Beyond the Doors; more.

My kids adored the show as well. They couldn’t wait to come again. Fatimah and Rajaa wanted to take us to dinner, their treat. I know Fatimah doesn’t have a job, so I tried to refuse, but she insisted. Really it was her father who would be paying, and I felt bad taking money from them. In the end, we agreed, and I began imagining my first really great Middle Eastern restaurant experience here. You know, sitting on the ground with big pillows, low lighting, and delicious spices over exotic dishes. “Do you want Pizza Hut or Kentucky?” says Fatimah. “Kentucky! Kentucky!”, squeals Rajaa. I was taken off guard and confused. “What’s Kentucky?”, I ask. “It is chicken and sandwiches and french fries,” respond Fatimah in her perfect English. “Ooooh. You mean Kentucky Fried Chicken. Got it. Well, I don’t care. What do you boy’s want?” I reply, a little disappointed. Pizza! Again from Rajaa, “Kentucky! Kentucky!”. Since I really don’t care, neither are good in the states, and they are even worse here – I’m happy to give Rajaa what she wants. “Kentucky it is!”

On our way out of the shopping area gates, local men in their thobes and head dresses beckoned me to a tent. I just kept ignoring them, ‘look the other way and pretend I can’t hear them.’ Fatimah and Rajaa had gone off for a minute to get something for their nephews. The men kept opening their arms and wanting me to come with them. I ignored them the best that I could, but they wouldn’t leave me alone. It was dark and none of them spoke English, and I was getting nervous. Just before I bolted for it, Fatimah showed up to translate for us. They wanted me and the boys to write a get well letter to the king. He was in the United States recovering from surgery and we were to wish him well. I think having a note from an American seemed appropriate and this was why they wouldn’t let up. Sure, I didn’t mind. It’s his oil that pays my bills, after all, what could it hurt? “Dear King, get well soon. Hurry home.“ was the message I wrote. I still giggle at it. They are SO formal in this part of the world, I wasn’t trying to be insulting, but what else do you write in a get well note? I like to think my good wishes did in fact bring him home a few weeks later. It was such a day for celebration that the entire Kingdom got the day off of work. And, thanks to my many well wishes, or so I like to think, he was alive and well when the uprisings were happening and he decided to give everyone in the country an extra two months’ salary in thanks of not protesting. See how kind words can change the world?

Anyway, out to the waiting car and driver we went, and off to Kentucky for dinner. “Fatimah, your driver drives SO fast. He’s a crazy man.” “Not with me” she says, “I will tell him to drive safer with you.” We get in the dark green Land Cruiser and Shafiik speeds off. “See? He’s going way too fast, “ I say. She laughs at me, “No he’s not. This is fine.” I tell you, these people are crazy. They don’t understand the risks of high speed and no seat belts. The entire drive to Kentucky, their six year old nephew is standing up in the front passenger seat, playing with the drivers phone and teasing him while we are going at least 60 mph in what would be a 35 mph zone. I can hardly watch. I recently heard a ‘sick joke’, “What do you call a five year old girl in the middle east? An airbag.” It’s not funny, it’s sick, and it breaks my heart to see how casual they are with a life. But I also realize that they believe with all of their hearts that God will provide – seat belt or not. And if it is meant to be, then it is meant to be. Seat belt, or not.
We arrive at Kentucky just before the last prayer of the day ends and have to wait for about ten minutes in the car until the restaurant opens again. The kids crawl around and Fatimah, Rajaa and I talk. Fatimah tells me that Rajaa has been on a diet this week. “She eats only dates and milk for six days, then gets to eat whatever she wants on the seventh day.” I laugh, as it sounds like diets I have been on, only not milk and dates, but something of the sort. She was dying to eat at Kentucky for her day off, and I’m glad we did. I’ve been there my dear sister, oh, I’ve been there. Rajaa is tiny and slight just like Fatimah. But like the rest of the world, it seems that women are never happy with their own self-image. Before we enter the building, Fatimah asks me one more time how old Samuel is. “Ten.” “Really? He looks older, but you’re sure he’s ten?” Yes. I did give birth to him, I think to myself. I hadn’t been in this country long enough to really know what she was getting at. But I do now. She was double checking if we could all sit together in the family section, where she could take off her veil behind a curtained booth. If he was eleven, that was too close to puberty and he would have to eat in the men’s section.

