Author: Grace by any other name

God-lover

Stolen Money

Grace by any other name1 Comment

I am desperately trying to find educational, or more importantly, therapeutic centres for my children. Places where they can wear what they need – instead of being bound to a uniform of specific lengths and material.

I am desperately trying to figure out how in the world next year will look. Paying for two university students is no joke. We have no clue how that will work. Paying their mortgage for the townhouse we bought them in a secure complex- how will that work out from our budget?

Oh. No. Let’s go back.

We haven’t bought an apartment. We tried to buy scammers stole our deposit!

The ‘estate agent’ sent through the correct offer to purchase documents showing that the seller had signed after we signed. And sent bank details for the documents.

Only the next day when she asked whether the deposit had indeed been paid did my husband notice – when she again sent proof that she had sent the bank details so didn’t understand why we hadn’t paid-that her email address was not correct anymore and neither were ours. The thieves had swopped a letter here and there so it looked ok at face value. But it wasn’t ok. The money had gone into their account.

This was last week Thursday night and we are still waiting to find out if we can get our money back. He went to sign an affidavit with the police. Then got a case number and the agents have done their portion and have spoken to officers on their end. And now, we wait. The bank knows.

So let’s PRETEND the purchase has happened. How will we pay their mortgage, our mortgage, their pocket money, grocery, laundry soap, crockery, cutlery, etc etc , internet, university fees, car repayment, car insurance (We’d hoped they’d each have a car but they’ll have to share) and all my medical costs, the kids’ medical costs, anything that comes out of the blue and our own fuel as well as the teens’ fuel costs and all other costs?

And that is why I am stuck.

I can’t afford to hire a proper au pair. Those people charge an arm and a leg. Might as well be sending two children to an expensive learning centre- something we already can’t do now, even before the teens’ leave. I can’t pay rent for someone to live close by and also give them a salary to be my assistant teacher, to be my children’s supervisor and watcher and nappy changer and bather. And I can’t build a granny flat in the yard because that too is too expensive. We would have little to eat, and nothing left for my medical needs.

I am stuck.

So, so stuck.

The only thing I can do is cry out to God. I’m in abdominal discomfort from the colonoscopy and gastroscopy. And I’m tired. So, so tired. The screaming, the pushing, the pulling, the soiled toilet seats soiled by an almost ten year old girl, the screaming, the nagging, the sentences I must reply to even though I know they won’t even make any sense so I won’t be able to answer them anyway. The constant busy-ness, the planning, the recording, the sitting, the pain from sitting and recording, the editing, the lack of time to get everything done in 24 hours and still sleep. The pain, the limping, the heartache at each child’s specific problems, the wondering, the anxiety, not knowing what to aim for, planning for more assessments, appointments, traveling, fuel, knee pain, hip pain, fatigue just from folding a t-shirt, arms too tired to fold more. The ironing, the picking up bowls, more bowls, cups, cups inside, cups outside, the laundry, more laundry, bowls in the garage, bowls on the grass, spoons in the drain, toys on the trampoline, socks missing partners amongst the flowers, sharp knives mysteriously found outside, crying, bowls on beds, split raisins, spiky milk, hidden old food, money food hidden in my car, pulling, too much eating, worrying that our non speaker will die from obesity related illnesses, fear that she will kill me one day, hating that I can’t take all the children out because she spoils their joy, hating that I can’t take any children out anyway because of my body.

Toilet. Can’t use the toilet in peace. Teen son comes to ask. Talking twin daughter bangs and screams. Shouts and cries. Non-talker screams and cries and if I dare forget to lock and I’m in there to use the loo and make a call in the relative quiet of the bathroom, she comes in, pulling me, pushing me, then giving up and sitting (very heavily) on me..on the loo. Open the door, children waiting and waiting for me. No peace. Night means research, planning, preparing, editing, recording no, reading aloud, searching for extra to add…

Hoping..hoping the children get back safely from their nature trip. Sad. Unseen. I have nobody here to speak to, cry with, plan with, seek help with, hug me, comfort me, pray for me, wish things were better with. I have to be strong. I’m the only mother, the only parent they have most of the time.

I speak out my fear of the future to an adult in the house . “They won’t be like that.” I get told And I think, “ They are already like that now! But I’m the only one who lives it day after day after morning after afternoon after evening. Can anybody hear me!??”

I am sad.

But I am never going to be broken.

The same woman who sent this message below when I cried out into the ether, is one who too will never allow herself to be broken by any human out there.

