Jumping Ship

I'm moving the blog. To view the new blog, the new link is
www.theswarts.wordpress.com.

Don't get left behind.

Right Now

Right now, I'm on a caffeine buzz and can't sleep. Granted, it's only 9:25 pm, but hey, we live in the boonies and pull an early bedtime, so I've already been laying in bed next to my sleeping husband for quite some time. I think the situation is exacerbated because it's also a guilt-infused buzz. You see, I sneaked the Pepsi off of which I am feeling the caffeine effects. We usually only have Pepsi on Fridays..pizza and 'coco-lala' (the three year old's interpretation) night. It's Thursday and I stashed one in the freezer and sipped it from a child's cup while giving Daisy her bath. Thankfully, Caleb doesn't read this or I'd be sunk.

Right now, Ezra's temperature is 97.7. Given that yesterday afternoon, it was 105.1, I am breathing easier and giving thanks. Somehow over the past four months, I've become something of an alarmist. A fever doesn't seem like a fever to me anymore. A fever seems to be hiding a catastrophe beneath the hot forehead and the creeping numbers on the thermometer. I feel like I lost my immunity when Daisy had her seizure. So, right now, I'm working on "Do not be anxious about anything..."

Right now, Elsa has passed the 'misbehaving' baton on to Ezra. Given that she had it firmly in hand for the past 2 months, it's about time she let someone else carry the torch for her. Ezra has taken up the slack with gusto and is quite the pill. Here's a typical conversation we have multiple times a day:
  Me: "Ezra, please pick up your cars."
  Ezra: "No, I won't do it."
  Me: "Oh. Do you want to rethink that response or would you  like some stool time to help you?"
  Ezra: "No, I don't WANT to sit on the stool!" (tosses a car for good measure)
  Me: "Okay. I can help you onto the stool or you can climb up there yourself. You have until my fingers get to five to decide."
  Ezra: "I don't LIKE this house! I don't like it forever!"
  Me: "Hmm. Well, you can go live at the workshop. I'm sure Lochama will share his mosquito net with you. But you have to take off your favorite blue pocket shirt. That stays in my house."
  Ezra: "Okay. I DO like this house. But I won't be happy!"
Good thing the boy has been sick the last two days. Otherwise. Otherwise. Okay, I don't actually have an otherwise. It's all hour by hour around here.

Right now, I'm reading the "Mitford" books by Jan Karon. I'm almost embarrassed but can't be because the things are just so darn well-written. Since I'm writing about 'right now' and this is what I'm reading, I can't substitute something more scholarly and smart-sounding. But there you have it. I LOVE FATHER TIM.

Right now, I have a box full of homeschooling books sitting in my pantry. Last week, I received one of two boxes of my Sonlight kindergarten curriculum. I put off opening it as long as possible but finally summoned my courage last night. Silly me. For someone who loves books, I should have known that handling all of those beautiful, brand-new books would have been enough to light the fire. I have "The Wizard of OZ" and Richard Scarrey's "Please and Thank You Book" and "The Boxcar Children" and about 30 other titles in my care that I now get to share with my kiddos. What was so daunting about this homeschooling stuff anyhow? (I'm sure it will all come slamming back, but please, let me have my little honeymoon here.)

Right now, I can't get enough of The Fray and Coldplay. I'm new to hop the Coldplay bandwagon, I never really went for the whole "it was all yellow" craze. But I like music that makes me feel something. And they do. I tried to go for that Owl City smorgasbord of ping-y sound, but to be honest, it makes me want to throw the ipod across the room. Too...happy.

Right now, my heart aches for our friends Nanuk and Marta. A few days ago we sent Marta to the closest hospital (about 6 hrs away) because at 4 1/2 months pregnant, she was losing the baby, but the presentation of the miscarriage was off and needed surgical intervention. We've not heard exactly how she's doing, only received a message that she lost a lot of blood and needed a family member to come to donate blood to the hospital's bloodbank to 'repay' the blood given to Marta. Right now, I'm again trying to learn the lesson of "do not be anxious about anything..." Marta and Nanuk have a 2 year old, Aster. I can really only get out "Lord, have mercy" before I stumble on what to say next.

Right now, the youngest child has Daddy all wrapped up around her tiny finger. Caleb is smitten with Daisy. He'd be embarrassed for me to tell you how many times a day he tells me "she's so cute." So I won't. But it's upwards of what you can count on two hands. He likes to take her in the evenings...after she's eaten and bathed and the top of her head smells like a new morning...and they walk around and look at the chickens and inspect the garden and check the overflow from the water tank to the sudan trees. Sometimes I have to go hunt her down to put her to bed before she conks on his shoulder. He has a hard time giving her up in the evenings.

Right now, my favorite thing the kids say is something they've picked up from Ezra's favorite movie "Cars". There is a part where Lightning McQueen has been dumped by Mack and is chasing another 18 wheeler thinking that he is chasing Mack. He catches up to the other truck and gets blasted--"I'm not a Mack, I'm a Peterbilt, for dang's sake! Turn on your lights, you moron!" (Yes, I did do all of that from memory. Just let me know if you'd like another selection from a wide range of Disney films.) Well, the kids are a little confused. They like to call each other "Boron". I have no intention of correcting them.

Right now, I'm consumed by questions regarding Africa and her problems. I wonder why the so-called answers only raise more questions. And right now, I fight a cynical heart. No, rather, I confess a cynical heart. And try to remember that for right now, the most important thing is more simple than all of the project proposals and aid dollars and dismaying displays of wasted money and the whys and why nots...it's simply, light a candle. Right now.

Right now, I'm tired. My caffeine is wearing off and I know that Daisy is going to be waking me up way too early. So, for right now, good-night.

