What We Should Have Said

Last night at dinner, Andy and I tried to explain to our friends (who, being pregnant with their first child, do not as of yet have a time-shaped hole in their universe) why we wouldn't want to bring Rachel over to their house for game night.

Them: "You guys should come over and we'll teach you how to play this great Dominoes game. And bring Rachel!"

Me: "That would be great; let's do it! But we don't want to bring Rachel."

Them: quizzical looks, and perhaps a bit of hurt that we turned down their family-friendly offer.

Andy jumped right in to defend our position: "If Rachel were there, she would spend all her time shushing us so she could tell a story about Unicorn. The story would last about an hour and then she would ask us to finish the story for her, but then she would tell us we're doing it wrong."

Me: "Yes, and she would try to build a tower with the Dominoes, and if we tried to help she'd tell us we were doing it wrong. You have to understand.... if I am trying to set the table and want the napkins in one place, Rachel will insist they go another way. We are already saving up for therapy bills." (this last part is a joke, of course, but one I make so often that I am beginning to wonder if it's a true fear I have inside, that Rachel and I will have a lot of mother/daughter battles over how the furniture should be arranged, what color curtains we need, and whether or not the jeans I've had since 2002 are still acceptable to wear in 2020.)

Them: "What?!?" The invitation is quickly rescinded, and Andy and I feel relief that we've reached a crucial point of understanding.

In retrospect, I feel kind of bad about the whole thing.

There is something in all my kids that strikes me so deeply words cannot explain it:

Collin, the child who I've grown up with, fiercely and deeply intelligent, with a not-so-well-hidden sense of tradition that makes me beam with gratitude every time I think of it.

Aaron, who as a 5-month-old has yet to show who he will be, but whose already apparent easy-going yet energetic nature I have fallen in love with.

And Rachel. Rachel is heart-breaking in her sincerity. Whenever I think of how deeply she feels things, how seriously she takes her mama and her daddy and her Hatty and her Junior and her Grandma Nana and her Grandma Harriet and Papa, I feel a hot well of love and something deeper and somewhat painful that I can't describe bubble up in the pit of my stomach. It's a feeling that makes me want to keep Rachel safe forever. Never let her see hurt and badness and that some people aren't as full of love as she is. When I say "I have to shower now," and her little lip trembles as she says, "but then who will play with me?" I am, of course, frustrated, but I am also broken at her hurt.

When, no matter where we are, she communicates with non-family by making random factual statements, or thrusts Unicorn in the personal space of strangers and says "This is Unicorn," and assumes the stranger will love her and her Unicorn as much as we do, I feel something indescribable. A mix of good things and gratitude and a desire for martial arts training if the stranger doesn't respond positively.

When she tells everyone, one by one, in the line at Safeway that she and Mama are at the store because Daddy bought the wrong noodles, I pray "please, please, please don't let them shrug her off. SMILE AT HER, DARN IT!"

And, thankfully, they almost always do.

But this is not the Rachel we told our friends about. We left all this out and probably made them hope and pray that their child will not rearrange napkins and tell non-stop Unicorn stories (which, by the way, often consist of plots such as, "Unicorn wanted to play with her Mama, but her Mama was putting the baby to sleep so Unicorn had to be very quiet," or, "Unicorn's Daddy took Unicorn to the dentist instead of her Mama taking her, even though her Mama wasn't putting the baby to sleep.").

What we should have done is tell them they better hope and pray that they are lucky enough to have a child who feels family and joy and hurt so deeply, that their little bundle can bring a sincerity and genuineness into their home that is so lacking in this world, and that their child exhibits a love so pure that words fail them when they try to describe it.

Maybe next time.

PS - Collin will be making his final decision on where to go to college within the next week or two (!!!), so I imagine that's what the next post will be about!

OMG, I Have a Daughter Now

Warning: the following contains many gender stereotypes that, in the case of my kids, happen to be true.

I never thought I wanted to have a girl.

When I thought about having more kids, I automatically thought "boy." I knew what that was like: fun, energetic, lots of baseball and nerdy young adult fantasy novels with dragons and magic... what more could I want?

