I have a channel for kiddies’ Bible stories. It’s reverent and sticks to the actual story- no weird additions that aren’t true and uses as close to realistic images as possible instead of cartoon characters that secular kid shows also use.
And what has kept me posting the videos (I creat them for my children but Ammy asked me to post them online) are two little children who aren’t in my family. Well, one is a dad of children and the other is a little girl who told my husband to tell me never to stop.
What are YOU saying to people you meet? What message is it giving them?
I don’t know if I shared here that the talking girls (age ten and five) cut their locs. They kept cutting off a few despite repeated warnings to stop and my hiding scissors. But nope, they kept sneaking into my room to get scissors, or took them from their brother after he used them for his school lesson and kept cutting here and there till my ten year old Amarissa had a full front section with no locs at all. After all the months and years of pain from standing and creating them and then tightening them monthly over weeks as they are impatient, I had to cut them off. I won’t lie, it hurt. Each loc represented a lot of pain for my shoulders, pelvic bones and back, and a lot of time wasted.
They had been very eager to start afresh but a day after their dad shaved a few bits off to make their hair more even, they regretted it bitterly. “Mom, why don’t you also cut your hair so you are like us?” And cries of, “Why did we cut our hair?? When will it grow again? Can we have locs now??”
So, they started putting all manner of things on their heads to pretend they had long hair. Stockings, bonnets, petticoats. It was crazy. I told them their hair was fine just as it is and that nobody thinks less of them just because they don’t have long hair but it didn’t settle in. They never saw any children with short hair.
On Thursday, I pointblank refused for them to walk out the house to go to the playground wearing stockings on their heads.
The girls returned and my ten year old tells me how the nannies, domestic workers and dog walkers they usually meet there, (“Our FRIENDS!” they always tell me) were surprised to see their hair.🤣They said their hair looked good and they clearly take great care of it.
Since then, since those STRANGERS, said what they said, they no longer hide their teeny weeny Afros. No more embarrassment, no more shame. I am so, so grateful that Black people (We notoriously aren’t into keeping our hair natural and without braids or wigs or weaves) managed to do what I couldn’t. They reminded the children that what matters is healthy hair, not length of hair. And all that is NEEDED is for it to be taken care of, not made to look different or thinner or longer. No traction alopecia from tight cornrows, or braids etc.
Their hair is beautiful just as it is.
Priceless.
So, what will YOU say to someone today? Especially to a little child? 🥰
Imagine if I’d just brushed her complaint aside. I’d feel like a right old dummy, now! A real nincompoop. But, I did put myself in her shoes and so I can gladly say that after today, I’m glad I did understand and also express a verbal rolling of the eyes at how ignorant people can be.
I’d met her some years ago. She’s one who invited me to her shared apartment when I started going to the church nearby. So much better for me so I can actually converse instead of wondering what the children are doing. And I enjoy listening to new people tell me about themselves.
One of the things was her prosthetic leg. She’d been in a terrible vehicle accident and had to have her leg amputated from the knee down. She had a great fake leg and they’d made sure it was as close to her skin colour (Zimbabwean Shona lady a few years younger than me) as possible. She therefore had a disabled badge to hang in her car, and though the leg was very good quality so didn’t hurt much, it did help to park closer to the entrance when the shopping centre is big or when there’s no parking nearby or when she’d been walking for a long time before going to the shop so was starting to feel fatigued.
But, because she could walk so well and tended to wear jeans sometimes, people didn’t always know she was disabled. And so they ‘judged’ her a lot. And thus, I couldn’t relate but I could imagine how exasperating it would be to have to prove yourself to strangers.
And so today, for the third time, it was MY turn to have to prove myself. I went to the hospital to collect my ten year old’s prescriptions and as I left the car in the rain, a security guard came running behind me while another man started shouting, “You can’t park there!” The guard called me and kept gesturing at the car without saying anything, so I too silently looked at him as I flinched in the rain. I wasn’t going to make it easy. It wasn’t his job to confront patients but to check that their cars had the disabled badge visible on their dashboard.
They came together and I told the one older man that not everyone who is disabled is in a wheelchair. I was so angry. It’s cold and rainy and the man I’d hired to do the driving on fine days, doesn’t know how to take public transport to get to work so I had to go up and down while in a flare. And now you’re making me stop in the rain? When I left home it had stopped raining so I hadn’t brought my umbrella nor worn any kind of extra jacket.
I told them both loudly that I don’t need to be in a wheelchair to be classified as disabled and they should check my dashboard. I turned to the black security guard and told him he knows where he should look instead of calling me.
