Should I Stay or Should I go Now?

Who knew I have enough clothes for all of my kids for SIX days - without washing once?! How do I know this? Because I'm headed out of town in two hours and I have been a liiiiiittle crazy about it.

*I made a bag of clean clothes for each day of the week with each childs necessities.
*I cooked and froze four days of meals, made a menu for five and have stocked the house for seven.
*I have rearranged my entire house. Cupboards, furniture, closets, etc. I put locks on anything Chach can open and Giddie can then pull apart.
*I have drop off and pick up procedures for each of the three ladies helping me, instructions for Peter and more, meal schedules, child info, etc., all taped on my kitchen cabinets.
*I wrote six pages explaining each child, and how to care for them. I call it, "The Tennis Kids: For Dummies."

You see? I have gone totally insane. I think getting out of the house will be the hardest part of the trip. With all of the troubles in the Middle East, I am trying not to freak out and to just relax. Once Tiff and I are actually together, and I'm no longer "travelling alone" - I'll feel better. Plus, she speaks French! Hooray, and I do NOT. This is all very exciting. I can't wait. Or can I? Can't? Can?

Being a mom and leaving five kids and a husband on a strange continent makes me nervous. And while the women helping to care for the kids are absolutely wonderful, I will still worry. They aren't grandma and Minky - and Grandpa too, of course. But they will be fine; and loved. So, I'm off to 'fill my bucket' so to say. It was two years ago this week I 'filled' it in Hawaii. Another baby, a move across the world, and an extra 20 pounds - ain't bad for two years. haha.

I may or may not be updating. Depends on how much time I find myself with and if Tiff wants to share the wealth - of her laptop, that is. So until next week - adios! (wrong language, I know) I've been meaning to tell you all about our family's night out with Fatimah and her family - and goats. Lot's of goats, and one in a big dish of rice! You'll have to wait. It'll be fun!

Camels, camels, everywhere and not a one to ride...

You tell me. Should I be worried? You watch the news. Should I be worried?

This is how the day started out for Peter and the Big Boys on their Outing in the Desert.
They went with a couple from here and a few families from the other branch and ward down south. What a great experience! It was too far and too long to take the three youngest children and myself along. Although I didn't go, I thought you'd enjoy seeing life away from my hamster cage. (aka, camp) This is at a Beduin market, where they sell EVERYTHING, including camels.

Camel harnesses. You say Camel; Jamel in Arabic. Ooooh. I like to say Jamel. Instead of camel. oops. He got a lady in her abaya. sorry.

This man is selling sticks. Well, they're acutally roots that the Bedu's use as tooth brushes. When the bark is off, they split into many small pieces, like a toothbrush's bristles. So you peel a little off and use it until you need more. My boys, AND the Scoutmaster (Peter) loved them! They brought a ton home and the boys try to get away with using these as their toothbrushes. Mmmm? No.

Camel Saddle. I have a need to buy one of these before we move home for good someday. NO IDEA why. But I think I need one. Don't you?

Camels are everywhere. They roam and graze and the Bedu's take care of them. They herd them, as they have since anyone can remember.

One of their stops. These are Mammoth bones. Cool, huh? The boys found a ton of sea shells, well, fosilized sea shells that is. From Utah, and all the Dino digs there, to the other side of the world to Mammoths. What a cool place.

This is an old abandoned village. I like to think of an oasis. I think there may be some inhabitants, not sure. But it was neat and made for some great pictures.

Looking up at a thatched roof from the inside.

Window, from the inside.

I love these doors. These big Arabic doors are all over the place. Sometimes people sell these kind of doors to expats, for furniture. People lay them flat, put raised glass over them and make dining room tables out of them. Many have cool locks and a lot of detail. I like this one because of the color and how simple it is. Many are ornate; this one is just simply beautiful.

Jamel. Just walking down the road. Did you know there were so many colors of Camels? I didn't. Until I moved here that is.

Si, my child with the weakest bladder, HAAAAAD to use the bathroom on the way home. HAD to. I think you can imagine what a gas station is like here. If you can't. Try. Watch some footage of Iraq and you can guess. Middle of no where. Run down. Dirty. Anchient. Creeeeepy. Anddddddd. You need to use the bathroom? Yep. They were sent around the side of the building, up the stairs, to where employees live- and where there was a bathroom. This sign was in there, and seriously makes my stomach turn. Ew. (I am sure he must have had to go #2, that is the ONLY reason to enter a place like this...)

More JAMELS!

It's nice and kinda cool right now. Can you imagine this in the summer? Can you say H.O.T?

Dr. Linvingston, I presume? And his assistants, too. They had a great time and it turned out to be SO much adeventure. They climbed into the center of a huge rock, under it, then up a three story rickety ladder to the top of the rock. They met new friends, tried new food (some not so good), saw new lands and types of people, and saw places that have been basically untouched for thousands of years. Yes. I'd say it was a day of adventure. Wouldn't you?