The main section of the restaurant is the ‘single section’, or the men’s section. The ‘family section’ is through another small door, in a tiny cornered off area of the building. This is not just for women, but a married man can eat with his family there as well. Each booth, of which there are few, has a privacy curtain strung across the opening. The main section has tables and booths, set up openly all over the floor of that area. We ordered from a very nice man who spoke great English, getting your typical KFC fare. The man asked where I was from, as they always do, “United States,” I reply. “Oh. I want to see Texas very badly. I love John Wayne movies,” he tells me. What can you say about that, but smile? He made more conversation and I headed to our booths.

Sitting across from one another, the kids in one booth, the adults in the other, we waited on the red vinyl seats. Much to my surprise, and I think the surprise of Rajaa, Fatimah took off her veil. The curtains were not closed (again, why she doubled checked Sam’s age) and her face was uncovered in the open. I hadn’t seen anyone right after they took off their covering. Fatimah looked completely hot, her eyebrows were all askew, and she looked relieved. She was sitting with her back to the aisle, where someone bringing food would not be able to see her right away. Just then, a man came to the table with our food. I’ve never seen someone’s hands move so quickly. She grabbed her veil, which was laying on the table, and threw it up over her face immediately, almost in a panic. She held it there, firmly covering every ounce of skin and hair, while she and the briefly discussed the food. Then he was off, and it was on the table again.

Fatimah was able to eat more freely, being uncovered. Rajaa, on the other hand, did not unveil, and I saw for the first time, the art of how these women eat. A careful dance of keeping your hands perfectly clean, so you don’t get anything on the fabric while you lift, just slightly, your face covering. The food has to get directly into the small passageway you have allotted for yourself, any misses, and you have food all over your veil. Drinking with a straw is a must, because you can’t really tip your head back, while being covered, and not show any of your skin. I noticed that I would eat much less, if I were trying to eat with a veil on. It really is a lot of work, something I am glad I don’t have to do. Rajaa looked at Fatimah with a strange look, when she took off her veil to eat. I felt that perhaps Fatimah was being a bit rebellious in doing so, but of course, I think she should eat how she wants. It was none of my business.

We ate and made conversation until it was time to go. Rajaa was careful not to eat too much, as keeping with her diet. They were discussing it when Fatimah turned to me and said, “How much do you weigh, Teresa?” Choke. Cough, cough. “I’m sorry what?” Again, she says, “How much do you weigh?” Now remember, I am not small fry here, and I don’t discuss my weight with anybody, even other American big girls. “I’m not going to tell you Fatimah, that’s personal.” “Just tell us. Come on. Is it more than,…” this number or that, she replies. She continues to pressure, until she says a number in kilograms and I say “Yes. I weigh more than that.” Oh man. Big mistake, they laugh and giggle. I reprimand them by telling them not to be rude, and we laugh. Rajaa says, through translation, “You don’t look like you weigh that much.” Oh, yes I do. But it was nice of her to try to make me feel better.

Shafiik dropped the nephews off at their home, a few streets away from Fatimah’s home. Then he dropped the girls off at their house, then back to camp with the boys and myself. “How did you meet Fatimah?, he asked me. I told him and he said, “They are a very good family. Very nice people.” And he was right. They have been kind, and generous, and have helped introduce me to a side of this world I had not yet been able to break in to. Next time Fatimah and I would meet, it would be my turn to show her a part of the world she didn’t yet know.

Beyond the Doors: part? (not sure, but the story continues)

Fatimah had asked me to bring a snap shot of my daughter. Fatimah loves little girls, and anything girlie – pink especially. It is rare that I see her and she doesn’t have a gift for my little one. Ruby loves this, but with only one daughter, the boys often feel left out. Fatimah had asked me to bring a photo because at the shopping area you could have a photo made into some kind of token to wear. She wanted to have a necklace make for Ruby that had her own picture in it, of course, upon receiving the gift, Ruby fell in love with this mysterious Arabian woman she had never met. They have much in common, they love pink, shopping, getting dressed up, and wearing make-up. Upon meeting, several weeks later, they immediately adored each other.

