My dad used to tell me that I wear my heart on my sleeve. He's right. I cried when the alien got sick in ET. He tried to talk me out of pursuing medicine because he said I would get too attached to my patients. He's right. Especially if that patient is a child.
I'm okay with it though. In fact, I don't think I would want it any other way. I mean, I wouldn't mind being able to maintain a tearless eye when I want to, but I do not lament my propensity to care very deeply for the people I encounter.
Every day at 11:15, I step out the door and yell "CIRCLE TIME!" Immediately, six little kindergarteners pop out of whatever corner or room they were playing in and dash up to our special spot in the grass. The majority of the next 45 minutes consists of a Bible story and memory verses. I usually try to review what we covered in school time that morning as well (order of the planets, which body organs do what, etc.).
A couple of weeks ago, it struck me how odd it was that I drill the children on memory verses but was not deliberately memorizing any myself. I have somehow continually come back to I Corinthians 13 during my quiet times. I'm very familiar with the passage already, so I decided to commit it to memory.
I've probably read that chapter hundreds of times over the years, but somehow I've never actually read it.
Yesterday Timmy was telling me about a British orphanage in Zambia. The missionaries had been run out of the country after several years of devoted work. We talked a lot about the bitterness and frustration that comes when repeated efforts to make a difference are met with resistance or apathy. I've seen it in nurses in the States-- you beat yourself to death trying to save everyone you come in contact with, and eventually you just burn out.
Later that night I was reading the memory verse taped to my wall.
"If I can speak in the tongues of angels and of men, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."
If I repeatedly teach and instruct these children and nannies but forget to love them, I am wasting my words.
"If I have the gift of prophesy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."
If I have all the answers to all of their questions (and mine), and if I believe with all of my heart that Zambia can change, but I forget to actively and deliberately love her people, I might as well not even be here.
"If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."
I can spend the rest of my life feeding starving babies, teaching orphaned children, and providing healthcare in a place that sorely needs it, but I do not do those actions in love and for Love, then at the end of the day and the end of my life, I have gained nothing.
I'm a fixer. I like to solve problems. I like to make things better. I like to create solutions. As far as I know, there's nothing wrong with any of that. My gentle reminder from heaven this week has been to search my motives and my attitude. When I'm teaching a nanny something, am I doing it because I love her and the children she is caring for and want the best for them? Can she see that by the way I speak to and interact with her? When I teach a child to read, does he know that I believe he can change his world, that I'm proud of him, and that I hold him as dear to my heart as my own little brother, or does he only feel my pressure to work harder, read faster, and learn more?
I try to put myself in the shoes of those British missionaries. Would I be bitter and angry? Would I feel resentment towards a people who won't do it "my way?" If my motivation is humanitarian progress, then yes, I probably would. All the more reason to be fueled by love.
After all...
"Love never fails."
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Sleep-Deprivation Induced Paranoia
Has anyone else noticed how terrible I am at blogging consistently? I promise it's not because I have nothing to say-- quite the opposite. Sometimes I sit down to write and there's just so much that I want to put down but don't know where to start that I end up saying, "Aw, hang it all! I'll blog later...."
Yesterday morning I came in the house and Timmy said he thought there might be a new baby. Does that ever happen to you?
Anyway, I ran down to the nursery and did a quick headcount, and there appeared to be the correct number of bobble-heads, so I came back to give Timmy a hard time about it (all in good fun, of course...). A few minutes later I went back down to the nursery for something and one of the nannies handed me a baby I didn't recognize.
Whoops.
Making a mental note to eat my words, I took a look at Gladys. She's allegedly five months old and has a decent amount of baby fat, but her records (written in pencil in a small notebook by month, but not by date) show that she has lost a couple of ounces over the last 2-3 months. Her skin is wrinkled from dehydration, and she refuses to take a bottle. Her Aunt said they had been feeding her porridge for the last two weeks since her mother fell ill. I finally got her to take some milk by dripping it into her mouth with a spoon. Yesterday she took about 25mL every hour or two, one painstaking drop at a time. She was running a pretty nasty fever, but it broke last night. She went to sleep about 10pm and would wake up screaming about every hour. She refused milk all night. I haven't gotten anything down her since 10pm yesterday. She's with the nannies now; I'm going to try and sleep for an hour and then try again.
