No Kings Protest

It's been a while since we've joined in a protest. 

And today just felt like a good day to protest. 

Today while Israel bombed Iran and Iran bombed Israel. Today while we waited to hear anything from anyone in Gaza. Today while a manhunt is underway for an assassin who shot and killed Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman and her husband (and made an attempt on the lives of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife and had a list of several other targets).

And that's just today (let alone the past few weeks). 

So we decided that we should show up, be counted, and make our voices heard. Even if all we were doing was screaming into the void...it was nice to do it together for a little while.

The kids helped make signs in the morning. I didn't know what to write on my first sign (there is so much—too much), so I settled on "UGH" and let Phoebe scribble on it.

Random tidbits

While I was busy in primary, having a pioneer hoedown during music time, President Biden dropped out of the election, which was some pretty good news. 

Grandpa came over for dinner...and to bring back the kids' car seats, which we forgot to take out of his car when he dropped them off on Saturday. We had homemade pasta, which was delicious. 

In less good news, a faulty software update caused practically every flight to be grounded over the weekend. More than 5000 flights were delayed. Delta Airlines was particularly hard hit.

Rosie and I both have flights out to Utah—on Delta—later this week for Olivia's wedding. We're crossing our fingers everything is ironed out by the time we need to fly.

*****

Phoebe can be a real riot. Here are a few stories from her this morning:

Phoebe: Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom…

Me: Mmmm…

Phoebe: Wake up. 

Me: Momma is still tired. 

Phoebe (tickling me): What is this?

Me: That’s my armpit. 

Phoebe: It is so pokey. 

Me: Thank you. 

Phoebe: And you have yucky elbows. My elbows are so smooth. Your elbows are so yucky. Disgusting. 

Me: Thank you. 

Phoebe: Will you hold me? I just want to hug you!

Me: Yup. I can hold you. 

Phoebe: Hold me with your yucky elbows. 

Me: Mmmmhmmm. Wait until you get older…

She still has perfectly soft baby skin. But that will change, I'm sure.

Random stories

Last night Phoebe came upstairs at bedtime and heard crickets singing through the open window. She was so excited she started screaming and running around. It took me several minutes to catch her and calm her down enough to discover what it was she was carrying on about. 

She wanted to (1) climb up to the window so she could listen to and look for the crickets, (2) to open all the windows, and (3) to go for a walk to see what's special at night. 

That last one I partly credit Daniel Tiger for, though we typically do a lot of nighttime walks once the fireflies come out...as well as in the winter when it gets dark earlier.

*****

I feel like singing time is going so much better. I've really only done it a handful of times because I got called in March and did two weeks of singing time...and then we had Easter and General Conference and Ward Conference right in a row...and then I've done two more weeks. And...things are going better. 

I've been making Google Slides presentations rather than little posters to hold up. Checking the television out of the library every week is a little annoying but, honestly, I'm such a disorganized person that it's far better for me to just have all my Google Slides in one location than it would be for me to make a bunch of papers for me to keep track of. 

Of course, this means I have to remember my computer and various cords to connect everything...and so I have to keep track of all of those things. So I guess the idea of it being a convenience is a toss up. 

And then today I forgot The Church Bag, which was certainly not convenient. 

Run off voting

Living in Georgia has helped us to really put Reid's "vote early, vote often" maxim to use. Thanks to all the run-off elections we've found ourselves voting multiple times in any given election recently. Today was the last day for early voting so I packed all the kids up and we headed to the park so we could do our traditional "vote and play." 

Here we are stopping by the "raptor" that Grandpa saw in the park the other day:

It's been here for years now and is in sad shape, but it's still fun to stumble upon.

Current events

Today started off well enough. The kids got up and started working on their math right away. The Georgia run-off election was called in favour of Reverend Warnock, which is really cool because he will not only be the first "African-American United States senator from Georgia," but from the entire Southern United States. High time! There's some good information on African American senators here.