When the thought of having a girl entered my mind, I didn't think those things wouldn't exist in our relationship, it's just that the good things were clouded by the "bad" things: hormones, dating, mother/daughter relationships and the accompanying therapy bills, and, perhaps the worse: JUNIOR HIGH.

I still have those fears for and about my daughter. But the fact that she is the loveliest, toughest, most spectacular, Unicorn-loving, princess-dress-wearing, tool-box-toting little girl I have ever known manages to push those thoughts all the way to the back of my brain, where they will stay until approximately 2023.

I know from having already raised one child to the ripe old age of 16 (and counting!) that many adventures lie ahead for Rachel and me. Until about age 10/11ish, kids adore spending time with their parents. Even a trip to the grocery store is a treat. Yesterday I got a thrill of excitement at the foreshadowing of things come....

Andy had a few free hours to be at home with Aaron, so Rachel and I decided we would have a Beanie-Mama day.

First stop: Rubio's. Lovely time, decent food. Rachel got complimented for her general cuteness and pink and sparkly cowgirl boots.

Second stop: Joanne. [don't you hate that the name isn't possessive?]

 

It was here, at the crafting superstore, that the "I Have a Daughter Now" thrill hit me.

We walked through the doors and Rachel just went to pieces. She could not contain her excitement as she stared at the rows and rows of fabric, 70% off St. Patrick's Day decorations, and pastel Easter things lining the front aisle. I could barely corral her little trembling-with-joy self into the cart.

We went up and down, looking at the abundance of shiny, sparkling, flowery, downright crafty things, and she touched everything I would let her put her hands on. We made two trips down the fake-flower aisle so she could be absolutely certain she had touched each and every satiny petal. When we got to the sticker/marker/glitter/Play-Doh/stationary section, I remembered that Andy had to make it to work some time in the next decade so I sternly told myself "no," and pushed the cart over to the dowel rods, which I actually needed to buy.

I texted Andy: "When do we need to be home?" But I knew that no matter how much time we had, it could never be enough.

Oh, oh, oh the fun we will have.

                           December 2011

The Stress of Stress (By Andy)

I need to not listen to NPR.

It all started when I made the mistake of listening to City Arts and Lectures, which I always get sucked into because Linda Hunt's introduction is always hilariously pompous.  Imagine the most British-sounding non-British person you can think of saying things like, "Today, we speak with Darius Witherspoon.  Mr. Witherspoon is the author of the books "Art: A Legacy," and "Why you are too much of an imbecile to understand Art" and has written extensively for the New Yorker.  Please join him now for a conversation with art critic Lionel Bensen."

One time City Arts and Lectures interviewed somebody who had written a book about sex, and that made Linda Hunt's intro the most incredible thing I had ever heard in my entire life.

But then one day she had a stress expert on, a very impressive professor from MIT who talked about how to relax.  They asked him for a demonstration and he started talking about focusing all your energy on the existence of your left hand until it started to feel heavy and then light and then like it was nothing, not even a hand, just a ball of energy.

It was really cool.  Or so I thought.

See, I wake up 1-2 times a night to put our little baby back to sleep, and each time is usually at least a 40 minute exercise.  And during that time, there is nothing to do except think.  So what do you think about?

Sports food thirsty bathroom turned 30 job search job search job search baby's eyes open why is there no clock in the nursery it's like a casino job search sports warriors cal sports kids kids kids kids kidskids kids  job search money money eyes are closing jobs need job todo list work todo list money (see money: lack thereof) sports i left my car window up

The point is that other than sports, pretty much everything I think about at 4am is stressful.  Which is stressful, but understandable.  I could live with that.  The problem is, the people who know what they are talking about seem to think that getting no sleep and being stressed all the time makes people die.  So now, rather than simply wallowing in my stress, I walk back and forth across the nursery, holding my 78 pound baby (approximate), thinking "Don't be stressed!  Don't be stressed!"
In other words, my biggest stress is stress.

One night I tried Mr. MIT's advice.  I lasted about 30 seconds.

My left hand is sagging, drooping.  It feels heavy.
It's probably cancer.  I probably have hand cancer. 
Great I'm going to die at age 31 of hand cancer.

My heart started pounding and my body tensed up.  The baby woke up and smiled his googoo-face 4am smile, the one that says "you're not going to sleep very soon."