Daisy at 8 months

I'm not sure what it is about chronicling a baby's first year in such detail, maybe because right before your eyes you watch a whole person come into being. The wonder of that can never really be quelled and begs to be shared. So here we go.
Daisy is a very rewarding little girl. It's like every part of her is saying "Thanks so much for bringing me into this world. I'm really enjoying myself here." For example, she eats like there is no tomorrow. I have yet to find a food that she doesn't like. The only time I have ever seen her spit something out was when she had her first taste of injera, which I can't really blame her. Until injera gets into your soul, it is not unlike how Paul Theroux describes it--'a damp old bathmat'--in his book, Dark Star Safari. No airplane buzzing to cajole her into opening her mouth necessary, she's like a little machine. And she smiles. A lot. She just likes looking at people, and positively lights up when Elsa or Ezra comes around. Plus, (my personal favorite), she says "mama." Yes, I realize it is just the sound right now. But Elsa and Ezra were stingy with their 'mama' sounds. They started out with 'dada' (terribly unfair, in my opinion) and went straight to 'papa'. I think 'mama' finally made an appearance sometime after they each turned one. But Daisy. She's discovered that
satisfying 'mmm' sound and is going to town. I've never heard it said with such enthusiasm. I love it.

She adores Elsa and Ezra, like I said before. She smiles with her whole body, the way only a baby can, when one of them comes into her field of vision. Elsa fully embraces her role as 'big sister' and is one hundred
percent forgiving and tolerant of the fact that Daisy is in fact, a baby, and not simply a smaller version of herself, as Ezra seems to think. As soon as Daisy started to go on the offensive and get into his things, Ezra
decided she was fair game and he was clearly justifiable in pushing heraway, picking her up to relocate her, or bestow on her the full extent of his annoyance at her baby-ness. Elsa doesn't like to hear her cry, and once
we started letting Daisy work out some sleep issues on her own, Elsa would howl from bed, "Mama!! Get Daisy!"

Daisy's favorite activities are splashing in the sink, watching Bauer swim, and sitting in Grandma's swing and watching the pigeons strut and flutter. She also has a thing about poles, so I'm thinking either a future in birds
(I'm blanking on the right word for someone who studies birds--where is Google when I need it?) or as a pole dancer. The jury is still out but I'm confident when the time comes that she'll make the right choice.
Papa calls her DeeDee. The way he says it I know will stick with her for all of her life. She'll be 24, 45, 72, and still recall "My Papa used to call me DeeDee. He's the only one." She smiles when she hears his voice calling hername.

Yesterday morning she officially started to crawl. She's been doing the whole scooting backward-rocking back and forth-going from knees to backside-thing for a couple of weeks now, and yesterday morning she finally put it all together. She saw something she wanted and went and got it. Look out, world. One day shy of 8 months, she's a full month younger than Elsa was when she crawled, and a full 2 1/2 months younger than Ezra (he carried some serious girth with him to maneuver, poor kid). This proclivity to grow up fast is something I'm going to need to have a talk with her about. I don't think I'll be able to stand for that.
Happy 8 months, little girl.

I'm not a crafty person

Yet, both of my kids are. In their own ways.

 Elsa eats up anything that has to do with paper, glue, scissors and crayons.
 The girl is seriously creative. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to hold it
 against me (not yet, at least) that I don't share her aptitude for taking an
 old sock and turning it into an elephant. But today I decided I should throw
 her a bone and dig out The Collosal Craft Kit. That's its name. Which seemed
 entirely promising to me, surely I could pull together some beautiful and
 interesting craft project from The Collosal Craft Kit. (On a side note, I
 did not purchase The Collosal Craft Kit. My non-crafty eyes would have slid
 right over that particular object in Target. My mother did, and I wouldn't
 be at all surprised if one of her 5 love languages is actually crafts.) It's
 all there...pipe cleaners, stickers, foam sheets, scissors, a tiny tube of
 glue (don't they know that preschoolers love glue?), balls of fluff, googly
eyes, sequins. I pulled all of the items out and was sitting in my own
 little personal craft hell. But I straightened my shoulders, certainly a
 little butterfly wouldn't get the best of me, right?

Oh, no. The little eyes don't stick, the balls of fluff meant to be its body
 only want to stick to MY body, because I'm half covered in glue, and there
are sequins stuck all over my table and pink fluff adhered to my fingertips
and the antenna won't stick on its darn head (which looks like it went
 through some ill-advised genetic mutation). I thought I was nearly
 done...Elsa was happy with her butterfly and was contemplating a whole
 butterfly family (Lord, help), when Ezra comes inside and sees all the
 hullabaloo and decides he, too, wants to make a craft. So we whip out a
 little dragonfly meant to be a magnet, but really it looks more like
 what's-that-little-green-guy's-name?--GUMBY. And the magnet curls up and
 Ezra doesn't care a bit because he actually doesn't care a wit about crafts.
Thankfully.

 I'm saved because it starts raining. (Raining!) Big drops, each spaced about
 1 foot and a half apart, but enough for Elsa and Ezra to grab their umbrella
 and go gallavanting off into the rain. They like the rain. So I get to sit
 at the table and pick glue off of my fingers (the best part of the whole
 project) and contemplate never ever doing another craft in my entire life.
 I'll ask Grandma to do craft time when it comes time to homeschool.

 Elsa comes home to begin work on her butterfly family...the auntie and the
daddy and the baby to go with the already-finished mama...and I realize Ezra
is quiet and I don't know where he is. Daisy and I set out toward Grandma's
 house when I discover my other crafty child. HIS idea of crafty is holing up
 under the umbrella with toes sticking out, chugging syrup straight from the
 bottle that he swiped from Grandma's pantry.

What on earth, child?

It is a Sixth Sense

A few nights ago Elsa was sent to bed early for some infraction that I no longer remember the details of. I'd given her a choice of consequences--either she could 'pay' me with her dessert at dinnertime, or she could choose an early bed time. Smart girl that she is, she decided on the early bedtime. Although once bedtime rolled around and the consequence came to call, she conveniently forgot that she had been given a choice and became very upset at the injustice of going to bed without a bedtime story while Ezra was allowed to stay up and hear a story. When Caleb went upstairs to give her an extra hug and tell her goodnight, he asked her why she was so upset. Elsa's response made me realize I am fully a mother in every sense of the word:

 "Because everytime I do something bad, Mama always finds me!

Good girl. Now if only she'd remember that BEFORE the next time she decides to shove her brother in the dirt and sit on his head.

Do You Know What Your Kids are Doing?

