Our caregiver scene has been complex ever since I tried to expand the team to three people. For one reason or another, we can’t seem to find, or keep, anyone as reliable or competent as the initial pair. But at least that pair has stuck around, meaning that most of the time Jip enjoys consistency, something she cares about more than almost anything.
These two cousins have evolved a gentle way of deflecting Jip’s angry moments. They have a large reserve of patience, which lately is the most important job requirement. Sadly, they announced recently that it’s time for them to move on. They say they miss their extended family and want to return to the village.
For the moment Jip is saying good riddance, grumbling about “those two from the north … mutter mutter mutter … sick of them … mutter mutter … always talking in their language ….” To me this talk sounds like that strategy many of us humans employ when faced with losing what we really care about. We convince ourselves that it was never all that important anyway.
Yet these are people who have spent many more hours than I have with Jip during the time we’ve lived in Thailand. They can read her mind. When they’re around, there are no surprises (ideal for us, but maybe a little tiresome for them). I suspect that the minute they leave, Jip will change her tune and start to sing their praises. I miss them already.
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