I may never get any rest while living on this earth. But I know who will be extremely happy that heaven has come at last and I can finally have the rest I never received on earth. One who will rejoice with me and for me. One who feels for me with all her heart and soul.

I am sad. But I am not sad alone.

I am thankful for technology. And I know that unlike many who make empty promises, this message writer would deliver, because even without making any promise, she just gave. Freely, willingly, of the VERY little she and her precious family had.

I’ve had people not only love me, hear me, but also care for me, sacrifice for me. Cook for me, walk at nine o’clock night to go find something, anything that would stop the violent post-op vomiting that wasn’t stopping.

I used to ask God why He let me give so much- time, energy, prayer, thought, care, worry, money, my own clothes off my own back, food, blankets- yet never receive the same love. What was wrong with me that people could use but never love?

Nothing.

He was just waiting for a time when I would need it the most, for a time I’d appreciate it the most, when words would be just as heartfelt as actions. That time is now. I am on my knees. But I’m not alone.

Video School!

Grace by any other name1 Comment
Jumping with excitement over glitter glue!!

But first, let me share a bit about school work. Someone commented so positively about how committed (or something like that) I am to a project I’m currently doing on YouTube (Studying the book Adventist Home) despite everything else I’m doing.

It meant a LOT!

So, here’s a snippet. My PDA daughter is VERY hard to teach. Interesting..She is truly a version of her mostly non-speaking twin! She does what she does, but differently. Both girl won’t sit down and discuss or be led in discussion or even naming items in a book or on a screen. I can’t teach like I do my other children. And my other children are already harder to teach than my first children. At their age, I could plonk a textbook in front of them, cook while they answer and then go through the answers with them. They were self teaching as soon as they could read. And they read at age four and three. We could do crafts with ease. Snakes looked like snakes. They understood verbal instructions and had hands that cooperated with their brains and with my instructions.

Today, it’s difficult. So difficult. I frequently regret doing crafts and these aren’t even difficult crafts. I do much of the work myself and even then, they can’t stick things down well. They don’t know how to place ladybug legs … And it’s all different children with different problems and only one of me.

Can you tell I’m burning out??

So, back to my ‘newly diagnosed but long known to us as our fourth autistic’ four year old. She had occupational therapy this week! The first time ever!! Some celebrate “First day at school,” I celebrate being able to attend therapy. Something my most desperately in need daughter can’t yet do. She was excited but nervous.

She had had a headband on. When it was time to go, she asked to wear a blanket on her head, held in place by the headband. And this is an adult sized blanket she was talking about so I said no. She did the next best thing. Took a hat, put it on, put the headband on the hat, took a teddy and took the blanket. Armed and ready for war!

Thankfully, she enjoyed it. She enjoyed being “asked questions and playin’ a lil bit.” So, we are set for the next session.

As for home education? I’m back in the thick of hectic vision therapy exercises. Too many, people. I’m not well enough nor have enough time per day. So I’m doing something daily. Just nitpicking every single exercise. But, such is life. My girl can’t sit still when I’m talking, doesn’t listen, tells me she’s bored…

So, given how well she concentrates when watching my Bible story videos, and how well she recalls things I say, I decided to look at the upcoming topic, record myself (try finding peace and quiet with six children!), edit it, add visuals to explain things that might be new to her, add movement breaks either led by me or by online videos I edit into the video, THEN teach via the TV. Sometimes, I add songs. So I first have to find relevant songs -unlike the Bible videos where all the scripture tunes are made up by me- and then learn them and then find the karaoke version and sing along.

It’s a lot. And that’s just one subject.

But it’s rewarding. The peace and concentration is amazing. And the middle two get to learn with her as we watch.

I also did the below for them, which they’ve watched a few times. This was just a general education video I made up for them, not part of Neilo’s Science curriculum.

My title. I’ve had tummy troubles. Began with pain last week and has ended (thus far) with a case of the runs. My rheumatologist wants to be prudent so I am suddenly booked for a colonoscopy and gastroscopy. Something I didn’t want any time soon! The pharmacist said there’s a stomach virus going round. Given how I ended up in hospital for the vomiting one, this might just be the current bug and nothing worse. I hope it’s not a Coesntyx side effect. I want to give Cosentyx a shot at working. But it’s best to be prudent. If my NSAID or Cosentyx has caused an internal problem, better to figure it out soon.