It's an ominous question. The resulting answer can never be anything good.
Three examples:
 A few days ago I made a lemon meringue pie because we had guests coming and the lemons are exploding off of the trees and there is no better dessert at Omo than a lemon pie. It was a gorgeous pie. The meringue was perfect--light golden peaks, white valleys, the meringue thick but light. It was chilling in the refrigerator for the afternoon, I was sitting on the floor with Daisy in the living room. I noticed that the refrigerator door was swinging open, and got up to go close it. When I reached the door, I realized the reason that the door was open was because a certain three year old was standing in the fridge. Eating the meringue off of my pie by fingerfuls. I looked over at Caleb's mom, sitting in the living room, "Do you know what this child is doing?

We've recently acquired my kind of pet: Yertle the Turtle. He's tiny. He comes out once every morning to munch on a lettuce leaf, leave a tiny pile of poo for me to clean up, and then disappears for the rest of the day. I love him. His morning excursion is right at breakfast time. So a couple of mornings ago, I had placed Daisy on the kitchen floor to wait for me to finish getting her breakfast together and then went into the bathroom for a minute. Caleb comes in from letting out the chickens and calls me from thekitchen, "Joanna. Do you know what Daisy is doing in here?" I enter the kitchen to see Daisy, Yertle in hand, gnawing on his shell. Quite likely, she is the only child to ever have done her teething on a live turtle.

  I had a bad night last night. Daisy was up for hours and I didn't sleep much. So this morning, when Elsa and Ezra were out of the house for a long period of time, I really didn't pay much attention to it, I was more focused on enjoying the quiet house than peering through my hazy fog of tiredness to really wonder what they were up to for so long. Close to lunchtime, Caleb yelled over from near the workshop, "Joanna! Do you know what the kids are doing?" Uh oh. I walked over toward the shop and down to the water's edge. The Omo has flooded in the past two weeks and we have floodwater much closer to our house right now than the usual river's edge that is down a strip of grass and outside our fence. Elsa and Ezra were sitting in the canoe that we use to pole across the floodwater, fishing. Somehow they had gathered everything necessary--my broom to make a fishing pole, a long string for line, one of Caleb's major hooks that he uses for his perch line, and a frog. Which Elsa had baited on the hook by herself. (The child is fearless) Resourceful, aren't they? I meant to get a picture of the two of them with their makeshift fishing pole, but Caleb swiped their hooks before someone lost an eye.

Sick Baby

Let's start with the good news first: Daisy is fine. On the mend, getting better, looking good, fine. But we had some scares over the last week. We returned home from Addis last Friday. On Sunday night, Daisy woke up about an hour after putting her to bed and when I went to put her pacifier back in her mouth, I felt her head and she was hot. Her fever was 104.2. I got her up, we draped her with cold wash clothes, dosed her with Tylenol, and put her back to bed. I was pretty sure this was the start of malaria--she was 10 days post-exposure to being bitten in a high-malaria area where we stay the night on our travels in and out of Addis, and although she sleeps under a net, I don't have her on an anti-malarial. I started her on a treatment dose of malarone and she was basically fever-free all day Monday, until late Monday evening when her fever started to go back up. I was sitting by her on the couch as she slept, feeling the heat radiating off of her small head, when she went into a seizure. I yelled for Caleb and he came running from the workshop, Caleb's mom came running from her house, and none of us knew what to do. Any kind of head knowledge goes out the window when it's your own kid lying there. She stopped seizing after about 2 1/2 mintues and Caleb scooped her up, completely non-responsive. I know the term 'post-ictal non-responsiveness', but that does nothing to describe how it feels to look at your child and see all the life drained out of her. Come back. Come back to me. She revived after about 90 seconds, and Caleb took her to the bath tub and soaked her with cold water. At that point, it was about 6:15 pm, and we had to decide what to do. All I knew is that I could not be at home again if she had another seizure.

We decided to take her to the hospital. That is like deciding, if you live in Seattle, to take your kid to Northern California to get to a doctor. We left our house, got in our boat, drove upriver 25 minutes to where our car is parked, loaded our car, and started to drive through the night to get to the hospital. We arrived in the town where we usually spend the night around 2:30 am, and since Daisy was keeping her fevers down, we decided to rest for a couple of hours. We woke up at 5 am and continued on to the hospital, another 3 hours away. We got to the hospital in Soddo, a private hospital that has a number of foreign doctors and is home to friends of ours that we could crash with. We took Daisy to get lab work done, came back with a negative malaria smear and her CBC all over the place. In consulting with our organization's doctor in Addis, she becomes most concerned about Daisy's bloodwork being all out of whack, and suggests getting a repeat CBC done. It is common for malaria smears to be negative, but that doesn't necessarily mean that she didn't have malaria. We find out that the lab at the hospital is actually not all that trustworthy because of under-trained lab technicians, and so decide to leave the next day to drive a further 4 hours to Awassa, a town where hopefully we'll be able to get some accurate labs drawn. We both found it impossible to return home with the question hanging that something else might be going on with Daisy.

Wednesday afternoon we had a repeat CBC done on Daisy and it came back all clear. Her fevers were abating after finishing her malarone treatment and we decided to head home on Thursday, another 11 hour day to reach our house from Awassa. So this is how we take care of our sick children--when they are at their worst, we pack them in the car to endure 30 hours over bumpy roads. Good.

Despite the bloodwork scare, we are quite certain that Daisy just has malaria. The malarone treatment hasn't quite taken care of the malaria completely, and so two days ago her fevers returned and we started her on coartem. Her fevers have been lower though--running only 100 to 101 rather than the panic-inducing 104.

We're thankful for a lot of things in the midst of this scare. We're thankful that we could leave Elsa and Ezra with Caleb's parents. We're thankful for the NUMEROUS concerned doctors who gave us advice and help. We're so thankful for the friends who let us stay with them, in Soddo and in Awassa. And we are SO thankful for all of the prayers offered up on our behalf. We are incredibly blessed.

I have hated this experience. It has accentuated the extreme hopelessness I feel in the midst of one of the kids being sick, and how much I dislike being the one responsible for making the right call when it comes to their health. But here is what I hold to. On Monday night, when we were getting our car out of the shipping container where we park it, I walked over to wait at the house of the Icealandic couple who live on that compound. I told them what had happened, trying not to lose it, and Kalli walked over to a little box and pulled out a little index card. The card had written on it a verse in Icealandic, and Kalli read it to me and then got his English Bible and read it to me in English. It said, "The Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on him sincerely." Psalm 145:18.

