Oh Mama! Did I tell you about my refugee?

For those of you who missed the facebook post, it went like this:

I don't normally drive the girls to school. This is possibly the reason why. I  had  been attempting to get information out of the Pixie about her school disco.

Me *sigh*: Oh Pixie.
Pixie: You always say "sigh, oh Pixie"! Why is it never, "sigh, oh Buglet", or "sigh, oh Tink", it is always "sigh, oh Pixie"
*continues on like this for a while.
Buglet: Sush Pixie.
Pixie: Mama! That's what she says... to me on the bus too! Even when I am not being naughty, but I am just talking and telling her about stuff and or just talking.
Me: Talking or waffling?
Pixie: Just waffling. I don't really make much sense.
Me *sigh*: Oh, Pixie.
Pixie: Mama! You said it again *pauses mid-rant* Oooh! I didn't tell you about my refugee!
Me: You have a refugee?!

 

First things first. I did manage to eventually find out about the disco. The Pixie went and it may be her last primary school disco (sad mama moment) and a wonderful time, ate too much fairy floss, and wore something entirely unsuitable for cold rainy weather. I have a horrible feeling I may be saying similar things about her well into her twenties. In my defence, I  told her to pack suitable clothes and the friend's mum who had her after school and dropped her at the disco tried to make her borrow a jacket. [In case you were wondering what the rest of us were doing, I took the big two to the movies to see an un-Pixie suitable movie and it was great! The movie, not the no Pixie bit].

Parenting tip of the day: Sometimes you just need to let them make their own mistakes (tell yourself this if for no other reason than to stop a tiny part of mother guilt).

  

Ok, second point. I would like say that upon further investigation, Pixie does not have her own personal refugee nor is she in the process of acquiring one. Their school had someone from the Red Cross come in and tell them about refugees and the horrors of war.

 

"My refugee" actually meant a refugee who came in to tell the school about his experience. Pixie recounted the reasons why he left and the dangers he faced and about his time in a detention centre in Australia. She told me in no uncertain terms that "there is no such thing as illegal immigrants"(in terms of refugees) when I was very clumsily trying to find out if he was a "boat person" (very proud mama moment).

 

Pixie told me about the game they played. They had to list just six things to take, and just five people they could take with them on eleven separate pieces of card. Then bit by bit stuff got lost or damaged or had to be left behind.

 

"Mama, I took you and Daddy and Buglet and Tink and FlipFlop and Misty [the rabbit], but then I got to a border and I only had four passports so I had to leave FlipFlop and Misty behind. It was only a game but I was so sad".

 

Today I am thankful for my daughters' compassion, I am thankful for the refugee who took his time to share his story, I am thankful for the Red Cross and other humanitarian organisations, and I am very thankful that my girls attend(ed) a school that goes the extra step to teach my children about things that will make the world a better place.