I break down and smile back.  Kids.  They are the opposite of stress.  How could anyone with kids be stressed?

Unicorn Babysits

The other day I was trying to cook dinner when I heard Aaron start complaining about being alone.

Me: "Rachel, can you go in the living room and talk to Aaron so he doesn't cry?"

Rachel: "Sure!" (runs away)

Five seconds later I see Rachel in the playroom and hear Aaron still fussing.

Me: "Rachel, I thought you were with Aaron?"

Rachel: "Don't worry. Unicorn is watching him!"

The Hole in the Universe

Andy and I both had the dearest, most wonderful friends while in college. You know, the friends you can call at 2am, the friends who don’t judge you but will tell you straight up what a jerk you’re being, the friends who know the name of your first pet, and—the holiest of holies—the friends who understand you.

My husband and I both went to college in different states than where we now live. And our closest friends still live in, or near, the states where we met them. Facebook, email, and texting are all great for staying close, but they aren’t the same as getting together in person whenever the mood strikes.

Andy works one-on-one with students outside of an office setting, so he spends a lot of time with 13-18-year-olds. I spend much of my time as “mom,” and when I’m working, I work from home or with clients with whom it would be inappropriate to become close. We do live in the town where my husband grew up and many of his wonderful friends are still around. We would love to spend time with them; however, most of them don’t have children and so our lives, schedules, and activities tend to be very different. We also had a fantastic community built around one of our children’s extracurricular activities, but it just sort of melted away when those activities stopped.

As you can see, we have a problem. A problem Andy, stealing from Arundhati Roy, calls a “friend-shaped hole” in the universe.

I have lots of awesome friends here; mostly moms from church and the people who stuck around after law school. These people ROCK and make my life better in a million ways. But oftentimes it's hard to coordinate hanging out around various lessons, nap schedules, work, trial preparation, kids’ illnesses.... it’s a long list.

Also, and perhaps more importantly, it’s just darn HARD.

Friends take a lot of effort, and we are (all) tired. Way too tired to pick up the house for guests or cook dinner or drag our two little ones plus so-n-so’s three little ones out in public where goodness knows what kind of mess might happen. With all those obstacles, it takes quite a bit of effort, time, and energy to reach the level of friend-closeness that naturally arises when sharing a dorm room or editing poetry into the wee hours of the morning over several cups of coffee.

I added this friend-shaped hole to my prayer list recently. After about three days, I had a "duh" sort of realization that Andy agreed with: this is not a friend-shaped hole, it is a TIME-shaped hole. The other realization I had was that *I* could do something to fill this hole (another "duh," I know. But I’m a fairly introverted person so this concept is foreign to me). I did not have to wait for a perfect situation to arise, the phone to ring, or an email to appear in my mailbox. *I* could reach out to another mom (or two or three) who very likely feels a bit of a hole in her own universe. It wasn’t easy, but I seized the opportunity that being home for a full month with a sick baby allows: I made phone calls and sent emails. I even wrote notes and, in one instance, baked a cake. I began reaching out to various people who are outside my normal circle to see what might happen.

(If you think you are one such person, trust me, you aren’t. If you’re reading this blog I already consider you a dear friend, even if we don’t have time to hang out or have dinner or play board games.) This was an effort to make our circle bigger, so I’m talking about people like:

--the mom and daughter who are always at the park when we are, and numbers have been
   exchanged but with no true expectation of a phone call ever being made;

--the woman I encounter in a professional role on a regular basis and have “clicked”
   with, but with whom I have never pursued a conversation outside of our work together;

--the neighbors down the street with a baby 1 month older than ours;

--the other neighbors who brought us wine to welcome us to the neighborhood;

--the older-than-us neighbors who are just so darned nice.

In all instances, I received a genuinely warm response, but comments such as:

    “I would love to, but we’re always so busy we don’t ever get to see anyone anymore.”

    “One kid or the other is always sick and so plans always fall through.”

    “I’m in trial... maybe in a couple of months?”

Keep in mind, all I was saying is “let’s have a playdate,” or “let’s coordinate a trip to the park,” or, “how about a quick lunch sometime?”

