The juxtaposition of my crisis, to their crisis.

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This morning Evelyn brought me a head band. I put it on her, and she waited, patiently, while I told her how pretty she was. We repeated this three times, before she crawled off happily, head band holding back her curls.

This morning, I helped Amy dress for school, packed her lunch, brushed her hair. I kissed her goodbye and sent her off to learn things without a second thought. Tonight she’ll catch the school bus, and we’ll walk home along the road, with no fear for our safety.

This morning, I made Isaac breakfast, clucked over his black eyes from a bike accident, patted his head and helped him build a house in Minecraft.

There are no bombs here, no insurgents, and the only fighting is about who sits at which place at the table. Or who gets dinner first. Or who wants that toy.

My children are happy, healthy and safe. Our fridge is full of food, and we aren’t scared for our lives.

My crisis this morning was spilling the milk. My crisis last week was running out of tea. Of needing to pay the power bill. Of a child falling off his bike.

It’s not the same everywhere.

In Syria, children are displaced. Families are torn apart by violence.

From UNICEF:

The conflict, now in its third year, has seen Syria’s economy collapse. Stores are closed and food is scarce. Access to healthcare is incredibly limited: more than a third of all hospitals have closed.

Children are innocent victims of war. An entire generation of Syrian children is at risk, growing up traumatised. They need shelter, clean water, medicine, food and education.MORE THAN NUMBERS -THE SHOCKING STATISTICS2 million: the number of Syrians who have fled their country and sought refuge in neighbouring countries (Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq, Egypt and Turkey) and North Africa.
4 million: the number of children that need humanitarian assistance.MORE THAN A WISH LIST – A SURVIVAL LIST
UNICEF needs your help to provide:
Food.
Clean toilets.
Medicine.
Schooling.
Safe places and shelter.
Trauma counselling

I’ve been watching the news, holding my babies close, thanking my lucky stars that I was born in Australia. Because that’s all that separates my situation from the situation of a Syrian family. Luck. I was lucky to be born here. A fluke of conception, a fluke of luck, and I am sitting here in a warm house, with an internet connection and privilege, watching families across the world suffer on the TV.

Boat arrivals are increasing in Australia, propelled by global violence, and our government pretends that it isn’t happening. A cone of silence surrounding the reasons that families put themselves onto a boat and flee here, to our Lucky country; and we pretend that we don’t know why.

I’d flee too.

The crisis in Syria isn’t set to end any time soon, as much as we’d all like it to. The Syrian children – who are exactly like our children, except for circumstance of birth, are growing up in a war torn country, where violence is normal, and death is common.

I can’t fix the violence, from my living room. I can’t change the world, and signing a petition, as much as it makes me feel good inside, does very little to help Syrian families on the ground.

Unicef are on the ground in Syria, helping families, providing aid. You can donate to Unicef charity to help a family in need. As little as $50 can help buy clothes, blankets and other family essentials for a family forced to flee.

Image: Sana/Handout/European Pressphoto Agency via NYTimes.