The older man, Coloured guy, lit up a cigarette (SAVE ME!) while saying he understands because he’s got fibromyalgia and sometimes he has bad days. I told him my amputee friend goes through this nonsense and I have Ankylosing spondylitis. He was taken aback, “ Oh! Oh no!”
Oh yes! Leave us alone and check for the disabled badges, man!
I got back home after doing the pick up and straight into the clutches of Ratie who said her infamous word, “ Car..car.” And so back out I went, my trusty son always coming along too. He’s cool man. Despite his constant interruptions to ask what a line means, he is also very flattering. He likes my singing and says so, (Aww, love is deaf) and today I kept telling my girl I love her as I buckled her into her booster seat, and told him, “ I love you too.” To which he replied, “ Aww, you look so cute. When you said that, your cheeks looked so cute.”
Hahahaha.
And so, we reversed as we sang the first song together.
She’s just come back for car ride number three but Violet is trying to hold the fort. 😅I’m even too scared to turn the heater on. I’m scared she’s too close by and will run in and grab me again. She’d come and I told her to go play and then locked my door.
Let’s hope she is. These bones, even my ribs, are crying.
And so, that’s why I’m glad I did get angry at the faceless people my now back in Zim friend had told me about who didn’t want to just keep going about their business but got into HERS uninvited and unnecessarily.
She’s coming back…🤣🙈 Stove on low and out we go..again.
Autism and ADHD aren’t famous for helping their ‘victims’ sleep well. I have three out of four who don’t go to sleep well, don’t stay asleep, make hectic noise… Some mornings I don’t get to study my Bible because noise woke me and continues. Sometimes there’s boredom and one wakes the other. It’s just constant awareness of ‘something will disturb the night and/or early morning.’
And then when you wake up, you have my chubby five year old and her driving commands. On weekends, her dad takes her on a few of the drives. At first he’d tell me, “Just say no!” when he’d see me reach for my car keys. Now he sees why I don’t. The screaming and crying destroys everyone’s peace. Agreement leads to peace. And added pain for me in my bad leg.
So, we have Violet who comes in too often. The agreement was Monday- Friday and two Sundays till 1pm a month, but she tends to come in on more Sundays than she should! And my nine year old doesn’t help. I cringed one Friday when he said to her, “So we will see you on Sunday??” And she agreed with him! I reprimanded both of them. But, they’d made their agreement!
Some days, I want to cry. Since yesterday, I’ve been in a flare. Bones aching, fatigue back, almost didn’t reach my 10000 steps. Morning has broken and my problematic right hip is not giving me s break despite my 200mg Tramahexal. And that’s on top of the tongue that has two sores on it that are so bad I’ve asked the rheumatologist for help so I can eat.
I agree with the rheumatologist. The stress must be causing fibro issues. But wow, it took three full months for my tongue to obey my brain. It was scary. So I’m never touching Lyrica again. Which means that though I’m already on an antidepressant because it helps with nerve pain too, I wake up with a sinking feeling or am woken up by someone that will cause a sinking feeling that lasts throughout the day.
Why?
“Another day has begun. What will I be putting my body through today? How many times will I reprimand fighting children? How many times will I have to deal with my two PDAers demands and my ten year old’s struggles and my non-speaker’s demands? How do I get out of the multiple drives?”
Violet tries so, so hard. A few times, my girl comes to me saying, “car..car…” and then she is content to play and Violet watches her to ensure she doesn’t hurt herself. Other times she pulls her brother onto a scooter (really meant for younger chosen but her likes to ride on it anyway) and he has to keep riding around. One time, that ‘play’ caused her to speak! I was in there watching them just before I made lunch, and every time he stopped riding, she would pull the scooter. At one point, she shouted, “Good job!”🤣
Sadly, more often than not, she can’t be distracted or doesn’t allow herself to be distracted from her driving urge. And so, if I don’t go, if I try rest, or if I try continue working, it will descend into screams which cause her twin to cover her ears and ALSO scream. And then she and Micaiah complain to me that “she’s making noise!” And if I am in the loo (my bladder etc issues are back and I refused to catheterise myself daily so I have trouble with that aspect- taking ages to relieve myself) she will become so upset that there reaches a point where even when I am now driving, she can’t regulate anymore.
So..I’ll have to do it and have to when she wants. This morning, I’m truly dreading this day. But also, thankful that for a few hours, I’ll have someone in the house who wants to take the burden away.
My children’s photographer when they are at the playground.
Good job indeed. Earned me a few minutes’ rest and time to make their lunch without Little Princess pulling me or pulling plates or dishes out my hand because I’m not going to the “car.”
