Recently Rachel's been having a hard time going to bed. There have been lots of tears and lots of screaming for the past few...weeks. It's been pretty much awful but it seems to be getting better.
I don't really have any solutions but I have learned a lot more about Rachel's sleeping habits.
I noticed tonight, while we were rocking and singing songs, that Rachel sucks her index finger. She never used to do that so I think it's probably because I weaned her. Yes, she's fully weaned. Hopefully. The last time I weaned her was in Spain. We went a full week without nursing and then somehow went back to 3 times a day. I'm not sure how that happened. So I had to wean her again. And now she sucks her index finger while she's falling asleep. Who knew?
Rachel takes forever to fall asleep. Sometimes I will peek into her room before going to bed--at midnight--and she'll be sitting up, playing with her dolls. Still. "Hi, mama!" she'll call out to me. She's so crazy. I never knew why she took so long to fall asleep until I was lying down with her one evening. She purposely keeps herself awake by naming body parts on herself and her doll; she watches for cars to drive by and follows the light that pours in through her window ("Oh, dat!" she says); and she listens for and tries to identify every sound she hears ("Dada!" "Pa-pa!" "Door!" "Caa!" "Baby!"). No wonder it takes her so long to fall asleep! If she'd just close her eyes and simmer down for a second she'd be out like a light.
Rachel really likes to sleep on her stomach. With her bum sticking up in the air. I don't sleep on my stomach anymore, but when I was little I always slept on my stomach, with my bum sticking up in the air. For some reason, even though I know Rachel likes to sleep on her stomach, I still put her to sleep on her back. "Back to sleep" is what we're told to do nowadays and I've been putting her on her back to sleep since she came home from the hospital. She always flips over, though. The other night I was lying down with her and she was on her back, trying desperately to fall asleep. She was squirming around trying to get comfortable, rubbing her eyes, and sighing exasperatedly. So I told her she could turn over and fall asleep on her stomach, if she wanted to. She flipped over and fell asleep like 2 minutes later. I thought it was funny that she would even try to get comfortable on her back...why didn't she just turn over right after I put her down? I don't know.
Rachel likes to pull her favorite blanket over her face to sleep sometimes. I don't know if she's just been exchanging notes with her friend Sam or what. I personally can't stand to sleep with covers over my face.
Tonight I put her down and she started to cry and I told her, "You don't have to cry. You can fall asleep without crying. You like sleeping."
Amazingly enough she didn't cry.
I've been using that reasoning with her all day and it's been working. And if it keeps working, I will keep using it.
"You don't have to cry about going potty. Going potty isn't a punishment. You're not in trouble. You just have to go. It's part of being a person."
"Why are you crying, Rachel? Do you need to cry? Are you hurt? Couldn't you just ask me for a snack instead of crying because you're hungry? You know if you ask I can get you the snack sooner than if you're crying and I have to guess what's wrong."
Maybe she just thought that she always has to cry when she goes to bed or goes potty or when she's hungry. I don't know. Maybe one day she'll tell me.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
25 things about me
1. 17 people have tagged me to do this post, so far.
2. I think beef flavored oriental noodles (ramen for you Americans) and orange juice go really well together.
3. I “stopped going” to high school after my junior year.
4. I was once listed in the BYU commencement program 3 times under 2 different names, both my maiden and married names. I didn’t even graduate that semester.
5. I love writing but am afraid to submit anything to a publisher.
6. I speak Russian. I live in Egypt. Speaking Russian hasn’t done me a whole lot of good thus far in my life.
7. I didn’t “wait” for Andrew while he was on his mission. I promise. It just happened that I was single when he got home.
8. I once danced on stage while 6 months pregnant.
9. I once played the viola on stage in Germany. I play the viola even worse than I play the piano. It was a group concert.
10. My thumbs are shaped like toes.
11. When I was on a field trip in elementary school we found ourselves face to face with a mother bear. She ended up following her cub instead of us.
12. When I was in elementary school we would actually go over bear and cougar safety before going on certain field trips.
13. I threw up during story time in grade one. It was so embarrassing.
14. I learned how to maypole dance in grade 4. I learned how to ballroom dance in grade 7. I took folkdance my sophomore year at BYU. I learned how to belly dance this year. Next year I think I’ll sign up for a Bollywood dance class. I also want to take a ballet class.
15. A TV fell on me when I was 2. Another one fell on me when I was 18.
16. I didn’t learn to walk until I was around 18 months old. I said my first word at around 6 months old.
17. I love traveling. I want to go everywhere.
18. I want to take a photography class someday.
19. I took knitting lessons when I was little but I can’t remember how to knit. I learned how to crochet when I was in Russia. It’s easier than knitting. At least, I think so.
20. I love swimming but I hate getting my face wet.
21. I lived in Utah for 8 years, thereabouts, but never hiked Mt. Timpanogos. I still want to hike it.
22. I love lemon gelato. So much, in fact, that if you tried to tell me that lemon was the only flavor that existed, I would believe you. Sometimes I try different flavors but am always disappointed. Lemon is where it’s at.
