Should you find a minute, to pay your respects to a queen!
Please read and share….
Should you find a minute, to pay your respects to a queen!
Please read and share….
I love observing immigrants. It is my weird thing. I just love their take on culture shock and seeing how they cope. They move with such caution, light footed. Their choices are so tied to so many things. It is almost a burden. We are so lucky to be in a country were compassion is natural response. As much as coming to this country was scary and had difficult moments surrounding navigating the systems in place; I cannot say migrating has been something to regret. I blame that solely on how I assimilated. Also, the birth of a Canadian-born child. You see, if you moved here with children from another country, they will be subdued and burdened with things a child shouldn’t. When you have a child in the country you migrated to, they almost seem to cruise through life. We find ourselves shaking our head at the simplicity and ease of my son’s life. This caused me to compare the resolve within that never truly let’s us settle. This isn’t our home, but it is his. He will never have to learn to assimilate and will naturally thrive in certain situations. This will be worse, once he goes through the various systems that span his life cycle. No internal battle to attach himself to Canadian ways or to hold on to his ‘first culture’. A lot of immigrants become so stuck in their ‘first culture’, they refuse to adapt to the ways of their new world. Irresponsibly imparting certain views in a tolerant environment. Carelessly handling themselves in a way that makes them think their ‘first culture’ is an excuse. Recklessly throwing away all the sacrifices and investments made to pave the way. I say all this to say, assimilation is so important.
A lot of people think to leave their home country for a better life, but never check the culture of where they’re going. What is common place in the corporate world? How loose or strict are certain industries (of interest)? Something as simple as understanding what a ‘scent free’ environment is, knowing a sharp fragrance is a part of being fully dressed. You will have to go back to school. Period. Even to do a ‘small’ course. Are you open to learning and formal education again? Are you ok with ‘play-based’ learning for your children? The concept of free public schools may be new and seem like a relief, but can you accept limited say in your child’s education? If religious, how would you navigate the LGBT curricula that is taught in public schools? How would you handle private school tuition, knowing as an immigrant you won’t necessarily get a high-paying job right away? It is imperative to consider residences and learn about surrounding communities. Child-rearing will fall heavily on parents and a daycare provider. Are you keen on the cost both financially and mentally to get an older relative to come and help instill your values and morals? Are you prepared to leave your children for hours with someone who looks nothing like you? Are you aware of the political practices where you’re going? Is there civil conflict, uprisings or mistreatment of those marginalized? What are their considerations around health and healthcare? What do their people look like? No, really, intersectionality creates clusters of people and what they look like is very important. Where is your community located and what are their social stats? What about social programs and views on community support? Who gets respect? Will your qualifications mean anything? Can you promise yourself that you will seek to manage your mental health when faced with coercion from societal pressure? Are you racist and known to discriminate? There is also more interracial dating because the culture of those who grow up or is born here is wholly Canadian with references to their parents’ culture. They do not live by their parents’ culture with reference to Canadian mores, no matter how much parents speak their language, take their kids to visit ‘back home’ or inundate them with stories of past times. Can you accept interracial relationships? Can you child marry who they please? Are you a person that will experience a language barrier? This will affect how far you get ahead in the corporate world, so can you learn a new language at your age? Immigrant health is known to decline over the years, what is your coping plan? What will you do when you are homesick? Do you laugh a lot and often, or know how to at all? You will have so many moments when you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I say all this to say, research and prepare yourself so that you can assimilate, as this is non-negotiable when it comes to survival.
You know how they say be careful what you post online as one day your child might see it?…. yah, I’ll spare you pictures of my sons diaper yeast. I don’t want to be the reason he becomes ridiculed in school, but this thing was bad. It looked like moss, lil booty eating moss. I’m not sure if it hurt as he didn’t scratch too much. Incidentally, I learned the hard way that Magnesium was the worst thing to put on it. I mixed colloidal silver with magnesium and rubbed it on and he jumped and started scratching and kicking up his legs. Thank God his nails were cut or he’d tear a cheek off. It was a battle to get him to stop moving long enough for me to wipe the shit off, but eventually it passed. Poor child! The doctor had diagnosed it as diaper yeast and gave me a cream. It worked for a little bit, but then the diaper yeast was back. It was here bigger and spreading wider. I read online about Boudreaux butt paste and used it on him and holy! He got a rash on his poor pecker. I finally said ok, back to the doctor. Hubs told them it was getting worse and somehow the doctor convinced him it was getting better. Even though he lives with us, and we are the ones cleaning that butt every damn day! She prescribed Polysporin and I was pissed! That was used for healing cuts sooner than time would and this wasn’t a regular ‘ol diaper rash. We also couldn’t use it everyday and to me a day missed not working on this is a day it gets to either get better or worse. I needed it to get better only. I used it and it worked a little bit, the Canesten cream worked way better than it did.