Trust me, I get it.

My husband and I almost always have to say “no,” too. Andy works evenings/nights and 12-hour Saturdays and Sundays are family day. We have one child who still sleeps 12 out of 24 hours, and another child who goes to bed no later than 6pm every night. Laundry has to be done and groceries have to be purchased. When we have a spare moment, we see our family who often feels like they see way too little of us.

So between your schedule and our schedule we are left with.... nothing.

I don’t have a solution. I’m not even trying to suggest that parents overschedule their lives, leaving little time for anything else. The fact is, infants need naps. Kids get sick. Toddlers have early bedtimes. Cultural enrichment is a good thing once or twice a week. And certainly, work is essential for survival.

I am saying that friends, even “surface” friends, make life better. They make marriage better. They make people better. They add a dimension of fun, commiseration, and, perhaps most importantly, perspective, to life, all of which are healthy and good. So I plan to keep this in my prayers and thoughts for a while. And not just for Andy and me, but for any parents of small kids who may feel a bit of their own time/friend-shaped hole in the universe.

P.S. -- Let us know if you want to get dinner, but it has to be no later than 4pm to make sure we can get Rachel to bed on time, and if Aaron’s asleep we won’t wake him so check your phone before you leave your house. And Sundays are out (family day), but Saturdays are okay unless Andy has to work or someone is sick. Oh, or if I’m behind on laundry or have to go to 3 different grocery stores plus pick up dry cleaning.

What is "normal?"

My husband and I debate on a regular basis what a "normal" household is like. I won't say who believes what or how we each define "normal," but I will say the following is a typical, low-stress 4-hour snapshot of our household.

6am - baby wakes

6:05am - Sure that I have successfully convinced baby to sleep by putting the pacifier in his mouth, I begin making gleeful plans to have my coffee, good workout, and a morning devotional time sans kids.

6:07am - baby cries. Is up for good.

6:15am - read email my husband sent at 3:20am, when he was up with both the baby and the 16-year-old, looking at college websites. Entertain baby and hope he doesn't wake 3yo with his super-precious gurgles.

7:15am - baby falling asleep and 3yo still in bed. Yes!! Re-enter plans for quiet time.

7:17am - baby almost asleep, 3yo starts yelling "MOM!" from her bedroom, interspersed with fake crying.

7:25am - give up trying to get baby to sleep and give in to shouts from the 3yo. Both baby and 3yo awake. Do various first-thing-in-the-morning activities with 3yo.

7:45am - start putting baby back to sleep. Hear ominous rattling noise coming from hallway that doesn't quite sound like the dog's collar. Risk waking the baby by poking my head into the hallway and find previously-nightgown-wearing-but-now-underwear-clad daughter running down hall, dismantled activity mat arches -- toys still attached -- in hand, shouting that they are stilts and she will now walk down the steps on them so she can wake her big brother for school. Must put baby to sleep, so say a short prayer she is alive when I exit the nursery.

8am - baby down, 3yo still alive and without injury. Walk downstairs on "stilts" with 3yo so we can wake teenager.

8:04am - feed 3yo waffles with blueberries and try to convince her marshmallows aren't a breakfast food.

8:20am - Wake teenager.

8:22am - Wake husband.

8:25am - Wake teenager.

8:35am - Wake husband. By which I mean tell him to get up NOW or we'll never make it to the doctor on time.

8:35 - 9:30 Various things, including get ready to go to pediatrician and somehow convince 3yo I'm building a Lincoln Log farm with her although I'm really eating cereal and loading the dishwasher. Register 16-year-old for traffic school. Order new blanket for baby that will magically make baby sleep through the night. Check FB, which is exceedingly boring so far since no one else is cool enough to be checking FB at 8:45am on a Friday. During shower, receive text from teen stating he simply cannot make it to first period today so is it okay if he just stays home?

9:50am - 3yo sees reflection in stove and provides husband and me with general amazement at how cute she is:

IcanseemyfaceandmycrownandmypantsandmyhairandmysocksandmyboogersandmynoseandOWWWWWW (hits knee on stove).

