Day 4: On my own in Paris and final thoughts

Sunny and I grabbed some flaky fresh croissants for breakfast.  To be honest, I purchased two loaves of bread, a baguette, 4 croissants and 4 pan au chocolates to bring home with me on the airplane for my family.  Day old French pastries are better than anything we can get in Ethiopia.

Sunny and I said our goodbyes since her train was departing early.  I returned to the apartment and packed everything before heading out to do some walking and shopping on my own. I stopped for one last terrible cup of French espresso and then decided to wander around for an hour and a half before the shops all opened.  I found an interesting monument and park to sit in and watch all the commuters with their sack lunches and totes full of gym clothes and sensible shoes briskly walking by.

I found an entire strip of garden shops/nurseries along the Seine with beautiful flowers for sale.  Just one last morning to soak up a little bit more of France and pick up a few last minute things for my family before the journey home.

Day 4 heading home
"I had a real vacation and a great weekend being a tourist and feeling the freedom and selfishness of traveling alone.  But this weekend also made me think about how much extra work it is to live our life in Ethiopia.  So much more mental work to keep myself happy and feeling fulfilled.  I'm so used to this extra work, mental and otherwise, that I'd forgotten that life can be easier.  Things move smoothly and predictably.  People wait in lines and for walk signals to cross roads.  Trains have schedules and buses have set destinations.  Life, in general, is easier when you are going with the flow of things in the first world.  Seeing my life and myself from the me that was walking in Paris made me tired but proud.  Proud that I can be happy in Ethiopia.  Maybe this weekend was more about me really being on the other side of Ethiopia-the opposite side and the other end of the spectrum.  Maybe it was about me existing in abundance and really seeing that we are thriving in Ethiopia despite the challenges.

I had a truly wonderful time in Paris.  It was comforting and predictable in all sorts of first world ways.  No surprises when it came to cash registers, metro schedules, prices, food.  Everything was efficient as expected.  It felt good to be immersed in that world again and blend in with the crowd.  But more importantly, I'm going to give my self a little pat on the back for hanging as well as I am in Ethiopia."

thoughts on having a kindergartner

We are on week two of kindergarten and school is still on a shortened schedule for the three kindergarten classes at the International school where Addie is attending.  Meaning, she gets off at 1PM instead of the 2:50PM that will begin next week.  These first two weeks are meant to ease the kindergartners into the longer schedule.  Lord help me when the days are even longer than they are right now.  As it is, Addie is on the school bus at 7AM and not back home until 1:45PM.  Next week I won't see her until 4PM.  That's an eight hour day at school for my five year old.

Addie's adjusting well, loving her teacher and making new friends.  She's happy to get on the bus in the morning. She's still smiling when she comes through the front door in the afternoon.  I helper her get situated at the table for her snack and I sit down with her and we talk about her day.  She tells me about so-and-so and lunch time.  Play time outside. The girls getting chased and tackled by the boys (already?!)  Learning to sound out the "th" letter combination.  Creating cut out pictures of herself. Experiencing new situations with friends.  There are too many boys in her classroom, she says.  She learned the word "boyfriend" from another kid at school (already?!). Life is happening for my little girl at school. It all sounds very interesting and I love hearing her tell the tales. I  knew she'd do well, she's a very mature and responsible little girls but it's fun hearing the bits and pieces at the end of the day.  She's even good about passing on messages from Ms. Vicki. I'm getting flyers and notices about parent night, back to school supply requests, prepaid hot lunch cards...soon I'll be signing permission slips.

She starts to melt down about 4PM.  She's tired and voraciously hungry.  She bursts into tears about silly things and acts even more dramatic about situations with friends or her sisters. Her baby sister loves Bella more than her now.  Bella won't share! It's all my fault!  I don't feel happy about myself! Drama queen tendencies have clicked up a few notches for sure. She's passed out cold for the night at 6:30PM, even earlier sometimes.

Kindergarten is new for me too and I'm surprised at the feelings I am having.  I didn't realize how long she'd be gone from the house every day.  I'm mostly shocked at the realization that she's spending more time with her teacher, other grown ups and her peers than she is with her mother.  I'm filled with a strange mixture of pride, relief and sadness about having my first born off at school now.  She's learning to read and socially engaging in situations that will help her grow. A love for school and learning is hopefully blossoming from her experiences at kindergarten. It's all good stuff but putting my daughter in the hands of others for eight hours every day has me feeling a little left out.