By my ten year old (washable, don’t worry. I use washable markers so I can get some hand strength going on when they wipe it off besides the positives of writing on an upright surface anyway)
It’s the little things. The little things that mean so much to us mothers of special kiddies. It’s like when your neurotypical baby takes its first steps or suddenly reaches a milestone they hadn’t yet reached. I used to praise my babies for “sitting without falling!! Good job!” Or “You got off the chair without Mommy helping! Well done!” To which my husband would respond, “Look! I just got up. Why can’t I get praised too?”
You can imagine the withering glance I gave him.
All new moments are worth celebrating. And so, when the same moments took longer for our next ‘set’ of two, it brought slight worry. (Amarissa crawled and walked later than normal and never crawled typically, but her babbling was ok but more importantly, her brother who we adopted nine months after her, was VERY obviously not ok that her small late milestones were ok.) That was a mouthful between those brackets! I was just glad I COULD also celebrate that she was walking.
With our fourth, our second of the second ‘set,’ it was the lack that was glaring. It was the sudden realization that it wasn’t ME who was suddenly unable to bond with him which meant I was a bad mother, but it was his inability to look me in the eye. It was HIS looking anywhere but at me as I held him, bathed him, fed him. It was his leaning away that meant I could not hug him to myself that caused the lack of closeness.
Fast forward to this week. It was his lack of engaging when I read a book, that meant we had no joint mother and son moments at all. The lack of babbling, the lack of turning when I’d call his name but perversely, the screaming cries when I coughed in a different room. The idiot doctor who didn’t listen to me about what we came to confirm was sensory processing disorder and global developmental delay and autism. and coldly told me, “He’s fine. There’s nothing up with him. But if you’re worried about his hearing, you can get him tested.” Despite my telling him how sound caused him to wail.
He was my first autistic to not enjoy being read to. But it’s my last autistics who have forced me to go about reading to them in a totally different way.
Like this below. How gratifying that the same boy who didn’t utter a word more react to a word, has words that he voluntarily speaks today. The one who didn’t react to anything, has “favourite” parts.
Yesterday morning, this one below came to me, “Mommy! Let me ask you a question. I was saying my vowels in bed today. Listen, a, e, i , o, u!” I haven’t had the heart to tell her how often her questions are actually statements. Not in that moment of great excitement about VOWELS, of all things.🥰
This special needs parenting job has hard times. I’ll focus on just one aspect for now. You seriously want to bang your head against the wall every single day, multiple times a day. I have FOUR children with ADHD bad enough to be medicated. But that doesn’t exactly strip them of their wonderful personalities, nor of their tormenting creativity. “Let’s cut this thing that shouldn’t be cut. Let’s paint with proper adult paint wearing our cream dresses that we will splatter with said paint. Let’s use the hair dryer and cause smoke to come out. Let’s use the toaster but instead of leaving it where mom said we should, let’s turn the temperature up to the max so that mom comes out her room wondering why there’s smoke everywhere. Let’s walk around outside on brick and thorns wearing only our pantihose. Let’s catch bees after having been warned multiple times, then stress our mommy when the stinger has to be removed from a finger and it stays swollen and sore for two days. Let’s argue about whose doll should be called what. Let’s tattle about who said what yesterday/five weeks ago or just now.”
It’s relentless mental strain. It’s so tiring keeping calm when you just want to scream. “They can’t be left alone.” They don’t WANT to be left alone sometimes, anyway. Not only once, my talking five year old has knocked on the toilet door then screamed and cried because I was “taking too long” for HER liking.
So, every positive is a huge bonus.
My girl who can’t say what she wants but couldn’t reason much either, is starting to understand at last. Remember how she spent over a year pulling me to do something impossible then attacking me because it was impossible? Those days are over at last. She doesn’t want much that’s impossible. When she wanted to try on her sister’s shoe – smaller than hers- it didn’t fit and she didn’t throw a tantrum, she just threw the shoe gently away. No tantrums. No violence!
And..she’s planning more and seeing how she can get things to work instead of being angry it’s not working out and then attacking me if I’m too slow (for her liking) to help her.
Speaking of “angel.” My ten, nine and five year olds who talk didn’t know why I call them angels when they age human. I tried T explain… Micaiah said this week, “I think I see why you call us angels. You’re trying to say we are nice like angels.”
But of course, there’s more to life than learning from books and play.
There’s also life. And so I leave you with the reason I’m now in bed with terribly aching feet and bones.