10am - minutes after I clean the baby with a wet wipe in effort to convince the pediatrician we actually bathe the child on a regular basis, baby pees all over his changing table, managing also to get pee in his hair, in his ear, and on his face, arms, and legs. Re"wash" baby.

Normal? One of us thinks so.

50 Years After The Feminine Mystique, I (heart) My Kids

Me to Collin:
"Have you finished your homework?"
"Did you talk to your teacher about the missing assignment?"
"Have your friends heard from colleges yet?"

Me to Rachel:
"Shhhh.... the baby is sleeping."
"Hold on; I'm busy."
"Not now, my hands are full."

Me to Aaron:
Well, not much, but I spend most of my day carting him around like a football while I have the above conversations with the other kids, wondering if it's 5:30 yet so I can get the two little ones ready for bed.

When one falls asleep, the other wakes up. When one wants to play, the other wants to sit and eat. When I'm ready for bed, the teenager is just starting his night. We get up at 5am for the baby, but have to stay up until 11pm for the oldest.

My daughter starting crying today when I told her I couldn't play dollhouse because I had to put the baby down for his nap and my heart broke a little.

There is not enough time for each of them, and I feel it. Mom guilt is written all over my face. It's a three-ring circus, and I'm a clown crammed in the little car, along for the ride.

For example: There is currently honey yogurt smeared from one end of our dining table to the other. There is an entire bag of cotton balls and a 50-pack of cupcake liners dumped onto my dining room floor. Why is this? Because they are Unicorn's cupcakes, of course. I have changed the baby's shirt at least 10 times today, and, just when I was starting to unwind tonight, my oldest walked in the door requesting dinner and two seconds later the baby woke up. Have I mentioned I'm a Type-A neat freak plus an introvert who needs quiet time to recharge?

As my friend Libby recently wrote on FB, "I love going to the spa for a little pampering these days. Oh wait, I meant dentist." So if mothering is so bad that a trip to the dentist looks like fun, why do we do it? And why do some of us do it full time, or, as in my case, the majority of the time?

I can't speak for anyone else, but I can say for myself that it's because I love it. No really, I do. And not in the way the mom quoted in Betty Friedan's Feminine Mystique, despair evident in the font, meant it when she said: "I'm lucky!  Lucky! I'M SO GLAD TO BE A WOMAN!"

I have my own law practice, and I feel like I'm pretty successful at it. I even have periods of time when I turn clients away because I have so much work. But why did I leave the dream job I started training for at age 17 and finally got at age 27, only to quit at age 31 when Rachel was born? Because having my own practice allows me the flexibility to pick and choose when I work, with whom I work, and how much I work. And I need that so I can focus on what is my first and foremost priority--caring for my family. Does that mean I'm giving in to the feminist mystique? I don't think so, but who really knows how much of who we are derives from societal influence or something more organic?

I recently thanked my husband (on Facebook, no less) for taking the day off of work and watching the kids so I could get some time away from the house. He appreciated the gesture, but also noted that I was thanking him for something I do every day. That's true. But you know what? That's the deal we reached when we married. It doesn't "have" to be that way, but it's what works for us. 

And that should be what it comes down to: what works for our respective lives, gives us happiness, and fulfills us as human beings. And if that choice is about as much fun as a root canal at times, so be it. 

Gratuitous Post From the Past #3

Shantytown-

It is 3:30 am, and Jamie is hearing what seems to be dozens of voices or more chanting, stomping, and singing.  What could it be?  She contemplates a religious service of some kind, a late party perhaps…maybe even a loud movie?  There is another possibility too, of course, but it is one that Jamie would not like to consider. 

When you're 11 time zones from home and are lying awake in the middle of the night under a mosquito net, every sound carries with it endless possibilities.  But when you've had dreams the past four nights that felt so real that you didn't have any idea how many hours you've actually slept, your curiosity is reduced to one simple question:  is this a dream?

Welcome to the Wonderful World of Malarone, the World's Worst anti-Malarial Medication.®  Last Tuesday, Jamie began taking Malarone.  By Saturday, she was having dreams so vivid that they were indistinguishable from reality.  Sunday night, after the Not-So-Great-Walk to Rau, she started to feel nauseous, feverish, and dizzy.  On Monday night, she was lying awake, unsure if she was overhearing an interesting cultural event or just being completely wacked out by Malarone.  On Tuesday, she was suddenly unable to keep her eyes open without pain.