I tucked it in my pocket and carried that verse I could not read but knew in my heart for the rest of the journey.

School

Much like a lot of things I do in this life I lead, I never thought I'd be a homeschooling mom. And let's throw a disclaimer out right from the start: I'm not a homeschooling mom. Not yet at least. I'm claiming 'play' as the goal of the day for as long as possible. But this week Elsa and I have the chance to take a stab at being grown-ups--Elsa gets to go to school for three days, and I get to attend a homeschooling conference. Bingham Academy in Addis has a great homeschooling program, with homeschooling resources, access to the school library, and the invitation for homeschool students to attend school for 10 days each semester. At the beginning of the school year, they hold a three day homeschooling conference and invite the kids to take part in the first week of school.

Big day for us, people. My first born is picking out her clothes, she's loading up her backpack with a snack and a water bottle, she's slinging the near-empty pack on her little shoulders. She's posing for a picture, she's asking when the bus is going to come get her. (Sorry, baby, no big yellow school bus here.) She's walking into the classroom, saying hello to her teacher, slipping off her shoes and taking her place among the seemingly million other little four year-olds claiming space in the preschool classroom. She's turning to look at me, only after I call her name, she's waving bravely to me and looking with a little dismay at the child in hysterics standing next to her. I huddle with the other mothers crowding the door for a moment, and then turn to go. Did I really just put Elsa in school?

Now it is my turn. To face my own new beginnings and take my place in the cramped homeschooling room and declare myself...a HOMESCHOOLER.

I know, I'm lending myself to the dramatics. But the idea of taking on my kids' schooling IS dramatic to me. I'm not the one suited for this. Seriously, I'm not. You should see me trying to explain Candy Land. (No you CAN'T just jump to all the candy spaces!) I mean, really. My greatest defining characteristic is a propensity to procrastinate. Surely that can't be good when trying to set up a school room. I spent some time while in the states on different homeschooling websites and blogs. At times, it scared me to death, to be confronted with the level of organization and creativity that was demonstrated. Other times, I'd read something and think, 'yeah, I can do that. That seems doable.' And it was the same way in the homeschooling conference. I'd sit and listen to parents who have homeschooled for years and sink a little lower in my seat. And nod gratefully when others would admit that if it weren't for the life situation they were in, they wouldn't be homeschooling their children at all. There were a lot of us who have fallen into homeschooling by default--there's simply just no other option. So it was good to hear that and have my own feelings of inadequacy in being responsible for my children's education validated. Thankfully, I'm not feeling any great push (hmm, thanks, procrastination) to start anything formal yet. Elsa is only four. And very smart. We mostly wanted to enroll in the homeschooling program at this stage so that she could get into the classroom whenever we were in town.

Ah. The classroom. I thought that Elsa would adore school. It wasn't really the case. At the end of the first day, it took a lot of convincing for her to be willing to back for the second day. I would check in on her at tea time and watch her for awhile, playing outside. She was mostly just wandering around by herself, wearing too-big rubber boots. Very un-Elsa like. And heartbreaking. I still haven't really figured out what it is...maybe just the sheer number of other unfamiliar kids. She told me at night, 'I don't want to be lonely because I don't know anybody's name. I know they are all my friends, but I just don't know their names.' But I suppose this is growing up. Facing fears and uncertainties and coming back for more.

Even if we don't know what we are doing.

Smile

Today, in honor of her 6 month birthday, Daisy decided to try out a new

smile for herself.

I think she's happy with it.

Today

 Today there were two beginnings. Today there was one end.

 Frantic, Caleb says, the father was when he showed up at the workshop. Frantic and hard to understand. Only pleadings to come out to the road because his wife was delivering his child out there, out there in the midday sun on our windy airstrip. Difficult to comprehend why they were bringing her to us in the first place, rather than calling for Donna as they usually do. Enough words traded in time to find out that she was only 7 months along, sent over by the local midwife across the river, perhaps in hopesthat Donna could stop labor. Too late for stopping, life is in motion. Donna reaches her as one baby slides out, the mother crouching in the dirt, shaded with a cloth held over her. But that isn't the end. Her belly held not onlythe girl, but her brother as well. Dick is sent back to the house to get thestretcher and to pick me up, telling me on the way, "It's twins, if there's time enough, we'll bring her back to the house before the second one comes."

We hit the end of the airstrip and Donna is holding an impossibly small bundle. She hands the girl to me and they move the mother onto the stretcherand into the back of the truck. I cradle three pounds of life in my hands and don't know what to do, except tell her over and over that she can, in fact, do this. Come into this world with the sun blazing down and live to walk in it. She can't quit on me because I know in my heart that I cannot be the one to be holding her if she decides that sticking around isn't something she's willing to do.

We get back and within 10 minutes her smaller brother makes his debut with his feet first. I fumble with the bulb syringe, knowing that this is the only thing I can offer him--to suction out his too small, too early mouth.There's no warm bed to place him in, there's no tube to slide down his throat to help him breathe, there's no artificial surfactant to coat his underdeveloped lungs. I hold him gently and watch his intercostal spaces retracting with each breath, hear his grunts with each rise and fall of his chest. This one. This one will not make it.

 And I cannot hold him either. I curl him up next to his sister and will someof her strength into his body. What little we can do is not enough. Not for one too small and too early.

 Caleb's mom is amazing. Her ability to think and act when all I can do is stare at the little faces and think of all I cannot do.

What is it like? To be un-twinned at the same moment you are born a twin?Will she carry him with her throughout her life? Will her mom tell her that she shared her space and traded her first kicks with a tiny boy? What is it like? To have two brought forth from your body and take only one home withyou? These questions, I don't know. I never will know.

They went home at 5 this evening, carrying their tiny daughter and a bag with a medicine dropper and formula. Hopefully this--this small thing--isenough. Enough to see her through so that she can walk upright in the sun that burned heavy on the day she was born.

The Dust of My Life

What's a girl to do on a quiet Sunday afternoon with the older kids fishing
with Daddy and the little one swinging with Grandma and Papa? Sweep, of
course. You can tell a lot about a person's life by what she sweeps up. Here
is what was in my dust pan today:

*6 dead crickets. Elsa and Ezra got a magnifying bug trapper from Grandma
Donna and have been loving stuffing it full of crickets lately.

