Au pair for ein dag

Eller for eit år. Men dette var for at dåke andre som ikkje er au pairar skal få litt kjensla av korleis det er å vere au pair i Ballyhagen.

08.00: eg vaknar frå ein draum eg gjerne kunne vore litt lenger i. Eg drøymte at eg var på eit Authentic Girl seminar , eg vakna med den tanken i hovudet at eg skulle dit og ville dit og kom til å reisa dit.
Når eg tenker tilbake på drømmen, hugsar eg at dei i tillegg hadde funne den perfekte tre-timars syklusen for mattider for babyar, slik at dei aldri skreik og alltid sovna når dei skulle (les: når eg vil). Kanskje det var dette som gjorde draumen så attraktiv.
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08.30: dette er tidspunktet då eg byrjer på jobb, så eg fant ut at det var på tide å stå opp frå senga og finna nokre kle å ta på seg (dette går an når jobben er ei trapp unna).
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Då eg kom ned på kjøkkenet, fant eg ut at stemmen min var vekke, så til tross for fleire venlege "good morning" og "morning" så fekk ikkje vertsfamilien min noko svar (eg er usikker på om dei ikkje merka det, eller bestemte seg for å ignorera meg sidan eg likevel var så uhøfleg). Eg gjekk rundt og leita etter Bianca (5) sin "lunchbag" og då eg fann han, laga eg matpakke til ho. Så laga eg tåteflasker (mjølkepulver+varmt vatn).
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Då eg hadde gjort det begynte eg på frukosten min. Klokka var nå ca 8.50.
Så skifta eg bleie på Dylan (7 mnd), gav han graut (igjen, pulver + vatn) og vaska av benkane og bordet. Sat oppvask inn i maskinen, sat inn matvarer i kjøleskapet. Prøvde å skifte bleie på Mckayla (nesten 3) (ho blånekta, begynte å grina og akkurat då kom mammy inn døra, så ho skifta bleia i staden). Eg var halveis i frukosten, så eg flytta den siste delen av frukosten min litt vekk frå den våte bleia på bordet.
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Så kom postmannen på døra, han såg vill og innfødt ut i grønne klede og langt kvitt skjegg. Han peikte på namnet mitt på eit brev og spurte om den personen budde her. Eg sa det var meg, og han sa at det var det han trudde. Brevet var frå misjonsalliansen. Kanskje eg skal støtte eit fadderbarn i Ecuador? Eller Kina? Eg trur kanskje det. Eg liker betre å støtte ein person enn eit prosjekt (i vertfall kjennest det meir ut som å støtte ein person når du får navn og bilete).
Eg kunne tenkt meg eit barn å tenke på, ha bilde av, be for og (viss eg er heldig) sende brev til.
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Så kom Nanny (bestemor) på besøk, og spurte "hawarye" (how are you, omtrent det same som hallo) og påpeikte som vanleg at vêret såg ut til å vere litt gråare og kaldare enn dagen før. Ho er veldig koselig, eg liker ho veldig godt. Eg satte på to klesvaskar. Eg satte Dylan i walkeren (ein slags gåstol for ungar som er så små at dei eigentleg ikkje kan sitte), så han sprang rundt i den. Han krasja i Mckayla (som begynte å grina) og køyrde to gongar over tærne mine. Eg tok ut av oppvaskmaskinen, og satte inn.
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Dylan fekk ei flaske og gjekk med på å bli lagt i senga si utan så alt for store problem. Mckayla gjekk på besøk til Nanny (som har ein leilighet i huset vårt). Eg strauk klede og følte meg lite kvalifisert for oppgåva. Eg brant meg fordi eg tok på strykejernet.
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Eg og Mckayla laga gelè og satte han i kjøleskapet for å venta på at han skulle bli "Wiggely"

