Tiny Bones
Without Prejudice
I feel the tiny bones in her hand snuggled into my so much larger ones. Sometimes just a finger but I told her she must always hold on to me when we go for our walks.
And through the eyes of my youngest grand daughter I see the World once again, changed, transformed, lit up, better.
Her name is Shilo, the youngest in her large family of eight. Seven, older brothers. She the only girl and suitably protected by her adoring audience. She's two. Just two. Such a precious gift. I brought up her brother, Cruz, who is now five and disappeared to school. I miss him.
But now Shilo is at teaching age and has to learn all the things Nanny has to teach and Nanny has to learn. We easily know numbers, well Senen is a favourite and comes after four. I never knew that. But Shilo insists that's the way it goes and I don't correct her.
Rainbows are wonderful, bugs are to be screamed at, the moon to be admired in all its plump fatuousness when full and still a moon when it's just a crescent or partly hidden behind clouds.
Everyone is to be waved at, said Hi to, every dog greeted. Dog poo is to be called ooh yuk and expected to be picked up by Nanny. She fetches the grey plastic supermarket bags from the cupboard and cries if I am reluctant to take them. Again.
We, the family, have two expensive Maltese Shitzu dogs, Charlie and Benson. Charlie looks like the village idiot dog but Benson really is one. Charlie has already been a stud dog and came back after a week with the lady with the female dog with distinct cocky attitude. Benson gave him a hard time for a few days. Shitzus are Comical.
Shilo is comical. Sometimes when she is extremely happy she sways side to side, doing a good impression of Scupper The Sailordog doing a horn pipe. She sings songs of unknown lyrics, a singing in tongues of sheer joy just to be with Nanny.
She has a big two year old attachment to Nanny that I try to take with a grain of salt but am secretly pleased about. I didn't want her to get too attached at first but after her tired out, worn out Mother ( according to my daughter, that is ---The Mother of eight) M.O.E. Seemed to encourage over bonding between Shilo and I, I just gave in to the inevitable. She is a rare and happy little creature, just like Cruz before her.
When I did once leave Chez Crazy for Queensland one Winter, The Moe said that Cruz would sit on my front door step every day, howling, along with the Husky, Kayko.
After I arrived back he would not leave my side.
I figure it's because I have the knowledge they vie for, and the affection they crave. They love games, simple at first like peekaboo and clap a handy for a penny, one, two, three. Then books with relatable objects they know. Apple, bear, repeated repetitively until they have had enough.
Then it's morning tea time, always popular, served outside in good weather. Cruz and I had our set routine for months with table, chairs, napkins, drinks, straws. And he would notice if one thing was not on the table. We had picnics as well. A great little boy.
So good we wanted to keep him home another year, but he had to go in the end, wanted to go like his brothers.
If you ask him how school is, he has but one answer.
" Fun" he says.
It helps he is appealing looking as well as appealing in nature. Big brown eyes with black, black lashes and a big smile. I never thought I would want to teach another little one after Cruz. He set the bar pretty high but then came this tiny petite little girl, who says Sowwy to everything, even if something is not her fault. The Moe and I have no idea where this Sowwy comes from, said in a sweet tiny voice but we love that it did.
She just like the MOE, takes an exceptional interest in shoes, bling, and Cha Cha skirts. She also took an exceptional interest in water, the dogs water in particular, bathing in it or drinking it and mud. She loved mud. A true tomboy with a feminine outfit and demeanour. Having brothers she can give as good as she gets and we tease her to get her fierce and then she lets fly. Verbally mainly.
We changed WTF, ( one of them taught her) to what the heck. And at two she knows the difference between right and wrong and adapts quickly to certain audiences. We try not to spoil her. It would be so easy to do but make her a pain for everyone else.
Already her 3rd birthday looms, and then just two more years at home before School. Who do I have then ? Alexander ? Perhaps? If his parents haven't moved out of the Main House of Chez Crazy by then. And won't his Mother be hovering ? An only child thus far. Will I be teaching again, my great grandson by then ?
Will I once again be walking slowly down the street, Wellingtons on my feet in the Winter, track pants and hoody on my body? Or in Summer cut offs and thongs slowly clack clacking down the footpaths of life. Holding in my hand tiny bones that are safe in my hands, me helping them and they helping me, back to meaning, back to hope, tiny bones forged by Scottish, British and Australian ancestors. Tiny bones with giant potential.
The three smallest bones in the Human body are found in the ear where they vibrate in response to sound.