23. My husband is the most hilarious person alive. He makes me laugh everyday.
24. I don’t drive. I hate cars. And cars hate me. I once caused an eight car pile up…as a pedestrian…using the crosswalk.
25. I was “Student of the Week” several weeks in a row for math. Of all things. I hate math.
Did I forget anything stellar? It was kind of hard to think of 25 things, but I bet I could keep going if I tried. Apparently this was all over the news. Crazy. I like to think that by doing this I contributed to history somehow.
She gets the first vision
On Friday we only had sacrament meeting because they are painting our building. It hasn’t been painted in about 17 years and that’s a long time to go without a fresh coat of paint in Egypt. Because they are painting everything is in boxes right now, so there are no toys in nursery, no props for primary, no extra copies of the Book of Mormon in the library, etc., etc., etc.
So after sacrament meeting we all went home to, in the words of Brother Barton, “make the most of the additional time together to enjoy other sabbath [sic] appropriate activities.”
Rachel was in quite a mood from having stayed up late the night before so we were happy to rush home after only 1 hour of church. We came home and popped in The Restoration. Rachel sat all the way through it, amazingly enough, but I wasn’t sure she was getting much out of it. She kept saying “boy” and “neigh” and “moo” and other little words each time she saw something she recognized. I kept trying to explain the story to her in the simplest terms possible.
“Yes, that’s a boy! It’s the boy Joseph Smith. Yes, everyone is praying. They are at church. Joseph Smith wants to know which church is true.”
But then a horse would show up and she’d “Neigh!” and wave her hand in the air, brandishing an invisible whip and all my efforts would be wasted.
Soon I gave up trying to explain the movie to her and settled in to enjoy the rest of the film myself. When the movie was over we got out the nursery manual and gave Rachel the lesson on Joseph Smith, which she seemed to enjoy, but mostly she just wanted to get to the coloring page.
I traced it for her and then we colored it together and talked about it some more.
“Where’s Joseph Smith? Yes, there he is. Where’s Jesus? Yes, can you say Jesus?”
“Jeejush!”"
Even then she didn’t seem to be really getting it. She mostly wanted me to tell her which color her “col-cols” (colors/crayons/pens/felts) were.
And then tonight Rachel was postponing bedtime by asking to “col-col” so I set the timer for 5 minutes and told her that when the timer went off that we’d have to stop coloring and go to bed. While we were in the middle of drawing an “R picture” about everything that starts with R, Rachel pulled out the picture we had started coloring on Friday.
She pointed to Joseph Smith and folded her arms. Then she unfolded her arms, waved, and said, “Amen! Hi, Jeejush!”
So something is sinking in. Sometimes it’s just nice to know that she really is learning.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
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.
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.
Flashback Friday: I don't even know where to begin
I am suffering from writer's block, I fear. The longer I sit here the longer I think of nothing to say. That is...rare...because although it's not uncommon for me to run out of things to say it's quite uncommon for me to run out of things to write. But continuing my academic theme, I'll share a story about my English 314 class at BYU, Writing about Literature.
The class started out alright. We were going to be reading Persuasion by Jane Austen. I had never read any of Austen's books before and I haven't read any since. Don't hate me. Hate my teacher. She ruined Jane Austen for me. What could have been a perfectly wonderful introduction into the world of sappy classics turned into complete drudgery. I read Persuasion nine times that semester. I wrote ten papers on it, I think. It was dreadful. I wanted to burn that book at the end of the semester. It's been 5 and a half years (can that be?) yet I still have it and every time I see it I shudder...and have to fight the urge to throw it across the room.
I took it in Fall 2003, which was an awkward stage in my academic career. I should have been a Freshman but I had already been going to college for a year and had nearly finished my associates degree, so I was technically a junior. I was prepared for the class academically, but I still felt out of place. I was one of the few in the class not majoring in English; I also felt rather juvenille, compared to everyone else in the class.
Near the beginning of the semester, probably within the first few weeks, we were assigned to bring in a draft of our first paper to trade with someone in the class. Then we'd do a peer review, a "constructive criticism," if you will.
I was assigned to be partners with a girl (who shall remain anonymous simply because I can't remember her name), who was probably about 10 years older than me. She had 4 kids, and had been published, more than once, in a magazine. I know this because our teacher, Penny Byrd, wanted us all to be good friends and gave us a few minutes to introduce ourselves before we traded papers. This girl liked to write fiction, mostly, I think I remember. And she had already completed a few novels. Yet to be published. And she was hoping to graduate next year.
When it was my turn to introduce myself I was like, "Oh, hi, [insert name]. Nice to meet you. I'm Nancy. I'm, uh, 18. And I have never been published. But lots of teachers say they like my stuff. And I like to use semi-colons every now and then."
I never know how to introduce myself. Besides, she had already intimidated me with her introduction and I hadn't even read her draft yet.