And so, as the evening wore on today. and I felt guilty that I hadn’t done therapy, I called my middle two and made them do one each. I laughed when my son then asked if I wanted to see something he’d made. I replied, “No.”

This was unusual and never happened before! They both froze and said, “Huh??”

It didn’t compute.

“Mom always cares about what we’ve done.”

I giggled at them and then allowed my boy to surprise me with his “robot.”

You can definitely see what it is without my having told you what be created. 😉Right?

I love how proud he was of it. May they both ever be sure of themselves.

Waking Up

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What it’s like (for me) waking up in the middle of the night.

If you happen to be on your back, you feel terrible pain in your neck. As you wake up, you realise it’s also in your SI joints, then elbows and hands. Every finger feels like it’s on fire and your elbows like someone is smashing them with a hammer. Your knees protest, are stiff and painful, and when you try to move your legs, they shout NO!!! Then you realise that your knees have also joined the cacophony of pain…

If you were on your side, the shoulder and arm you were lying on are screaming. Your knees too. You shift, but the damage has been done. Your pain refuses to dissipate. Your neck joins in as your stiff fingers also make themselves known You shift, but the pain refuses to leave.

And hours later the pain does react a bit and you sleep again. Or it doesn’t respond And you stay up from midnight to the next day, trying to function despite falling asleep while reading aloud to the children durinhg the day.

If your husband is in town, you lie awake, desperately hoping he will soon wake up so your pain meds can be taken without feeling guilty for the noise they make (extras because I’ve taken ‘all’. Jjumy meds throughout the day.)h

I can’t wait for these to pass. Every single day pain wakes me. Hmmm

We Did It!

Grace by any other name1 Comment

All of us did it! Every sister who asked almost every single day how the day went, if there was any improvement in the children’s challenging behaviour, if I was able to sleep (No), if the twins slept (We’ve double diapered Reo and she’s been quiet. And so, her sister has also stayed asleep.) Plus she’s on meds that help with sleep. Oh yes, that.

Let’s get to that first. Last Monday, I took Twin A, Naynay aka Neilo aka Oreneile for an assessment. I’d filled in the Connor’s questionnaire as her teacher and my husband did the “parent” one. I also did the M-Chat assessment. I added all the observations of autistic behaviour I’ve made over the years, and emphasised the current challenges- I can’t teach because she interrupts me, she thinks she’s also the teacher and takes over, her violence that comes extremely unexpectedly when nobody is even doing anything that should cause harm or she has not asked for anything we have denied… Her irregular speech errors, “What are you going?” instead of, “ Where are you going?” And, “Where you went?” And, “What are you doing a?” Or, “What are you doing the?”

The extreme hyperactivity and inability to focus. Insisting on doing formal school work (We believe in delayed academics), but saying the work is boring and moving pages ahead, or doing her own thing like writing letters on a page teaching her letter recognition when nobody told her to. Her taking over and teaching ME… And her interrupting her siblings as they learn.

I mentioned the excessive role playing. She don’t play pretend, she becomes a character she has learnt about and is that person in her head. “I don’t want to wear a top. Pharaoh doesn’t wear one!”

That day, she decided she was an elephant. I didn’t even try talk her out of it. It was (is) part of her constellation of symptoms, after all! And after her head was messed, weight taken (She hasn’t ever seen him. She doesn’t get doctor sick, she goes big/breaking her elbow jumping on her bed and then her arm the following test jumping on a trampoline and falling off both times.) She has horribly changing moods-laying out and hurting others for no discernible reason after having just laughed with them. Very sudden and distressing.

I also mentioned her prodigious memory. She had the memory of an elephant!! Can be so caring. She kisses my back and prays for me. She tells me to rest. She tells me to lock my bedroom door so her more violent sister doesn’t come pull me everywhere and anywhere, stacking me when I can’t give her what she wants.

After an hour observation, talking to her, talking to me, witnessing her busy-ness and sudden requests to wash her very clean hands, everything showed that she indeed she has autism, ADHD, extreme pathological avoidance. I was shaken by the word ‘extreme.’ I guess in so used to everything being too much that I didn’t realise it really was too much! Every single child is on the extreme when it comes to behavioral challenges that leave me so tired and alone that I b never paused to think, “Why is out PDA so much worse than it could be?” It’s more the older two who exasperate me because I know things could be better, they would be helpful if they were neurotypical and their actual age developmentally. Why suck ink and spread it everywhere on the floor, on your vest… Why throw clothes out the window and make awful messes every single hour?? Why resist so much? Why the screaming? Why does their sister pull only me so much and.. and why can’t I ever REST???”