Jefferson Franklin Long was the first black congressman from Georgia. He served from 1871 to 1901, but he was the only black congressman until Andrew Young was elected in 1973 (the same Andrew Young that the Andrew Young School of Public Policy is named after (which is where Andrew works)). There have been several black members of congress since then. John Lewis, for example, was first elected in 1987 and served until his death last year (thanks, 2020). 

Reverend Warnock was John Lewis's pastor (at the Ebenezer Baptist Church), so that's pretty cool. 

And Jon Ossof, the other senator elected today, interned under John Lewis for a while.

By noon I had convinced the kids to give me some time to write and I somehow managed to hammer out an introduction. I say somehow because while I was still working on it, Congress was trying to certify the election results and things got a little crazy. Naturally, there were protesters in DC, continuing to assert that the election results are fraudulent. I suppose they have the right to protest anything they want, though protesting against fairy tales (like tilting at windmills) seems like a waste of time to me. To be fair, most of the protesters remained outside the capitol building (asserting their freedoms of petition, speech, assembly, as is their right like normal, fairly decent people), but hundreds of right-wing extremists stormed the capitol building, interrupted the vote certification, and ransacked the place (I don't know how fully they ransacked it, but people were sitting in desks with their heels up, ripping signs off walls and doors, stealing letters and—quizzically—podiums?). There were a few bombs that were found (but they were disarmed before they exploded, thankfully).

It was all rather wild to watch go down. A certain someone...thanked the crazies and allowed them to go home "with love"...which was wild to witness given the treatment of BLM protesters this summer. But...whatever...

Oh, also, today was our deadliest COVID day, with 4100 deaths today (according to World-o-Meter).

So. it. was. a. day.

Rise up

I honestly don't know what to say or do right now. I don't have any eloquent words to deliver. 

I don't know what to do. I didn't feel like joining in any marches was safe (Andrew's office building downtown had its windows smashed in, for example). I didn't volunteer to help clean things up downtown either.

We just stayed home...where we've been pretty much solidly for the last few months. 

I was already worried about what the numbers (the coronavirus numbers) would look like after Memorial Day weekend. Now I'm doubly worried about what we'll see over the next couple of weeks with so many people—thousands and thousands and thousands—out on the streets, protesting racial injustices still so prevalent in our society. And rightly so. 

We talked about racism for our church lesson today. I picked some resources out and was surprised when Andrew knew about the people who wrote them just off the top of his head. I had to look them up. But, anyway, the first story I shared was a talk by Alexander B. Morrison.

Behold! The gender neutral bathroom!

Given the story making headlines in our local news currently, it's high time I posted a picture of this—a gender-neutral bathroom:

It's located in my old high school (my niece Piper's current high school), but it didn't used to be there. Instead there was a restroom for females and a restroom for males. And all was well in the world.

Except for, you know: (1) restroom bullying, (2) restroom vandalism, (3) the stupid partition-style bathroom stalls where you can peek under/over/through the cracks.

Then gender equality happened and *BOOM* these gender neutral bathrooms were installed. And the world ended.

Except (just kidding) it didn't!

Bordering insanity

Quizzically, these are not evaders of the system being detained in airports for "invalid visas"; these are not undocumented immigrants. These are people who went through the red tape: they filed paperwork, paid their fees, checked off every box. These are people whose visas are in their passports—signed, sealed, delivered. The system failed them. And it is an outrage.

Imagine you're a trailing spouse, riding on your husband's student visa, and you leave the country with a friend—so that she can renew her visa because she's required to leave the country before renewing her visa while you (as luck would have it) are not—accompanied by your small child. You spend a few days seeing some sights but mostly you're just leaving the country so you can go back in again, so your friend can purchase a new visa.

The border control officer takes your passport, flips through the pages, nods, stamps your passport and hands it back. Next he takes your child's passport, flips through the pages, then says, "She does not have a valid visa."

Your stomach drops to the floor.

"Excuse me?" you stammer.

"She has no valid visa."

"No," you insist. "She has a visa."

 "She has no visa. You may go through. She stays here."

"She is 18-months old!" you protest. "She is a baby! I can't just..."