She played out in the garage for 31 minutes. No coming in for supper. So I kept sorting out the three that were indoors with their supper and medications, and had to go up and down doing the same for her! Meds, water with a bit of fresh juice (Still can’t get her to swallow water unless I give it in a syringe), meds again, grapes, meds, banana. In and out. I went from 9000 steps to 13458!
This is what she was doing in the garage. This is why I was going in and out. My life is crazy but sometimes it’s a good crazy.
The SHOP
I haven’t taken ALL the small ones to the shop alone. Not without the teens. Never, ever. I’ve gone with my talking three. But today when our minimally talking twin said her infamous, “Car. Kayi” I took them for her required three times a day drive and decided to just take them in to get treats.
I won’t do it again. I forgot that she’s a runner so I’d need to put her in the trolley. She also wanted to walk ‘funny,’ not facing forward but sideways like those crabs you sometimes see on documentaries. It was cute, but stressful because she also wanted to step over certain lines, so into the trolley she went. Which meant I broke the biggest rule my rheumatologist had for me. No LIFTING!!
We got out in one piece but I almost lost her when she tried to go running off as soon as I put her down after lifting taking her out the trolley.
But all’s well that ends well. I didn’t lose any child and they had fun. My BP which Rinvoq has raised properly shot up even more. On that note. I’m worried. The leaflet in the box states that strokes and heart attacks are “frequent” side effects. I emailed the rheumatologist about how my diastolic numbers (and sometimes my systolic rises above my norm but badly) have gone up. I expected the type of response I’ve seen other doctors give to their Rinvoq patients which is to either put them on anti hyper intensives like my nurse cousin wants her to, or to stop the Rinvoq.
My rheumy doesn’t believe it’s the Rinvoq. So instead she’s changed my anti inflammatory. I’d WANT it to be caused by the old anti inflammatory as that would mean I continue seeing if Rinvoq can put me in remission. But I’m not convinced. Especially given I then sent a WhatsApp to the Rinvoq NURSE who said it’s not common but it is definitely m a side effect of the Rinvoq.
So here I am. It’s been over a month of a raised BP. From a normal range of 68-74 diastolic (lower number) to this below and hoping it is the anti inflammatory though not sure. And it’s not like I’m taking my BP every day. Maybe it’s gone higher. She said I should continue monitoring it. It’s just too long , having an elevated BP and doing nothing, especially with the headaches that aren’t the bone pain.
We shall see! In this family, the entire school – teacher included- is special.🫣
A few times now, I’ve parked right in front of a Black female shopping centre guard. First I thought she was suspicious because I didn’t ‘look’ disabled, but my disabled badge halted any potential talk.
Today was probably the fourth time I’ve seen her, so this introverted ME who can’t speak isiXhosa fluently, asked her if she never takes leave; why she’s always there when I go. She laughed and told me she has six days on and one day off.
Then as I always do, I started worrying about her based on my condition. As in, I imagine that everybody suffers the way I do. When I came back out the shop, she clearly felt like talking so she immediately said something which then allowed me to ask if her feet, lower back and mid back don’t get sore from standing for so long. Six days in a row, to boot. She said no, her back has never gotten sore and her feet start complaining only on day five. She stamps around and shakes her feet in her shoes and is fine.
I told her I was relieved (because I truly pictured guards’ feet in agony. My feet started crying when I was 23 years old and working on a huge warehouse as a picker so I think because it’s my norm, my stupid brain feels bad for everyone else because it forgets it’s only MY norm.
She added that she loves her job. She said that with her salary she can buy a car, buy a house and be well fed. And then she said something too many of our African folk don’t want to understand. Class or status should not be what drives our decisions. Not when it comes to employment and getting out of the poverty cycle poor. She said cashiers might look ‘smart’ sitting there, feel like they’re ‘better’ at the tills, but she’s happy with the sun beating down on her when it’s hot, and rain when it’s bad because the salary is worth it.
I wish a relative of mine had had the same understanding. They felt certain jobs were beneath them, and that office/seated work is the best. That person became extremely poor as a teacher’s assistant in a township while the job I suggested pays more than double what this person gets.
Get rid of pride and just do what will help you (and your children) to THRIVE! (Illegal) immigrants do it often-taking a job ‘lower’ than the job they had in their home countries. ANYTHING to be able to send money home.
We need that same self forgetfulness and humility.
I want to do more! You know how it is. All the things you want to do and only remember when you’re busy with something else…
Like noticing how untidy the garage is when you’re busy hanging damp washing in it.