We’ve begun on a very small dose of ADHD meds and mood stabilizer which also happens to boost sleep. Both girls are on melatonin, SleepVance but we were still struggling. Waking up for HOURS and being loud about it.😆 She’s also on allergy meds as us her minimal talking twin and minimal talker is on another med that send to help with sleep as well. We shall see how to shift things around. So far, no positive change in her behavior.

Back to us! We did it! Yesterday was injection day again. My regular commenter who once sent money even keeps track of the days as the injection day draws in. I’m the one sticking the needle in, but they are the ones who show care and concern every single day. The one who listens to my cries when in do open up. We did it! Four straight months-NO STOPPING!!! )With Enbrel I never even reached two months!

I don’t know yet if it’s starting to work. This just could be the end of a flare and it will become extremely bad again. The fatigue (extreme exhaustion and wanting to lie down began again yesterday after a few days of my having to remind myself to calm down because doing too much would trigger n more pain the next day.) But.. I had a better week where I didn’t beg to die and pain meds actually did reduce the pain a bit. But since yesterday morning, that has changed. Still not bad enough to wish to die though, so I’m pretty chuffed for now. Praying I get better. We got to a whole four months! Thank God for that privilege! I hope this is the treatment that shows this all down and helps my lungs and kidneys too.🙏🏾❤️

Heritage Day Yesterday

Grace by any other name2 Comments

And it coincided with my son’s birthday, the one whose heritage we don’t know.

My daughter’s birth mother has no idea how blessed I am to have her. To answer any questions, to explain something and to just be a big sister to her. I like to act, give, care and better yet, I have another young lady who is extremely invested in birth mom’s future and that of her children and grandson. Seeking bursaries for her teen daughter’s education next year, looking for anything that can help earn money, like learnerships..though time is now too short so daughter is now aiming to go to university next year.

But what about Micaiah? Where is the woman who gave birth to him on September 24? Is she ok? Did she have more children after him? How many did she REALLY have before him?? Do I pass her in the mall? Is she one of those who goes hunting for expired food? (Three people were shot dead and fed to pigs recently. A company dumps its expired food near a farm and a mother and a married couple went to pick what they could find in the farm boundaries. The owner shot them (allegedly) and told his workers to feed them to pigs. There is terrible suffering in our country. I know some who are that close to starvation that they’d give their lives for expired food. Is his birth mom still on the brink as the social workers claimed she was? I wish I knew.

For now, I’ll celebrate the boy I have, who I have raised since he was four and a half months old. A boy who has brought me to tears because of the horrible challenges he has faced. And who has made me laugh at the weirdest of misunderstandings and random use of highfalutin language when he clearly doesn’t know the meaning of the word he’s just used. I am so thankful for his presence and his life. We have more difficult years ahead of us, but what I love for him, is that he doesn’t know it. He is happy.

His little sister- age four- was trying to write number ‘eight.’ She failed once, I held her hand for three more and then she did her own two that were clearly recognisable as eights. My son noted later on, “Hmm, and I still can’t write an eight!”

No self pity. Just a fact. As if he’s proud that she can do what he cannot. I hope that that lack of concern lasts his entire life. He deserves as much of a happy go lucky life as he can find.

Happy birthday my boy. We are blessed to have you in our family.

AS

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I’ll begin with the ugly. I am coming to the realization and understanding that AS is progressive not merely in terms of losing mobility, but in increasing pain! I wrote when I was diagnosed, “It hurts knowing that today” which was bad “is better than I’ll be tomorrow.” But we had hope. Biologics were meant to save the day! They were meant to slow it all down and reduce pain tremendously and you’d regain your life.

Here we are a year later and none of that has happened. I’m now on my second biologic and even with spring coming in, no reduction in anything. My husband was worried recently that at the trajectory I’m going at, I’ll not be in a wheelchair in ten years as he originally feared when I told him the diagnosis, but next year. I told him that my secret hope was that it was because it has been winter and I always had awful winter flare ups when I was a teen and adult and perhaps things would improve in spring and summer.

So far, that has not happened and that is on double strength pain meds. I feel stuck and extremely but internally distraught. I don’t start limping after a few minutes of taking a walk anymore. I go walk even though I’m limping. And stiff. The stiffness is new. It’s as if my right leg is being held together at the pelvis not by a joint, but by concrete and I have to force my leg to swing forward. When people stared at me when I could tell they are being like ‘the Karen’ and thinking I shouldn’t be parking in the disabled bay, I exaggerated my limp but I don’t need to. It’s there and it’s real and anyway, I needed to be closer to reduce how far I travel, not because I’m broken.