After taking a step back and tracking a timeline from when this first became an issue, I realized it was going on for far too long. I wanted it gone and off my kids bum. The ever nurturing Google was my refuge. This time I looked up natural methods of getting rid of this thing. I would wash his butt with warm water with 2 drops of tea tree oil added, then smear yogurt on. This was so messy! This was working and even our daycare lady did it every now and then. We changed him often and gave him lots of breaks (lots of clean-ups) to help offer some relief. He unfortunately got an eczema outbreak from the Greek Yogurt we were adding to his bottle at nights and when we pulled it from his diet, we were left with a tub of the stuff to finish. *facepalm*. Our previous solution worked on the eczema, it’s just now we couldn’t tell which was which easily in order to contain the diaper yeast. Nevertheless, I was on the charge and started applying the Greek Yogurt to his butt. I want to say within a week, I could actually see the yeast drying up. I read somewhere that when it started drying up I should not apply the yogurt anymore, as it was on the mend. Every now and then though I’d do this routine at nights, when he’s sleeping. Especially if he pooped in his sleep. Hubs mentioned that it might be something he eats that triggered it, but for the life of us we can’t put out finger on this one. He would poo and then bam! His entire butt is in rashes. Sigh! Kudos to the natural mommy goddesses that share their magic. I am eternally grateful to the wave of naturopathic educators on the internet….my baby’s butt thanks you! ….xoxo
*Sigh* …Our food drama continues…
Since lately baby (2 yr. old) has been waking up multiple times throughout the night screaming for a bottle. We were trying to wean him off bottles, formulas and bedtime ‘babbas’ but the child was legitimately starving.
We tried giving him water, rocking him back to sleep, letting him wake up, turning on his favorite videos on his tablets, singing songs etc. None of it works as fast as a warm bottle does. Truth be told, most times we needed to go back to bed as well. When our efforts failed we tried to find ways to full his stomach. We only use almond and coconut milk and so we figured they weren’t holding him as long as we needed. Plus, frequently waking up meant he wasn’t hitting deep a sleep to me. one night he woke up 6 times and he polished off his bottle each time. We knew we needed to make a change. We needed to make baby fuller, longer. We figured he was tired of the Pediasure, so I looked at other things. I perused the supermarket aisle and was considering a baby cereal but there wasn’t any that went up to his age. A quick Google search suggested that greek yogurt is one food that keeps you fuller longer. I figured that it couldn’t hurt to try even though he was technically limited when it came to dairy.
I bought a small tub of organic plain to try and it worked like a charm! One tablespoon in his night time bottle and he only woke up 1 time for the night looking for his fill. He even seemed more well rested. I especially loved that this wasn’t a filler like the cereal would be but a great healthy addition with lots of Calcium benefits!
My hubby said he read somewhere that our baby will get 6-8 colds this year. I immediately felt defeated, as he’s currently on no. 2. I decided that it won’t beat us and the moment we got home today, I got to work. I minced some garlic added two teaspoons of honey and squeezed some lemon in the mix. I stir it up and together we administered the potion! I feel like this is the wickedest think I’ve ever done to my son. The taste of the garlic did sting! I don’t believe eating raw garlic is yummy but I wanted something natural and guaranteed. We hugged it out and he proceeded to wipe his nose in my shirt, and with that we can call it even!
Let’s hope your babies are having better luck than mine and my household!
I miss my paternal grandmother. I knew her when I was a young girl and even though she passed when I was about 12 or 13, I still very much miss her dearly. I didn’t treat her that well when she was here on earth because she was extraordinarily miserable. I mean m-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e! I couldn’t fathom it, and used to wonder why the hell she was picking on me! My fondest memory of her is actually one where I got a whooping! Lol. She and my grandfather ran a restaurant in the city square where they lived-Papine, and one day I was on the rooftop patio clearing the tables and a guest left a little bit of beer in their Red Stripe bottle. I looked around and put that bottle right to my head. Next thing I knew she flew down on me and with her strong hands and gave me about 3 slaps across my back! I was so startled, I could piss myself! My mother is going to hear about this I thought!! She was an excellent, excellent cook and very protective. I did love that she took me everywhere with her and like a grandmother, was always teaching a lesson and extending a treat. I have a friend that reminds me so much of the care of a loving grandmother but I sometimes feel like I burden her too much. If Miss Slyvie was here, I wouldn’t care because grandmothers are not allowed to dislike you. If she was here, so many life choices would have gone differently, because her word would be one I could count on and trust. I also wish she was here to meet my son, who in his own way is the sweetest! Sigh, just musings today…nothing major!