As every mother knows. Well, mothers who don’t have live in nannies, that is. As every mother knows, mothering is your calling and job. So when you have four little ones with autism, ADHD, intellectual impairment and nobody else to talk to and plan activities for them, you don’t have time to do those things that irritate you.
Add active AS, and you don’t really have the ability to fix those things that irritate you either.
So what I want is to go into remission. There are people in my Rinvoq (My newest treatment attempt) group who are in remission. That means no pain whatsoever and they’ve almost halted the disease completely. The CEO if the large retailer, Shoprite said in his book that he’s been in remission for 30 years!! And he knows that when the AS starts being active again, he can find other treatments. I can’t imagine having no pain for the next 30 years!! By then I’d be 75! Better now than never, right??
I want to stir food and not be in pain. I want to lift light shopping and not have my husband ask what’s wrong because I forgot he was there and so didn’t hide the grimace the pain in my shoulders put on my face.
So I tried to do one thing I wanted to do.
I put the kiddies to sleep first. The first one to go to bed is this non-speaking angel who threw a very tiny fit because I took her for a drive that was too short. (third drive of the day) I put their soy yoghurt, peanuts and raisins and peeled and separated tangerines on the table and RAN away so she would not pull me. She stopped her half hearted crying! And by the time I came back out to finish off medicating them, she was happy again.
This was sent to me last Friday when I was hiding from having to do the second drive of the day. (See a theme?) She did the arranging of the soft play therapy toys plus her now too small car seat on the treadmill ☺️☺️
I want to enjoy more of that. Her crazy creativity and moments of peace.
I got a lot of ‘crazy’ tonight. She was in her room laughing and laughing on her own! For 25 minutes straight, my girl laughed and laughed! Then she slept.
The next to go to sleep was her twin.
I set up her electric hot water bottle, turned on her walk heater, tucked her in and told her I loved her.
Two to go.
I forgot about their meds. I hope their dad medicated them. I got busy! But I did give my ten year old an activity book to do before lights off. Then I went…
And I’m now lying here putting my hot water bottle on my very sore shoulder and then putting it on my lower back. All because I did something else I’ve been wanting to do.
I went to the garage, knowing I’d already done grocery shopping and breakfast and lunch. And knowing I should therefore REST! But then, the washing was getting damp in the waning afternoon as dew fell on it so I had to drag my sore body out.
And then I saw it.
The thing I always want to sort out but only notice when I’m busy with something else.
The garage
I focused on this area with the box full of damp books. Damaged books. Damaged by the children. And broken toys and some that could be salvaged. I took all the moldy books and papers out to the fire pit outside. Threw away all broken prams, flat balls nobody uses, all of the stuff that irritates. Kept the dirty cups for sand play. Sorted the “stuff” out. Typical and normal night.
It was fun. Earbuds in so I could listen to music without having my son (Who always comes on the drives his sister asks for) asking me what this word means or asking what language I am listening to while I’m trying to sing along.
I want to be able to do this every day, and not suffer afterwards. Not to have to choose between putting my hot water bottle on my shoulder vs on my lower back. I want to be able to work and know that tomorrow, I will NOT be in worse pain.
I want to be able to use the extra energy Rinvoq has given me without fear of what using that energy means to my pain levels.
I want to be much better.
I want to be able to do all the movement activities I plan for the children but don’t get round to because teaching and doing vision exercises are too much as it is.
I want to be a mother in the way I used to be. I want my day as a mother to be as full or as empty as I choose for it to be. I want to stop doing something not because if I do more then I’ll be in worse pain for more days, but just because I feel like I’ve done enough.
For now, I’ll be thankful that I at least had ENERGY to get rid of everything in here and that was in front and around it.
But I want more.
Is that too much to ask?
But also, I want to be thankful that most nights since I started this ‘not so good for my heart’ treatment, I’ve slept better than I have in 40 years. Counting from when the bone pain the GP said was “just growing pain” started keeping me up at night.
I want to acknowledge that somewhere in this horrible world, there is beauty.
I gave up and emailed the rheumatologist yesterday, asking if they can recommend anything for the mouth sores I have in my cheek, tongue… They aren’t as bad as they can get, but they are always there and can’t be ignored. But it’s a small price to pay!
I am praying that this is the start of a new me. The beginning of a journey back to the old me. I washed dishes last night. The most recent time I tried, I hurt my shoulders and wrists just washing one pot. So I stopped. But this time, last night, they didn’t hurt. I got through multiple dishes for the eight of us! Yes, it wasn’t like the old me. I had to stop three times and go lie down and wait for the back and hip pain to subside. My fingers are so painful and swollen list. Bu he f c. V. And by the time I was working on the pots, I was lopsided, trying to take pressure off my damaged right leg. It was grueling. I won’t lie. It was awful. I regretted it big time. Do you know how many dishes and pots and bottles a family of eight creates!? And because they are sick, there are also mugs of the famous ginger garlic mix too that needed washing.
