A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

That was our day last Friday. We had experienced a week of reverting back to the first nine months of Jacob's life, waking up every few hours--coughing, nightmares, dog throwing up, you name it, it woke us up.

Because we were having a hard week with no sleep and, therefore, grumpy mommy, I planned a "Happy Birthday" party for Jesus and invited some of the girl's closest friends. It was to be on Friday morning. We were leaving town the next day and were worried about our dog health not improving all week. So I woke up with the dread of our indecision, "do we put him to sleep?" Eliza woke up at 5:30, BTW, that morning out of excitement for her party. So all the friends started coming over and they were playing, Marshall was on the phone with his mom and the vet talking about Joe. The party was about to start, I was going to read the Christmas story. Marshall pulled me into our bedroom and told me that he felt we should put Joe to sleep. The reality hit and I started to sob. I asked a friend to read the story while I cried and said goodbye to Joe. We pulled the girls out of the story circle so that they could say goodbye. They were fine with it, then.

After everyone left, Eliza started bawling about Joe. We had to talk about death and the fact that he wasn't ever coming back. While this was happening Marshall was taking some Christmas presents we had gotten for a single mother of three kids. The mother was supposed to meet him at her beat up apartment in the projects. She wasn't there, but there was a house full of people and the children upstairs, some yelling. He couldn't get ahold of the mom on the phone. So that was depressing. Not that we wanted gratitude or acknowledgment even. We just wanted a chance to reach her and build some trust, but it felt so hopeless, like she was embarrassed and saw it as a "handout."

Meanwhile, Eliza was still upset, a knock at the door. It was one of our homeless friends just wanting someone to love on her. She had been clean and living with her family for several months and then a series of events led her to be thrown out and rejected by her family, yet once again. So now she on the streets again, doing only what she knows to survive. The sadness overwhelmed me.

If you've read the book about Alexander's terrible, horrible, etc. day you would know that after each terrible thing he mentions, like gum in his hair, he ends with, "I think I'll move to Australia." Well, I was thinking about it last Friday. But at the end of the book he shares some of his mom's wisdom which is that bad days happen, even in Australia. So, obviously, I cannot get away from these sad moments, many of them live around me. Therefore, if I can't escape them or ignore them, what DO I do with them?

I'm Dreaming of a Red Christmas...

You know the song, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...." Well, in Africa we used to sing about a "red" Christmas and sometimes black. I know you're dying to know why. Well, around Christmas time it's the dry season in West Africa. So that means Harmattan winds from the desert in the north blow through where I lived. Our dirt is latterite red dirt and rocks, hence the meaning to the song, "I'm dreaming of a red Christmas..." Some days we would sing "black" because the Africans would also burn their fields during the dry season to prepare them for the planting. So along with the dusty red winds we would be blasted with black snowfall.

Now, we had an artificial tree that we would decorate, just like we would here. We would turn the lights on for a few hours at night. The tree actually spooked the Africans a little bit. They thought it was our fetish (something inhabited with spirits that we would offer sacrifices to). After Christmas was over we would take the decorations and lights off, then take the tree outside and hose it off. Red water would run off it.

The Africans celebrate Christmas very differently. For one, it's not about shopping for gifts, they don't have malls. They don't believe in Santa, obviously. It's not even a national holiday because only the Christians celebrate Christmas. The churches make a huge deal about it. They design and order a certain material that they get their outfits made out of, so they all match. It's quite cute. They get together on Christmas Eve, do plays about the Christmas story, sing and dance till day break. Then on Christmas day they have another service while some of the women prepare a huge dinner and they all eat together. (One year we were observers of the dinner being chased down and then we heard it being "prepared"--not pleasant!)

In the city some of the store merchants and restaurants try to create the holiday cheer for the tourists by putting up tacky garland and lights or painting Santas or snowmen on their store windows. That's always funny when it's 95-100 degrees outside. The really funny thing is that they leave the decorations up until about March.

So, that's Christmas in Africa for you....

You Know You're a Mother When...

--you can't remember the last time you took a shower...or changed your underwear.

--you can't even finish a sentence because you're either so used to being interrupted or you've forgotten a simple word.

--you become a maid, waitress, nurse, teacher,friend and a superhero.

--you can carry on a deep conversation with a friend while five or six kids are running around you.

--a vacation is more work than restful.

--a trip to the grocery store that should only take an hour takes you 3 hours!

--your dreams include Dora or the mean stepmother in Cinderella.

--8:00 pm feels too late to be out.

--you wipe snotty noses with your sleeve.

--you wipe up spilled milk or juice with your elbow or knee, then you continue to wear those clothes for the rest of the day! (Emily!!)

--you wear the shirt that was the spitting target for the baby that didn't want peas.

--you say things like, "stop licking the counter" (at Chick Fil-a!) or "don't eat that" (someone's leftover french fry on the floor at Mickey D's).

--you speak to everyone slowly and with pitch and emphasis, then realizing they aren't children...you get embarassed.