I know it's normal to feel this way.  I know I'm not the first mother to have these revelations about kindergarten but I'm still navigating this new life my daughter is having.  I'm trying to sort it all out.  Now, I feel guilty for mentally rolling my eyes when other mothers (with older children in school) would say things about not wanting to put their youngest in preschool yet because they still want them at home with them during the day. When they hit kindergarten; off they go.  I guess I get it now.  Maybe I'll be slower to enroll Ashlynn in preschool because of this revelation.  I guess time will tell.

It's hitting me how very important it is to have my child in the very best school with the very best teachers.  She's with these people all day long.  The influence they have on her is vast and I have an urge to somehow ensure the greatness of her classroom and learning experience.  I guess it's the Mama Bear in me trying to give her the very best.

Part of me wants to go to her classroom after hours and hang pretty lanterns and fabric garland around the room and deliver soft colorful pillows for the library.  It's silly and yet I can't help but imagine transforming the classroom into a beautiful oasis for my daughter to be immersed in at school.

I guess this is where people will tell me it's time to let go...maybe just a little bit.  

It's just a short walk

I am so touched by all the comments people have left on the blog, emailed, or sent me on Facebook about the post I wrote a few days ago.  Especially when the entire blog was about me being brutally honest and uncovering some not-so-nice things about myself.  I'm certain Ethiopia has lots of these experiences in store for me if I open my heart and mind to them. Everyone's encouragement has been so heart warming.

I did a little more growing yesterday and got my shoes muddy once more.  This time my girls were the ones pushing me to open my heart.  Adelaide drew a beautiful picture of the "Ethiopian baby next door" (this is how she refers to him).  The picture was of the little baby boy and his mother under a rainbow with flowers.  She threw out eight initial drawings because she couldn't get the baby's sleeping eyes right.  The moment she was finished drawing the final picture she jumped up and announced she was ready to go across the street to meet the baby and present her drawing.  I hesitated.  Did I want to bring her?  Should we go over unannounced?  The little mud hut and the people living in it had become sort of surreal after all my internal contemplation.  To Adelaide it was simply a short walk across the street.

Of course Arabella wanted to go too so I decided we would pack up some homemade bagels I had made earlier and bring them as well.  Arabella grabbed a little tiny stuffed puppy to give to the baby.  I was still feeling unsure of schlepping the girls with me across the street when suddenly we were crossing the pavement and Tecklu was helping Addie navigate the mud path.  Arabella was in my arms giggling as I jumped over puddles and cow poo.

Addie hesitated a bit when we reached the opening to the shelter.  A smiling woman welcomed us all inside and insisted we leave our shoes on when clearly everyone else had left their's on the little mat at the threshold.  We learned that the mother was out at the market but the baby boy was lying on the bed behind the hanging sheet.  Addie gave the woman her artwork and the bagels.  The woman lifted the baby boy who was awake but wasn't making a peep.  I was immensely pleased to see he was gaining a healthy amount of weight.  His little feet were hanging out of the blankets and his lips were plump and adorable.  His cheeks were filling out and he looked healthy, albeit a little quiet.  My perspective could be skewed on that because all three of my babies have been loud, never letting anyone ignore their presence.  Both Addie and Bella loved seeing the baby boy.  We learned his name was Marcos (precious!).  Bella gave the little stuffed puppy to the woman (who I was surprised spoke decent English).  She invited us to sit down but we politely declined and said our goodbyes.  We said we'd be back again soon.  Tecklu helped us all back to the house and all three of us removed our muddy shoes at our door.  I asked the girls what they thought about the baby.

And here is where my girls have so much to teach me.  Children don't have preconceived notions of how things should be. They believe what they see and accept things as they are without much fuss.  Both girls piped up saying Marcos was "good", "cute" and that going to his house was "fine".  Then they changed the subject to something like "now, can we get on with making dinner and playing our jumping game with the couch cushions!"  How illuminating.  Marcos is a baby they met and he lives next door and that was that.  The simplicity of the experience for them really made me think about how much thinking I've been doing.  It took two seconds for Addie to decide to draw a picture and deliver it to the baby. It took me weeks of examination on the topic, coming up with some pretty hefty questions; leaving me unsure of how to move forward.