I’ve realized that whether I’m lying down, seated or walking, no position reduces the pain anymore. Lying down used to reduced the pressure on my SI joints. Now, there are so many painful bones that lying down makes no difference. Though it might help with the persistent fatigue.

Basically, my new normal is ever present pain. Everything is done despite the pain. Everything is done while in pain. And nobody knows.

I’ll continue this another time. I stated that I’d “begin with the ugly” because I had wanted to mention something neutral about people’s perceptions of autism. I had much to type but my elbows and shoulder and fingers ache too much. I often think of retiring the blog. It hurts too much to type now.

A life devoid of real happiness because it’s clouded by constant pain, bad pain. That is me- now.

The White Guy

Grace by any other name2 Comments

So, we’ve had some work going on in our yard prompted by a variety of reasons. Firstly, I have ALWAYS wanted a swing in my garden for my children. I wanted one when I myself was still a child. My parents bought my sister and I one to swing on together where there’s push pull and the township children enjoyed coming to use it. I wanted that for my future children.

Secondly, our screamer screams when it’s time to leave the public park. Not nice when members of the public are around. She also is hard to handle, goes after other’ balls they are playing with, touches people’s bicycles…Our talkative twin also adds to the chaos when she argues that she needs “just five more minutes” after multiple warnings.

Thirdly and sadly, there are weird people hanging around. About a month ago, as the teen daughter and her three younger siblings walked, a man in a B class Mercedes Benz asked them if they wanted a ride. They said no. Then he asked if they wanted to go to the arcade at Century City to play. They kept walking and saying no. He asked if they were sure they didn’t “want to go have fun.” *shudder* At that point, I not knowing what was happening but knowing it was starting to rain, told my son -who had stayed behind with our refusing to walk twin child – to take her into the car (That she always loves) and go fetch the others before they got rained on.

As he drove up behind them, seeing talking to the man, the man put his hand out the window to wave him around his car. When he realised that the children knew the driver and were going to the car, he zoomed off. As my teen told her brother what had happened, he then tried to chase the car. (Don’t ask me what he’d have done.) They lost him at an intersection.

Very disturbing.

Two Fridays ago as the same children were walking, the man slowly drove up behind them. Our teen noticed but pretended not to but then the two middle children saw the car and pointed at the man, who then sped up. Now, they were scared so our girl told them to run to a corner where they would go in any direction and the man wouldn’t know. So my poor, terrified children – age 28, 9, 8 and 4, ran.

That image is haunting. And so sad. Makes me tear up even typing it! I hate criminals!

I bought her CS-gas (tear gas) to spray at him if he ever follows them and tries to lure them into the car. And booked people to come build a jungle gym in the yard so there’s less walking outside.

Snippets of the building time.

The Pharaoh hat has a strange rubber thing that has been eating at our girl’s hair, so I coaxed her into only wearing it on Wednesdays and when they go out in public. They won’t understand why she has a pillow case or skirt on her head, but they’ll understand THAT!

One man asked if she’s Cleopatra. She has no clue who that is but answered indignantly, “I’m Pharaoh!”😅

One wanted to use the loo but waited for me to finish explaining some school work to my son, then asked if I run a daycare centre. Haha. Never thought that that is what it would look like. Told him nope, these are all my children.😊

Yesterday they came to fix a few issues and he (White supervisor, Black workers as is the norm in our country) started talking about how the poor are getting poorer and how distressing it is. I thought not of ourselves or my employed friends whose salaries are affording less and less, but of those who have no job at all and agreed with him.

Then he says, “In the 80’s it was better. I mean, yes, I was a child, but there was less of this then. Poverty wasn’t bad back then but now, the world over, everyone is struggling more and more.”

I thought to myself, “Man, do you know who you’re talking to? I was also a child in the 80’s and it was AWFUL for US! Tear gassed in the ghettoes your people forced us into. Police coming in to find and kill!?? Police causing rioting and fear!? Me seeing stabbings and people being burnt to death. And our people were dirt poor. Starving poor because we didn’t ‘deserve’ much pay for the few jobs we were ‘allowed’ and legally trained to do- menial, cheap labour. Oh my! It was worse back then!”