Which reminds me of another win!!
My talking town at the ripe old age of five and a half years old is finally drinking water!!! I tried so hard to get the twins to drink water. The first two were easy! By age two, water was normal. The middle two were drinking but Amarissa pours her water out if I’m not watching her. But the twins! They hated water. I ended up buying a pure fruit juice concentrate and ‘adding’ it to a full bottle of water so that I feel a bit better. I could see the water. And I only add a quarter of the recommended amount into it.
But still, I had wanted them to just drink plain water! And my talking twin has finally done so since last week. I’m really happy, people!! And she’s so proud of herself because she no longer needs to chew her half Amfexa (ADHD tablet) in the morning and quarter in the afternoon and two sleep meds at night. She can swallow them with water!! And she’s proud of herself! Though she one day when she was just feeling so miserable that she struggled. I’m so proud too!
I’m also thankful for one more thing. The Rinvoq! And masks! I’ve been double masking because I’m so terrified I’ll get sick from the children. It’s so bad – their sickness – that I cancelled this coming week’s occupational therapy sessions for them.
It’s been torture. Watching them unable to eat, seeing them listless and seeing my nine year old so weak that he slept for three days. I almost felt like a bad mother for not taking him to the doctor. But he’s got his energy back! And their appetites are starting to come back.
Check our nine year old going to get something to eat at 2:58am!
Then, there I am sleeping and the door suddenly opens wide and in rubs my five year old. Shock of the decade! And she was so bouncy and full of energy🫣She said she’s hungry and wanted an apple! She’d also gone to her sister’s room who also came in and said she too wanted to eat (again!!)
It was crazy! So awake and I so in need of sleep! The commotion then woke non talking twin.😆😆My life is never boring!
And so, as I slowly start feeling stronger than I have been, I keep praying it improves so I can one day go on a trip to a park or something with my children. And maybe the next time I try wash dishes, it won’t hurt as bad. And hey, there will only be six to wash up for with the teens only returning in July. Please let there be an improvement!🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾
I am typing here with a sore throat and wishing hard it’s just the Rinvoq. It’s been causing my throat to close up and it feels like it’s swollen. At night or even when it has made me suddenly fall asleep while I’m working during the day, the throat even closes up and wakes me as the air struggles to pass through. It’s something I need to keep an eye on. One of our members was waiting it out but eventually went to the doctor. He told her if she’d waited another two days, she’d have died in her sleep because of how swollen her throat was and how it would have stayed closed and deprived her of oxygen.
But, a sore throat is how the children’s sickness began too. Two weeks after it began, they are still not well. The congested coughs are awful to hear. How would I survive? And where would that put school given I haven’t taught since two weeks ago? It would be a very long school holiday… and bad news for my lungs.
Who would ever hope that a symptom they’re having is a medication side effect? Especially of one they hope to be on for many years before my body gets used to it and it stops working.
And how many people sit on the toilet and then wonder where they’ll find another rheumatologist to help with their incurable disease when their own rheumatologist retires? I hope to still be alive and mobile when she does. But then who would I go to? She’s the best …
Anyway! Let’s hope for no more random hungry girls waking me up. I heard the door handle and thought it was burglars, people! I was scared! Two blocks away they’ve been burglarizing people’s homes on one specific street at around 3:30-3-50am! They gave me a heart attack! And I wasn’t wearing my mask.🤪
Some sell them. The woman who sold her nine and 11 year old daughters to be sex slaves and sold the now 13 year old to a lawyer… She is not fit to be called a mother.
I will never forget Ammy’s birth mother’s words when she met us when our daughter was leaving foster care and coming to us. “We loved her too much to just dump her on a field or in a bin like others do. But we knew we couldn’t raise her…”
So how??? How did this woman lose all sense of love? I heard of this precious child’s disappearance and immediately said to my husband, “Mom is dodgy. How do you leave a little girl alone with a boyfriend of yours? How do you trust him?” He said he wasn’t interested in the case. And so I started discussing it with two other ladies, one of whom said she is no longer following the trial.
And so, I come here where I’ve written about her before. I know Saldanha. I’ve been there a few times. Middelpos is not some unknown far away place. This was too close to home.
The community searched for Joshlin. Things felt even worse when the mother of the missing child told searchers to stop looking for her. She didn’t look very desperate when she appeared drinking milkshake at a restaurant smiling and happy before a week had even passed.
