Tuesday, 20 May 2008

Lending a hand

Not behind the child but between them.

Mog's hand, a tightly clenched fist, getting tighter the straighter her arm is pulled, nails digging into her palm unless her brace is worn most of the time. A hot little hand; it can't grasp toys or pens but can knock toys over and press buttons if they are in easy reach.

Little Fish's hand, baby pudgily soft and squidgy. Too soft; the thumb joint pops and dislocates and she too needs hand braces. A hand with the power to grasp a wheelchair tire and push down, whizzing herself around, and yet is just beginning to be delicate enough to pick and remove stringy bits from bananas and seeded bits from bread.

My hand, holding the girls' hands. Stopping Little Fish from tugging too hard on Mog's hand and causing her pain. Gently pulling on Mog's arm to stretch the elbow joint, gently manipulating Little Fish's hand to put the thumb back in its socket. A gentle hand, used for soothing troubled brows and brushing hair, patting backs and rubbing necks, giving meds and dressing children. And a tough hand; unscrewing bottle caps and chopping butternut squash and preventing small child from escaping through the front door, pushing herself into traffic, or generally destroying the house.

Busy hands, all. Even Mog's, which appears so stiff and useless - it has its uses. Flinging her arms wide, it can be used to knock radios off stools or bottles off tables. She has perfected the fisted wave; a very subtle movement of the forearm which in other children would be a frantic elbow dislocating frenzy, a gentle Mog Goodbye.

Too busy, Little Fish's; books are ripped and walls graffitti'd (no, she didn't do this painting, that's from our church carpark; her works are generally limited to biro squiggles. So far...), telephones dialed and cupboards emptied. Even now, asleep, her hands are busy - one gently rubbing her other forearm and seeking out dry patches on the sleeve of her pyjamas, the other partly being sucked through that same sleeve, and partly patting the nosepiece from her Nippy.

Six hands here and yet we need more. I hope our missing carers will turn up tomorrow.


Alesha said...

Oh, I know! Don't you feel like you never get it ALL done? Sigh...and I have Doug to help, so I shouldn't even NEED an excuse!

I truly hope your helpers are able to be there when they should be. It's so difficult when you have to depend on others.

It's something that I am considering, although I don't know if Doug is considering it yet or not. If I were to get a part-time, work-from-home job, we would HAVE to have a little help.

I'm nervous about letting someone else help, though. I'm glad your helpers are helpful - when they are there. Which hopefully they WILL be in a few hours!:-)


Doorless said...

Beautiful hands filled with love. Beautiful tribute and so loving. The girls could not be in better hands and all three pictured hands were brought together by the larger loving hand of God.
Praying your help returns tomorrow.
I love the car park graffiti.

Tina said...

You forgot to mention how that third hand works so hard on the keys of your computer, no only typing the blog tha keeps us up o date with your life and keeps us informed of your prayer needs. But also he words of wisdom comfort and humour that support us so often. I thank God for the love that flows from those hands.

Sending all our love to you!


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