Going across the street with the girls made Marcos and his mother real people.  I morphed the first experience with them into a self absorbed look at how the whole thing made ME feel.  A pretty typical white privileged American thing to do!  I will definitely continue to reflect honestly about myself.  But the perspective my children have given me helps alleviate the paralysis I was feeling about what to do.  Instead of thinking about it, we should DO.  Make a picture, deliver bagels, say hello, gaze at a sweet baby, and see our neighbors as real people.  Maybe a simple visit where I can look our neighbors in the eyes is the most effective way to break down the vast differences between the sides of our street.

Something about having Arabella in my arms and Addie cooing at Marcos the way they interact with Ashlynn made me realize that at the very basic level of humanity the Mother and I are exactly the same.   We are both caring for our children, living day by day, feeding our families and trying to be the best we can be.  Similarities in our human experience level out  the differences a bit.

I expect to get questions from Adelaide.  She tends to experience things and then let it simmer awhile before she starts formulating opinions and questions.  She's like her mama in that way.  This morning she asked "Why is Marcos' house so small?" and  "Where is his real house?"  I told her the house we saw is his real house.  "Hmmm" was her response. Which just means she's thinking about it all.  Which is a good thing.

I might just let the girls come up with the next idea for our visit.  They turned a tough question into a very simple answer yesterday.  Kids are good at doing that aren't they?

Brutally honest

A few weeks back I was playing with Ashlynn upstairs and heard commotion across the street.  I look out the windows to find the bamboo fences and bamboo and mud shelters in the squatters community being torn down and burned.  There were a few trucks collecting the corrugated metal roofing that was being torn off the homes.   Women and children were standing back watching their shelters being destroyed.   What I later found out from my driver and my guard was that the government owned land had allowed a squatters community to live on the property for some time.  Apparently there was an agreement that no more building would take place.  If this deal was kept the squatters could live there.  "Moon houses" were being built (when people come at night and build by the light of the moon to evade government noticing the new housing).  Officials got word and came to tear down some of the homes and give notice to the rest of the community that they had three months to find a new area to live before the government took the land back.  The idea that squatters land could be at any point reclaimed by the Ethiopian government is not news to the Ethiopian people.  They try to build quietly and hide their villages with grass and tree covered bamboo fences.  It disguises the size of the communities.  I've seen my fair share of poverty stricken squatters villages.  Our entire experience overseas thus far has been in a poor SE Asian country and now an even poorer African country.

I managed to live in Manila, Philippines for three years, spouting off the term "third world country" more than I'd like to admit (mostly blaming anything I didn't like on Manila's third-worldness) without ever really understanding what being characterized a third-world country really meant.  It was easy to escape Manila's third-worldness. If I felt glum about the poor barrios next door I'd drown my sorrows in a Krispy Kreme doughnut and the sale racks at Zara in Power Plant or Greenbelt or Glorietta or any of the other gazillion shopping malls in Manila.  If I wanted to, I could ignore the things about our home that made it a third world country.  To be quite honest, ignoring Manila became much of how I got through my three years in the Philippines, now that I think about it.

Now we are settling in to life in Ethiopia.  I'm struggling a bit since I'm hitting that low point about 6 months in to our tour.  I'm struggling partly because Addis Ababa, Ethiopia doesn't let me ignore that it's truly a third world country.  Manila might have prepared me for life overseas in a poor country but it did not prepare me for the true third-worldness that I'm experiencing here.  There are no shopping malls.  There are no areas of town you can drive to and feel like you've escaped the poverty.  There is just plain and simple, no escaping it.  It is impossible to ignore the desperation and hunger in the people's faces as we pass in our car.  Deformities, malnutrition, blindness, elephantiasis, amputees, and homeless begging people of all ages line the streets and make it very difficult to look away.  The hardest for me are the nursing mothers and women with small children living on the streets. The children have bugs in their hair and green oozing from their noses. When it rains some of the women have a large shawl or piece of fabric that allows them to cover their infants from the elements.  It's heartbreaking and unnerving at the same time.

So I looked up what it meant to be a third world. The explanation below describes the Philippines and Ethiopia.  What I am learning is that there is very different levels of third-worldness.  Some third world countries have Louis Vitton boutiques and others don't even come close.