On Apathy

On Monday we (all of us) wrote postcards to our state senators about some concerns we had regarding public education and medical coverage. I don't know if it will do much but, as Andrew said, "Pressure is pressure." When I went to buy stamps at the post office they couldn't find any in the back. I swear we were waiting for more than half an hour while an employee was searching around in the back, trying to come up with some stamps for me (waiting at the post office that long was no small feat for Benjamin and Zoë, but really they did just fine).

"All I can find is a roll of 100 postcard stamps," the employee said helplessly. "I can't find the individual stamps."

"That's exactly what I'm looking for," I said (and exactly what I asked for, but thanks for having me wait around anyway).

"Really? You must be planning on mailing a lot of postcards."

"Yes," I answered, "I am.

Because I am. Because I refuse to allow apathy be my passion. Because I'm bothered.

"Let me alone," said Mildred. "I didn't do anything."

"Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?" —Montag (Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451: 60th anniversary ed., p. 49)

Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under the chair.

I don't quite remember when I started thinking about participating in the Women's Marches, but somehow my thoughts went from, "That might be something I might do if I were into that sort of thing," to "I might be into this sort of thing," to "Okay, so we're doing this."

So we made plans and we made signs and when the day came we loaded the kids into the van and headed out to Raleigh. We weren't even out of the driveway before we ran into our first co-marchers—our nextdoor neighbours went as well! When we were parking we ran into another neighbour (Crystal, who organizes the MLK trash pick-up day) who just happened to have a few extra hats to hand out, which she offered to us.

Marbling Mania

Monday was a rather drizzly kind of day. I taught swimming lessons in the morning and we got poured on. A little rain means little when you're planning on getting wet anyway. Just as we decided to finish swimming the rain started letting up...but then it started thundering. We were able to go to the museum on the afternoon, which was good because my arsenal of quiet indoor activities was nearly depleted and the kids needed a good romp around. When Tuesday ended up even more rainy I thought I might pull my hair out.

But then I saw a picture a friend had posted of her son marbling some paper and *presto!* a bicker-free afternoon commenced. (Thanks, April!) The method they were using seemed a lot more involved (like, they had an actual tray of liquid, which seemed less than ideal with Benjamin around) so we went with a method that I used in my childcare class in high school—shaving cream! Which, by the way, we happen to have quite a lot of.

Every time Andrew comes home from grocery shopping he seems to bring home a can or two. "They keep giving us coupons!" he claims. "Great! But, hypothetically speaking, we're moving in a year. How much shaving cream can you use in one year?" I keep asking.

As of Monday we have one less can to use. Not that I'm counting down to moving...but we seriously have so much shaving cream stored in our bathroom. It's getting a bit ridiculous.

Anyway, I guess it's technically shaving gel, which meant we had to lather it up ourselves, which the kids didn't mind thoroughly enjoyed. Ideally this project uses actual shaving cream, which I guess comes out pre-lathered. Confession: I've never exactly used shaving cream...so...

Once our shaving gel was nice and foamy we added some food colouring, swirled it around...

Happy Everything Day!

It's 11:45 PM on election night and guess what we were doing? If you thought we watched the election results, you're probably right...but only kind of because we don't actually have, like, television. Instead I mixed up some pumpkin bread, Andrew pulled up a website (NPR, maybe) that was tracking the election, and we streamed some more of the West Wing. To prove how irresponsible we are, or perhaps merely to help cool our nerves, we watched three episodes right in a row—up to the episode where President Bartlett is reelected president.

We turned off the show and checked the election results just in time to watch the president win Wisconson, passing the 270 votes he needed to be reelected president.

It was kind of wild to watch two great wins right in a row!

But you didn't come here to hear about politics, I'm sure, and as luck has it I have a very non-political and very happy story to share with you all: we fixed our van!

Andrew was pretty frustrated after he tried to take the door apart on Saturday. Of course we arrived home with only an hour to spare before nightfall so his time was limited. We didn't have the part we needed to fix the van, anyway, but he was feeling like van-fixing was a little out of his realm. I didn't blame him because even van-driving is out of mine.