Off in the not too far distance the call to prayer began to cry through the night. The sun was just setting and sunset prayer was beginning. This meant all the shopping stalls were to be closed for thirty minutes. The evening was cool, for this part of the world, almost cold. We quickly got some snacks for the kids and huddled into a sitting circle while we waited for prayer time to end. The wind was blowing hard and while we were cold, the men wouldn’t let us wait in the big shopping tent. Everything must close, no one is allowed inside. This is true all over this country, as it is the law. And anyone who does not obey this is subject to severe penalty and fines. So we tried to keep warm while waiting for the men who had disappeared inside their tents, mosques, vehicles for home, etc., that had left to pray, to return. After some friendly talk, as Fatimah translated, it was fully dark and prayer was over.

I found the fake ground covering great for keeping your abaya clean, as we made our way across the sea of green, towards the big striped, mid-century looking circus tent. At the front was a box office, of sorts. A barred cage with a dark skinned Middle Eastern man inside. He was certainly not an Arab, I later learned he was Pakistani, like the many others that worked at and ran the circus. Fatimah would not let me pay, but she put up a pretty good argument with this rugged looking man about the prices she was to pay. I think it had something to do with the fact that my oldest son looks much older than ten, as he is tall, and this man wanted to charge him the higher rate. He was grouchy, very dirty, wore a turban like scarf with pieces hanging down on his head, and what looks like ratty pajamas and a vest to keep warm on the rest of his body. Tickets were purchased, and with that, we were allowed into the circus tent.

Upon entry we found another man, he was there making sure that men and women weren’t to sit together. This was a one ring circus, with old metal bleachers lining a third of each side, and the ‘backstage’ area being the other third. The place was about as big as a junior high school gym. There weren’t many people there to begin with, just a few men in the men section. One had a few of his young kids with him. And on the ladies side, there were about 10 women, all fully covered in their abaya’s and veils, each with a couple of children in tow. The man at the entrance motioned for my ten year old to sit in the men’s section. I looked the other way. He motioned again, and this time I took Samuel’s hand and pulled him up the stairs to the ladies section and pretended I never heard the man. Fatimah didn’t seem worried, so neither did I. I spent the next few minutes taking in the scenery of this crazy little tent I had just walked into. It was old, run down, rickety, and the bright orange stadium seating made me nervous.

The background music wasn’t that of the typical Western circus music, upbeat, fanciful. It was the lull guttural crying of Arabic music, almost sad and a little scary. This music would be the music throughout the entire show. Before I knew it, out came a little person, a midget, or a dwarf perhaps, dressed in shiny pink and blue satin pants, a top and a vest, with mismatched striped socks on his feet; no shoes. He came out screeching into the microphone, words I could not understand, but between the yelling he made a loud high pitched cackling laugh that scared me more than made me laugh. It made me wonder what they might think of our ring masters, in their grand clothes and high profiles. All I know is that I wasn’t laughing with him, but I sure was laughing at him.

The circus shows ranged from dogs through a hoop, to tight rope walkers, fire eaters and knife throwing, to standing while doing sticks on horses. I had two favorites, one being the lion tamer; who I can now only just talk about, as I feared for the lives of my children and myself while this was happening. The lion tamer, who seemed to also be the tent-setter-upper, fire eater and dog trainer, didn’t seem to really get along very well with this skinny, mangy looking lion. The lion had no interest at all in jumping through his fire lit rings; it cowered in the corner when his master cracked the whip. What I didn’t mention was how the ring was put together. Imagine if you had some pieces of chain link fence that you packed around in a truck across the Gulf State desert, then when you decided to set up camp, you tied some rope between each of these pieces of fence, shook it a couple of time and said, “Yeah. That should hold.” That’s about what we’re talking about. I was so surprised to see the lion cower, then roar at his master, then throw himself into the side of the fencing, that I hardly had time to remember that the rings of fire could be knocked over at any moment and raging fire could ensue. There is no such thing as ‘fire code’ here, or hazardous warnings. One fire in that place and it would be sheer pandemonium, I tell you. (you may find it startling that I brought my whole family and two other families back, just days later, to see the show – I couldn’t be the only one to witness the Pakistani circus!)