"the concept of the third world serves to identify countries that suffer from high infant mortality, low economic development, high levels of poverty, low utilization of natural resources, and heavy dependence on industrialized nations.These are the developing and technologically less advanced nations of Asia, Africa, Oceania, and Latin America. Third world nations tend to have economies dependent on the developed countries and are generally characterized as poor with unstable governments and having high rates of population growth, illiteracy, and disease. A key factor is the lack of a middle class—with impoverished millions in a vast lower economic class and a very small elite upper class controlling the country’s wealth and resources. Most third world nations also have a very large foreign debt." (What makes a nation third world? from Encyclopedia of World Geography)

I spent most of that day looking out our second and third floor balcony windows, which provided me now an unobstructed view of this tiny little village of huts across the street (thanks to the men who tore down the makeshift fence). Dark thunder clouds rolled in and soon heavy rains poured down on the bruised village. I came in for shelter and watched the village get soaked and muddy from rain. Sadness and a complicated mixture of anger and relief washed over me periodically.  After dinner the girls and I spent the last hour before bath time playing outside, sitting in the grass and talking to Teklu.  He explained to me that the government officials had gone through and torn down some of the unauthorized housing but left one where a single young woman and her two day old baby were living.  They were warned that they needed to move but it seems even the sternest Ethiopian officials had hearts enough not to throw this poor girl out of her shelter two days postpartum.

I couldn't see straight after hearing this news.  Two days ago, not 40 paces from my front door, a young woman gave birth in a bamboo mud hut. I waited until the black spots on the periphery of my vision disappeared and then went into a frenzy grabbing stacks of newborn clothing I had set aside for donation, cloth diapers, my nursing shirts and bras, baby blankets, newborn hats and socks, and some of my comfortable old clothing for the mother.  I stuffed it all in a few bags and asked Tecklu if he knew how to located the mother and the newborn.  He knew exactly where to find them.

Justin came home from work, I passed Ashlynn to her Daddy and took off; bags in hand following Tecklu across the street and then through a short muddy path that led to the shelter.  I gingerly tiptoed through muddy branches and leftover bamboo support beams from the torn down fences and homes.  Within a few short steps we reached the opening of one small hut with an open space for the door.  It was evening and the sky was dark with clouds. There was no electricity of course so the inside of the hut was dark.  Tecklu introduced me to the women and children inside.  The space was about the size of our large bathroom and housed three or four women with toddlers.  On the right side of the space was a sheet draped from the ceiling.  We explained that the bags were full of warm clothing, diapers and blankets for the baby and mother.  The older woman directed my attention to the hanging sheet.  The new mother carefully sat up and peered out to say thank you.  She was young and glowing from new motherhood but with weary tired eyes.  She picked up a tiny bundle of blankets and presented me her newborn.  It was a tiny baby boy.  A beautiful little sleeping face. So tiny and perfect.  I didn't want to intrude on their privacy any longer so Tecklu and I said our goodbyes as the women thanked me profusely for the gifts.  As quick as we had entered this other world, we exited and walked back through the mud and grass, across the street and through the door at our gate.  Tecklu thanked me as if the child was his own.  I walked straight to our laundry room and removed my muddy shoes and unsuccessfully held back the tears that had been welling in my eyes.  I walked inside our house and could hear the bath and bedtime routine starting.  The bath water running, the girls giggling and Justin helping everyone get ready for bed.

The idea that the woman had given birth in the tiny damp dirty hut had me bawling.  So many things were running through my head as I cried. The realization that the only thing that separates my world from the woman and infant in the mud hut is a bit of pavement and a dirt path.  We're neighbors but we might as well be living on different planets (different planes of existence may be more accurate).  Happiness knowing the infant could be wrapped in warm blankets during the rainy cold nights.   A baby was born just a few hundred feet from my children's world of abundance yet he will experience none of the same in his own life.  It all seemed so unfair and made me immediately feel guilty. The bags of clothing felt insignificant.  I cried for the baby boy and the mother.  I cried for my ignorance.  I cried out of thanks for the comfortable life my family and I have been blessed with.