I think her problem is both that she can't/won't suck a bottle and that her belly hurts. When she woke up in the night, she would scream and arch her back in obvious discomfort, and she is incredibly gassy for a child who isn't even swallowing anything. She does not act like she is hungry at all.
Please, take a moment now and pray for Gladys. Pray that her body will accept the milk that she needs. Pray that she will feel hungry and want the food. We're treating her for Malaria. Please pray also for wisdom on our part as we care for her. Send up a prayer for my little Kindergarteners too-- I didn't see them at all after morning school time yesterday because I was working with the baby. Johnny came and found me yesterday evening, told me he missed me, and promised to pray for Gladys.
She is a precious little thing. Every few hours, when she is awake and feeling alright, she'll let out a little chuckle. She likes to be sang to and bounced, and placing her on her stomach puts her to sleep almost instantly if she's tired. The cat is rather fond of her as well. All night long Chai went back and forth from me on the couch to the little baby bed. Gladys would start whimpering in her sleep, then Chai would curl up purring at the small of her back and Gladys would calm down.
In other news, we've started bringing the babies up to the main house for a little while every evening again. This is usually a normal part of the schedule, but schedules have been pretty crazy over the last couple of weeks due to illnesses, arrivals, departures, visas, etc. Thursday evening, I discovered something really interesting about Ephraim. First of all, he laughs like an old man. Second, he fits perfectly in my arms. I wouldn't think anything of it if I hadn't noticed that Jack too fits perfectly in my arms. So does Gladys. I smell a conspiracy. The true cunning of the culprit is that these babies are all different shapes and sizes. Ingenius. I need to hold all of the other babies for extended periods of time in the next day or so to see if they too have been sucked into this scheme. It's like my arms were made to hold these children.
I think maybe they were.
I'm okay with that.
Thanks for walking with me on this journey.
May every step bring Him glory.
Yesterday morning I came in the house and Timmy said he thought there might be a new baby. Does that ever happen to you?
Anyway, I ran down to the nursery and did a quick headcount, and there appeared to be the correct number of bobble-heads, so I came back to give Timmy a hard time about it (all in good fun, of course...). A few minutes later I went back down to the nursery for something and one of the nannies handed me a baby I didn't recognize.
Whoops.
Making a mental note to eat my words, I took a look at Gladys. She's allegedly five months old and has a decent amount of baby fat, but her records (written in pencil in a small notebook by month, but not by date) show that she has lost a couple of ounces over the last 2-3 months. Her skin is wrinkled from dehydration, and she refuses to take a bottle. Her Aunt said they had been feeding her porridge for the last two weeks since her mother fell ill. I finally got her to take some milk by dripping it into her mouth with a spoon. Yesterday she took about 25mL every hour or two, one painstaking drop at a time. She was running a pretty nasty fever, but it broke last night. She went to sleep about 10pm and would wake up screaming about every hour. She refused milk all night. I haven't gotten anything down her since 10pm yesterday. She's with the nannies now; I'm going to try and sleep for an hour and then try again.
I think her problem is both that she can't/won't suck a bottle and that her belly hurts. When she woke up in the night, she would scream and arch her back in obvious discomfort, and she is incredibly gassy for a child who isn't even swallowing anything. She does not act like she is hungry at all.
Please, take a moment now and pray for Gladys. Pray that her body will accept the milk that she needs. Pray that she will feel hungry and want the food. We're treating her for Malaria. Please pray also for wisdom on our part as we care for her. Send up a prayer for my little Kindergarteners too-- I didn't see them at all after morning school time yesterday because I was working with the baby. Johnny came and found me yesterday evening, told me he missed me, and promised to pray for Gladys.
She is a precious little thing. Every few hours, when she is awake and feeling alright, she'll let out a little chuckle. She likes to be sang to and bounced, and placing her on her stomach puts her to sleep almost instantly if she's tired. The cat is rather fond of her as well. All night long Chai went back and forth from me on the couch to the little baby bed. Gladys would start whimpering in her sleep, then Chai would curl up purring at the small of her back and Gladys would calm down.