The other act that we all enjoyed was when a man dressed in skin tight pink lamey balanced a ladder on his fore head. Then the ring master, or little person, was lifted from the ground onto the ladder, and he climbed to the top all the while the man in pink danced around the ring while keeping the balance of the ladder. Honestly, I’ve never seen such a thing in my life. It was certainly something to see.
After each trick, trapeze flight, or ‘comedy routine’ the men would put their arms up, as if to say, “Ta da!” and “Thank you very much!” In return? *chirp*chirp*chirp*. Well, except for me and my kids. We clapped, and hollered, and whooped. And got stared at a lot. But that’s what you do at a circus, isn’t it? Apparently not here. Here you stare and make no emotion. We really were the only people that clapped through the entire show. I had to remember that these people have no form of public entertainment. They don’t have movies, sporting events, theatres, ballets, operas, or anything like it. This was the first thing of it’s kind that Fatimah and Rajaa had ever been too. Later I asked how they liked it; they loved it! You could have fooled me.

On a last note about the circus two things stuck in my mind, first; there was not one woman in the entire thing. Well, at least Ruby can’t run away and join the circus in this neck of the woods. And second; when two men leaned off the back of a horse, one holding this country’s flag and the other holding Pakistan’s, while riding around the arena, I felt a little nervous. I was the only white, Western, American, Christian person in the place; and I felt it.

What's my name again?

My 402nd post. Sheesh! That's a lot of ramblin'.

But oh how I have missed my blog. I can hear the rusty squeak as I sign in, I wasn't sure I'd even remember my password. Phew! Good work. That's what my piano teacher (the totally awesome Sarah) calls 'finger memory.' I have very little of it, apparently.

I really am surprised how much I have missed writing this summer, but I feel refreshed (well, maybe not refreshed, but an urge anyway) and ready to start 'er up again. If you didn't know, I took my kids out of school four weeks early, and will not return them to the far away desert until they are a week late starting in September. Yeah. We milked this summer for all we could. It has been non stop fun; most days. We had a month of the entire family together, then six weeks without Peter, then he'll be back next week for another month. At which time we will all be on our *GULP* 35 hour trek to our other home. We've had graduate student renters in our Big Blue House this last year, and again this year coming up, we have a family moving in in a few weeks. I CANNOT tell you how coming home to my OWN house has made this a perfect summer. I feel SO happy, blessed, and lucky to have a home in two places. If I'd known it would have worked out so well, I might not have whined quite so much all last year. Okay. You're right. I probably would have...

So what the heck have you been doing all summer, you crazy woman? Well. Since you asked:

The Zoo
The Bean Museum
Tucano's
Soccer Camps
Baseball Camp
Swimming Lessons (taught by the worlds greatest teacher, Miss Stacey. Want to teach your kids to swim? She's your gal. I'm not sure where my chicken-children went, but I'm glad to see them go!)
Lagoon
Dinosaur Museum
Weekend to Wolf Creek, UT w/the Sinema's
Piano Lessons (yep, that includes me. Don't get your hopes up, I still super stink.)
Hikes
Camping
MANY play dates with long lost friends
Manicure/Pedicure
Lot's of wonderful company and visits from family, SOOOO fun
Weekend to St. George, UT w/ grandma and grandpa
Cove Fort
Scera Pool
Lazy days at Minky's house
A Lot of PBS
Summerfest parade/fireworks
a whole LOT of cub/boy scout activities
Annual shopping fest 2011 (thanks Kath, couldn't have done it without you!)
Lot's of skyping with daddy
Cafe Rio
Zuppa's
Tubing the So. Fork of the Ogden River
Rafting on the Boise River
Five days, five kids in Boise, ID (sorry Beath's, hope you recover soon, we sure had fun though! :)
Great Grandparents
Two Enrichment's
And much, much more...

Well. As you can see, there has been a lot going on. We made a list of things we wanted to do this summer. There's a lot not on here, like Chuck E Cheese, etc. But we have made a HUGE dent in the list. I think the kids have had SO much fun. It has been really busy, and really fun. It has been a great grounding couple of months to help them feel like they have a home here. That they are Americans, with a family, friends, church, scouts, etc, that love and support them. What a treat for all of us.

Oh. Don't get me wrong, we've had out 'less great' moments. Here are a few:

Chach pooping in the pool at the hotel in St. George. Classy.

In the middle of pack meeting, for cubs this last week, my kids were going NUTS. Chach dug through my purse until he finally came up for air - and at the top of his lungs said, "What's this?" Like 5 times before I looked to see what he was asking about; a tampon.