Seeing my damp read eyes, Justin inquired if I was alright.  I lied and said I was.  I scooped Ashlynn in my arms and snuggled her soft warm body, breathing in her sweet scent.  I herded the girls in to the bathroom and gave them warm baths one by one.  Suddenly I saw the warm water as a gift, their soft warm towels and pajamas all extravagances and at the same time basic necessities.  Their toothbrushes and night light; everything seemed so big, bright and clean.  I nursed Ashlynn in her bedroom and put her to sleep in her own warm dry bed and went downstairs to finish Addie and Bella's bed time routine.  I looked out the window towards the mud hut where the tiny infant lie.  I felt like I had floated through the bedtime routine viewing it from the eyes of the young Ethiopian mother.  I was embarrassed and shocked. We have so much.  We have so many things that we take for granted.  Across the street the mother and baby were most likely sleeping since it was dark outside. I felt terrible for complaining about the smelly exhaust fumes from our generator that runs when our electricity goes out.  I hated having to flip the breaker for the hot water heater in the girls' bathroom every day. We have running water!  My complaints seemed beyond ridiculous at this point.

Over the past few weeks I've thought a lot about that evening I met the new baby across the street.  It's the moment when I faced Ethiopia with my eyes open.  It was the first time I'd seen Ethiopia and I'd allowed myself to recognize the poverty that is occurring everywhere here. My neighbors are struggling.  Ethiopia's third worldness is knocking on my front door.  It's not something I can escape from and I can't ignore it.  Sometimes I see some of the women washing their clothing across the street in the grass as we pull out our drive way.  I wave and they wave back with big smiles on their faces.  I see the baby clothing hanging to dry and it makes me happy to know they are using some of the things I gave them.  I mostly think about the baby boy and if he's thriving and nursing well.  I hope the mother is healing quickly and getting enough nutrition.

Mulling over this experience has been challenging for me.  It's forced me to face my feelings honestly and ask myself how far would I go to help?  What am I willing to do?  Now I have a personal reference to the disgusting disparity between my family and the struggling Ethiopian families all over this country.  It's not pleasant to view oneself with brutal honesty. The faults that arise aren't very nice to admit.  As much as I feel miserable about  the poverty I saw, I am every bit as much relieved that it isn't my family living in a bamboo mud hut.  I feel frightened and my protective mothering instincts kick in.  I want to shield my children from what is happening in third world countries.  I want to shelter their eyes from the sick and malformed.  I loath my honest feelings about the raw humanity that poverty exposes and what that ultimately says about me as a human.

If I'm being completely and utterly honest with myself, I don't entirely like what I see.  I feel guilty and gluttonous.  The mixed emotions of feeling, but not wanting to feel superior is an ugly mental place to be.  A part of me wishes I could take back the knowledge and the visceral experience of feeling the damp hut, hearing the small children whimpering, and smelling coals burning under the small pot of tea that was inside.  My senses won't forget.  Poverty is such a foreign concept for most of us. It was for me. It's easy to give money to charity to help end world hunger and another thing entirely to live next door to it.

What am I willing to do?  How much would I give?  How close will I allow poverty to touch me and my family?  I don't have answers to these questions yet. I'm feeling paralyzed with how to even begin tackling these questions. But it has opened up the conversation.  The people we have working for us in our home need our help too.  We chose to help those closest to us in the Philippines and we'll do the same here as well.  I can't save everyone but I can help a few.

Small things can change someone's life in significant ways.  I know that's what happened to me that rainy evening a few weeks ago when my shoes got muddy and my heart and head got a little muddled.  

one hour

Today my housekeeper prearranged with me to arrive an hour later than normal for work.  To help with Addie's separation anxiety I had been going in the car for school drop offs.  To do that this morning, I would have had to bring Ashlynn with us in the car and she would miss her morning nap.  Justin and I talked to Addie and she agreed that this morning she could be extra brave and allow our driver to take her and Bella to school without me.  I plied her with watching a DVD on the car ride and tinted chap stick.  She gave me a kiss with glossy pink lips and waved goodbye this morning without too much trouble.

Oh what to do with the hour of alone time I had before Eneye arrived for work?

