People suck (I have a spell for that)

On my birthday, the kids and I rode down to the playground, where there’s a café. First time since restrictions lifted. Though we were allowed to exercise outside, the riding trails near my house were all packed. The parks were hoppin’. I didn’t feel safe to take the kids there. So, carrying their bikes downstairs from our unit was a little harder than usual. As they put on their helmets, I took the cover off my bike, which lives on a pole outside my front door.

“What’s that stink?” Bast cried.

Dog pee. People frequently let their dogs urinate on my bike, and the cover is sticky with it.

Sometimes people suck.

The cover is also torn up, they only last a few months out in the weather. Whatever, I tuck it behind my front door, take off the lock that’s worth more than the bike it secures, and off we go.

Monday morning rolled around. Children are not only allowed back at school; they are legally required to be there. The parents didn’t get a say. We tramped down the stairs. I couldn’t bear to put the torn up, sticky, stinky, bike cover back on when we’d returned last, so I spotted it straight away: my bike’s handgrips had been stolen.

Sometimes people suck.

Tuesday I broke the news to Artemis that she had to go to school again. She whined the whole time she got ready. “Why do you hate school?” I asked.

“Because I can’t hug you and I miss you and sometimes my friends are rude or mean to me.”

“When they are mean do you tell the teacher?”

“No.”

“Do you ask them to stop? They probably don’t want to upset you, but if you don’t tell them how you feel they won’t know.”

“No. I go play with other friends and hope they won’t be mean to me. Mostly I play alone.”

Sometimes people suck. Even tiny people.

The sky is grey, so I am grey. My child’s away. Loving learning, hating being lonely. My mini me. I can’t let her grow up how I did. I will not let her suffer for thirteen straight years. But I feel powerless in this situation. That sucks too. I’ve asked her teacher for an interview; we’ll see what can be done.

In the meantime, here’s a simple spell I use to restore my faith in humanity. It’s easy and can be done with children.

You’ll need:

• A lavender smoke cleansing bundle. If you don’t have one on hand or don’t want your kid playing with fire, you could get away with putting a few drops of lavender oil on a pinwheel and having your child blow it on it.
• An offering dish
• A symbolic offering. If you’re donating to charity, your offering might be a coin. You might offer a piece of fruit or a biscuit you baked. If your child is using their art to brighten the world, they might offer a painted stone or a length of pretty ribbon.

Blow on the pinwheel or wave the smoke around and say (adults):

“Sometimes people suck but I cleanse their ill away, their suck can not stick to me, I am free to flourish unchained”

(Kids):

“Sometimes people suck, but I blow their bad away. Their yuck can not stick to me, I am free to grow and play.”

Put your offering in the offering bowl.

“This represents to joy I can bestow, out into the world I send my glow.”

Then state (to the universe or gods or ancestors or fairies) what tangible thing you will do right now to tip the balance towards positive. An adult might make an online donation to a charity or cook a meal for a neighbour in need. A child might paint a picture for their favourite teacher, bake cookies for their classmates, or hang a fruit garland for flying foxes.

Miriam Cumming lives in Sydney, Australia with her three daughters, two cats, and one husband. When she’s not trying to make their lives a little more magickal she writes fantasy or plans her next tattoo.