Så var det elenvens/coffee break (me i Norge ville kaldt det lunsj). Eg strikka på tøflane mine og dei andre åt. Etterpå tørka eg av bord og benkar, sat mat inn i kjøleskapet, og oppvask inn i maskinen.
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Eg fekk ei melding på mobilen frå min einaste venn (hittil) i Irland, at ho reiser heim i morgon. Jaja, eg får finne meg ein ny venn i Irland og vere glad for at eg har ein ny i Norge!
Eg var ute på klessnora og henta klede og hang opp klede. Mckayla var travelt opptatt med å vaska hendene og ein tusj ho hadde. Eg strikka litt, puste tennene og kledde på Mckayla. Så var det lunsj (1.00-1.30) og Dylan vakna og eg skifta bleie og gav han meir "pulver+vatn". Mckayla og Mammy drog for å hente Bianca på skulen og eg rydda opp på kjøkkenet (igjen) og bada og kledde på Dylan. Så fant eg fram ei tåteflaske med eplejus, skifta bleie og gjekk opp og la Mckayla. Bianca fingerhekla, drakk varm sjokolademelk og gjorde lekser (fargelegga ein hund og skriva ti r-ar), me krangla om korleis ein skulle skrive r-ane. Eg strikka.
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Mckayla vakna og eg fylte opp badekaret med lunka vatn. Eg klipte negler og vaska hår og argumenterte for kven som skulle få gå først ut av badekaret. Det blei Mckayla. Så, når begge to etter, skrik og krangling og furting og somling og klaging var ferdige med å kle på seg oppdaga me at Dylan var våken. Han fekk ei flaske og ny bleie.
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Me gjekk ned på kjøkkenet og spiste gelè og vaniljesaus. Vaniljesausen her er tjukk og ikkje så søt som i Norge. Han kokte over i mikrobølgeovnen. Eg var den einaste som hadde vaniljesaus på gelèen. Hvis du aldri har prøvd å helle varm vaniljesaus over ikkje heilt stiv gelè, så veit du kanskje at gelèen blir til vatn igjen og at vaniljesausen stivnar i store flak. Det var deilig uansett.
Så kom Mammy heim frå jobb (10m unna) og dagen var over. Jippi!!!! =)
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Eg gjekk på rommet mitt og oppdaterte meg på bloggar, epost og snakka i telefonene på Skype. Så var det middag (07.00). Eg likar ikkje tunfisk, og i dag har eg vore kvalm generelt, så eg drakk heller ein del vann til middagen. Etter middag var eg ute i mørket og snakka med Gud. Sandy, den store raude irske setteren me har, knurra på meg, men då eg snakka til ho kom ho istaden bort til meg og prøvde å gni seg gjennom meg (det kjentes i alle fall slik).
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Eg fann lovsangar på youtube, åh, om du berre visste korleis det er å høyre norsk musikk =) ein deilig slutt på ein lang dag. Og enda er det berre mandag.

Nå er klokka 00.40. På tide å sova.
Guds fred alle saman,
åslaug

Strikking og tøflar

Eg trur eg har blitt bitt av ein blogg-bug. Eg har på følelsen at dette ikkje er dagens siste innlegg.
Denne gongen handlar det om strikking.
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Eg strikkar tøflar. Eg fant ut at eg skulle begynna å strikka og fant ei oppskrift på ein strikke-CDrom eg har. Eg fant ut at det var greit å begynna med noko lite, sidan å strikke ein heil genser og så finne ut at han ikkje passar (most likely), sannsynlegvis hadde ført til ein brå død for strikkegleden, og dermed også strikkekarrieren min.
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Eg var i Dublin sist lørdag og kjøpe garn. Dei hadde svært dårleg utvalg i garn som var 100% ull, superwash, til pinne nr. 4 og rimelig fine fargar. Nå skal det nevnast at eg presterte (kan det vere noko som ein prest gjer?) å kjøpe garn til pinnar nr. 5, men likevel. Alt garnet i butikken, utanom tre fire små kvadratiske hyller (15x15 cm), då har eg ikkje rekna med dei superdyre 50grams merinoullnøsta, var acryl eller acrylblandingar. Fargane på ullgarnet var så som så. Ikkje mykje eg ville valgt om det hadde vore noko anna. Men det var ikkje det.
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Eg kom ut av butikken med eit lyselilla nøste og eit med ein lys sjøgrønn farge (ja, det er vanskeleg å forestilla seg). Eg likar dei no, men så har eg tross alt hatt dei mellom fingrane/pinnane nærmare konstant i ei veke òg.
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Eg begynte på tøflane ein gong i forrige veke, i dag vart eg ferdig med den første. I dag (nærare bestemt 18.09 irsk tid) begynte eg på den andre. Eg skal bli ferdig før torsdag tenkte eg. Hælen og tåa og kanten er lys sjøgrønn, resten av tøffelen er lyselilla. Båndet rundt kanten er også lyselilla.
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Eg skulle ønske eg hadde kamera, så kunne dåke fått sett bilder, men eg har ikkje det. Eg skal få eit snart (les: om eit par, ganske mange, vekelønningar). Eg gler meg til det.
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Når eg er ferdig med denne tøffelen, må eg til f.eks Edenderry (I:den, her kjem trykket: derri) for å sjå om eg kan finne Irlands svar på ullvaskemiddelet Milo. Når eg finn det skal eg legge dei to tøflane i lunka Milovatn og vaska og skylla dei. Når dei er tørre og litt pressa, skal eg skriva under dei med "sånn utståande maling som gir same effekt som sånn kvitt under sklisokkar" slik at eg slepp å dette ned trappa her ein gong til. Eg datt berre 4-5 trinn, men eg har eit flott blåmerke på fua enno =)
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Eg gler meg til dei blir ferdige, så slepp eg å fryse på beina. Irland er eit kaldt og ugjestmildt land. Eigentleg ikkje ugjestmildt, tvert imot, men i alle fall kaldt.
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Når eg er ferdig med tøflane skal eg strikke eit par i motsette fargar og sende til Ingvild
(Ingvild, hvis du leste dette så fortreng det, slik at du blir skikkelig overraska når dei kjem i posten). Eg tippar ho blir kjempeoverraska. Og det er ein bra ting =)
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Når eg får kamera skal eg ta bilete av alt eg skriv om. Særleg tøflane.
På torsdag skal eg kanskje på min andre irske pub, eg var på min første i går.
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Me snakkes,
åslaug