It’s scary how White people either don’t know what life was like for Black people during Apartheid, or they forget that Apartheid was recent! They had fun in their safe suburbs. We lived with guns, fear and flames! Add the grinding poverty where we were forced to take jobs that paid peanuts, ‘Black’ hospitals that really were almost like badly run clinics, disappearing neighbours and relatives caught my police to be tortured, aunts fleeing into exile out in Germany and the US, and high birth mortality rate and you have a time when things were much worse than they are now for us Africans of Africa.

But, he also said I wouldn’t know as I wasn’t born yet. I was too busy laughing internally and wanting to tell him how old I am but then his staff called him and I couldn’t.

I wonder if anybody anywhere will ever guess my real age. Even at church there’s a newcomer who was shocked when a young man we once even counseled before his marriage referred to my husband as “old man.” But he’s younger than you! The man exclaimed! Oh my! I therefore bet he also thinks the man is younger than me too. Maybe if my husband looked HIS age, they’d know I too was older?? Or they’d just think I’m like those celebrity men who date women 20 years younger than they are…

So yes, that distracted me too as he spoke and I didn’t get a chance after he was called, to revisit that comment. But I live the reality daily. Life was not ok for us in the 80’s. At least now we have the chance to earn what they earned. And some of us do indeed earn it and can help others who are unemployed or orphaned.

As my nine year old said, “So..If you and daddy are also helping Aunty P” (her birth mom) “then dad had better not lose his job or they will starve even more.”

Yep, and so would another dear one waiting for the job she qualified for but willing to do the ‘menial’ work reserved only for us previously unskilled, un-educated by Western standards people of the soil.

Things are better but will never be ok till the kingdom comes.

Zech 13:9

Grace by any other name1 Comment

Many are called, but few are chosen. Few allow the fire to refine them, to purify them and to try them. Are we surprised?

Suffering is something most of us will flee from. Doing what suits us is what makes most sense. What makes me happy is surely indeed what will make me happy- for now. Who cares about eternity? “Eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow we die” is a philosophy most take to heart.

It is easy to live an easy life. No sacrifices required. No forgetting self in order to serve the other. No swimming upstream while other fish glide comfortably down. No stress. No need to change the heart I’ve been born with. No need for the purifying, refining fire.

But, that’s not the path I chose. Even as a child, I knew I wanted to be like Jesus. I wanted to love Him and when I turned 17, just wanted to live for Him. But what a journey it’s been. I can’t think of any aspect that is going smoothly. My body is fighting me day and night. The fatigue is so overwhelming that I want to cry when I have to teach. The teens- only one passed all final exams-so now I’m busy printing Computer Science stuff for the tutor and he. Educating my special kids is taxing and difficult. You’re constantly researching and reading too when you get a bit of time to yourself. Or you’re recording and then editing videos for the children.

This path of loneliness, of having my encouragers living far away from me either by marrying outside the country, or just because of distance, is lonely indeed. I would sink under the burden of being caregiver every single day. I’d have long found a way to disappear had it not been for Grace.

Living it with grace is what will help me turn out like gold. And so, though I can’t handle it, I submit. “Not my will but Thine.”

I want to be the third that will say the Lord is my God. I want Him to say that I’m His. So, I wait. I pray I remain malleable under all circumstances and that someone will be blessed by my presence, words, acts.

Starving

Grace by any other name1 Comment

This is one rich verse. So many in society do one or more of these that I shudder for them.

I had a dream two nights ago that I had hired a PI to investigate my husband who I thought was hiring someone to kill me. We were gathering evidence together so we could report him to the police.

But then, the last meeting I overheard, the hired gun asked, “So where does your sister live?” The relief was immediate. And so was the joy that finally he’d seen the light and was getting rid of her. My PI and I kept quiet and allowed his plan to go ahead. (Haha, that was the first time I was evil in a dream.)

Parts of that dream are based on reality. There was a year I contemplated divorce and my greatest joy was in knowing I’d be free of certain relatives who have spread my problems out to the entire family-sending screenshots of my conversation to everyone, mostly people I didn’t even know, and all, people who never texted to ask how I am. Thankfully I wasn’t swearing or calling anyone names. I had actually commented that it seemed what had happened was a family curse because every other male sibling had done the same. But still, sharing my heartache to randoms was evil. So was lying about why I then blocked her and never confided in the person again. I didn’t know about the lies until a relative asked me if it was true because it didn’t seem like me.