He tried desperately to fix the van on Sunday—he took it into a shop so they could look at it but they told us that they didn't have time and to come back in a couple hours later. He returned a couple hours later only to be told that they didn't have the part either. He came home feeling morose.

"Thwarted!" he said, "In all my attempts to break the sabbath!"

So we did the only thing we could do: we bundled up in coats and hats and blankets and drove to church with arctic winds blowing through our window.

That might be a bit of an over-exaggeration. I have to admit that of all places to have your window break, North Carolina in November isn't a bad place. It's chilly but not freezing and though it rained while our window was out of commission it didn't storm hard enough to rip off the garbage bag that we taped over our window.

I asked a few of my friends around here for recommendations on car shops since the place we went to quoted us $300 to fix the window regulator. That was going to be a hard bill to swallow.

Did I ever mention that we spent every penny we had moving out here? That we didn't buy any groceries for the whole month of September because Andrew only gets paid once a month...on the last day of the month...and he didn't get paid in August? I don't know if you've ever tried to move and then not stock your refrigerator; it was an interesting experience, that's for sure.

Election Party

I have a hunch that tomorrow after the kids are in bed and Andrew's home from class we'll be having an election party. I don't know how I got so wound up in politics. I remember watching the results for one Canadian election. And I think I remember my parents going out to vote once. My family's simply not that political—my parents have opinions, I know, but we never really talked politics at my house growing up.

Andrew's getting a PhD in Public Policy. We talk politics all the time. We snuggled up together to watch the presidential debates. I did a lot of yawning and eyeball rolling. Andrew, though, was riveted.

Rachel doesn't have school tomorrow. All the public schools in Durham county are closed for election day. I'm not exactly sure why but as far as my friends and I figured at book club it was because some elementary schools are polling locations and since they're super strict about visitors at schools here (you have to have a photograph taken every time you come to the school to do anything) we guessed they didn't want hordes of strange adults wandering around elementary school campuses while the children were in school. It was easier to tack an extra day on at the end of the year than it would be to patrol everyone coming to vote.

We only figured that because having a day off from school certainly doesn't make it easier for parents to vote...

So, the girls and I had an election party tonight. We stayed up late playing games and eating cookies while Benjamin hung out with his turtle, a fork, and a burp cloth.

On Revolutions, success, and failure

I think it's interesting when so many events in my life blur together.

I read the first book in The Hunger Games Trilogy in January and started reading Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea right after. It was amazing to see the similarities in the two books and realize that the world portrayed in The Hunger Games, a world I thought was too fictional to exist, exists. Minus the whole gaming part. But seriously, North Korea is in a bad way.

And while I was plotting in my little mind how to shout out to North Korea: Hey, you guys! There's a whole world out here! (And we have the internet!) You can be free! You all just need to join forces and pull down the regime. That's all...

(That's kind of where my message fizzled because I don't really know how to overthrow a powerful government so could offer North Korea no good advice on the matter.)

Anyway, while I was plotting in my little mind about how to overthrow North Korea, Egypt started its revolution. And I thought to myself, "If only North Korea could do this, too!" It seems that almost anyone who saw anything about the Tunisian and Egyptian revolutions, and who were fed up with being oppressed by tyrants, decided that overthrowing the government was the thing to do in 2011. If only North Korea knew about it; I'm sure they would have hopped on the band wagon, too.

Vote early and vote often

I voted in person for the first time in my life today--I voted two years ago but from overseas with an absentee ballot--it wasn't even that scary. My own family isn't very politically active, but Andrew's family is. Andrew's dad enjoys propagating the phrase "Vote early, vote often." He (and Karen and Andrew) even did vote early this year, though only once. I went to vote today after picking Rachel up from school.

When I told her that we wouldn't be going straight home but that we'd be going to vote first she clapped her hands together and declared, "That's perfect, Mom, because we didn't go on a field trip today and so going to vote can be our field trip."