(Note: Andy felt similarly given Cal's weekend loss to Stanfurd, but declined to complain and mope and say things like "oh, my head hurts so much!" possibly because he is a much tougher individual.)

"Did you hear the singing last night?" Jamie asked Misty, our hotel-mate.

"What singing?"

"Andy, you heard it, right?"

"You mean with all the chanting and stomping?"

"Yeah!"

"No, sorry, didn't hear it.  But you told me about it, honey, and it sounded really interesting."

Spending two days in the hotel, unable to experience all that Africa has to offer, was a frustrating experience for both of us.  We played a lot of Scrabble.  We argued about stupid things.  We took care of Jamie.  We got Jamie food and water.  We rubbed Jamie's shoulders.  "We" did lots of things. 

Thankfully, by Wednesday, Jamie was feeling better, and today we were able to be very active, the details of which will be relayed in a future email.

There are two endings to this story, both of which have the same moral: Don't Do Malarone.

The first is that today we ventured over to CCS, the volunteer program that Andy did two years ago.  After lunch, Mama Grace, our hostess and a CCS staffer, came over and asked Jamie how she was feeling.

"Much better, thanks.  I haven't had Malarone for two days now."

"Good," Mama Grace replied.  "You know, we sell t-shirts here, for tourists and mzungus, and they say 'It wasn't me, it was the Malarone.'  You should get one."

The second ending happened Tuesday night, at about 3:30 am.  Andy had woken to the glorious sound of the rooster and was ready to catch an hour of sleep before being woken at 4:30 by the call to prayer from the local mosque.  He felt two pokes in his right side and rolled over to find Jamie staring at him, wide eyed.

"Hear that?" she asked.

"What?" 

"The singing.  Please tell me you hear it."

Andy listened intently.  He thought about lying, but decided against it.  He isn't that mean.

"Yeah, I hear it."

Jamie did a dance. 

Gratuitous Post From the Past #2

Rau Village, Outskirts of Moshi-

If you leave Moshi and take Rau road up towards the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro (which looms over the entire area; the snow on its peak is incredible given the temperature in downtown Moshi), Dusty Africa is gradually replaced by Jungle-ish Africa.  Off the main road, elderly women wearing skirts and brightly-covered head coverings walk foot paths of dark brown dirt that cut through green overgrowth. One of the paths eventually leads to a simple, blue concrete structure on the edge of a large clearing.

This is Matumaini ("hope" in Swahili, pronounced mah-too-my-eenie) Orphanage, home to roughly 20 kids of varying ages and sizes.  Two years ago, Andy spent much of his time here. Since then, Andy's friend Kim has started the Knock Foundation and started working in earnest with the kids.  The transformation has been impressive: bunk beds have replaced the 4-to-a-bed situation, there is a full-service chicken coop outside to provide a steady flow of income and food, and a teacher comes on Saturdays to give the kids extra work and attention outside of school. 

Stefani climbs on a wooden toy consisting of one wheel and a long handle and yells "I am going to America!"  Impressed with the tattoos on Jamie's right arm, he decides to draw four images on his arm, which we later ask him to describe.

"Sun.  God.  Friend.  Me."

The common thread of the kids' English skills is simple: their English is better than our Swahili.  Conversation is possible, but barriers do exist. The first resort is hand gestures and body language, but when even this fails, the kids walk away without warning, shouting "Keem! Keem!" so Kim, who is fluent, can translate.

Stefani's proposed journey to America is improbable, but the kids are more mobile than one might think.  Roger, who at 15 is the oldest Matumaini resident, once traveled to the Western region of the country entirely alone, eventually living with a brother who works with electronics.  Roger must be a quick learner because above the bunk beds that line the back wall of the main room, he has hooked up a small radio and speaker and now the kids have music. Like with his parents and grandfather before, the relationship with his brother must not have worked out because Roger once again calls Matumaini home.