Her story about how and when her daughter went missing also didn’t make sense. And THEN, her (Joshlin’s mother’s) sister said publicly, that the mother, Raquel aka Kelly, had said she’d sold the child to a witch doctor. She said Kelly was a drug addict. Kelly admitted during the search that she indeed was an addict at the time.
Things looked worse. And so, we were not surprised when Kelly, her boyfriend and a friend, and another friend too, were arrested for trafficking. But we were sad. Because we still didn’t know where the child was.
And today, we still don’t know. And my heart breaks because I know the Andrews family is grieving. They are a family who had seen how neglected Joshlin was and had asked Kelly if they could adopt her.
She said no.
And now, here we are. Found guilty of kidnapping and human trafficking today with her two co- accused. (The female friend having turned State witness and also facing a sentence but shorter than that of Kelly, boyfriend and friend.)
The judge told them they have time between now and sentencing to think and reveal the truth about who they sold the child to and what was done to her.
One witness said Kelly sold the child for R20 000 (an amount that has been touted since the beginning) because the witch doctor wanted her eyes and skin.
Something I can believe. Look at how they hunt down albinos for their skin too.
Where is Joshlin? Even if her life has been snuffed out, we who care want to know where her bones lie.
I have never forgotten any of the family friends who went missing. I haven’t forgotten the dementia mother from our neighborhood who went missing in our three years ago. And so, I will never forget Joshlin.
She could have escaped if her mother hadn’t wanted money for drugs. She could have been loved and nurtured and NOT SOLD.
Six years old…probably forever six. I don’t know which is worse. A muti murder or being kept as a sex slave.
I want to know what Kelly told her trusting daughter when she handed her over to be tortured.
We who care, we who love children who haven’t been born from our hearts, are heartbroken. The community of Middelpos is not at rest. How can we be at peace when we don’t know where our child is?
Onse kind (Our child), As she became known. We all want answers. How does a mother do this?
“Dodgy” didn’t begin to describe this ‘mother.’ I am so sorry for the Andrews family who loved her and actually wanted to raise her, more than her mother and father ever did.
Ok, it’s not REALLY a book written about her. But it could have been! It’s by a foster carer who fostered a little girl who was also ten years old, back in 1989. This poor girl had been sent away by her biological mother! The mother said she was mischievous, naughty, always trying to irritate people and “too much to handle.” And like all the other foster carers who would come to take the child and then send her away, added to these complaints was that she irritated other children in the family, she ENJOYED BEING TROUBLESOME.
And so, this poor girl, chased away because she was unbearable, ended up with a couple that usually took on ‘challenging teenagers.’ And every.single.thing.she.did, reminded me of Amarissa. Even before they finally got an appointment to get her assessed, I knew. When the schools kept suspending her for being disruptive, not focusing and even to this last set of foster carers for whom she was hard to deal with, it was clear.
She had ADHD. And sadly, there was no medication back then. But the child, the child was so relieved! She knew she hadn’t been disobedient, clumsy, unthinking just to irritate. She was excited, “I have a ‘thing!’ It’s not me! It’s my brain! I have a ‘thing!’”
Sadly, instead of this showing the mom that the poor girl wasn’t just being obtuse on purpose, she then said, “See? I knew there was something wrong with her. I don’t want her back.”
This girl was like mine in so many ways. Climbing up high without a care. Forgetting and being distracted. Fidgeting and always moving around. Finding school work boring. And like my girl, the foster couple felt that though she was extremely hard work, she was a lovely girl who made your heart warm.
Indeed!
I’ve often thought of how much abuse there is in baby and children’s homes here in South Africa, and how they’d have treated a child like my ten year old. I didn’t ever think that she might have been sent away multiple times. They were similar even in not having bladder control during the day!
But she was lovable. How sad that the behaviours became larger than the child and her need for stability and love; the need for a healthy m self confidence instead of being told she’s being purposefully naughty. The number of times she had to explain that she didn’t do her homework not because she was lazy, but she honestly forgot there WAS homework.
My child might have suffered a lot.
She’s climbed to the top of trees. I gave up earlier this morning when she didn’t understand WHY we thought it was unsafe and crazy. As long as her little sister knew not to copy, I knew we’d have no problems.
God bless all the different types of parents who love children others deem unlovable.