We regret to inform you…we’ve run out of ice cream

Plan A has been squashed like a bug—there will be no PhD for us, at least not this year. We were rejected by every school we applied to and, frankly, it feels awful. Andrew feels even worse than I do, I’m sure, since he’s the addressee of the letters of regret. What more could we have done?

He has a 3.933 GPA. He was awarded a research grant. One of his translations is being published in the upcoming Literary Atlas of Cairo. His GRE scores are competitive. I’m positive he had excellent letters of recommendation. And it isn’t like AUC is unprestigious.

As far as we can tell it’s this darn recession we’re in.

Don't hate me...I'm American

I thought this might be a good place to vindicate myself. I'm not brave enough to do it here.

Andrew read this article on By Common Consent about wanting to be a proud American. The fast Sunday in July was mentioned in the article as being rather awkward for the author's family, since his wife isn't American. Andrew left a comment mentioning that that Sunday is rather awkward for our family as well. It's the one fast Sunday of the year when I almost purposely tune out everything everyone says and find myself squirming in my seat when I accidentally listen.

I wasn't raised singing The Star-Spangled Banner with my hand over my heart. I wasn't raised reverencing the American flag. I wasn't raised saying the Pledge of Allegiance every day or week or month or at all in school. I wasn't raised in America.

That said, I am an American citizen and I am not offended by any of these behaviors. I even try my best to participate in these activities. I do.

I think it's a good thing to remember how blessed we are to live in a comparatively free country. I think it's a good thing to remember and honor the soldiers who fought for that freedom. I appreciate all the good things about America, I really do. I got an A in every American History class I took in high school and college. I sing the national anthem. I use trash cans. I've been to Mt. Rushmore. I vote.

I'm a fine citizen, I think.

But I wasn't raised thinking that the United States was the most wonderful and privileged country in the whole world--the "best." And you probably won't find me expressing my appreciation and patriotism by decorating my Christmas tree in a stars and stripe theme. Sorry.

I remember once, soon after I had moved to the States, a friend asked me how it felt to now live in the best country in the world. I looked her in the eye and said,

"This isn't the best country in the world."

"Then which country is?!" She asked incredulously, obviously gravely offended, "Canada?!"

"Well, no," I answered back, genuinely confused about a) why she was offended and b) why she would think that, "None of them are."

And that is, indeed, my opinion. There is no "best" country in the world and I find it difficult to listen to people express, during testimony meeting (or, you know, anywhere), how they feel so blessed to live in America--the "best" country in the world. Not that I haven't felt blessed to live in America, because I have.

But still that first Sunday in July is the most awkward Sunday for me the whole year long.

One commenter (among many) questioned this by saying:

"I don’t see any general reason to be more uncomfortable hearing the national anthem of the United States in an American congregation than the national anthem of the corresponding country in any foreign congregation."

He, in my opinion, misunderstands the awkwardness. I completely agree with what he says. I know several national anthems and have no problem singing any of them, whether in that country or out of it: American, British, Canadian, Russian, whatever.

My feelings of discomfort stem not from singing the national anthem, but from the feeling that the meeting has turned from worshiping God to worshiping America. Also, often what people intend to sound patriotic (love of country and willingness to sacrifice for it) actually comes off strongly nationalistic (the doctrine that your national culture and interests are superior to any other). Nationalism at the pulpit seems akin to idol worship to me. It is difficult for me to say amen to speakers who sound too nationalistic for that reason. I guess that's two reasons, the first being that they seem to be worshiping America, not God, and the second that they assert that America is "the best." I don't agree with either of those things and both things make me feel uncomfortable.

That said, I do think it is appropriate to mention in prayers, and the like, gratitude for living in the country in which one resides. I think we should thank God for all our blessings: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, freedom, traffic laws, and always being able to find brown sugar (or what have you) at the grocery store.

We spent the previous two 4th of Julys in the States and those two fast Sundays were very uncomfortable for me. Andrew was very supportive, stroking my hand and whispering that he agrees with me, not them--that America is good, but not the best. I haven't spent many 4th of Julys in the States, really. Those two and maybe a couple of others. My family actually isn't even in the States right now; they're up in Canada visiting my sister, Abra. They missed out on Canada Day by being in the States and the 4th of July by being in Canada.