*7 jumping spiders. Although I don't think it counts because they all jumped
away to take up residence somewhere else in my house. They always win.

*1 jumping spider carrying a small dead cricket. (I hit the jackpot today)

*1 tag sticker price that says '35 birr'. I swept it up in the bathroom and
I believe it came off of my new toilet bowl brush. A new one was needed
because before we left for the states Ezra decided to see if his blue car
would float in the toilet. It didn't. The toilet subsequently was jammed
with toilet paper, which I (ignorantly, impatiently) tried to de-jam with my
toilet bowl brush, which only served to get nasty toilet paper bits stuck
to my brush. Hence, new toilet bowl brush.

*1 baby scorpion. Thankfully I did not kick at it, like I first intended to,
but instead saw what it was and smashed it deader than dead. My policy with
undesirable creatures is to keep hitting until it's no longer clear what it
is I am hitting.

*Roughly 18 inches worth of unraveled blue thread and elastic. Ezra's new
Lightning McQueen underwear are unraveling at the waist. But, the fact that
he is WEARING Lighthing Mcqueen underwear is a small miracle. My nearly
completely potty-trained son decided to UN-potty train himself the first
week we were in the US. And then decided to RE-potty train himself the first
week we were back in Ethiopia. Good boy.

*1 JC Penney tag that says $6.99. Elsa has discovered all of her
'to-grow-into' clothing on a high shelf and commandeered two new dresses.
This is the tag off of a pink and white gingham that my mom brought when
they visited last summer.

*1 small silver screw. A more curious or careful person would have fished the screw out and set it aside for when its use may become known, but I can't really claim to be either in a significant way, so out it went.

*About one dust pan's worth full of redish-brown dust. We don't have the
really red, red dirt here found in other parts of Africa, just a fine,
powdery brown dust. Since I haven't swept since yesterday evening, this is a
good day.

Welcome to my life. It's exciting in here.

Learning to Ride

 While in the states Caleb bought training wheels for the little XR50 that he brought over for the kids to learn to ride. After giving a little tutorial on the throttle, brake, and how to steer, both kids got a chance to show off their stuff.

Elsa said 'wee!' and posed for a picture.

 Ezra promptly ran into a bush.

 Ezra, though, shows a lot of promise. He definitely gets the idea of steering and using the throttle smoothly to keep the bike moving. His main problem is that he likes to look behind him so that he can watch himself 'make dust'. Elsa, I think, will be a lot like me--riding because it's something to do with Daddy and she doesn't want to be left out.

 I am mentally kicking the pants off our thief who stole the video camera out of our bag for making me miss getting this all on film.

Settling In

 I warned about disappearing for weeks at a time and it didn't take long to
prove true. I beg extenuating circumstances...saying good-bye, packing,
 flying, staying a week in Addis to re-supply and get some things done,
>driving two days home and arriving to find the radio (our main mode of
communication) broken. Thankfully Papa Swart is fixer-extraordinaire and was
able to figure out the problem and fix it. Back online...well, as online as
 we get down here.

 Settling in has been interesting. It feels good to be in our own space,
 dirty as it may be...part of settling in is readjusting expectations of what
 being clean means. I received a major gift from Caleb's parents--they
 insisted that they make the trip from Addis down to Omo one day before us,
 so that they could clean out the houses and put the boat back in the river
 before we got here. I really can't quite imagine what it would have been
 like to arrive here with Daisy and try to get everything cleaned up. It's a
 heck of a job, and Caleb's parents did it all for us. It was such a relief
 to come home to a cleaned up house and a cold fridge and a cooked meal.

Daisy is a hit here. Everyone loves her. She's pretty much the first white
 baby the Daasanech have ever seen. Settling in with Daisy has been fun in
 that regard but kind of miserable otherwise. She's hot. And she won't sleep.
 And she misses her swaddler. But she's too hot to swaddle. So she's
 requiring a lot more attention than usual, at a time when I have a lot more
 things to do every day. Poor baby. We'll figure it out.

 Ezra is happy. This is pretty much boy heaven so he's having a ball. He's
 been helping Caleb and running around outside and learning to ride the 50.
 He's good.

 Elsa misses her cousins. She's slightly out of sorts. I think she is happy
 to be home, but it's been harder for her to adjust to the different pace of
 this life. She really thrived on having people to see and places to go
 everyday and we don't really offer that here. Again--so thankful for
 Grandma. She's giving Elsa lots of special love.

 It was really a strange feeling, driving home. It almost felt like we'd just
 been gone on a normal supply trip and only been away a week or two. I had to
 continually remind myself how much time has passed. Arriving home was
 beautiful. Our area had a lot of much rain while we were
 away--uncharacteristic amounts. So the tiny little flame and neem trees that
 we'd planted around our house had exploded with growth in our absence and
 now I have these beautiful trees outside my windows. Our workers did an
 amazing job keeping up our compound while we were away and everything looks
 beautiful.

So we've been home a week and I'm sure it'll still take time to settle in
completely--find our routines once again. It'll help once Daisy starts
 sleeping more than 35 minutes at a stretch. We went out to church this
 morning and she nearly caused a riot with everyone wanting to see her and
touch her. It was sweet to see all of the familiar faces of our friends and
 neighbors.

35 minutes are up. Gotta go get the babe.

Limbo Week

 So we're here in Addis for about a week before we head on home. It's strange--to be home, but not home. It's kind of compounded this sense of feeling very far from anywhere I want to be. The kids' jet lag has been atrocious, something I've never really experienced with them before, so I'm sure the sleep-deprivation is contributing to my feeling slightly adrift and more than a little weepy. My parents called me yesterday morning and I barely said hello before bursting into tears. Thankfully I got a lot more sleep last night and so tonight when I talked to them I was able to carry on a comprehendable conversation.

We'll finish re-supplying and some business and then head on home. Home sweet home.

