying not to be racist, I have picked up aboriginal women in need of a ride somewhere and tried not to notice the alcohol in their bags and on their breath. Keith comes from different country, Kamillaroy country. He is not a local, not one of the Gumbayngir people. He is proud and works harder than anyone I’ve met, and saddened by the actions of some aboriginal people. This doesn’t keep him from picking up a drunk man and driving him home, just to show kindness. Tonight I read an article that shocked me, turned my body cold in helplessness.
Aurukun is a largely aboriginal city, home to the Wik people, with a proud history of fighting off the white man. Today it is known for housing great aboriginal artists and dancers, also for being one of the most depressing communities around with unbelievable crime, sexual abuse, violence, alcoholism, and lack of education. The article was written in response to the nation’s apology to the Stolen Generation. The author responded to the apology saying that it meant nothing to the Wik people, who haven’t mixed much with white people. Things have gotten so bad in this area, fuelled by government handouts providing cash for alcoholism, that children are lucky to have a sober grandparent, surely not a chance of having a sober parent. Many children see juvenile detention as a right of passage, and a great way to get three good meals, a warm bed and a good education. Once back home they entertain themselves with crime, vandalism is one of the best games. The parents are not parenting, because their parents were out drinking, gambling, stealing cars and fighting. I won’t rehash the horrors of the six page article. What shocked me most was to hear some of the elders of the Wik people propose that all children be Removed from this area for their education and their safety. They want to send them to boarding schools and to adults who can actually teach them something positive. Removal again, this time it seems reasonable. When we can no longer pass on any lessons of value to our children, who will teach them? But this would be what the white people who originally started the Removal Policy thought, that what the aboriginal parents were teaching was of no value. This is an overwhelming dilemma for the moment, surely more overwhelming for the people of Aurukun than me. We can only wish them strength and peace in the struggle and wisdom to the government in aiding in what ever way they can.
There is no easy way to transition back to my simple life, but I must, because it is my reality. It does no good focusing so heartily on someone else’s reality upon which I have no effect at this point in life. Of course it sounds trivial, but I was having “problems” knitting a circle, so I learned to crochet this week. My friends Sara and Trish taught me. I am trying to make a ladybug toy for sister’s baby who is due next month. I read an article about fussy eating in pre-schoolers and found new energy for working with Jacinta on stubbornness. Eat it or don’t, no guilt trips, “It’s in the fridge if you get hungry.” Things are going better now that I have dropped the battle of wills and turned it into her choice. Matt was always really good at that in working with the youth at the church, and tried to help me in my teaching back in Michigan. I guess you forget things when you have your own children. Genevieve is communicating more now, she is so funny. If she piddles on the floor in between diaper changes, she’ll come and find us, point and say, “oook!” Sometimes she’ll puts on new clothes or a hat and go straight in to show Matt, as if that is the only response. She climbed up on the desk for the first time today, but she was trying to be sneaky so she didn’t call out, “ook!”
I started playing a new French circle game with Jacinta last week and Genevieve caught on too. It is a song about a little bear in hibernation. After we sing and skip around the sleeping bear, we count “un, deux, trois!” The bear then says, “Je sors!” and chases the singers or it says, “Je dors,” and continues sleeping. Jacinta loves it, we play over and over. Today she sang it on her own for the first time, with all of the right words. When Genevieve hears the song now, she waits until we count and then runs away screaming as if she is the bear. These girls warm my heart when it freezes. Matt’s hopeful smile warms me up too, after getting a job interview following a few years of that unemployable feeling.
Hope you’re all well. Try and send some hopeful vibes to some place in need, to someone in need. My mom broke her tailbone on the ice. My step dad is slowly recovering from a slight stroke. My step brother is having troubles with his speech. My sister is about to have a baby, and I am so very far away. So I’ll try and send some hopeful vibes their way and out to Aurukun.
Peace,
Shana
posted by Matt & Shana & Jacinta & Genevieve Henry at
12:23 AM
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