In other news, we've started bringing the babies up to the main house for a little while every evening again. This is usually a normal part of the schedule, but schedules have been pretty crazy over the last couple of weeks due to illnesses, arrivals, departures, visas, etc. Thursday evening, I discovered something really interesting about Ephraim. First of all, he laughs like an old man. Second, he fits perfectly in my arms. I wouldn't think anything of it if I hadn't noticed that Jack too fits perfectly in my arms. So does Gladys. I smell a conspiracy. The true cunning of the culprit is that these babies are all different shapes and sizes. Ingenius. I need to hold all of the other babies for extended periods of time in the next day or so to see if they too have been sucked into this scheme. It's like my arms were made to hold these children.
I think maybe they were.
I'm okay with that.
Thanks for walking with me on this journey.
May every step bring Him glory.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Mansa and Other Musings...
Against all odds, I think I have actually come to enjoy cooking. I've learned a lot in the kitchen over the last two weeks. Unfortunately, many of my dinner escapades end in disaster.
A couple of nights ago Jasmine asked me to make whipped cream. Um, okay. "How exactly do I do that, Jasmine?" "You take the cream... and you whip it."
So that's what I did. It actually turned out really well at first. I took it to Amy to see if it was "done," and she suggested adding a couple of tablespoons of sugar. I dumped a little in and started to mix it, and I was horrified! The whipped cream was clumping and separating right before my eyes!
Convinced that I had unwittingly murdered the integral ingredient of the night's desert, I carried it sorrowfully over to Jasmine. Apparently, I whipped it too long and ended up with butter. Bummer. We ate it anyway.
Yesterday, I went with the whole family to Mansa (about 3 hours away) for the weekly shopping trip. I also needed to go to Immigration and straighten out my visa. I asked and payed for a 30-day business visa at the border, but they only gave me about 10 days. Because I'm a little bit of an idiot, I didn't check my passport and didn't realize what had happened until Amy asked about it a week later. My visa expired. Amy and Thomas were both traveling over the next week, so I just kind of chilled at the orphanage (because running into an Immigration Officer in the village did not sound appealing). The day before she left, Amy called the Officer in Kazembe to see if he would take care of it. At that point I still had 2 days on my visa. He refused to help us because the Morrows have sometimes had to go to Mansa to handle passport issues that have to be done at a bigger office. Petty Zambian politics.
Anyway, it all turned out well, and with a minor amount of hassle we were able to get my visa extended for the full 30 days yesterday. I'm officially legal again. Wahoo!
I went with Amy to Shoprite to pick up the week's groceries. First of all, do you have any idea how much food it takes to feed 20+ kids for a week? I assure you, it's a lot. Amy has a nice little itemized grocery list that is organized by aisle, so picking up the food was not nearly the hassle that it was for Timmy and I in Lusaka. Timmy and I only picked up a few things, but we kept going from one side of the store to the other and back again because we didn't know where anything was.
While we were in Mansa, I needed to have passport photos taken to submit with my request for a visa extension that I will need to submit in a couple of weeks. Between the bank and the next building was a man with a digital camera who takes passport photos. The sign said 8 for 20k kwacha. He had a red piece of fabric that he stuck to the side of the bank with sticky tack. Then he held the camera in my face and snapped a picture.
While he ran off to print them, I amused myself by reading the postings on a nearby tree. One of them was a letter from the village mayor addressing the issue of citizens who were behind on their payments. He explained his remorse but said that after repeated pleadings with individuals who still refused to pay, he had authorized the bailiffs to pounce. He further communicated that people could go ahead and pay their dues before the bailiffs pounced but that there would be no mercy once the pouncing had occurred.
I dare you to think about pouncing bailiffs without smiling. You can't do it, can you?
Finally, the man came back with my pictures. He handed them to me and I counted them. There were only six. After I badgered him a little bit, he finally produced the other two from his pocket (creeper!). The smallest bill I had was a 50k kwache. I asked him if he could make change, and he said he could. Then he handed me 25k kwache, which was 5k less than he owed me. I asked for the rest of it and he said, "No, I am from Lusaka." I replied that while I'm sure Lusaka is a very nice place, he still owed me 5k kwacha. Just when I was about to give up (5k kwacha is worth just over a dollar...), he gave me my change, called me a musungu and stalked off.