Both countries right now, I daresay, are still quite caught up in the revelry of their patriotic holidays: wearing the colors of the flag, watching fireworks, eating traditional foods. And I think that's just fine. Fun, actually. I think it's fun! It is definitely a good thing; but it can go too far, especially when it is taken into the chapel where our thoughts are supposed to be turned specifically to the Lord.

This is our (mine and Andrew's) second 4th of July in Egypt (the first was in 2006) and I just loved our fast and testimony meeting this Friday because it was just like any other fast and testimony meeting. People got up and bore testimony of their Savior and of the gospel and it was wonderful!

One young man in our primary, Josh, got up to bear his testimony and he was on fire. It was short and sweet and as honest as can be. He was sick with an ear ache that wouldn't go away. His mother had tried everything to make him feel better, but nothing was working. Finally, he asked his father for a priesthood blessing. After the blessing he started to feel better.

"I think," he said, swallowing the sob growing in his throat, while a few rogue tears sneaked through, "That the priesthood is a really good thing for us."

Then he closed his testimony. That was it. He thinks the priesthood is a really good thing for us. And he thinks it with all of his heart. I would venture to say that, not only does he think or believe, he knows. The spirit he brought into the room with his testimony was impressively strong.

And I sat there, thinking about how glad I was to be an American.* Me!

I, who have been accused of being unpatriotic and un-American! I sat there and thought that.

I thought about how privileged I am to be able to live here and still attend the church of my choice without persecution from my neighbours...or the government...even though we aren't a recognized denomination here. I thought about how privileged I am to have my freedoms and rights as an American be protected for me, even in countries that don't necessarily have those same freedoms and rights.

If I was born an Egyptian I wouldn't have those same rights. I wouldn't be able to speak out against the policies of my government or write my own idea on a ballot if I didn't like the choices offered to me or go to the church of my choice. I do live a rather privileged life here, and everywhere, because of the freedoms with which I've been blessed. And I'm definitely grateful for that!

*Alright, so if I'm going to be completely honest, I thought about how lucky I was to be a "Westerner" (because Canada and much of Europe and other parts of the world that aren't even Western (like Japan and South Korea) are just as free as the States and their rights (which are basically the same as the rights of Americans) are also somewhat protected abroad). But America was included in my thoughts, even though I feel no less-free in, say, Canada than I do in America.

Also, I have a song by Arrogant Worms stuck in my head right now because of the title of the post...even though the title of the post isn't even related to the song at all. "Forgive us, we're Canadian, we try hard to be nice! You, too, can be Canadian if you follow this advice..."

"Don't hate me, I'm American" fits into that line perfectly, though. So now I'm singing. Actually, since the song is so great, here are the words:

We always say we’re sorry, we like to stand in line.
When you ask us how we’re doing, we always say “Just fine!”
Forgive us we’re Canadian, we try hard to be nice.
You too can be Canadian if you follow this advice.

We disagree on everything but we try to be polite
and we don’t believe in violence, except on hockey night.
We’ve adopted European ways, replacing yards with meters,
but we still must ask the question, how many miles in a litre?

Forgive us we’re Canadian, we try hard to be nice.
You too can be Canadian if you follow this advice.

We could talk for hours on end about the constitution,
which is dry as toast but sure as heck beats war or revolution!
We don’t much like to wave the flag, we find patriotism shocking.
So we celebrate on Canada day by going cross-border shopping.

Forgive us we’re Canadian, we try hard to be nice.
You too can be Canadian if you follow this advice.

We know how to dress for winter, we’re not afraid of snow
and we love our country quietly, and hope Quebec won’t go…

Forgive us we’re Canadian, and some might think us bland
But there’s no where that we’d rather live….
Than this vast and frozen land!

Some Random Stories

We've been at the Red Sea for the past few days. We actually got back early Thursday evening; while coming into Cairo we caught a glimpse of the Great Pyramids through the smog and the radio announced that President Obama was heading toward the pyramids at that very minute. I think Andrew's heart may have broken.