Best. Post. Ever.

If this isn't the best post ever, I don't know what is. Remember my last post? Feeling sad...blah, blah, blah. (Thanks for the kind words, btw.) Well. Anywho. I think this post is a record of one of those days you put on the "Hey, it's really cool living where we do. Where else can we..."

That's right. Simon took his eight year old swim right here in the middle east. (I'll refer to it as this instead of a B., for censorship reasons) Isn't he cute? I just love this guy.

It all happened on February 14th. Because who loves you more than Jesus? AND, it is the day of love, right? (Simon explained this to me) So a wonderful Valentine's Day gift, and a date he won't forget.

You'll laugh, but February around here got pretty darn cold. We could see our breath on this chilly morning. The temp was in the 40's, then add the ocean air and the wind and it was down right freezing!

Into the water at just about 6 a.m.

Out by 6:02 a.m. Our Branch Pres. and our good friend were the witnesses. But the tide was out so far that the B.P. went out with them so he could actually see the event up close and personal. In his nice slacks and all. What a good guy. Brrrrrr.

No words for this. The cleanest moment of his life. What a wonderful gift.

He couldn't stop shivering. He get's cold easily, as you can see Si is skin and bones. We wrapped and wrapped him in towels and hurried back to the car after a couple of pictures.

A big thank you to the wonderful men in our Branch that helped. We weren't allowed to invite more than we had to, so as not to draw any attention. Hence the early morning. His friends and other members couldn't be here, but it was sweet and simple, just as it should be.

Water shoes. All dressed in white, but colored shoes for the feet. It's rocky out there.

Look at Pres. C's pants, nice. :) Here we are getting ready to go home. 6:15 a.am.

Here's Simon all done and happy as can be. Strange that he had to get home, shower and leave for school. Things here are different, but the simplicity of this event was so nice.

Pres. C. and Chach.

Ironically, Valentine's Day is HUGE at our school here on camp. But you CANNOT buy Valentine's in this country. The holiday is forbidden. They even check luggage at the airport for red items on this day. And they rarely even sell red things around this day as well. With no other options, I made cookies and simple cards for the kids. But making them for three classes was a lot of work. Next year; Note to self: Bring Valentine's from home.

The kids all were asked to wear red and pink. Roo wore her giant under scarf/head shaping/pink fluffy thing as well. Looked cute, although a little big.

The evening of the Eight Year Old Swim we invited the branch over for a small program, dinner and dessert. Simon wanted breakfast for dinner though, so people took cake to go. I'll admit that dear friends donated a couple of his favorite foods for the breakfast, this may include forbidden items. (that may or may not be a HUGE plate of bee-ackin) It was heavenly, although I felt a little confused serving it here, especially after he was just so clean. Oh well. We had a wonderful time.

We sang some songs and Peter, Simon and I bore our testimonies. Samuel did also, giving much advise and love to his little brother. It was really nice and I think neither of them will forget the love they both felt this night. His confirmation was lovely as well. A great ending to a wonderful day.

Blue for Home

I did something I shouldn't have. Something I try not to do. But at 1 a.m. when I can't sleep - sometimes I just can't refrain.

No. I didn't eat goodies all night. Okay. Just a little.

But I did something that makes me feel almost worse that that. I looked at blogs. Yes. Blogs from the U.S. Blogs of life at home. Where winter actually happens. Where people celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas - legally. Where they have their families to their houses, and see friends they've known for years. Where they write about adventures to normal stores and activities from church.

Why shouldn't I do this you ask? Seems harmless, doesn't it. But it's not. Believe me, it's not.

It makes me realize all that I (and my family) are missing. I realize that a good portion of a year has passed. That days like Presidents Day have come and gone, and I didn't even know it. That a whole wonderful season of snowy days, fresh air and bright blue skies - is gone. A fall full of crunchy leaves piled in my yard for my kids to play in just slipped past me. More Sundays that I choose to think about, of walking into my mom and dad's house for Sunday dinner, kids and tow with a noise only a herd of elephants can compete with, are now gone. Never to get back. The hours of visiting with my sisters, laying on Minky's couch and her telling me how to do my hair, are now lost. The phone calls from friends about something new at Costco, let's meet for dinner, go to the park, start a quilt; these are no more.

Some may say that I was lucky I even had such a life. And they are right. And some would say, look at all of the new and fun adventures you're having now. And they are right. But at the moment all I can feel is sad to be missing a life that we all loved so much. Many people here tell me their lives are so much better here. That their children have better friends, that life is quiet and safe, that their children have so much to be involved with, that they are happier here than anywhere else. And I can see their point as many come from area's of the world that aren't that great. But my life was so perfectly happy before. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was happy. Now, it has been added to and I have grown, we all have in ways that I would never change. But we had a wonderful life filled with family, friends and the gospel. What more could I ask for?