The ride home was pretty cramped as we all crammed in the back of the vehicle with the groceries and tried not to crush the vegetables. Riding on the roads here is like riding a rollercoaster. The roads are in truly terrible condition. There are potholes larger than the average vehicle, so the driver is constantly swerving from one side of the road to the other or completely off the side to avoid these pits in the middle of the road. I fell asleep for a little while, and when I woke up Tom was sitting in the passenger seat with an umbrella opened above him, presumably to block the sun. Maybe it's because I was only half-conscious, but it was pretty amusing at the time. On down the road we pulled over so he could inquire as to the price of a piglet.
When we finally got home, all of the kids came to help unload the car. It's so cute that they're still young enough to enjoy that. ;)
We ate (an absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS) dinner, watched some TV, and went to bed early.
This morning, I spent an hour or so mapping out a curriculum for next week. I'm really excited. I love teaching the kids. The only downside to spending the day in Mansa yesterday was that I barely saw the kids at all, and we don't do school on Saturday or Sunday. I'm having withdrawals. Saturday is just too long!
Much love!
A couple of nights ago Jasmine asked me to make whipped cream. Um, okay. "How exactly do I do that, Jasmine?" "You take the cream... and you whip it."
So that's what I did. It actually turned out really well at first. I took it to Amy to see if it was "done," and she suggested adding a couple of tablespoons of sugar. I dumped a little in and started to mix it, and I was horrified! The whipped cream was clumping and separating right before my eyes!
Convinced that I had unwittingly murdered the integral ingredient of the night's desert, I carried it sorrowfully over to Jasmine. Apparently, I whipped it too long and ended up with butter. Bummer. We ate it anyway.
Yesterday, I went with the whole family to Mansa (about 3 hours away) for the weekly shopping trip. I also needed to go to Immigration and straighten out my visa. I asked and payed for a 30-day business visa at the border, but they only gave me about 10 days. Because I'm a little bit of an idiot, I didn't check my passport and didn't realize what had happened until Amy asked about it a week later. My visa expired. Amy and Thomas were both traveling over the next week, so I just kind of chilled at the orphanage (because running into an Immigration Officer in the village did not sound appealing). The day before she left, Amy called the Officer in Kazembe to see if he would take care of it. At that point I still had 2 days on my visa. He refused to help us because the Morrows have sometimes had to go to Mansa to handle passport issues that have to be done at a bigger office. Petty Zambian politics.
Anyway, it all turned out well, and with a minor amount of hassle we were able to get my visa extended for the full 30 days yesterday. I'm officially legal again. Wahoo!
I went with Amy to Shoprite to pick up the week's groceries. First of all, do you have any idea how much food it takes to feed 20+ kids for a week? I assure you, it's a lot. Amy has a nice little itemized grocery list that is organized by aisle, so picking up the food was not nearly the hassle that it was for Timmy and I in Lusaka. Timmy and I only picked up a few things, but we kept going from one side of the store to the other and back again because we didn't know where anything was.
While we were in Mansa, I needed to have passport photos taken to submit with my request for a visa extension that I will need to submit in a couple of weeks. Between the bank and the next building was a man with a digital camera who takes passport photos. The sign said 8 for 20k kwacha. He had a red piece of fabric that he stuck to the side of the bank with sticky tack. Then he held the camera in my face and snapped a picture.
While he ran off to print them, I amused myself by reading the postings on a nearby tree. One of them was a letter from the village mayor addressing the issue of citizens who were behind on their payments. He explained his remorse but said that after repeated pleadings with individuals who still refused to pay, he had authorized the bailiffs to pounce. He further communicated that people could go ahead and pay their dues before the bailiffs pounced but that there would be no mercy once the pouncing had occurred.
I dare you to think about pouncing bailiffs without smiling. You can't do it, can you?