I peacefully nursed Ashlynn and laid her down for her nap without rushing.  After getting her down I came downstairs to a silent house.  I am immensely grateful for this silence and for the half a cup of cold coffee that was still in the coffee pot waiting for me.  I popped the mug in the microwave, added a little milk (which I am also grateful  for since it's not always available) and some sugar.  Perfection.  Coffee in Ethiopia is like mangoes in the Philippines.  If you make the trip to either of these countries only to sample these treats, your trip will not be in vain.  I am already researching espresso/cappuccino machines for our Christmas gift to ourselves this year.  

I got smart

The commute to and from school was killing me.  Literally sucking the life from my body.  Every day the girls and I sit in the car in traffic getting to school and then I'd make the ride home.  The same thing happens for pick up.  On a bad day I was sitting in the car (the crappy rental car right now), sniffing the diesel exhaust for close to four hours.  On a good day it was two.  I was car sick, irritable, and feeling guilty for leaving Ashlynn at home for that long without her mama.

I got smart and am now sending our driver with Addie and Bella or just Addie (depending on the day) for school drop off.  Then I go pick them up with the driver.  This gives me the entire morning to play and read with Ashlynn and Bella if it's a day Bella doesn't go to school.  I can nurse Ashlynn and get her down for her nap.  She's been sleeping longer when I'm at home to nurse her before she lies down.  Bella isn't cranky sitting in the car any more.  It's a winning situation all around.  Addie made a stink after a few days about not giving me a hug when she's dropped off at school but I tried to explain to her that it just isn't practical for me to just go along for the ride when our driver is responsible and two girls need me at home.  Plus I made the case that is was like having her own private school bus taking her to school.  She seemed to understand.

I have to say this change has done wonders for my mental well-being.  After I kiss the girls goodbye for their day I can eat my breakfast with Ash, get a cup of tea, and settle down on the floor to play with my darling girl.  It's opened up at least 2 hours in my day.  Yesterday I made bagels with some of that time.  I also cleaned the playroom and checked my email.  Imagine that.  

I need a tune up

It’s been about a month now that I haven’t had more than a 3 hour long block of sleep at night.  Hell, it’s been long before Ashlynn was born since I had more than a 6 hour block of sleep.  The fragmented sleep has me running on fumes every day.  I’m not sure how I haven’t collapsed yet.  The only explanation I can come up with is that I’m just used to being fatigued.  It’s plausible and probable.

I’m trying to maximize the time I have in bed in the morning before I turn into a short order cook/personal wardrobe assistant/hair stylist/lunch preparer/child herder before we have to get in the car to drive to school.  I have one hour to get it all done (and change/dress/nurse the baby).  I’ve got it down to an semi-efficient science.  The downside is that the hour doesn’t include much time for my own personal grooming or maintenance.  In fact, I’m only getting a shower in the mornings every other day.  The lack of personal time extends through the rest of the day and evening. I simply have zero time to maintain myself. 

Thankfully, by the third child most of my vanity has been long thrown out the window.  I’m learning how to make the most of the 5 minutes I do get on myself in the morning.  Deodorant, perfume, baby powder in the hair, under eye concealer-most definitely, and a swipe of blush a bit of lipstick so I don’t look too tired and pale.  My over sized sunglasses have become my best friend.  Even a good pair of earrings can detract attention from my dry uneven skin and drab hair. 

The truth is, I haven’t had a hair cut in 6 months, my legs see a razor once a week if I’m lucky.  I’m in desperate need of highlights, a facial and a mani/pedi.  Today I found time to rub a handful of Aquaphor on my feet and then put socks on in hopes that my Grand Canyon feet cracks will soak up the moisture all day. 

Help is on the way. For the three and a half minutes our internet was working last week I ordered night cream and a super anti-aging spf 50 moisturizer.  It claimed to do everything but the dishes.  I also purchased some fancy dry shampoo.  When I say fancy I mean not just the plain baby powder that I’m using right now.  A baby powder-on-the-oily-scalp-gal must have started the dry shampoo craze.  I wish I would have thought about putting powder in a fancy bottle and calling it “dry shampoo”.  Genius.  I’ve never done a “hair treatment” but I ordered a weekly moisturizing hair mask to try to add some softness and manageability back into my mane.  I’m blaming my dry damaged limp locks on the life sucking dry air here in Addis Ababa.  In all fairness breast feeding and aging are contributing to my hair’s demise as well. 