Husarbeid vs. Barnepass

Eg har jobba litt innanhus i det siste og eg har funne ut ein ting
eg ikkje hadde trudd om meg sjølv.
Eg likar husarbeid.
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Blant dei tinga eg særlig likar med husarbeid er:
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*at oppvasken aldri nektar å bli vaska opp fordi det er "feil" farge på oppvaskkosten
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*bordet verken hyler eller vrir seg eller kliner til heile meg med spytt og matrestar når eg vaskar det
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*eg kan feie golvet utan at det spør kvifor,
eg kunne ha svart det "du er skitten"
utan at det hadde spurt kvifor igjen,
eg kunne ha svart det på nytt "fordi nokon har gått her inne med skitne sko"
utan at det igjen hadde spurt kvifor,
og eg kunne svart det igjen at "det skulle eg og gjerne visst"
utan at det hadde spurt kvifor igjen
(eg snakkar ikkje med golvet, dette var eit eksempel)
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*eg kan sette inn i oppvaskmaskina utan at ho protesterer på kva ting som blir satt inn
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*eg kan tørke støv utan at kluten nektar å ta opp støvet fordi det ikkje var den som la det der (det var ikkje eg heller...)
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*eg kan sette leikegrinda, sparkesykkelen og bordet der eg vil, utan at det byrjar å grine fordi det ikkje har lyst til å stå der.
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*eg kan løfte opp ting mens eg feier golvet så ofte som eg vil utan å skjemme dei bort så dei blir "spoiled" og grin med ein gong eg sett dei ned at.
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*feiebrettet trassar aldri når eg prøver å sette det på plass
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*oljefyren gjer som eg seier når eg ber han varme opp vatnet i løpet av ein halvtime
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*vaskemaskinen sluttar ikkje å vaske opp etter to minuttar fordi han heller vil gjere noko anna
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Ein ting eg likar med ungar:
*dei er svært søte med tannkremskum over heile haka,
eg veit eg ikkje er det =)

åslaug

Yes we need it; I love it!