Finally, the man came back with my pictures. He handed them to me and I counted them. There were only six. After I badgered him a little bit, he finally produced the other two from his pocket (creeper!). The smallest bill I had was a 50k kwache. I asked him if he could make change, and he said he could. Then he handed me 25k kwache, which was 5k less than he owed me. I asked for the rest of it and he said, "No, I am from Lusaka." I replied that while I'm sure Lusaka is a very nice place, he still owed me 5k kwacha. Just when I was about to give up (5k kwacha is worth just over a dollar...), he gave me my change, called me a musungu and stalked off.
The ride home was pretty cramped as we all crammed in the back of the vehicle with the groceries and tried not to crush the vegetables. Riding on the roads here is like riding a rollercoaster. The roads are in truly terrible condition. There are potholes larger than the average vehicle, so the driver is constantly swerving from one side of the road to the other or completely off the side to avoid these pits in the middle of the road. I fell asleep for a little while, and when I woke up Tom was sitting in the passenger seat with an umbrella opened above him, presumably to block the sun. Maybe it's because I was only half-conscious, but it was pretty amusing at the time. On down the road we pulled over so he could inquire as to the price of a piglet.
When we finally got home, all of the kids came to help unload the car. It's so cute that they're still young enough to enjoy that. ;)
We ate (an absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS) dinner, watched some TV, and went to bed early.
This morning, I spent an hour or so mapping out a curriculum for next week. I'm really excited. I love teaching the kids. The only downside to spending the day in Mansa yesterday was that I barely saw the kids at all, and we don't do school on Saturday or Sunday. I'm having withdrawals. Saturday is just too long!
Much love!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Of Doves and Serpents
On Sunday afternoon Jasmine, Troy, Timmy and I sat down to study and pray together. They're working through a series by Max Lucado. Part of Sunday's lesson was about leaving it all at the cross-- grudges, frustrations, bad habits, pride, laziness, fear, and anything else that stands between us and the life God calls us to. As we each contemplated the things in our own life that needed to be left at Calvary, my heart turned towards my interactions with the people of Zambia.
There is so much about this culture that is both heartbreaking and bewildering. For instance, the nannies don't really play with the children. I suppose it's a byproduct of living in a place where mere survival takes precedence. But then, I think these wonderful ladies are also just tired, and who am I to say that my way is right or theirs lacking? I can see the love these women have for the kids in their care. The nannies here are like family to the kids; they spend more time with them than anyone else. I am so privileged to be welcomed into their little unconventional family. Another culture-confusion example: at any given time of day, one can see mothers walking by on the dirt road in front of the orphanage with their babies and toddlers strapped to their back. The babies are generally wearing way too much clothing (sweatshirts and winter hats) and are drenched in sweat, making dehydration that much more likely, especially if the child were to fall ill. Again, it's apparently a cultural thing, but it's really concerning to me. Babies are carried everwhere and may therefore be delayed in learning to walk, but then what choice do these mother's have? No cushy daycares here. The people here are strong; they are survivors. It is easy to say that they have much to learn, but oh, I believe that they have so much to teach. I do not wish to approach them in judgment; may God forgive me for the times that I have.
Anyway, back to Sunday...
I feel a great burden not only for the kids that I chase around all day but also for the staff members that I work with throughout the day here at Kazembe Orphanage. It is so very difficult to strike a balance between "shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves." I want to leave my fruatrations and judgments at the cross. It is so easy to forget that my way may not be the "right" way. I want to teach and lead firmly but without demeaning, and more importantly, I want to be willing to be led. Because I don't know what it is to lose a child to Malaria, or to carry water from a well every day, or not be able to afford education for my kids. I want to interact with patience and compassion, and most of all with humility. I have a really hard time keeping the names of the nannies straight since they change out daily and I really work mostly with the kindergarteners, but my jr. high Sunday school teacher once told me that we leave an impact on everyone that we meet. I want to be the reflection of Christ for these women to the best of my ability.