Justin and I have been glued to season one and two of Mad Men (Belle Jolie episode is my favorite so far.  I love Peggy and Betty equally-what does that say about me?).  The show inspired my ordering three new lipstick colors.  All three old school Revlon.  Ordering lipstick online is a crap shoot.  Hopefully one of the three is a good color on me.  I know it’s just a TV show with make-up artists and wardrobe people but those house wives look like a million bucks all the time. Some of that must be based on the reality of 1960. I will never look like Betty Draper at the end of a long hard day with my three kids.  I even have hired help right now just like Birdie!  Anyway, lipstick has always intimidated me and I’ve only used it for special occasions.  Not any more.  I’m wearing my free gift lipstick every day.  The focus on my painted lips hopefully tears people’s eyes away from my downfalls (like my dark circled eyes and moody morning facial expression).  Mad Men makes lipstick seem more practical which I know is completely backwards.I'm certain it's because the ladies of Sterling-Cooper wouldn't go a moment without their lips done up in color. 

So I have some emergency help on the way.  It’s in the mail.  Let’s hope it comes quick.

Picture used from this lovely blog

count down

We knew all along that we would be bringing our new daughter into the world among some major transition for our family. The count down to moving to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia began the moment she was born. At 40 weeks pregnant I was torn between wanting Ashlynn to arrive already so I didn't have to be pregnant any longer, and her staying put so we as a family could stay put in America a little longer.We have roughly 5 weeks before we have to pack up and move to our new home in Africa and I'm panicking a little bit about all that needs to be done but cannot possibly done with a newborn, a two and a half year old and a four and a half year old.We knew that we wouldn't have much time in America to repatriate and enjoy being Americans. We knew that we probably wouldn't be allowed to stay at home with family for Christmas. We knew all these things and yet I am having a really hard time processing the upcoming move and all it's inevitable transitions for my children and myself. We've only gotten settled here in Virginia. I knew I'd feel this way and still it's hard.
5 weeks and counting.

Hello, it's me again

I've been very very absent from the blog the past few weeks. My pregnancy has zapped all my energy and all my motivation. It takes every ounce of my will to take care of Addie and Bella all day long. By the time they are in bed I am ready to do the same. I think I need to up the iron intake like when I was pregnant with Addi and Bella. I feel like I want to sleep all day long.

Justin has been on other continents for two and half weeks out of the last four or five (I can't recall which now) so I've been flying solo, which isn't entirely solo when Cora is there to help out Monday through Friday, but as any other parent knows; when one parent is gone the children start getting clingy and behavior starts to dip a bit. We've been staying busy for the most part but after awhile the girls just want their Daddy! I think they could tell Mama's patience was wearing thin towards the end of this last trip.

I turned 31 last Thursday, which was marked my the girls and I baking a cake (Bella playing with the egg shells in the photo). Once my children entered my life the excitement of birthdays completely shifts to them. My birthday is hardly party worthy when I have two gorgeous girls to shower with love and excitement on their special days. All I need on my birthday is a homemade card from my daughters and a big hug and a kiss from my husband. Neither of which I received this year but honestly, no big deal. I got lots of love from my friends and family and being with my two favorite little blondies all day was pretty great. I wasn't going to make a cake initially, I thought I would wait until Justin got home but when I asked Addie if she was going to sing me "Happy Birthday" that morning she said she wanted to wait until birthday time later when we had cake. That's when I knew I wasn't going to get a Happy Birthday from her unless we had cake. Off to the kitchen I went. We ended up eating the poorly assembled (but delicious) cake and then had a dance party in the living room. I don't get too sentimental about my own birthdays. I recognize that in the big picture of life, I am still relatively young. Even though at 20 I could hardly picture myself at 30. I knew I would have a family but other than that I couldn't see that far into the future. So far I've only lived a year into my third decade and it's by far better than the previous one. I'm more comfortable in my skin, I am happy, and content and secure in my wonderful marriage. I couldn't be happier or more content in my role as mother to my two little girls. Then there is the third baby on the way. Pregnancy generally makes me feel alive and peaceful; this time is no exception. I'm very lucky and thrilled to be me right at this moment in my life. I'm not wishing to be younger and I'm not wishing away the years to come. This point in life is pretty wonderful. I know that later on down the road I will look back on my 30s as the time when we were growing as a family, moving around the world, cultivating Justin's career, and raising our young children with all our efforts and energy. I have a feeling this decade we will be busy and happy and tired and crazy; but mostly full of life at it's best moments. Normally, I don't give March 31, much thought every year. I probably gave it more thought this year since I was alone.