The Trip

 I really can't be all that pleasant about the trip over. I'm still trying to recover from the sheer exhaustion and chaos of it. Looking back on the two days of air travel, nothing distinctively went horribly wrong--it just all had this overwhelming feeling of being too much.
Our first flight left Seattle around 1 pm and we landed in Amsterdam around 7:30 am. The kids did great the whole way, although I don't know what Delta is thinking in assuming that one kids movie is sufficient for a 10 hour flight. Ezra saw enough Toy Story for the mutant spiky-haired doll-spider to work its way into his dreams for two nights in a row. Elsa and Ezra slept for only about an hour and a half of that first flight, and so we all arrived in Amsterdam a little shell-shocked. Thankfully, we had bulkhead seating and a bassinet for Daisy, so I didn't have to hold her in my arms the whole way and she was able to sleep quite a bit.
Much to our relief and the kids' excitement, Grandma and Papa were in Amsterdam to meet us and be with us on the flight from Amsterdam to Addis. Hauling a sleeping Daisy, a diaper bag, two kids backpacks, two rolling carry-ons, and a regular backpack, trying to keep Ezra being run over by the motorized carts, we trudged from one end of the Amsterdam airport to the other and about melted into Caleb's parents' arms. We decided to go ahead and go through the gate-side security and be ready to board the plane a little early. If anyone has been to the Amsterdam airport, then you may remember that they have these holding-type rooms that you make your way through between the rest of the terminal and before you board the plane. So we went through and were waiting to board when we found out that the plane was to be delayed two hours because of mechanical trouble. No big deal, right? Usually. But they had herded an entire plane's worth of people into these tiny holding rooms and then none of us were allowed to leave while waiting out the delay. And I don't think I have EVER seen as many families with small children on a flight before. Also, Africans operate from this mentality of whoever-pushes-to-the-front-of-the-line-first-gets-helped-first. It was mayhem. Chaos. So because of the crowded plane, there was a little KLM dude marching around demanding that everyone with rolling carry-ons check their bags instead. We off-loaded our carry-ons to him and claimed a couple of chairs to sit and wait. Oh, and I forgot to mention that we didn't all have seats together. Caleb had a lone seat (an exit row, so that ruled out the possibility of the baby sitting there with me) and then me with the brood in the back of the plane. And due to the above mentioned mentality of pushing=being helped, I was unsuccessful in getting any changes made to our seating arrangements.
All is well that ends well. We all made it on the plane...Caleb's mom graciously (heroically, life-saving-ly, awe-inspiring-ly) offered to sit with Elsa and Ezra, Caleb's dad sat in the lone seat, and Caleb and I sat with Daisy in their two seats. Daisy and I slept a lot of the flight and I think it was only once that I almost dropped her in my sleep.

Arrived in Addis to only be stopped in customs (a new experience for us--we've never been stopped before) for three hours as the customs guys tried to figure out how much to charge Caleb for his used radiator shrouds and the new cordless drill. We woke up the next morning to find that our carry ons (yes, the ones forcibly removed from us in the Amsterdam chaos) had been rummaged through and both our satellite phone and video camera had been taken. I've never been stolen from before and it was a strange feeling--the kind of sputtering indignation of "But that was MY stuff!" As if that matters.

 And it doesn't. We're here. We're safe. We'll be headed home soon.

She's a Party Kind of Girl (I don't know how she came from me)

"Do you know what my most favorite thing is that God made?"

Yes?

"Balloons." (pause) "And cake."

You Know You're A Mom of Three (Updated)...

• You go shopping with your mom with only the baby and your Mom decides Starbucks is a good idea (which it is) and so you both jump out and go la-dee-da in Starbucks for 20 minutes ordering your drinks and then get back in the car and just happen to look in the back seat and realize your poor sweet youngest child has been sitting in the car one hundred percent forgotten for the last 20 minutes

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Packing

I totally should be. Packing, that is. But anyone who knows me could predict that is exactly what I'm not doing, and rather doing what I do best (procrastinating). It's not dire yet, and actually, the fact that I'm already this far into THINKING about packing three weeks before we go is entirely promising. But thinking about packing is getting me thinking about going and that leaves me with a whole mess of things to think about. So I'll indulge my procrastination and revel in a quiet house and my husband who is beside me watching some show where men in hard hats keep driving up to major swamps and shaking their heads and I can't really follow it. Anyways. What was I saying? Oh yeah. Packing...going...leaving.

Going is pretty much beside the point. I don't worry about going. I'm excited to go, in fact. I'm excited to be in my house and sleep in my bed and not go to bed every night calculating how many nights I have left before I have to start packing (there it is again) to move to the next bed. I'm excited to see our dog and our friends and count how many chickens Caleb has left (zero is my guess, poor Caleb). I'm excited to see Caleb get back into work and to see what Erogit and Goradit and Nanuk and Marta think of Daisy. I'm excited for Elsa and Ezra to feel secure and to watch them discover their home all over again.

Leaving is actually the point. I don't want to leave. Leaving makes my heart crack in a thousand different places. I don't know how to embrace this part of the life we live--the part where I don't get to be a part of Leah's daily life, watch Nola and Calven grow up with Daisy, hear Isla learn to finish her words, see Kellan run track and Brennan play soccer, laugh as Emma learns to walk and celebrate as Sam turns 5. I don't know how to love the part of my life that measures time in chunks of three years. Do you know how much my four year old grows in three years? She'll be seven. SEVEN. Before we return to the US and most of my family gets to see her again. My throat closes.

So my procrastination is not the only thing being indulged here. You didn't know you were being invited to a pity party tonight, did you? Apologies. I know in the end it's not really about me.

I don't even know how to finish this. There's no clean resolution here. Nothing I can come up with makes it any easier. It's just doing it. It's just leaving.

Thankfully, not yet. Three weeks still.

Kiddo Photos

Check out these gorgeous pictures taken of the kids...beautiful photography done by Christiana Childers Photography.

Christiana Childers Photography http://www.christianachilders.com/

This Blog is Mine

I've felt for awhile like I need to re-work the blog. I really enjoy writing this, about whatever pops into my head, about the nothing-ness and everything-ness that makes up my life as a mom and missionary. I like the times I sit driving in the car or lay in bed and write blog posts in my head (most of which never make it to 'publish post'). It makes me feel, oh I don't know, connected. Like I belong to something a little larger than my own living room.

I started this blog to mainly let family and friends get a glimpse of what life is like for us living in Ethiopia. When we were raising support three years ago, numerous people and churches asked us if we had a blog and I would share this site. Since then, it's kind of made me feel strange about what I write...what people expect to read on a 'missionary' (who, me?) blog. I'm sure much of what I write ISN'T what people expect. And I guess I've decided to let that be okay. I've decided to reclaim this blog--for myself. For my experience as a mother who lives overseas, to write with honesty and with no guilt and to just...write.