My country has waged a war against women. I feel sick to my bones with all that is happening. The sad part is, none of this is new. A couple weeks ago I sat listening to a friend as she spoke about how she forgave the man who molested her as a little girl. I sat quietly and didn’t particularly share as I didn’t want to hijack her moment. These things are very hard to discuss. I thought back to my main instance (s) of being molested. My mother had secured a ride for me to go to school with a gentleman who lived up the street. I was happy! I was off the bus, out of the hassle and most importantly, I’d be chauffeured to school. The morning commutes was brutal. It took two hours by transit to get to school and back. We lived in the country and I attended school in the city. The commuting struggle went on for years and is something I promised I’d never do to myself when I got older; not for me or my kids. I was constantly drained and tired, travelling was taxing. So, the new drive was welcomed. I enjoy sitting in the back quietly all the way to school. I remained polite every time I was spoken to. I was about 10 years old and dreaded being beaten. West Indian parents didn’t care to hear your side of the story, once they got a report of misbehaving, your ass would feel the effects of their embarrassment.
Eventually, I started getting comfortable; naturally. It began with me nodding off periodically, to me fully laying face down on the back seat. I was tired! I figured it did no harm. This man would have to wake me up when I got to school but that wasn’t a crime either; I thought. I didn’t quite understand what happened the first time, but a few more times and I realized this was habitual. To wake me up, he would push his hand under my chest and squeeze my breasts. I felt ashamed. I was very ‘busty’ as a young girl and it was the source of many conversations; much to my disdain. One day when we were on a bus, my mother told me I could tell her anything. Looking back now, I wondered if my attitude had changed to prompt this and I told my mother and she ended that convenient ride immediately. This man’s second attempt came one night, there was a light out in the neighborhood and I was home alone with my candles lit. I had to take the bus home in the afternoons and stay inside until my mother came. She strictly instructed that I not let anyone in and I listened. Unaware of the morbid characters of the world and unwilling to find out I followed her lead.
On this night, he came to our house and said he had something for my mother. I cracked the door to collect it and he pulled the door open and came inside. I was petrified but I didn’t show it. I tried to handle things so that he would leave, he wouldn’t budge. He reached for me and squeezed my stomach and I pulled away. I pushed myself between the fridge and the table and told him he had to leave and that my mother would be home soon. He got up and said he’d see me later and just as he was walking out with his flashlight, my mother was home. I was relieved and scared in the same breath. She was in a tizzy. I told her what happened and that he brought her a roll of hand towel! Oh she was mad! I was relieved and sad. When she cried it broke me and when she called her friends and told them I was embarrassed and felt like a failure. I didn’t know what to think of myself and have always had to hold men off. My worst fear in life is being raped and so I may be overly cautious and very direct to men that approach me.
My husband joked about how I completely stop when things get very aggressive during our intimate moments and I am not afraid to say it is because of my experiences why I am this way. I’ve had two uncles proudly approach me with offers that are along the lines of incest. One of which has been blessed with a daughter. I remember sitting on the bus beside a church brother and he kept his hand within firm reach of my breasts the entire ride. I was such a coward and did not say anything. All I did was ensure to never make the mistake of travelling with him again. I’ve had the hugs that lasted way too long and the release from these hugs that involved ones hands running across my chest. I cannot stress enough how much I will never trust the male species. The more I think about having a daughter, the more these memories and thoughts linger at the forefront of my mind. The more I get scared at how I won’t be there to save her should anything happen or that I would be too late. A friend talked about how his child mother entertained the same man that held her daughter down and I thought about how deprived and lonely you had to be keeping a man like this around. How sad your life is and how neglected and empty your child must feel. I know women aren’t the only ones being sexually assaulted and all around it’s sad.
I hope for great change in the world and that the innocence of children especially will be respected. To the world, I hope for peace. Please do the same…
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