Today I missed my brother's sealing to his wife Cindy. The thought of this makes me need to cry. I feel like my role in my family is being so changed. I am usually there for everything. I am a sister, a daughter, a friend, a babysitter, a therapist, a taxi, a maid, a cook and much much more when it comes to my immediate family. These roles are being changed and replaced. I can't help but feel sorrow over the loss of the way things were. I hate missing something as wonderful as a sealing. I hate feeling left out becuase I am SO far away. I hate missing the family conversations, the laughing, the meals, the arguing, the hugging, the crying and the overall feeling of belonging. I miss it all.

See? I shouldn't read blogs from home. I am even really good at realizing that people write about the best things that happen to them, for the most part, on their blogs. But it isn't that, that I am lamenting. It's everyday life filled with love and warmth. I know that life has to change and we have to move on. But I sure miss the way things were. Someday we will find a spot that feels as comfortable as things did there, but for now, I just miss home and all that that word means to me.

Bad Ceiling

Several months ago, Chach started complaining about going to bed. “I hate bed,” he’d say. “I hate the ceiling. BAD ceiling. Hit the ceiling mommy.” And I would pretend to punch the ceiling for him. “You be nice, you bad ceiling,” I would say. “I scared my room, mama. Bad ceiling,” he would cry. This went on for several weeks. I looked. His ceiling is fine. It’s actually quite nice and new. Seems fine. Nothing wrong with the ceiling that I could see.

So the nice mom in me held on for a few weeks of kindness. Then the mean mom moved in and started saying things like, “Nothing is wrong with your ceiling! Now got to sleep!”

Fast forward a month or so.

It’s three A.M. and for some random reason Gid is up in the night. This never happens. Like hasn’t happened in six months. So I cuddle him for a few minutes and head back to my bed. As I lay there trying to sleep. I hear it. I hear…

Bad Ceiling.

*scratch* *scratch* *scratch*

Right above my head.

*scurry* *scurry* *scurry*

Grabbing Peter’s hand, “Wake up! Do you hear that?”

*PATTER* *PATtter* *patter*

From one side of the ceiling to the other.

Yep. We certainly did have ‘bad ceiling’

The next morning I called pest control. I tell Sheriff “I think we might have a,” whispering,” r.a.t.” His response? “A rat? No problem. We have rats everywhere in Bangladesh. In the house, outside of the house. They are everywhere. No problem.” “Well in America, we certainly DO NOT have rats ‘everywhere.’ I can’t live with something in the ceiling. Ah!” He laughed at me. “You call pest control then, “ he says. “I already did.”

Out come two men to my house. With a big metal latter and a broken tool box to look for our attic entrance. They find the entrance, in Roo’s walk in closet, has been painted shut. So they have to x-acto in open. Meanwhile, I am trying to keep her out of the upstairs and brush of the questions of what the men are doing here. “Uh. They’re just checking some thing’s out.” I tell ya, having a jibber jabber, question asking, very persistent little person for a daughter can be tricky.

Down come the men. “Yes madam. You have rats. “

Kill. Me. Now. These are the very last words I want to hear. There are a lot of things here I don’t like, but tolerate. It’s VEEEERRRRYYYYY hot a lot of the year, the pollution is almost unbearable, we don’t have a car, I have to dress in a cape to go anywhere, the mosquitos are MORE than I can handle. But this! This? This is the worst thing for me.

If you don’t know this about me. I have a HUGE fear of rats. It’s genetic. See genetics works like this. If your parent hates something. So do you. Your dad a certain team? So do you. Your mom loves a certain flower? So do you. See? Well, my genetics are like this. My dad hates rats, and so do I. (and now my kids are hot on the genetic trail – sorry) Hates is probably not a strong enough word. Despises? They horrify him? Not sure. But it’s bad. And like it or not, I’ve got it bad. I think all of my siblings have it. We HATE rats!

Oh yeah. I think I already wrote about the one I saw on the street and the one in the Chinese restaurant. Well. It’s a theme. Rats = Bad or, ‘bad ceiling’ as the case may be.

So I say to the pest control guy, “How many do you think.” “Not too many, not too much dropping up there.” Help me! He says, “We’ll get them though. We put best bait we have up there. Peanut butter.” Hmmm? Seems like when a rabid rodent is trying to eat my children alive in the night (or so it seems) you could do better than peanut butter!

“You’re from the Philippines, right?” I ask. “You have many rats, right? Well in America, we don’t. I cannot have rats. You don’t understand. PLEASE get them out!!” He laughed at me too! Hurumph!