Yep, cos it WASN’T!

So yes, there is indeed a relative that is a liar and makes false promises and is a backstabbing gossip. But I would tell him to rather just stop speaking to them and not commit a crime!

Adulterers cause terrible wounds that can’t ever be erased. Oppressors cause pain and suffering. Imagine hiring someone to work till 11 pm at night and only giving them R2000 salary! Many domestic workers and nannies are basically being used as slave labor! God will avenge them too. Same with oppressing the widow and the fatherless instead of caring for them and surrounding them with love and support.

I’ve discussed how xenophobic our country men here are and how the hatred becomes violent. Looting of small shops they’ve worked hard to stock, and even murder are the order of the day, sanctioned by an entire community in many places. The ones who don’t join in, turn a blind eye and don’t report the plans nor the criminals after the attacks have happened.

This scripture is so relevant to us today.

But back to the widows and the orphan. Here in South Africa and I’m sure in many other places, we have people dying from starvation. See, here, we don’t have benefits for the unemployed. They are on their own unless people take their fate into their own hands. Children are dying from starvation, people! Mothers and fathers… People who could give even one boiled egg to the unemployed don’t. If every other poverty stricken but at least employed though poorly paid relative gave their little, it would help! But they don’t. They don’t give even the little they can. And so people are starving to death in my own country.

Years ago, before we got married, (so it was 25 years ago), we decided that we would help our parents if they became poor, and anyone else who we felt was deserving. For the past few years, that has been an unloved orphan and more recently, our daughter’s birth mother. They are our attempt at fixing what is broken. I wish I could give more. It feels such a pitiful offering but to the receiver, it isn’t. And that gives me so much joy. Others have been so entitled that they even ask for tech-for cellphones… What?? Others claimed they wanted to borrow because the situation was urgent. But never repaid-and they WERE employed. The two (plus more) we are helping now have NO employment at all. Zero. And no family coming together to care and sustain.

My husband got a bonus and so we were able to give a bit more than we usually can-just for a few months. Spreading it out and sending it unexpectedly. That’s fun!! The pain of knowing someone is going to bed having eaten nothing the whole day is indescribable. And birth mom also has her daughters and her grandchild to feed too. I’d go crazy with depression! She sends in job applications but nothing. Story of everyone’s life, university educated like our one friend, and not. Yesterday was even more poignant when the other loved one told me that this month and last month, she didn’t have to worry about where food would come from.

The heartache! I can’t get over it. Yes we give but it can’t last a whole month. And that is always my sorrow. The knowledge that she is on the knife edge hurts. And she is one of the many who are suffering in South Africa. They are..and they are just a few out of hundreds of thousands!💔

Please, I beg you. If you know someone’s story and can give even R10, do so! The one family we helped years ago could live on that R10 for a few days at least. Church folk ignored their plight and they would survive on a dry loaf of bread from a R10 they’d borrowed from a flat mate. It can be the difference between survival, and dying of starvation. Your little, God will expand. Please never think it’s too small. To a dying soul, a slice of bread is worth eating. worry not at how little your gift may be. Just give it.

Please, please give if you already don’t. Not to the drunk, not to the addict in your family. To the deserving everywhere and anywhere. To the orphan and the widow. Both sets we give to are orphaned.

Love. Give. Share your orange, your apple, your sandwich. Like Job, search for those who need help and give. Please. 🙏🏾

Prompted by a comment

Grace by any other name1 Comment

How are things going with my not very predictable, and very physical daughter? This post was prompted by a father of an autistic child who commented under the post in which I spoke snot my daughter hitting me and hurting me.

Sometimes good, sometimes bad. She has no real texture she prefers anymore. She will eat porridge-y Pronutro just fine, and oats. And sometimes..not. Today was one of those “Not oats” days. She came into the house, saw the oats on their table and came storming to the kitchen yelling angrily. I knew what that meant. This time poor Micaiah who happened to come into the kitchen got caught in the crossfire for the first time (in my presence. ) I didn’t know how he’d react when I was telling her to be kind so didn’t even have a chance to warn him to rather stay away instead of getting close. But, it ended ok. Well, it ended ok for him. He left and then when I replaced the oats with original flavour Pronutro-which she keeps gesturing for-she knocked the bowl out my hand and cereal went flying.

I’m sorry the camera glitches so you can’t see it all.