Matumaini is:

Andy:  Inspiring, sad, welcoming

Jamie: Joyful, lonely, consequential

After the near-bludgeoning, we arrived at Matumaini somewhat … flustered.  Red, sweaty, and exhausted, we collapsed onto the foam-padded bench next to the bunk beds. The kids gathered around us, long faced and intent, presumably waiting for us to "do something." Eriki fanned Jamie with a baseball cap and Alexi laid his head by Andy's knee.

"Hot," we said.  "Hot."

They nodded and kept staring, 10 little frowning faces.

Later, Jamie figured it out: 

"We looked like we were dying," she said.  "They were worried about us."

Which is pretty cool, when you think about it.

From Moshi,

Andy and Jamie

http://www.matumainichildcare.org/

http://www.matumainichildcare.org/gallery.htm

Gratuitous Posts From the Past #1 - Afica 2009

Shantytown, Moshi:

Our hotel is called Mama Africa, and is owned by Mama Grace, an employee at CCS, the program Andy volunteered with two years ago.  It is located in Shantytown, which, like

'No Child Left Behind,' is ironically titled.  Just north, south, east or west of downtown Moshi (we have no idea where we are when we don't have a large body of water as a reference point), Shantytown is full of manicured lawns, hedges, and large houses protected by gates and occasionally barbed wire. 

Downtown Moshi is:

Andy: hot, dusty, teeming

Jamie: hot, too American to make her feel weird, and a lot like rural Arkansas

The downtown market is full of vendors selling rice and beans from 10-gallon sized bins, vegetables, and fruit.  Across the street is the Tanzania Coffee Lounge, where Mzungus (foreigners/tourists) go to check their email and buy milkshakes and even hot dogs.  Our two lunch destinations downtown so far have been Italian Passion, where we ate spaghetti and pizza, and the slightly less American, but not really, Chrisburger, where Andy ate a chicken burger and Jamie feasted on chicken that, sadly, lacked any actual chicken.  Seriously.

In contrast, Rau Village, where Matumaini Orphanage (the subject of a later email and the primary destination for us) is located, slopes up into the outer foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro and is thus more jungle-ish, more rural, and slower paced than the markets and busy streets in downtown Moshi. 

We walked from Shantytown to Rau and it was great, except that even for less special people it takes about an hour in blistering heat, and for us it took even longer due to Andy 'sort of' getting us lost. Jamie, in an attempt to be supportive, insisted she trusted him to find the way. She was wrong. We finally asked directions from a man who did what any American parent would do: he had his 7-year-old daughter lead two foreign strangers through the jungle.

Andy's favorite Swahili word:  Chakula cha mtoto mchanga (baby food) because it sounds cool

Jamie's favorite Swahili word:  Mambo (s'up?), because it's the only one she can remember

Phrase Andy wished he could say in Swahili:  Please give my fiancé chicken that has chicken on it or I will be forced to hear about this chicken-less chicken many times in the ensuing days.

Phrase Jamie wished she could say in Swahili:  Please direct me to the orphanage or hand me a blunt object because I either want to get to my destination or bludgeon my fiancé.

After our walk, we returned to our hotel via taxi, which we discovered is much easier than walking, but smells worse.  We then ate dinner (chicken!), played very bad Scrabble (sample word: "cat"), and collapsed into bed, happy to be with each other, not lost, not dead of dehydration, not bludgeoned, and ready for restful, relaxing, restorative sleep.

The rooster woke us up at 3am.

About Us

Who we are:

Andy: international human rights ninja; writer; father; husband of Jamie; baseball fanatic; Cal fanatic; 3am mass email-sender

http://repository.usfca.edu/thes/36/
www.andrewhanauer.blogspot.com/
http://www.jubileeusa.org/about-us/jubilee-usa-team/jubilee-staff/andrew-hanauer.html

Jamie: Attorney, Family Advocate, Life Coach for Moms; mother; wife of Andy; baseball fanatic who no longer has time to follow baseball; music lover who no longer has time to follow music; fitness lover; published poet (sample here: SIDS)

www.jamiecalloway.com





Why this blog:
To update our family and friends on our family outside of Facebook. To keep Andy from sending mass emails at 3am. To keep Jamie entertained when staying home for weeks at a time with the kids when they're sick. We miss our friends and non-California family -- will this help us keep in touch?