I know I complained to others that our girl’s foster mother was cold when we met the day our girl was coming to join our family. Only when I ignored that and kept telling her over the weeks and months how we were settling in with our girl and just being kind despite the negative vibe I felt, did I realise the love she has for these babies. It was when she said she was feeling very down and worried because the new parents of the baby she had given over weren’t very warm and loving to the baby so she was scared they’d not love her, that’s when I realised it was grief making her cold. She was trying to stop from being sad. She struggled a lot when babies had to leave. Sometimes she had a good feeling and sometimes not, but she always mourned the baby. Thankfully, she didn’t have a negative vibe from us, it was pure grief.😄
Again, God bless all the different types of women who MOTHER the innocent but challenging. So today, I am thankful for the many mothers in my groups whose children are like mine but have never considered giving them away. Parents whose children are extremely violent and hurt them badly, leaving scars. But still don’t even consider placing the child in foster care. Now that I know people actually do that, that it’s not always about the ability to feed the child etc ONLY, I salute all loving parents of challenging children who instead of wishing the child away, only wish for the hard things to go away.
Even this! Throwing things out the window when told to tidy up. (Now returning them after being caught!) Just like the girl in the book!🤦🏾♀️
The child stayed in foster care and even as an adult, always visited the one family that saw her heart, not ONLY her behaviours.❤️
“Suffer little children and forbid them not. For of SUCH is the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus.
Last night, my heart ached as this little one coughed and coughed the worst of all the sick children. My heart broke for her. That deep chesty cough is scary to me as I can just picture the mucus growing bacteria and causing a bad infection. And also, she had been extremely sleepy and tired, so to have her sleep disturbed after she’d complained all day about how terrible she felt, was unjust.
So as I lay, I prayed. Prayed she’d be able to sleep soon.
In the morning, mask firmly on my face, I went to check on her. The conversation went something like this, “Is it morning time? Ok! I was coughing ‘n coughing ‘n coughing at night and so I prayed. I prayed to God and He stopped the coughing! And then I sleeped! I love God! He told me He loves me and He made me feel better! He’s the Best Man!”
🥹😊
I told her I’d heard her coughing and I had felt very sad. She responded with, “ Did YOU pray?” Boy was I glad I could say YES!
(Before unsolicited advice from any reader, yes I know it all and do it all. I’ve made all homemade remedies and bought some more echinacea and hot toddy cough drops with echinacea, vit C and what not. Thankfully the one we’ve spoken about it with knows not to give it!)
Then she followed me into my room, found one of the sticks I use for Maths for Ammy and said, “You can use this like a pen! You can write ‘JESUS!’”
THEN, I woke up the one who began everyone’s descent into sickness (minus the teen sisterand us adults for now). My sweet Ammy who had done this outside.
Tiny altar of love
Her conversation wasn’t as light at all! She opened her day with, “I don’t know how I’d survive without you if you died.”
Ok then…We are back to THAT! Poor girl. I reassured her not that I won’t die because I don’t know that, but that Vi loves her, her aunty Azola (my friend who loves them with all her heart) would check on them more often. But that I loved her and we would pray that I don’t die any time soon. I gave her a big hug while trying not to breathe in and hasten said death by getting sick. And hopefully she will get it one day. I’m irreplaceable, but she is loved by more than just me. There are others who are patient with her ADHD symptoms and enuresis problems. There are others who are gentle. Vi even laughs about the yucky things we find. I want her to know there are others who’d be her safe space. Who see beyond the behaviour to a child who once asked, “ But won’t God send me to hell? Because I do naughty things on purpose. I can’t stop myself. Aren’t I bad?” She has people who will never hold her behaviour against her but will continue to teach her the best way to be.
It’s like one of the suggestions given us regarding her self harming (Her anti anxiety meds we’ve moved to have reduced THAT) and destruction of clothing : Provide old clothing she is allowed to destroy.
Here’s to more of God and less worrying about my death.🙏🏾🥹
Seeing as my ten year old loves writing, I’d better work fast on finding a ‘speech to text’ programme (Yep, lots of recommendations to work against the challenges caused by her earning disorders) for her so she can say everything she wants to say. Finish her thoughts and be more understandable.
And as I’ve been saying, her poor brother has more severe challenges so I foresee him not even being put on a dysgraphia curriculum to try learn to write better, but straight into speech to text software like one of Ammy’s suggestions. My poor boy!
PS after handing the above to me, my girl asked what an anniversary is and how it’s celebrated.😆
My poor boy…
Yet he can READ so well. The brain is a curious thing.
This has taken me all day to write. Let me go see if my girl feels any better about my dying. And WHY she’s so stressed about that.
I’m back!
She is feeling less scared but doesn’t want me hanging around them while they are sick. We can hope. Pray. And watch.
They said I should write a book 