I’ve thought a little lately about everything I’ve got. It’s a lot. I have everything I need (which is truly marvellous in it self) and MORE! Can you believe it? I have everything, and more.
It’s not really fair. Yet, I know that God have provided me with this aboundance of food, clothes, money, education and blessings and more, for a reason. Not so that I should keep it to myself (which of course would be my first choice). But so that I can pour it out for His kingdom. I have been provided much, to be able to give much.
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Why give it away to others when God have provided you with it, you might ask. And I agree with you, it’s also my view on the subject. The three year old girl I’m “au pairing” over here said it well:
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We were at Tesco’s, a large groceries store. She found on a shelf a toothpaste tube with a picture of Shrek on it. She grabbed it at once, saying:
–I want this!
Her older brother tried to be realistic.
–We don’t need it.
Which upon the three year old answered. –Yes, we do; I love it!
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She loved the toothpaste, as you and I love out posessions, our money, the things we can buy for them, our clothes, books and especially the fact that they’re ours. We love it, and it’s hard letting it go. But we didn’t get it for ourselves. We got our share and the poor people’s share. As Christian our lives don’t even belong to ourselves. Far less our time or things. They’re God’s. And even though I do believe that God wants us to be thankful and appreciate that we have so much, I don’t believe He wants us to keep it for ourselves.
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I visited Dublin today. A beautiful city with many wealthy people, but away from the large shopping streets, in the smaller, shabby streets excisted another reality than mine.
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I met a girl today. Her name is Mary. She’s sixteen years old. She has a baby girl, Chloe, with a kidney disease. Mary is standing all day on the street, in rain, sunshine and wind, begging money in a paper cup. Her mother left her after they moved to Dublin, since she's been living alone with her sisters.
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She, her thirteen year old sister and her older sister, who also have a baby, six weeks old, is forced to beg on the street. They are forced to beg money for nappies, baby food, bus tickets to visit the baby in the hospital, money to pay their host, money to go to their house. When I talked to her, she and her sister hadn’t been eating in two days, neither had she been able to visit her baby girl in these two days. I met her sister as well. They told me of a reality far different from mine as a sixteen year old...
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Mary had been begging since nine o’ clock in the morning when I met her, she had got a few cents, maybe an euro or two (ca: 16 nok) in all. She told me that they had to stay in a parking house overnight when they had no money for the bus. Her sister had been beaten up, the same had she. They had been awaken by men who told them they couldn’t stay there, and they’d been beaten up. They had bruises.
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I gave her some money and followed her and her sister to a groceries store, to buy some food and baby stuff. All the time my mind was in chaos, everything I’ve heard of hired beggars, foolish, compassionate people who wrench their pockets and support this business. How I’ve always heard that one should avoid eye contact with beggars. Well, I didn’t:
Mary have pretty green eyes with a little brown in them, her skin is pale with millions of light brown freckles. Both she and her sister have long dark hair, fastened on top of their head. They wore jeans and old track suit jackets.
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My mind made it quite clear that I was being foolish and that none of my friends would see this as other than stupidity. My heart, had other arguments and questions. My heart saw the desperation, the trembling of her lips, the crack in her voice as she explained her baby’s kidney disease to me once more, due to my poor English understanding. Her hands around the white paper cup, were so small. Her whole being so humbly, so polite, yet, desperate from her heart. While my brain was trying to find out whether she was a superb actress or actually telling the truth, my heart were struggling with different questions.
If Jesus was walking here, what would He have responded? Would He have turned her down, afraid that she was a liar?
Wasn’t I supposed to be His hands and feet?
What if she had been Jesus, would I have walked away from Him, telling Him to be a liar?
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And His words echoed in my heart:
“For I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’ “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’ “ Matthew 25:35-40
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I couldn’t refuse these girls. For what if it was true? What if what they told me of their life on the streets, with rape, beating, hunger and fear was true? What if she really was sixteen years old had a baby with a kidney disease, unable to provide her child nappies and food? What if she told the truth, and I turned her down? She had cried to the Lord. I am His hands and feet. When He would have lovingly responded to their cry, this is a task given to us, through Him.
As Jackie Pollunder says; It’s a task the angels would love to do, but He has given it to us. We are His body on earth. We are His answer to the cries of the hopeless.
How could I know I wasn’t the only one taking time to listen to their pleads and answer?
What if I didn’t respond?
Would anyone else?
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I might hear from people that do not follow Christ that I wasted my money today. And I wasted a lot of them. That’s okay. They don’t share my view on this. It wasn’t my money in the first place. It was God’s. Provided to me so that I might use them for Him.
Today He fed His daughters in the streets of Dublin. With His money.
Whatever I did was for Him, on His behalf. It wasn't done in my strength. Not even in my will.
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I was the first person who had stopped and talked to Mary at lunchtime. Maybe I was the only one today.
Why?
Because we’ve raised to believe that we deserve our money (what a stupid thought). Because we love them, we think we need them.
We don’t.
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Yes, I could have used “my money” differently today. But a nail shining kit, a new book on Christian Living, more clothes and twenty Fox-mints for my personal use wouldn’t have fed Mary and her sisters.
I did so little, I still had a hundred euros when I left them.
I love these euros. But their not really mine.
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I could have chosen to spend my time differently today. I could have experienced more of Dublin, bought more clothes, visited the library, had my lunch at a cozy little cafè. But I didn’t. Instead, I spent some hours with two precious girls. I went to the shop with them, I saw the thankfulness in their eyes, their pleading against my own hard heart. I prayed with them. I was scared. I hugged them, held their hands. I reached out to them, a thousand times out of my comfort zone, and I received Jesus.
I received Jesus.
And whatever I did to two of the least of His sisters, I did to Him.
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He provided me with more than I’ll ever need, so that I could pour out more, as I have been given more, to showcase His love. He loved these two girls today, I was merely the tool.
Yes, I definitely love my money and everything I own, but I do not need it.
I need Jesus. I will not let the thought of what I could by for a mere weeks wage keep me from serving Him. He is my light and my guidance.
I love Him; I need Him.
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åslaug