This is what life is like here. Not ALL days, but MANY days. I will need someone to be nanny who understands the unpredictability but will remain calm under fire. I think of a baby who was hired by a lady in a South African homeschool group. She took a month holiday and went home and they had a sub. She wrote to tell the mom that she misses her autistic son who is so loving despite how often he hits her. I’ll need someone like that unless I miraculously find a very affordable therapeutic centre for her. If we lived somewhere like in the States, I’d definitely have an aide for her and send her to one of their special schools. But, I’m here, not there. And we have nothing here. The government only even starts putting our children on their two year plus special school waiting list after your child turns seven! AFTER. And the waiting list is long! Can even be longer than two years. It’s BAD. I really don’t know what to do and am constantly stressed to the max. I’m struggling.

Then we come to the middle two. I’m meant to brush their teeth. And I’m starting to struggle there too. Just folding laundry has been tiring and difficult. My arms have been giving up on me and feeling strain. This week, it’s gotten even worse. I can’t even fold ONE SHEET! I have to put it down half way through the process. One sheet! I was telling my husband that I wish he could feel what I’m feeling. I wish everyone who expects too much of me could feel what I’m feeling too.

I really DO need to stop working.

It became evident that what I’ve been wanting to do is truly necessary (finding them educational and therapeutic external centers) when I couldn’t even brush one child’s teeth without stopping in pain. One set of teeth! But my arms got tired and were extremely sore. Just brushing my son’s teeth so I had to stop and rest a while. What kind of a life is that? Thats the fatigue we mean. It stops us moving. It makes us wonder if we won’t collapse. It is overwhelming.

I need a second mother for my children. A kind, honest, gentle, able to drive, patient, mother to teach. I don’t think they make others like me. I haven’t even met anyone who doesn’t lose their temper at their own children or relatives. How much more when dealing with mine?

Clothes and shoes constantly left outside overnight to get rained on, or for heavy dew to fall on. Socks getting lost by my mine year old daughter. Underwear thrown out the window by one of the middle two. Daughter still making holes in her clothes. Eight year old throwing food down the toilet. Both extremely easily distracted. I’ll tell my son to go wash his face and he will stop to ask me why babies use pacifiers instead of doing so. Then he will forget I ever told him to go. Or my daughter will go get undressed but you’ll find her sitting down with only one sleeve off, reading a book.

I need someone like Job.

I need them NOW. So yes, it’s been up and down. I’ve managed to divert some anger and get my unpredictable girl her to be less violent. I’ve verbalised her feelings but told her straight after that we are kind and gentle and hug each other, we don’t push. Sometimes she hears and then squeezes me for a hug. Sometimes not.

Homeschooling while terrible unwell is another level of torture. I can’t even finish the next day’s lesson and therapy planning as I’m so in pain by 20:30. Hoping for a breakthrough. And a break.

In the meantime, I grasp and clutch to myself every comedic moment and every insane second. Like my four year daughter who only partially listens when I’m teaching -doing what I tell her, but also planning her own thing. Above, she decided on her own that while I’m reading to her, she’d suddenly draw two C’s. And she did. I’ve never had a student like her before. She marches to the beat of her own drum in every single area of her life. It’s funny. It’s tiring. It’s frustrating when her drum beat is out of sync with the symphony I’m trying to conduct. When she wants to do something totally out of line with what she’s meant to do. And she does most of it, with a smile and easy confidence that her wish is not disobedient nor distracting.. and never negative. So what if she can’t say without stopping to want a very specific book we can’t find and she won’t eat until we find it and put it next to her? So what if she sometimes even coughs and splutters a because she’s chewing and singing at the same time so some food goes down the wrong pipe? She will be warned by me. But she continues and then with watery eyes say, “Oh, I’m choking!” 😩🫣Her not very talkative sister does the same too. She will jump and spin with food in her mouth and sometimes cough and splutter when the food goes down the wrong pipe. I don’t know which is worse! Their extreme activity instead of eating- wondering up and down and going around to find toys and books. Or the middle two and how they will take an hour and still not finish a small bowl of food. And it’s not because of the ADHD meds that reduce appetite. They do that even without the meds. To feed them less would be to under feed them. But to make them sit for three hours would mean I don’t get time to teach. So I end up telling them stop and learn then eat again after a short school lesson.

Told you I need a breakthrough.. and a break. The mind can only take so much constant stress before it breaks. And that’s a mind in a healthy body. Even healthy parents of even one neurodivergent child can’t cope if the child is challenging. And I understand it. I need a break. We all need respite. We all need hope and help.