So. Please read. If you want to. If you want to just see a little through my eyes. If you don't mind stories about my kids and the things they say and do that probably is only really entertaining to me and to their grandmas. If you don't mind me going on a writing binge and flooding the blog and then disappearing for weeks at a time. If you can put up with all of that, then please, read on.

You Know You're A Mom of Three When...

• You take a cross country flight with only one of the three to attend a funeral and kind of feel like you're on vacation.
• You can successfully nurse a baby, read to one child, put another in timeout, and eat a bowl of ice cream (all at the same time).
• You go through about four different names before you finally hit the one you're meaning to say.
• You haven't slept through the night in about four and a half years (and find it odd that people actually DO sleep through the night).
• You honestly forget the existence of the third child--at least once a day (sorry, Daisy).
• You fully condone bribery as an effective parenting method.
• You can remember every word to the Handy Manny theme song but can't for the life of you remember where you put your car keys.
• You really feel like you're dressing up and looking good when you manage to put mascara on.
• You'll drive on the shoulder rough to 'make the car go gas' just to hear your three year old bust up laughing...and then you'll forget and do it when he's not in the car, and YOU will bust up laughing.
• You feel like if you say "Let's be sweet" one more time today, you might just punch a wall.
• You know, deep inside, that giving them each other is by far the best gift you ever could have given your kids.
• You finally embrace the fact that you are officially a mother...and then it hits you: holy crap, there are three of them!
• You smile at first time mothers a tiny bit condescendingly (for shame!) because you never realized how easy a newborn was until you had a toddler.
• You get all three to bed in the evening and think to yourself, "Man, I could totally do four"--and then 6 am comes around and you have three in your bed and you think to yourself, "Whose stinking idea was it to have three?" Oh yeah. Mine.
• You get those moments...you know those moments...when nothing in the world could be as important as what you're doing in that moment. And everything is okay for another day.

Add your own!

Home

I know many of you have been praying for us and for Caleb's family during the course of his grandfather's illness over the last 10 months. Last night Pa went home. Thank you for your continued prayers. His service will be Thursday.

Boo-Yah

My kids now say "Boo-Yah". This can only mean one thing.

Time to go.

A Very Happy Birthday Indeed

PS. Yes. That is us laughing in the background.

PPS. Yes. I only had one party hat and had to improvise for Elsa.

Granola

I never thought I'd be a person who makes my own yogurt and bakes my own bread and hangs my laundry on a line to dry. I never imagined that 'pizza night' would mean rolling out my own pizza dough and making my own sauce and shredding my own fresh mozarella. But here I am. And I feel like I've actually become quite adept at those things. I can handle it: the pizza tastes decent, the yogurt doesn't flop more than 50% of the time, my bread actually rises and I really do like the feel of clothes that have dried in the sun. But for all the things that I have learned over our last two years living at Omo, there is one thing I haven't mastered. And I don't think I ever will. My granola struggles. REALLY struggles. Just ask Caleb, he'll tell you. It's terrible. Somehow I take oatmeal, butter, and sugar and turn it into something that tastes burnt and undercooked at the same time. Really, it's like burned dry oats. Tasty.

But. Elsa loves it. My sweet child eats it like it's Lucky Charms. And says, 'Mom, this granola is delicious.' I always used to just say 'Oh, baby, you don't know what you're talking about. Just wait until we go back to America and I buy you some Life. Or Honey Nut Cheerios. Or Special K Red Berries.' So I really thought that after 5 months in the US, I'd be force-feeding the homemade granola to my children whose taste buds had matured and spoiled. But today Elsa spotted a container on top of Leah's fridge that looks like the one we keep our granola in and she about somersaulted with excitement--'Mama! Is that granola up there? Can I have some?' I had to let her down gently--no, that's just the container that Leah keeps her coffee in, but yes, it does look like the container we keep our granola in. Disappointed for a minute (you can't keep Elsa down for long), she just told me, "Okay, Mama, but can we please just go home now? I really really want to eat granola again."

So I guess 5 months in the US can't change everything. My granola will still be terrible. Apparently that is okay with Elsa. She just wants to go home.

"But Mama, We Always Go!"

"Mama, we always take so many trips and trips and trips and trips!"

That about sums up our life at the moment. We're currently in Kansas, enroute to Iowa, coming from Atlanta. I think that Daisy, at 9 weeks, has seen more states than some people see in their entire lives. (Does it count if she sleeps through the state?)

Our kids are excellent.  Maybe this is why?

DVD players very well may be straight from heaven.

But it is wearing, for sure. For example, Elsa is throwing a fit right now as Caleb puts her to bed. Meltdowns are inevitable. But this is the third bed in which she has slept in as many nights. Anyways. Focus on the positives. And the positives are many. We've gotten to spend many sweet nights with friends we haven't seen in ages and family we love. The occasional (or not so occasional, depending on the day) meltdown is worth it.

So here we go. We are headed up to Iowa for the next two weekends to share in some churches, then we'll head back down to Atlanta for a week before the kids and I fly up to Washington on May 5. Caleb will join us near the end of May and then we'll all head back to Ethiopia June 16th. Elsa, apparently, is ready to go home. She told me tonight, after saying what she said about all the trips, "I just want to go back to Omo where we can stay." Okay, baby. Soon.

Lost Without Her

Ezra has been moping all week. You know one of the stories of Toot and Puddle, the one where Toot mopes for a week? "Mope. Mope. Mope.", it says. That is Ez.

The problem?  Elsa is gone. She went up to Tennessee with Caleb (without giving us a backward glance, I might add) and Ezra doesn't know what to do with himself. He has no one to tell him what to do. Poor kid has never had a day to himself, and now that it comes right down to it, he just doesn't know what do now that he has one. Elsa gives him purpose in life--she tells him what, how and when to play, leads him in all adventures, and gives him things to laugh (or cry, as the case may be) about. What's a boy to do without his sister ? Mope, I guess.

And bug Isla. It seems that in the absence of Elsa on which to focus all of his love, adoration, and irritating pokes, Isla has become the new go-to girl for picking on. Isla, though, has evolved over the last two months of us living here with Tim and Leah--she's learned to tattle. Ask Isla what's wrong and she'll tell you: "EZ."