Church on my own, with five kids. Oh mama. Last week, while visiting in Boise, they were so wild, I finally dug an entire box of bandaids out of my purse and handed it over to them. They were very entertained, although I am still pulling out wads of used bandaids. Ew. This was, of course, while Giddie was trying to climb into the new born baby's infant seat in front of us over and over and over.

Many near misses, and "I HEAR POOP!" from Chach while driving the miles and miles of road. (He "hears" poop and potty when he has to go. I like it, just go with it.)

I have been less than stellar, as well. There may or may not have been a lot of yelling over the last several weeks. But, as I tell them, I always ask nicely first. If they would listen the first time... What they hear, "meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow"

More than my fair share of children's arguments. Nothing more to be said of this, if you know it, it stinks!

Anywho. There we are. What have you been doing? Was it fun? Can I come too?

Beyond the Doors: Part 7

I know it's been awhile, but I have made it a goal to catch up on my experiences with Fatimah. Most of my feedback comes from these stories; so here you go. My grammar is bad, spelling worse, and I'm too lazy to fix either. Sorry. Here's the link to the last post of Beyond the Doors, if you need an update. Enjoy!

Not too long after my visit to Fatimah’s house, she called and invited my family on out outing with her. We had spoken over the phone a few times since our visit, but had not been able to find a time to see each other in person again. She called mid-week asking if the children and I would like to go to the circus with her. “Uh. The circus?” I wasn’t sure her translation of whatever word she meant was coming through clearly. “Yes. The circus. With animals, and a tent. You know.” She said. Again, my first thought was shear hesitation. Do I want to take my family to a Middle Eastern, turned out to be Pakistani, circus? I took a big breath and said, “We’d love to. But I think Peter would like to come too.” Although somewhat disappointed at me wanting Peter to come, we decided a day and time. I realize now that she doesn’t really want my husband to be with us because then our interaction is limited. It means that if I want to be with Peter, I can’t be involved in conversation with her at the same time; for the most part anyway. But, as luck would have it, the younger children came down with the flu and Peter stayed home with them so that my two older sons could come with me.

I was very concerned at the location of the circus. I didn’t want to travel far, to an unfamiliar place, with my kids alone, and with her drive Shafiik. She offered us her driver, and I accepted not knowing how to explain the location to a driver from the camp. She told me the time he would arrive, and in true Middle Eastern fashion, he was nearly 45 minutes late. He had dropped Fatimah off at the circus, then come for us. As far as I can tell, it is proper to be late in this part of the world.

After, once again, putting our lives into the hands of a crazy man, we arrived at the circus shortly before the sunset prayer. Getting out of the car, I realized we were the ONLY western people at the location. It wasn’t too far from my home, but it was in the center of the small town that lies beyond the gates of our camp. As I searched the crowd of people dressed in all black, or all white, gathered separately, I realized I had no idea how I would find Fatimah in this small sea of cloaked women. Then I saw two black robes and two young boys heading for me. My heart always sinks when people appear to confronting me since I have moved here. I’m afraid I have done something wrong, that I won’t understand what they are saying, that there will be some kind of trouble. I am relieved when they walk on by without any problems. But this time they stopped, and the tiny little hand of Fatimah reached out from under her oversized abaya sleeve, took my hand, shook it and led me into the park where the circus was being held.

“Fatimah! I didn’t recognize you. But really, how could I?” I laughed. She giggled and said she can tell people apart, which I am sure she can, but I can’t. I took very clear mental notes while she introduced me to her sister Rajaa; height, size and style of purse, details on their abayas, how they wrapped their scarves, and every detail I could see in their eyes. These people were the only safety nets I had while I was there. If we were separated, I wasn’t sure how I would find them again – that is of course if they didn’t want to be found. Because, being the only uncovered woman there, I would be easy to find; me and my two blonde haired little boys.

Rajaa doesn’t speak any English, just ‘hello’, ‘nice to meet you’ and the like. Just about my equivalent in Arabic. But she was very excited to meet me and giggled a lot. Fatimah spent a lot of time translating back and forth “Now we are talking about”, this or that. And then the same thing in Arabic to Rajaa. As we walked into the fenced area, the ground covered with AstroTurf, I saw a big circus tent off to one side, old rickety fair rides on the other, the main walkway lined with booths with things for sale, and at the end a large tent that contained more booths for shopping inside. We decided to look around and do some shopping while we waited for prayer, and then for the show to start.