"This is the closest we've ever been to President Obama," he remarked.

"We had to come all the way to Egypt to get close to the President?" I quipped, "That's backwards."

Unfortunately for Andrew, several young women that we know were at the pyramids at that moment, waiting to meet President Obama. A few of them didn't even care about/want to be there. Andrew would have loved to go, but you had to have a diplomatic passport to get on the buses to get into the pyramids on Thursday. We don't have diplomatic passports; we're just regular, old citizens. Being something "more" would be convenient sometimes.

Later that night Andrew taught Rachel how to say Barak Obama. Obama was easy. Barak? Not so much. She also thinks that Obama is two words.

"Oh, Bama!"

Her intonation perfectly matches her "Swiper" voice when she says,

"Oh, man!"

Of course, she can't say Swiper's name right, either, and calls him Diaper. I'm sure Obama would be happy that Rachel calls him O-Bama and not Diaper. Just guessing.

And speaking of guessing....A few days before we left for the Red Sea, we were at the Lewises for dinner/to babysit while Jessie went to her jr. high graduation. Rachel ran out of milk and instead of asking for more stood up in her chair and reached across the table for my cup, almost knocking it over. (I guess she was thirsty).

"Rachel!" I scolded, "You don't grab my cup if you want more to drink. You have to ask! What do you say?"

"Ummmmm....Sorry?" she paused to think about her answer, "Nooo!"

"No," I agreed, "If you want more, what do you say?"

And then I prompted her through, "Please may I have more ________?" which apparently she can say by herself because later that week she was screaming, "MORE! MORE! MORE!" and I asked her what she was supposed to say and she blurted out the answer nearly 100% correctly--her conjugation was just a little off.

"Pease may I has more?"

Sometimes she just blurts out her answers without thinking and apparently that works part of the time. It is better to think about answers fully before thinking, which Rachel also does sometimes. Sometimes she even does a double-take before she says something, just to be sure.

My friend Lindsey stayed at our house last week with her boyfriend, Mike. He came out to visit and to help move her home. Because they aren't married we made use of both the spare bedroom and the living room couch. We weren't too worried about having any "sneaking around" going on because a) I trust Lindsey and b) I'm pregnant and get up to use the bathroom many times sporatically sprinkled throughout the night. The couch was always full.

Rachel also makes a wonderful chaperon; little children usually do.

On the last day Lindsey and Mike were staying with us, I heard Rachel open her bedroom door. Then I heard the pitter-patter of her cheerful morning feet skittering across the floor to our bedroom. She walked in, looking very confused. She walked backwards until she was back in the living room. Then she walked forward again and ran over to the bed.

"Mama!" she whispered, worryingly, "Mite! Sweep! Touwch!"

"I know," I assured her, "Mike's supposed to be sleeping there."

This was the first morning that Rachel woke up before Mike and Lindsey (who were off busy being tourists all day, everyday) and I think it shocked her a little bit to find someone sleeping on the couch.

Someone besides her pregnant mother in the heat of the early afternoon, that is.

Sad news

Not to worry our parents, or anything, but we thought we'd help spread the word that one of Andrew's fellow grad students, who happens to share an office with Andrew, was abducted last night by the Egyptian police.

Don't worry. We're fine.

Philip Rizk is probably less than fine, though. His whereabouts is still officially unknown, although a few inside sources say that he was taken to Lazoughly, which is infamously known for torture. Apparently his abduction had to do with his activism regarding Palestine, more specifically Gaza. Any Google search turns up numerous articles he wrote while living in Gaza as an independent journalist. More recently he had been trying to help get medical supplies into the war-torn areas of Gaza where hospitals are still overcrowded and people are still dying.

AUC and the German embassy are doing all they can to locate and release Philip, though that will be tough since he's technically an Egyptian citizen so it's not like the Germany embassy can just demand him back.

Hopefully he'll be released soon, though, and in good physical condition.