Some of them I have really grown to care about. I love the kitchen staff. They both do a really good job (as far as I can tell anyway). I've spent a little time with both of them learning about their families and their lives. One of the nannies that works with the babies is especially sweet. She obviously really cares about the kids. I often see her interacting with them or cleaning up messes that really weren't her responsibility to take care of. If I do need to explain something to her, she listens attentively, asks questions, and seems to do her best to do whatever needs to be done.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all of these musings, but this thought process has been weighing on my heart for a few days now. The more I learn and experience here a Kazembe, the more thankful I am that God sent me here and the more compassion and desire to serve and help I feel for these people. Every "negative" or "frustrating" interaction only makes me love them more, and more often than not, I find that the one whose attitude needs adjusting is me. May God grant me the grace to communicate His love with patience and clarity.
There is so much about this culture that is both heartbreaking and bewildering. For instance, the nannies don't really play with the children. I suppose it's a byproduct of living in a place where mere survival takes precedence. But then, I think these wonderful ladies are also just tired, and who am I to say that my way is right or theirs lacking? I can see the love these women have for the kids in their care. The nannies here are like family to the kids; they spend more time with them than anyone else. I am so privileged to be welcomed into their little unconventional family. Another culture-confusion example: at any given time of day, one can see mothers walking by on the dirt road in front of the orphanage with their babies and toddlers strapped to their back. The babies are generally wearing way too much clothing (sweatshirts and winter hats) and are drenched in sweat, making dehydration that much more likely, especially if the child were to fall ill. Again, it's apparently a cultural thing, but it's really concerning to me. Babies are carried everwhere and may therefore be delayed in learning to walk, but then what choice do these mother's have? No cushy daycares here. The people here are strong; they are survivors. It is easy to say that they have much to learn, but oh, I believe that they have so much to teach. I do not wish to approach them in judgment; may God forgive me for the times that I have.
Anyway, back to Sunday...
I feel a great burden not only for the kids that I chase around all day but also for the staff members that I work with throughout the day here at Kazembe Orphanage. It is so very difficult to strike a balance between "shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves." I want to leave my fruatrations and judgments at the cross. It is so easy to forget that my way may not be the "right" way. I want to teach and lead firmly but without demeaning, and more importantly, I want to be willing to be led. Because I don't know what it is to lose a child to Malaria, or to carry water from a well every day, or not be able to afford education for my kids. I want to interact with patience and compassion, and most of all with humility. I have a really hard time keeping the names of the nannies straight since they change out daily and I really work mostly with the kindergarteners, but my jr. high Sunday school teacher once told me that we leave an impact on everyone that we meet. I want to be the reflection of Christ for these women to the best of my ability.
Some of them I have really grown to care about. I love the kitchen staff. They both do a really good job (as far as I can tell anyway). I've spent a little time with both of them learning about their families and their lives. One of the nannies that works with the babies is especially sweet. She obviously really cares about the kids. I often see her interacting with them or cleaning up messes that really weren't her responsibility to take care of. If I do need to explain something to her, she listens attentively, asks questions, and seems to do her best to do whatever needs to be done.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all of these musings, but this thought process has been weighing on my heart for a few days now. The more I learn and experience here a Kazembe, the more thankful I am that God sent me here and the more compassion and desire to serve and help I feel for these people. Every "negative" or "frustrating" interaction only makes me love them more, and more often than not, I find that the one whose attitude needs adjusting is me. May God grant me the grace to communicate His love with patience and clarity.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Sausage and Ping-Pong and Everything Nice
It is a beautiful Saturday afternoon here in Kazembe. The last few days have been pretty slow. Thursday night was my turn to make dinner, and if you know me then you know that me cooking is flirting with danger. I ended up overcooking the pasta and sausage and undercooking the zucchini. About three hours later, I was relatively certain that my stomach was clawing its way out of my body. I was sick several times through the night and was pretty much miserable for the next 24 hours. I still feel a little queasy every time I eat. Mostly I'm just thankful that I didn't manage to poison anyone but myself. Its my turn to cook again next Monday, so hopefully round two will go better. I never ever want to see sausage again.
I've spent a lot of time in the past few days just getting to know Jasmine, Troy, and Timmy. It's been a lot of fun. After the kids go to sleep, we still have at least a couple of hours to play with. There have been rubber band wars, ping-pong tournaments, late-night movies, card games, drawing contests, and a few minor accidents involving Timmy's head and the kitchen door. We spend all day trying to figure out what we're going to do at night.