“We will be back tomorrow. I think they jumping off palm tree, onto roof, and into hole in roof.” Thanks for the comfort, sir. Sheesh. So, I swallow my fear and brave the second night of knowing about bad ceiling. Around 11 p.m., I am quite sure I hear a very loud *THWACK!*

The next day the men return. “I think I heard a trap in the night.” “Good,” he responds. Good? Not so good for me. “Sir, if there is one up there, I don’t want to see it. Please don’t show it to me. Just let me know if you found one or not. But DO NOT show it to me.”

Ten minutes later…”Madam. We got one.” “Great!” (I think?) This is where is gets bad. His partner, who doesn’t speak English and didn’t hear my request, holds up a clear plastic grocery sack. High in the air, like he just caught a big trout or something. A big dead black/gray rat is in the bag. Just the way the weight of the body is making the bag sag grosses me out. And I can see it! And it’s terrible! ‘I DON’T WANT TO SEE IT! AHHHHH” But. I did. I saw it. “Big rat madam. Very big. 8 or 10 inches.” Wahhhhh-hhh-hhhh.

Bad ceiling.

They set two more traps and didn’t catch anymore. I still need to get gardening out here to trim the tree. Lesson learned? Listen to your little ones. I feel SO bad that I ignored Chach. Here he was, very possibly, hearing this VERY scary noise at night. Really. It was very loud. It scared me to death. It wasn’t a quiet noise at all. Anyway, I feel bad I was short with him and didn’t listen to what he was trying to tell me. I don’t think I even asked what was bad about the ceiling. The man said he thought it had been up there for quite a long time considering the amount of dropping for just one rat.

Sorry Chach. I hope you don’t need too much therapy over this one. I think I might though.

I almost took a picture for you. But really? It was more than I could do. It was bad. Bad ceiling.

Movin' on up

I can't hear you, I can't hear you, I can't hear you, I'm not listening...

These are the words that my motherly insticts are saying while I'm trying to tell them that the time has come to wean Giddie.

(I think I prefer the 'ie' ending to the 'y' ending, what about you?)

Yep. It's true. He's ten and a half months, get's up on all fours while nursing, to watch the other kids, and LOVES to eat real food. It's official. I am closing this chapter in my life. And yes, it makes me very sad.

As I have mentioned before, nursing babies has never come easy for me. But I do it. And in the end, I love it. It starts out bad, I always want to quit, and then I'm sad when the time comes to wean. I think I feel most sad that my babies have to grow up. And this being my last, makes it even more of a heart ache for me.

But I know it's time for both of us to move on. He's ready, and I'm ready to start working on my own physical well being. Things aren't pretty 'round these parts, if you know what I'm sayin'? Okay. Fine. A per usual, when I wean each child, I weigh the exact same as I did the day I delivered them. So here I am again, staring at losing a WHOLE lot of weight. But this time? This time? I won't have to put all the weight on again with another baby. This may ACTUALLY be the last time I have to fight this battle. (the huge up and down on the scale, that is) For me, baby weaning and weight loss go hand in hand. Wish me luck!

Since I am going out of town soon, the timing is perfect. He is taking a bottle well, and I think even a bit happier to be on the go with a bottle. I am just nursing first thing in the morning. I love this time with him. I love to hear him jabbering away down the hall, then get him out of his nice warm bed, all rosey cheeked and cuddlie. I bring him into my bed, having opened the blinds just a bit, and lay down with him. I love the closeness and the quiet time together. This is only possible, of course, because I run around getting the big boys out the door, breakfast for the littles, a show on so after eating they'll watch T.V., before I scoop little Gideon out of his bed, ensuring that they won't be up jumping all over the bed with us. And even then, it's not a guarantee.

For several weeks now, he has been giving me the signs that he is ready. Most of the feedings of the day he is too busy pulling off and looking at the constant commotion of our home to get much of meal anyway. And he's on to solids. Really on to solids. He LOVES food. He'd eat a steak if I'd let him. (which means I'd have to find one that I trust in this area of the world, which I can't - three months and I am going to eat A LOT of steak! And LOTS of other things too...) He loves yogurt, raisins, crackers, cheese, green beens, canned mandarin oranges, apples and BANANAS. He loves his bananas. I didn't have any luck finding baby food in this country. I brought about two months worth with me when we moved and had my parents bring a little to Europe with them last fall. So we had store bought for about six weeks, then I made my own. Five kids, and I have never officially made baby food - totally by choice. Didn't Gerber put a cute baby on the front so I would trust them? Duh. It worked. Why would I make my own when I can buy it? I know, it's cheaper to make it, but I always found a way to pay for jarred baby food. Until now, when I have had NO other choice. Luckily, we're out of that stage. Hooray!

Anyway. We're movin' on up around here. The winds of change are here and I am quite ready for them. Now, if only I could potty train Chach....