Fatimah and Rajaa had their two nephews with them, their brother’s children. This would be the first of many times I would be out with Fatimah and a young male child, as it is customary for a female to always be accompanied by a male member of the family. Even if that means a small child, they cannot be without a male escort. The boys were dressed in jeans, casual button up shirts, and tennis shoes; looking very western and cute. They were nice and polite, the two of them gave a simple head nod and smile to my boys, as did mine to them. We started making our way through the small stalls of goods for sale, and did our best to ignore the constant stares from people.

The stalls had all kinds of things for sale. Cooking items, teapots, rugs, toys for children, thobes for men, abayas and veils for women, bedding, food items and everything in between. It reminded me of an Arabic version of the county fair from the States. And inside the big white tent at the end of the walkway there was even more in store. Make-up, hair items, soaps, lotions, watches, jewelry, perfumes, incense, candy, nuts, spices, pots, pans, gizmos; really just about anything you could want. All just a little bit ‘off’. Chinese made for export to the Middle East, is different than for export to the States. Think dollar store quality of many things you’ve never seen before. Off to one end of the tent was a women only section where women were unveiled while shopping, they had actual clothing for sale there. Plus more beauty items, lingerie type items, purses, things women would like and even a place where you could get a picture taken for your loved one. I guess it was for your loved one, there was an old camera set up with a back drop. Photos are not looked upon highly in this area of the world, and I didn’t see anyone getting a picture taken.

Some of the things that most caught my eye were the ‘beauty’ items. Whitening lotion – for your skin. Lots of bleach for your body hair. Virginity soap – for your ‘sensitive areas’. Body wax, hair removal items, lots of pictures on products that seemed to be for making a person more sexy. This seemed ironic compared to what I had seen in this culture up until now. I spent most of my time awe struck at all of the items for sale. Only men worked there, as is customary in this part of the world. I was astounded at how quickly their sales pitches turned to English as I walked by. The kids and I were like kids in a candy store lured in by scents, aromas, music, candy, displays of toys; there was SO much to see. We were wide eyed and fascinated at every turn. Little did we know that our eyes were about to get much wider as we made our way to the main attraction; the circus.

Missed you!

Ooooh. We missed you if you weren't there on Tuesday night. Really missed you!

What a fun, exhausting, crazy, night! There were A LOT of people there to hear about our little adventure. Yikes! And I talked - A LOT. I am a chatter, as you know. I tried to talk as fast as I could to get it all in, but yeesh, there's a lot to say. So I went on for a hour and a half and have felt guilty since. Sorry to you lovlies who made it, hope you were able to glue your ears back on after I talked them all off.

I want to say thank you to many of you who made the trip to happy valley, just to see me! What FUN it was to see so many of my friends from so many different times in my life, all in one spot!

From my entire life, came my parents and two of my sisters. My mom and sister even helped in the little fashion show, thank you! Thank you for coming to support me and for being a strength in my life. My dear dad came and was the only man in a very big sea of women, thank you!

From college, came Tiff. What a dear friend to pack up her three kids and head down here for me. She is such a great support and help. She even manned the kitchen for my part of the food after the meeting, so I could chat! She helped me get all my junk together and set up as well. Thank you for sacrificing three days of your life for me, Tiff. I hope you know how much it means to me. AND, the day at Lagoon was awesome, too! Thank you!

From my newlywed years, came my dearest Johanson's! Two daughters (Tiffani and Holli), their mom Stephanie, and her mom, Marilyn. Well, you can guess how I cried and squeeled when I saw them. (we missed you Mandi!!!) They live in Texas now days and just happened to be here in Utah for the week. Thank you SO much for making the effort to come and see me. What fun! Let's get together SOON!

From the basement years, came Stacey (and her wonderful mom, Vicky). (that would be the time that we both lived in our parent's basements with little kids and babies) Recently returned from AZ back to happy valley, so very fun to have another dear friend attend. She wore the most awesome abaya/zebra print bathing suit in the fashion show section for me. That's because she's so dang skinny now, that it even looked cute on her! If that's possible for such a horrible outfit to look cute on any one. But it did on her; thank you!!