But for me the tiniest bones are in the hand of my youngest protege, my new pupil, my adoring acolyte.
But for me the tiniest bones are in the hand of my youngest protege, my new pupil, my adoring acolyte.
I feel the tiny bones in her hand snuggled into my so much larger ones. Sometimes just a finger but I told her she must always hold on to me when we go for our walks.
And through the eyes of my youngest grand daughter I see the World once again, changed, transformed, lit up, better.
Her name is Shilo, the youngest in her large family of eight. Seven, older brothers. She the only girl and suitably protected by her adoring audience. She's two. Just two. Such a precious gift. I brought up her brother, Cruz, who is now five and disappeared to school. I miss him.
But now Shilo is at teaching age and has to learn all the things Nanny has to teach and Nanny has to learn. We easily know numbers, well Senen is a favourite and comes after four. I never knew that. But Shilo insists that's the way it goes and I don't correct her.
Rainbows are wonderful, bugs are to be screamed at, the moon to be admired in all its plump fatuousness when full and still a moon when it's just a crescent or partly hidden behind clouds.
Everyone is to be waved at, said Hi to, every dog greeted. Dog poo is to be called ooh yuk and expected to be picked up by Nanny. She fetches the grey plastic supermarket bags from the cupboard and cries if I am reluctant to take them. Again.
We, the family, have two expensive Maltese Shitzu dogs, Charlie and Benson. Charlie looks like the village idiot dog but Benson really is one. Charlie has already been a stud dog and came back after a week with the lady with the female dog with distinct cocky attitude. Benson gave him a hard time for a few days. Shitzus are Comical.
Shilo is comical. Sometimes when she is extremely happy she sways side to side, doing a good impression of Scupper The Sailordog doing a horn pipe. She sings songs of unknown lyrics, a singing in tongues of sheer joy just to be with Nanny.
She has a big two year old attachment to Nanny that I try to take with a grain of salt but am secretly pleased about. I didn't want her to get too attached at first but after her tired out, worn out Mother ( according to my daughter, that is ---The Mother of eight) M.O.E. Seemed to encourage over bonding between Shilo and I, I just gave in to the inevitable. She is a rare and happy little creature, just like Cruz before her.
When I did once leave Chez Crazy for Queensland one Winter, The Moe said that Cruz would sit on my front door step every day, howling, along with the Husky, Kayko.
After I arrived back he would not leave my side.
I figure it's because I have the knowledge they vie for, and the affection they crave. They love games, simple at first like peekaboo and clap a handy for a penny, one, two, three. Then books with relatable objects they know. Apple, bear, repeated repetitively until they have had enough.
Then it's morning tea time, always popular, served outside in good weather. Cruz and I had our set routine for months with table, chairs, napkins, drinks, straws. And he would notice if one thing was not on the table. We had picnics as well. A great little boy.
So good we wanted to keep him home another year, but he had to go in the end, wanted to go like his brothers.
If you ask him how school is, he has but one answer.
" Fun" he says.
It helps he is appealing looking as well as appealing in nature. Big brown eyes with black, black lashes and a big smile. I never thought I would want to teach another little one after Cruz. He set the bar pretty high but then came this tiny petite little girl, who says Sowwy to everything, even if something is not her fault. The Moe and I have no idea where this Sowwy comes from, said in a sweet tiny voice but we love that it did.
She just like the MOE, takes an exceptional interest in shoes, bling, and Cha Cha skirts. She also took an exceptional interest in water, the dogs water in particular, bathing in it or drinking it and mud. She loved mud. A true tomboy with a feminine outfit and demeanour. Having brothers she can give as good as she gets and we tease her to get her fierce and then she lets fly. Verbally mainly.
We changed WTF, ( one of them taught her) to what the heck. And at two she knows the difference between right and wrong and adapts quickly to certain audiences. We try not to spoil her. It would be so easy to do but make her a pain for everyone else.
Already her 3rd birthday looms, and then just two more years at home before School. Who do I have then ? Alexander ? Perhaps? If his parents haven't moved out of the Main House of Chez Crazy by then. And won't his Mother be hovering ? An only child thus far. Will I be teaching again, my great grandson by then ?
Will I once again be walking slowly down the street, Wellingtons on my feet in the Winter, track pants and hoody on my body? Or in Summer cut offs and thongs slowly clack clacking down the footpaths of life. Holding in my hand tiny bones that are safe in my hands, me helping them and they helping me, back to meaning, back to hope, tiny bones forged by Scottish, British and Australian ancestors. Tiny bones with giant potential.