Not to go off on a tangent, but I was just brutally attacked by a tiny little furball named Chai. I think the Morrows are harboring a terrorist kitten. I think she can tell I'm a dog person. I'm actually kind of fond of her, but don't tell her...
Moriah and Elias have been my two biggest time investments this week. Moriah has a little infection on the side of her head between her ear and her eye. The first night I cleaned it up there was a pretty large amount of drainage. It looks like there is still a lot of infection in it, but I can't seem to get it to drain. She's on an antibiotic and I'm doing my best to keep it clean. It's not really getting better, but it's not getting worse either. She's not running a fever. This is the fourth full day of antibiotics, so I'm hoping to see some improvement by tonight. I can't wait for it to heal. It's apparently really painful, because she screams bloody murder every time I clean it off. She runs in terror everytime she sees me now. She's only two. I've worked mostly with the kindergarteners, so pretty much my only interaction with her has been painful for her. I'm looking forward to making friends with her.
Elias isn't sick, but he is unbelievable stubborn. Twice this week Timmy and I have fought him for at least an hour. What frustrates me is that you can see it coming. He gets this little gleam in his eye, and then he throws a temper tantrum or starts jumping on the table or something, usually with a bit of a smile playing on his lips at first. He also has this nervous habit of chewing on the neck of his shirt, which is both gross and really hard on the clothing. If I ask him to stop he ignores me, and then all out war ensues. I think part of it is his way of testing me to see what he can get away with. Interestingly enough, when he's not making trouble he's one of the friendliest kids here. He craves attention, and he doesn't seem to care if it's positive or negative.
Since today is Saturday, I don't do "school" with the kids. It's nice to have a break, but I've barely seen the kids all day. Since I'm physically incapable of walking past the nursery without stopping in and making googly eyes at a baby, this is a pretty big deal for me. I need to go hug a short person.
Much love!
I've spent a lot of time in the past few days just getting to know Jasmine, Troy, and Timmy. It's been a lot of fun. After the kids go to sleep, we still have at least a couple of hours to play with. There have been rubber band wars, ping-pong tournaments, late-night movies, card games, drawing contests, and a few minor accidents involving Timmy's head and the kitchen door. We spend all day trying to figure out what we're going to do at night.
Not to go off on a tangent, but I was just brutally attacked by a tiny little furball named Chai. I think the Morrows are harboring a terrorist kitten. I think she can tell I'm a dog person. I'm actually kind of fond of her, but don't tell her...
Moriah and Elias have been my two biggest time investments this week. Moriah has a little infection on the side of her head between her ear and her eye. The first night I cleaned it up there was a pretty large amount of drainage. It looks like there is still a lot of infection in it, but I can't seem to get it to drain. She's on an antibiotic and I'm doing my best to keep it clean. It's not really getting better, but it's not getting worse either. She's not running a fever. This is the fourth full day of antibiotics, so I'm hoping to see some improvement by tonight. I can't wait for it to heal. It's apparently really painful, because she screams bloody murder every time I clean it off. She runs in terror everytime she sees me now. She's only two. I've worked mostly with the kindergarteners, so pretty much my only interaction with her has been painful for her. I'm looking forward to making friends with her.
Elias isn't sick, but he is unbelievable stubborn. Twice this week Timmy and I have fought him for at least an hour. What frustrates me is that you can see it coming. He gets this little gleam in his eye, and then he throws a temper tantrum or starts jumping on the table or something, usually with a bit of a smile playing on his lips at first. He also has this nervous habit of chewing on the neck of his shirt, which is both gross and really hard on the clothing. If I ask him to stop he ignores me, and then all out war ensues. I think part of it is his way of testing me to see what he can get away with. Interestingly enough, when he's not making trouble he's one of the friendliest kids here. He craves attention, and he doesn't seem to care if it's positive or negative.
Since today is Saturday, I don't do "school" with the kids. It's nice to have a break, but I've barely seen the kids all day. Since I'm physically incapable of walking past the nursery without stopping in and making googly eyes at a baby, this is a pretty big deal for me. I need to go hug a short person.
Much love!
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