From the beginning of life in the Big Blue House, came Aimee (and her SIL Julie, too). From just across town, but they made the effort to come and support me. Aimee, I have written of before (like all of these people), she is a saint. I can't imagine life without her. As usual, while everyone else, especially me, was just chatting away, she was busy in the RS room cleaning and packing up all my stuff for me. Truly always thinking of others, thank you!

From life here, came so very many others! I think I listed all of the people from outside of my ward that came. If I forgot you, I'm sorry! Comment and tell me, and then I'll feel bad - and that will be good for me. :) The RS room was packed to the gills. We laughed, we cried, we oohed, awed, and tisked. (that's tisk, tisk tisk, - as in,' can you imagine?', kind of tisking) But many of you that read this crazy blog of mine can imagine, because you read along here the adventure with me. Thank you. And again, and huge thank you to everyone that came. I hope you went home with a little bit of a new perspective and gratitude for your life here. I know I did.

Thank you for amusing me. Thank you for commenting and lifting my spirits when it's hard to be in the Middle East. I hope you know how much I appreciate it. This blog has been a therapy for me, helping me sort out feelings, emotions, and experiences. For some reason, writing to a small audience makes it easier to keep recording and writing. Thank you.

If you didn't get to come, and wanted to, I'm sorry we missed you. If you live far away, and I come to see you (attention Seattle friends in particular) I'll give you a mini version if you'd like. Or some to see me, and I'll chat your ears off too! Can't promise my super awesome henna'd hand though, or the zebra swim suit, but we'll have a great time anyway. So until next time; I'm out. Masalama. (no idea how to spell that, but it means 'goodbye' in Arabic.)

Living and loving life

Oh. This was fun reading all of your comments! Looks like Fatimah is the winner of what people want to hear about. And you haven't even heard about us at the Pakistani Circus or at her family 'farm'. Those are good ones. I plan on getting more of these written about this summer while I am home, and life is much less interesting. Much more safe and normal, but still, much less interesting.

You won't want to miss when I gave Fatimah one of her gifts from London, a really cute blingy blue jeweled pen and she said, "Thank you. But I would like pink better." She cracks me up, and has no idea why I have to laugh at her. Can you imagine at 25 year old in the states saying that about a 15$ pen/gift? (BTW, I knew she would like pink, but they were sold out)

It has been a week of emotions and reconnecting to life here in the USA. We were met at the airport by family with a big welcome home sign, and the house was decorated with balloons and signs as well. What a wonderful treat. The welcoming of friends and neighbors has been overwhelming as well. Imagine that you lived somewhere for a long time and moved away, then nine months later moved back to that very house. People have been SO kind and loving!

I laughed an evil and excited laugh when I drove the first time; then sat in the parking lot and cried. How have I come to a life that makes me so thrilled to drive a car? Once inside I cried again in the produce section. We have SO much here and I love it. And I can't believe how little the rest of the world has. Yes; I believe I was/am suffering from culture shock. I think I have a tiny understanding of how missionaries feel. It has been strange. One day I said to my kids in the car, "Look at me! I'm driving, annnnnnd?! I'm wearing short sleeves, too!" We all laughed at that one. I came out of Costco on the second day home (Costco?!!! Be still my beating heart! I LOVE YOU!) and a car horn or something was blaring for just a second, the wind had caught the sound and for one quick second I thought, "Call to prayer? Already? Wait. There isn't call to prayer here. Ha! This place is awesome!"

I don't write much about church on here, but let me tell you that it is a challenge. Who knew a handful of people in a branch could be so much work? It's exhausting physically and emotionally. So I have been thrilled to have scout leaders and primary teachers at our door welcoming my kids home and inviting them to scouts and primary. (one even brought us a Welcome Home cake) Oh, happy day! Sitting in sacrament meeting was such a treat. Hundreds of people singing to an organ? Could have have been heavenly angels, I tell ya. It's just been great.

Being back in my house has been very strange. As you know, I LOVE the big blue house. We all do. To make myself adjust to life in the Middle East I had to pack up my feelings of home, put them in a box, and store them in my emotional closet. When I have moved before, I've done something similar, but I have never gotten to unpack them. So all my months of dreaming of home, are actually happening. It's hard to comprehend for me. AND, I have all of these knew feelings and experiences that I have to now do that same to. Pack up and put on hold. I am learning to compartmentalize my feelings and 'lives' that I now have. This fall will make one full year though, and then I'll know better how to live in two places.