--you're so used to multi-tasking, you throw a dirty diaper in the fridge and place a half-finished sippy cup in the trash can.

--you never eat sitting down.

--you feel like you are a broken record, "use your words instead of screaming" "stop provoking your sister" "leave each other alone" "I don't know what that means" "blah...blah..blah."

--poop in the bathtub doesn't phase you.

--you want to bang your head against the wall sometimes or kick a toy or throw the phone. (throwing the phone against the pillows on your bed is most effective because then nothing hurts or gets broken, but tension is still released).

--you find yourself apologizing to your children at least once or twice a day, sometimes more.

--you find yourself more moody than ever in your life.

--the phrase from a hymn, "...every hour, I need Thee..." becomes a harsh, but sweet reality.

--you cannot imagine life without your children because they bring you so much joy.

Why? Do We Get Flu Shots???

This week I had to take all three kids to get their second round of flu shots. Two days later Psalter is sick with a fever. I honestly don't remember the last time Psalter got sick, she never catches anything, so I'm convinced it's because of the shot. Getting them was an ordeal in itself...

I was telling the girls our agenda for the day. One of the errands involved the Dr.'s office. My too smart 4-year-old asked, "are we going to get shots?" How did she know? I couldn't lie, so I told her that we were. Well, bad mistake, I should have diverted her attention because then they both started wailing. We had about an hour before we could leave, so I endured my punishment for that next hour and the trip to the Dr.'s office. I almost decided not to go. I called the office to ask for the side affects of the shot. The lady that answered was grumpy with me and even said, "Well, they just got one, right, so they're the same." Arghh, I was glad she couldn't see me sticking out my tongue at the phone.

We got to the office and the usual friendly receptionists, who love it when we come in were busy and the only one open was the one I must have talked to on the phone earlier. No smile, no "may I help you?," just an expectant look. She asked for my birthday, I told her. tAP..TAP...TAP... She asked who I was here to see and I said I wasn't here to see anyone, my kids needed shots. She got grumpy with me because apparently I was supposed to give her my children's birthdays and not mine.
Arghh, again! Meanwhile my children were getting antsy because they realized that it was really happening. We finally got to the waiting room and waited...and waited...read some books...went to the bathroom...smiled at other patients...

We finally got taken back to a small room with just a shot chair in it. My girls started screaming, then they each got their shot, with me holding them-tight. And just like that it was over. Thank God!!! I had to get out of that room, it was closing in on me. Fortunately we had no more run-ins with "grumpy pants" and we actually saw some of the ladies that are always glad to see us. Some sweat nurses gave the girls a coupon for free ice cream. And what did I get out of it?? Besides the old gentlemen (God bless him) who told me in the waiting room that I was a remarkable woman (as I dragged my two screaming girls behind me to the shot room), I've got a sick child. Go figure...I THOUGHT we got them the shots to keep them from getting sick.

My Secret Obsession...

The other day I walked into the girls room and all of Eliza's clothes were on the floor, out of her dresser drawer in neat piles. Exasperated I asked WHAT she was doing. Her response, "Mommy, my drawer was so messy, I couldn't find anything, so I'm organizing it!" Ahhhhhh....like mother like daughter.

So it's not so secret, but if you walked into my house you wouldn't notice my obsession, because my house is definately lived in. You would step on a few sippy cups, crunch a few cheerios or trip over our big plastic horse, need I say more? When the seed was sown, I was able to keep my obsession a secret, here's how:

In the elementary dorms at my boarding school we had a certain routine on Saturday mornings we had to follow before we were free to go outside and play. We had to fold all of our clothes, clean out and organize our cubbies, line up our shoes, dust our dressers, change our sheets, sweep our bedroom and do a chore for dorm upkeep. We had to have all of this finished, with our roomate and had to get "checked out" by a dorm parent. So, I loved this... I had to do it, but I would stay up late, hoping I wouldn't get caught out of my bed, and I would fold my clothes or organize my cubbie. I could disguise my obsession by the mere fact that all of us were in a race to get checked out first. To the despair of the middle schoolers in our dorm, we would wake up at the butt crack of dawn and start cleaning. They hated us for this and sometimes made us lock ourselves in the bathroom stalls if we were being too noisy. (wow, that sounds disturbing as I write this...).

So, my secret is out. If I had the time and energy (or a closet the size of Oprah Winfrey's dressing room closet...) and knew that it wouldn't be rearranged five minutes later, I would do this to every drawer and closet in our house. Sometimes the mess and clutter drives me crazy, but most of the time I'm too busy and too blessed by those who make the mess to care.

**my dream job: to work with TLC's "Clean Sweep" crew!

Oh, How I Love Glenwood!

Recently my eyes and heart have be opened anew to my neighborhood with both its needs and its beauty. There are some things that I've noticed recently that have made me smile:

--watching a family play a game on a big mattress on their front porch. The mattress is still there, BTW.

--through my kitchen window, pausing to watch a young man across the street, in a big bulky coat, start to lift a pole with a cinder block on each end. He did a few curls, some squats, put down the contraption and punched the air like he was kick-boxing. Then as quick as he started he walked down the street, blending in with all the other young men walking the street.