Thankfully, Elsa and Caleb returned this afternoon. All is right in Ezra's world once again.

Let Me Tell You About Daisy

Tiny. She is not. She never has been. But it's somewhat of an optical illusion. Because she's not all that big--6 lbs, 10 oz at birth and now 11 pounds at 2 months. But something about this child is just...strong. She came into the world being able to hold her head up (although if I am to be completely honest, it was probably due to the LACK of a neck rather than STRENGTH of her neck) and somehow the whole "newborn-I-look-like-a-bug" stage bypassed her completely.

She's beautiful. I think she's cuter than our other two at this age (hopefully they'll never read this blog when they get older). She's like an old soul to me. I look at her and she looks back. She watches everything around her with an intentness that is older than her 8 weeks.

She likes her bouncer chair. Correction. She LOVES her bouncer chair. Put that thing on vibrate and she's good for at least an hour. Although I can't say that she has always been so content for the whole of her short life. In fact, this is what Daisy looked like for most of the first month:

MAD.

Don't blame her. The poor thing has reflux. Thankfully, what used to be called "colic" now has a diagnosis--and a medication. So thanks to Zantac and Prevacid, Daisy can now look like this:

Calmer, right?

Thank goodness.

Ezra loves Daisy. When I say 'loves', what I really mean is ADORES, WORSHIPS, SMOTHERS. He is her biggest fan. I hear "Mama, she's cute" at least 20 times a day. I'm not exaggerating. I wouldn't do that about a brother's love.

And I don't blame him. There's just something about Daisy. I love this child. It sounds ridiculous, right? Of course I love my baby. But like I said, there's just something about Daisy. Leah says she's unique. And I agree. Happy 2 month birthday, baby. We're glad that you are ours.

Nola and Daisy

The girls are growing up...(Nola, 2 months and Daisy, 6 weeks)

5 or 32

Elsa: "Do grownups go to bed at bedtime?"

Me: "Yeah, we just have a later bedtime than little kids."

Elsa: "So when I'm five, or thirty-two, I can stay up and play more and eat more and stay outside more?"

You bet.

Hmm...

Things Elsa and Ezra Have Learned Over the Last Three Months:

*They can now recognize the difference between McDonalds (the big M) and Chick Fil A (the Cows) with only the slightest of glances--and know that McDonalds gives them better toys, but Chick Fil A has better playgrounds

*They can now sing "Single Ladies" (Chipmunks version, of course) and "Life as a Highway" (AKA the 'Mack' song), whereas before their repertoire consisted of "He's Got the Whole World" and "Jingle Bells"

*They know that Sundays now mean Krispy Kreme donunts on the way home from church

*Ezra now likes people--at least junior high girls (He giggled through our entire presentation to a junior high youth group last Wednesday)

*They've learned to ask the question "How much longer?" while on our trip from Atlanta to Michigan (and back a week later)

Namesake

All three cousins met their namesake yesterday. Ray Giles is Caleb's grandfather, a man we are extremely proud to have named Daisy after. A lifelong missionary in Ethiopia, the way he has lived his life has helped to shape the legacy of this family. Pa was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in August. Not entirely sure we would get to see Pa again, we have been so blessed to get to see him and GG twice now since coming back to the US. There are really no words to describe the simple sweetness of seeing him hold these three new babies who all bear his name. Pa's health has stabilized amazingly, thanks to the prayers of the many faithful and to the wonder of the body's ability to heal with the help of modern medicine. Nola, Calven, and Daisy, you all have a lot of love to grow into...and a lot to live up to...

Happy 4th Birthday, Elsa!

"Slow Recipes"

Dragging your little chair across the floor
to be my 'help', you stand
tiptoed upon it, much too close
for me to stir ingredients,
open a drawer--or think.
The apron tied beneath your chin
reaches to your knees;
You wait with silken hair and skin
like milkweed drifting from the pod
wait
for me to measure so that
you can proudly pour
We blend important things
in flowered bowls
using the long hands of a yellow clock
this year
while you are four.

~by Jonelle Heckler (given to me by Grandma Giles)

Hello, Calven

And the last cousin makes his fashionably late entrance...welcome, Calven Ray...Congratulations, Dave and Shelah!

Cousins

Daisy Ray (born February 8th) and Nola Ray (born January 31st to Leah and Tim)


Shared a due date, born 9 days apart


Still waiting on one more cousin to join the family

Welcome to the world, Daisy Ray

Daisy Ray Swart
February 8, 2010
6 lbs, 10 oz

Adaptable

OMO: 109 Degrees (Clothing Extraneous)


PLAIN, WASHINGTON: 22 Degrees (Clothing Recommended)

New Pictures

I've gotten a chance to update our photo website. It's mostly just a site for our family and friends, but if you're interested in seeing more pictures, go here.

Back in the USA

Thank you for all the prayers surrounding our travel back to the US! The kids and I made it back to Seattle, Washington on the 1st with a relatively smooth and uneventful trip. The kids did amazingly well, I could not ask for two better travellers. We have had a great week and a half with my family here in Washington--we have been able to attend my niece Amelia's second birthday, participate in the traditional Judy family New Year's fondue dinner, and my best friend put on a baby shower for me. The kids have gotten to play in the snow for the first time (snow angels and sledding with Grandma!), and have become so attached to their cousins in the last 10 days that I am not sure how I will tear them away.

Tomorrow Caleb comes. He has had a great trip riding with his brother-in-law and cousin over the last 10 days, and he should actually be boarding the airplane in Addis Ababa as I write. We are very excited to have him back with us!

I'm taking advantage of this chance to flood the blog with some videos, so scroll down to see some of the new uploads.

I'll try and continue to do the blog some justice by adding some more pictures and posts over the next few weeks.

Sally

Putting Up Lochama's Windmill

Here is a series of videos from a few months ago. Caleb, Erogit and Goradit spent the morning putting up a windmill for Lochama, one of our night guards.

Proof (Rating: NBJ--No Beck Judy)

Now that I've had a chance to read some comments on our blog, I see that our credibility regarding snakes has been called into question. So although this isn't a great video, here's a short video of a 9 1/2 foot python Caleb killed about two weeks before Christmas.

No Title Necessary