I haven't seen my kids so happy, I don't think ever. They have taken off with their friends right where they left off. Samuel said, "Mom, when Alec and I play warriors, I can talk to him about the Book of Mormon warriors too, because he's Mormon and it's okay to talk about stuff like that here. It's awesome!" And later, "Mom, did you realize that like everyone here in Orem is Mormon? I mean, I think all my friends are Mormon here." Cute. We've talked a lot about the freedoms of religion here. What a true gift to each and every one of us.

So there you have it. The emotional tickings of a family that leads two VERY different lives. Thank you for all of your welcome homes. What a nice treat. As for the fireside, it will be at 7 p.m. at the Stake Center on Center Street in Orem. (Tuesday the 14th) It's about 450 (or so) East on the North side of the road. It's very easy to find and I would love to have any of you. So Stacey, I have finally awoken from jet lag - so you better be there. I'll try to get up and see you first though! (BTW, jet lag has been a stinker as usual. Not as bad as going there, but bad enough. Sheesh! I hate it.) And SIL of Christine, I'd love for you to come if you can. How fun to meet you! Christine is so great, that I'm sure her SIL must be too!

I'm loving the amazing weather of a late and perfect spring here on the Wasatch front, man this place is beautiful. I forget how awesome it is here, how blue the sky is, how green the trees are, how clean the air is and how striking that mountains are. I feel so blessed that we have been able to have these amazing experiences so far away, that we have grown from and learned so much. AND so thankful that we are getting to be home, to 'fill our buckets' and be with loved ones. We truly are blessed.

Land of the Free!

Wish you could have come along for the ride!!

I bet you don't, though:

2 hours in a Suburban, crammed so tight it took twenty minutes just to try to pack us in and shut the door. Across one nations borders, making five stops at check points to get there.

2.5 hours in the airport, passports checked 118 times.

7 hours to London. Easy flight, lot's of sleeping, no crying. Only one puking.

5 hours at the airport, parked next to Herrod's luckily for us - not so lucky for anyone near by.

11 hours to Los Angeles. Hurt me. Please. Someone knock me out. At hour five, I was ready to cry. Especially because we had 6 more to go. Over all, the kids were fine, but anyone get's tired of being on a flight for that long.

2.5 hours through customs, only to have them LOOK at our passports. Twice. Um. Why did we wait in line? You didn't even touch our baggage. Nice.

2 hours to Salt Lake. Easy.

1 hour to...

HOME!

With wait times here and there, it was in total - 35 hours door to door.

People were very nice and patient for the most part. My favorite comment from a flight attendant was, "Your family is wonderful. Your kids were perfect. I've never seen anything like it. You guys are like....like...like the Von trap's!

Ever had a one year old on a plane. For a day and a half? Let's just say that anything goes.

You want to lick the seat in front of you? Have at it.

You want to lay on the floor and eat things you find? If it keeps you from screaming like a an eagle, help yourself.

Your sippy hasn't been in the fridge for more than 24 hours, but you want what's left? You got it. Whatever it takes.

All of my motherly duties of hygiene and cleanliness went by the wayside. Oh well. Keep them happy, that's what I say. AND, they only had ONE kids movie - the new Charlie and the Choc. Factory. Like Chach is going to like that, for ELEVEN hours!!! Come on. He did great, though.

We are SO happy to be home. I'm having trouble compartmentalizing my 'lives'. Here and there are very different. I think I know a little more how missionaries feel when they come home. Culture shock to your own culture is a strange thing. But I'm coming around. I haven't seen my kids this happy for a year. They are ALL so glad to be home!! And Peter is just enjoying staring at/being in the mountains.

****I have been asked to talk about my/our experience on June 14th here in Orem, at a fireside/Enrichment. If you want to come, please do! But the big thing I need to ask, my faithful readers and friends, is: What would you like to hear about if you were listening. Is there something you've read that you would want to hear? Or something you want to hear more about? A favorite experience you've read about that you think people would like to hear. Please, give me some feedback. And come if you'd like. I'm going to dress up and make some food. You won't want to miss it! Or. Maybe you would. :)

Signing off. From the UNITED. STATES. OF. AMERICA! (what.what!)