The great thing is that Justin returned home on Saturday to a very excited household of girls who welcomed him home with hugs and kisses. The girls didn't even let Justin take a shower in peace after his long flights. They literally stood there in the bathroom giggling with excitement as he washed off the earthy spicy smell of Africa and the middle east.
We celebrated my birthday on Sunday by going out to dinner and retrieving a huge stack of boxes that had been collected in Justin's office while he was away. Good things come to those who wait because Justin surprised me with a new camera lens for my Nikon. I am so excited to start learning to use it. My initial attempts are not quite perfect but I think with time I should be able to get some nice portraits of Addie and Bella.We have about 8 weeks left in Manila before we pack up and head back to the States. It's coming up very fast and I am starting to get very anxious about all the things I still need to do before we leave. I had all sorts of things I wanted to get done and most likely they will not all be completed. I guess I need to prioritize.

must read

I come from a long line of women who have raised daughters. My Great Grandmother raised two daughters, my Grandmother raised four daughters, and my Mother raised three daughters. Now it's my turn and while it may be in my genes to have girls, I don't claim to know the ins and outs of raising girls or children at all for that matter (sometimes I feel like I know nothing at all).

Looking back, I'd have to say Motherhood was really the one thing I can recall claiming that I'd do as a grown-up. I wasn't the girl who knew I'd be a doctor or a lawyer. I didn't have a passion for politics or animals. But I always knew I'd be a Mom. (I'm still searching for that other passion). Here I am fulfilling that vision of myself. While Motherhood has come naturally to me, for the most part, I would like to learn as much as I can. Experts say much of our parenting style comes from how we were parented. Whether we aim to model what our Mothers and Fathers did or we push to do the opposite and strive to be unlike them; it's still an extension of how we were raised. So I'll take some of what was given to me by my parents and I'll also do somethings my own way. My husband's upbringing obviously plays a big role in how we parent as well.

I guess I'm humble enough to say I don't know everything and want to learn more. I want to be the best Mother to my girls that I can be. That's why I picked up a stack of books about raising daughters while I was home in the States. My husband thinks I'm silly for not bringing home fiction. He says I'm a good Mom and that I don't need parenting books. My sister says that just by having such a passion to be a good Mom, I will be because I'll never get complacent. Maybe so, maybe they are both right. But with only one shot at raising my daughters, I'm not leaving anything up to chance, or genetics.

Girls will be Girls: Raising Confident and Courageous Daughters by JoAnn Deak, PH.D, is a stand out book that I could not put down for the past five days. At many points I was taken back to my adolescence while reading (good and bad). The seemingly insurmountable issues that young girls face coupled with the delicate balancing act parents often have to manage to stay connected to their daughters had a dizzying effect on me. I loved everything about this book; from reading the girls perspective to the need for an ever changing parenting strategy based on your individual daughter personality and developmental stage.

I really recommend this book to all parents of daughters and all teachers! As a principal and school physiologist Dr. Deak inserts her decades of experience working at schools and with girls. What an amazing wealth of knowledge she brings to this book.

My favorite passage is in the chapter about mothers and daughters. She sums up the chapter with a very poignant message that struck a cord for me about being a role model for my daughters.

Mothers agonize so much in their daily decision-making mode-"Should I let her go to the mall alone?" "How much should I bug her about her homework?" These are important questions, but in terms of lifelong impact on you daughter, the more important issues that deserve your time and consideration are thoughts about your behavior, your words, your personal decisions, and your values. These are the mirror of your being, where your daughter will, in different ways through the years, discover herself.

My daughters are still young. I'm sure I will be flipping through this book periodically as they grow to refresh my memory about asking questions, listening to their perspective, letting them work through their own problems, interjecting when a family value is at stake, keeping connected and staying close especially when they are pushing family away and always keeping the conversation going. And above all else, never, ever, letting silence replace the dialogue between mother and daughter.

I'm sure it's going to be a bumpy and winding road with plenty of rough patches but hopefully my girls and I will be able to work together to pave their path in life. I know we can.