--driving home today I saw a man sitting in his "breakfast nook", sipping a drink and reading the paper. Only, his breakfast nook is completely outside, in his front yard.

--seeing our neighbor, Ben pulling his cart around collecting things to recycle. He just makes me smile, especially when he opens his mouth and speaks in his high pitch squeaky voice and nothing makes sense or he reminds me to tell Marshall to push the cans to the road for trash pickup.

--seeing people hang out on their porches, neighbors stopping by to chat. We've lost some of that precious connecting in the middle class world!

--feeling the bass rattle and shake our windows as the cars pull up to our stop signs.

--our friend Ron makes our cars look so shiny using only one bucket of water!

--pausing at our fence to talk or pray with Susan, Ivy, Kim, Bo and some others. Knowing when they've walked away that they've sensed the moving of the Spirit.

There are plenty of things that happen here that both frighten and frustrate me, but why focus on those? I love my neighborhood, it's my home.

Favorite Foods from My Boarding School's Dining Hall

I want to take a moment to thank Miss Marlene and her staff for all their hard, hard work in making our food three times a day. I know we were not an easy crowd to please and I'm sorry for my whining and complaining!! Now I know why you were grumpy all the time. You were teeny-tiny, so probably didn't feel authoritative enough to tell us to "bug off" when we were being immature, ungrateful little bugers. Little Miss Marlene, this is a tribute to you and all your service, despite the grumpy pants:

Pizza Loaf--my absolute favorite. Homemade bread wrapped around spaghetti sauce, meat and cheese. No one has been able to master this like our dining hall!

Meat and Cheese rolls, with hot tomato sauce--I know, sounds interesting, but they look like cinnamon rolls with meat or cheese in them and then smothered in tomato soup...hmmm

Croutons--I have never ever ever had better croutons than these homemade from French baguettes croutons, so crunchy, with just the right amount of seasonings-perfect! I would eat a whole bowl of them some nights when I was on the salad bar diet.

French dressing--this homemade dressing has ruined me for life. It was the perfect combo of thickness and flavor. I used it, along with peanut butter, to cover food I did not particularly like and was forced to eat. I have never met it's match.

Baked oatmeal--I don't know quite how you did it, but it tasted good to me. I would eat my friends' because she didn't like it and we weren't allowed to scrape any food, so...

Granola--are you sensing a theme? I love carbs and french dressing... this homemade granola was awesome. I would go back for seconds. Again, I have not found anything quite like it here.

There may be more, but most of what I'm remembering after these mentioned items, I still cringe over, so I think that I will stop for now. Thank you Miss Marlene and the wonderful staff, especially the guys that spoke Bwamu with me. I remember coming in the afternoons and helping you roll out the bread dough, put ingredients into the big mixer, helping you wash dishes and put stuff away in the walk in freezer. I had some fun afternoons helping out, before I became too cool.

Schawarmas?

My heart swelled with excitement as I saw this word on the sign for Jack's Corner, along with "hommus," "chicken gyro," and "farafel." But I hadn't seen or thought about the word "schawarma" in a looong time. Back in Africa, at my boarding school (called ICA) our dorms would go on dorm outings once a trimester. We would load onto the school bus and ride into town to a nicer pool than we would usually go to on Saturdays.

We would bake in the sun for 3-4 hours while we slathered baby oil on our bodies and lemon juice or peroxide (not recommended) on our hair. Sometimes we would order a coke by the pool and the waiter would bring it with a wedge of lemon and a serving of peanuts. Some of you are saying, "That's the life!" Well, it gets better. At noon we would pile into the bus and drive to a restaurant or sometimes we would just walk out to the street and buy street-food. Some of these items included questionable cuts of meat fried and on sticks, fried plantains, fried sweet potatoes, roasted corn on the cob, bags of sugared peanuts or donuts. But one of our favorite places was the "Schawarma Shop." This was the name we gave it. You would walk up to a huge rotisserie of some kind of meat and they would cut off of it with a huge machete, place it in the wrap with sauteed onions and such. Yum! Yum! Yum! and with a cold bottle of Pepsi (Coke tasted better in Burkina Faso, but Pepsi tasted better in Cote d'Ivoire--don't ask me why...the only explanation for us was that the Coke factory in Burkina also made beer and they may not have thoroughly cleaned the vats?...hmmm...makes me wonder how thoroughly they cleaned the empty bottles we had to return to get more Coke...I'm still alive, I guess that's what counts!)

After lunch we would go back to the pool to bake ourselves some more. We would take naps by the pool, play Marco Polo and Keep Away, make up water ballet routines, have diving board competitions and sometimes we would even skate on the open cement floors near the hotel. And yes, I mean the big bad metal-wheeled-fit-over-your-shoe skates. Because we were so cool!!

So these are the memories that one word brought to my mind. May you never read this word the same way again. May you always think of me in Africa, in the hot, hot sun eating a schawarma and lovin' life!