We aren't planning on getting incarcerated any time soon. We're a lot less passive about our politics than Philip. We're not really all that in to attending demonstrations and/or sneaking contraband (even if it is needed contraband) across international borders. So there's really no need to worry about us.

I have to admire his bravery, though. People are suffering and he's actually trying to do something about it instead of sitting around and talking about it while innocent people are dying.

It's funny. This is the second person I'm "connected" to that has been negatively impacted by the Palestinian/Israeli crisis. The other is a friend of my Aunt Marie's. Suleiman Baraka attended the Astrophysics Institute of Paris with JC, Marie's son. They were both PhD candidates and got to be good friends. Currently Suleiman is in the States working for NASA. He left his family in Gaza and was working on getting visas for them to join him in the States. Unfortunately his house was bombed on December 29th, 2008, leaving his wife, two sons, and a daughter homeless. Another son Ibrahim, only 11 years old, died from injuries resulting from the blast. You can read his account here.

Dar el-Salaam Suq

There's a cute little suq that we've seen at the Dar el-Salaam metro stop several times. We've just never gotten off the train there so we didn't know what it was like. Yesterday we went to explore it with the Schillings.

It's definitely a local suq, which was nice because most of the prices were somewhat set--and at local prices, not tourist prices. However, it wasn't really a touristy-place so the only things to buy were somewhat practical. That was perfect for us because we needed to find Rachel some new shoes.

She has outgrown all the shoes we brought with us except for her Sunday shoes (from Piper) and her sandals (from the twins). Her big toe hangs off the front of the sandal, so it was definitely time to get her new shoes.

We found a shoe stand not too far in the suq, selling mostly baby shoes. Rachel was excited that we stopped to let her try on a few pairs. She kept grabbing at more and more different pairs; finally we settled on a pink pair and a yellow-ish pair.

The vendor told us the price: the pink pair was 28 LE, the yellow-ish pair was 17 LE. But while the vendor was packaging them up Andrew joked,

"We're going to throw these at Bush,"

"Really?" asked the vendor

"Well, we're Americans so we'll see him sometime...and when we do..." Andrew said, cocking his hand in the air.

"And you like Obama?" he asked.

"Yes, we do!" said Andrew.

"I give you discount!" the vendor rejoiced, "40 LE for both pair!"

Sweet! We saved a whole dollar. Not that we're actually planning on throwing them at Bush, but I do find the whole scenario a little funny. I don't necessarily find the actual throwing-of-shoes at our president funny. I do find it funny that all the press releases are emphasizing that throwing shoes are an insult in Arab/Muslim culture. Of course it is! But they say it like it isn't an insult anywhere else. Can you name one culture where it isn't an insult to throw a shoe (let alone anything other than flowers and rice) at someone?

I can't. And really, really...I think Iraq was one of the biggest mistakes of the Bush presidency. But that's just me.

Anyway, Rachel was really excited about her new shoes and she was so good the entire time we were in the market. At least most of the time we were at the market. The problem with this market was, in spite of all the treasures to be seen, it was slightly overrun with donkeys pulling carts of wares.

Rachel is terrified of donkeys. She's terrified of most animals, really, so we're planning on taking her to the zoo for Christmas because we're nice parents like that. Every so often Rachel would start screaming and would grab onto me for dear life...and then a donkey cart would rumble by. I figure that by taking her to the zoo for Christmas I will earn a year's worth of hugs in one day.

We also bought some "freshly squeezed" juice. Since the juice stand had fruit hanging out in front we thought the "freshly squeezed" part meant just that, fresh. We were sorely disappointed, then, when we ordered our juice and the owner showed us to a fridge with juice already squeezed and in a glass. Who knows when they squeezed it? To me, fresh juice means you squeeze it in front of my eyes.

We should have gone to the store just down the way. At that store they really were squeezing the juice individually for each customer...and putting it in plastic bags with straws. We didn't get any since we had barely finished our unfresh juice, but this young man was nice enough to pose for a picture. Him, and all of his friends. Once we asked them for a picture they just wouldn't leave us alone; they kept asking us to take more and more pictures of them.