Another week, countless blessings

I won’t count them either, at least not for anything else than to praise God He gave them to me.
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So, I’m now in my third week as an au pair in a country far far away from home (or so it seems, even though home is here, God is my home, God is here, I am here; I am home).
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For two weeks and four days I have not heard my name (except in the phone) prounounced properly (it is one of the three things I miss the most),
I have not got a single real hug (most people who know me know what I mean, don’t you?), that’s the second thing.
I miss my sister, she’s the third thing (Ingvild, du er en ting =).
For two weeks and four days I have been wearing skirts/dresses all the time,
I’ve been speaking English every day,
I’ve been in Ireland.
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The things that struck me as most strange in this country/my is:
*They don’t understand what I’m saying (American English)
*I don’t understand what they’re saying (Irish English, quite rural accent at times)
*I don’t have any friends
*I don’t have any spare time activities (spear time is funnier, but it kind of ruins the meaning)
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My life have been changing so much lately that I am not sure who I am… Not that it bothers me much; I know whose I am. I am God’s. My life have been changing, but it is also changing, so I won’t waste anytime analyzing who I am today. Tomorrow, I might be wrong. I will be His, today, tomorrow, forever, as I was His, today, yesterday, last year, forever.
It is, all that matters.
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The important thing is that He have a plan, not that I have a plan. My plan is mostly, first ridiculous, then desperate and in the end, always failure. His plan is always perfect. Even if in the middle of it all it’s tempting to think of better ways. In the end, His plans are success.
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Today I have been making two apple cakes (one with a two year old, the other with a five year old).
I’ve been changing nappies (this feels kind of like a prayer routine in a monastry, by now). I’ve been bottle feeding a baby (big one! =) cradled in my arm.
I’ve watched him fall asleep,
I’ve adored his sweet face, and before he fell asleep looked deeply into his eyes, finding so much I had forgot excisted: joy, purity, peace, contentment, faith.
I’ve felt his soft hand hit my face when I lifted him up from bed (his hands just place themselves around on things and people and stuff, quite coincidentially), and in the evening, clap to my mouth (I suspect that one incident to be a way of stealing a blown kiss =).
I’ve been baby sitting. Me sitting on the floor with a cup of hot chocolate and apple cake, baby a yard away.
I’ve had a wonderfully warm, almost awaken, still very tired child in my arms.
I’ve met a new girl, an au pair, as me.
I’ve given out a whoop of delight realizing that the fellow in the Uncle Ben’s ad, boiling his rice in a geysir (all scandinavians do this), was speaking Norwegian. It is the second time I’ve seen that ad since I came here, and I could never have dreamed of before getting here how precious the words ”Perfekt ris, hver gang” (perfect rice, every time) would be to me.
I’ve sewn two, or more like, six buttons in a suit jacket. Sewing buttons (or repairing clothes in general) is quite a personal thing, emotionally loaded and a act of service, love (to the person) and worship (to God). I couldn’t have done it for any fellow, I’m quite sure, without risking to respond to the emotional load coming with it (this was my host dad’s jacket, so it was okay). It’s something about the old times, and the overwhelming amount of time and effort to make clothes. All the love laid in every stich and each folding. It’s precious.
I’ve seen a postman (he looked like he had come out from the mighty forest, walking for days to deliver our post. He had a grey beard and green clothes and is the wildest looking postman I’ve ever seen. I liked him.)
I’ve been outside, tasting the wonderful autumn air, feeling the wind caress my face, with a smile to Heaven, thanking.
I’m tired.
I’m having a bad conscience about not writing any letters home. I might e-mail a link to this post. It’s by far good enough. I’m sorry. The new me, seems to be a lazy me, or a constant sick/sneezing/light cold me, or even a very preoccupied me. All the me’s are sorry.
I love you and I miss you.
It’s tempting to give in to self-pity or homesickness. But I won’t. I’m here for a reason (which I don’t know, since I’m not the one who sent me). But I am here for a reason. I am here, my life is here. And it’s an immensely beautiful and blessed life.

Lord, I am so thankful. I am so thankful.

åslaug

More blessings

*clean clothes, coming in after a whole day on the clothesline, smelling sunshine and fresh air..
*a child finally asleep, without coughing or crying
*seeing the cold child's lips turn from purple to red, when she's wrapped in towels and your arms.
*a child learning to knit for the first time
*a little girl in a white apron, mixing the bread dough with her wooden mixing spoon.
*a laughing baby
*pasta, beef and fresh tomatosauce when you've been too busy to eat all day since breakfast
*a beautiful night sky
*hot apple stew and custard
*a wonderful hot shower in the evening
*snuggle up in bed after a long, exhausting day
*to know that you are loved beyond measure
*being wrapped in God's love
*to fall asleep listening to His soothing voice