We traded papers. At least, we tried to trade papers. Mostly I just gave her my draft and she gave me the first paragraph of her paper because that was all she had written. Naturally, I finished reading her draft first since it was only one paragraph long. I jotted some things down so that I could remember what to say to her and then waited for her to finish reading my paper.
When it was time to exchange feedback, I went first. I learned how to give constructive criticism in Canada and did my best to follow the protocol: Say something nice. Hint at maybe suggesting improvement. Say something else nice. Finish off with a big smile.
"This was a really good paragraph. I think the rest of your paper is going to be really interesting. You missed a comma here. I didn't really understand this part, but it was great, overall." Big smile.
She yanked her paper out of my hands and glared at me.
"This?" she said, like some sort of a Jane Austen connoisseur, dangling my paper in front of my face disdainfully, "Was awful. I don't even know where to begin."
She returned my paper by dropping in on my desk, suggesting, as it fell, that I drop the class and try a freshman course.
While everyone else chatted about their papers, the book, the upcoming weekend, wedding plans and so on, I spent the remainder of the class staring at the front page of my paper, doing my best not to cry. I have no idea what what's-her-name did. I couldn't look at her.
I ended up staying in the class and ended up getting an A- (which isn't bad, although I probably cried about that, too).
Sometimes I wish I was braver back then. If I could have spoken my mind to her would I have been able to resesitate some of the self-esteem she crushed?
Would it have been so hard to say, "Well, at least I finished my draft. And speaking of finishing something, you didn't have to be in this class with me. You could have finished your bachelor's degree years ago!"
Sometimes, though, it is best to say nothing at all, especially when you don't have anything nice to say.
Perhaps she was having a bad day. Perhaps her kids had been up the whole night with the stomach flu. Perhaps she never learned how to give constructive criticism and really didn't know where to begin. Perhaps she was intimidated by the sheer awesomeness of my paper. Perhaps she never watched Bambi and so never heard Thumper say, "If you can't say something nice... don't say nothing at all."
I don't know what made her say what she said, and as much as I wish she hadn't said it sometimes I'm glad she did. It makes me think twice about what I say to others. I don't ever want to be a "what's-her-name" to somebody else.
The class started out alright. We were going to be reading Persuasion by Jane Austen. I had never read any of Austen's books before and I haven't read any since. Don't hate me. Hate my teacher. She ruined Jane Austen for me. What could have been a perfectly wonderful introduction into the world of sappy classics turned into complete drudgery. I read Persuasion nine times that semester. I wrote ten papers on it, I think. It was dreadful. I wanted to burn that book at the end of the semester. It's been 5 and a half years (can that be?) yet I still have it and every time I see it I shudder...and have to fight the urge to throw it across the room.
I took it in Fall 2003, which was an awkward stage in my academic career. I should have been a Freshman but I had already been going to college for a year and had nearly finished my associates degree, so I was technically a junior. I was prepared for the class academically, but I still felt out of place. I was one of the few in the class not majoring in English; I also felt rather juvenille, compared to everyone else in the class.
Near the beginning of the semester, probably within the first few weeks, we were assigned to bring in a draft of our first paper to trade with someone in the class. Then we'd do a peer review, a "constructive criticism," if you will.
I was assigned to be partners with a girl (who shall remain anonymous simply because I can't remember her name), who was probably about 10 years older than me. She had 4 kids, and had been published, more than once, in a magazine. I know this because our teacher, Penny Byrd, wanted us all to be good friends and gave us a few minutes to introduce ourselves before we traded papers. This girl liked to write fiction, mostly, I think I remember. And she had already completed a few novels. Yet to be published. And she was hoping to graduate next year.
When it was my turn to introduce myself I was like, "Oh, hi, [insert name]. Nice to meet you. I'm Nancy. I'm, uh, 18. And I have never been published. But lots of teachers say they like my stuff. And I like to use semi-colons every now and then."
I never know how to introduce myself. Besides, she had already intimidated me with her introduction and I hadn't even read her draft yet.
We traded papers. At least, we tried to trade papers. Mostly I just gave her my draft and she gave me the first paragraph of her paper because that was all she had written. Naturally, I finished reading her draft first since it was only one paragraph long. I jotted some things down so that I could remember what to say to her and then waited for her to finish reading my paper.
When it was time to exchange feedback, I went first. I learned how to give constructive criticism in Canada and did my best to follow the protocol: Say something nice. Hint at maybe suggesting improvement. Say something else nice. Finish off with a big smile.
"This was a really good paragraph. I think the rest of your paper is going to be really interesting. You missed a comma here. I didn't really understand this part, but it was great, overall." Big smile.
She yanked her paper out of my hands and glared at me.
"This?" she said, like some sort of a Jane Austen connoisseur, dangling my paper in front of my face disdainfully, "Was awful. I don't even know where to begin."
She returned my paper by dropping in on my desk, suggesting, as it fell, that I drop the class and try a freshman course.
While everyone else chatted about their papers, the book, the upcoming weekend, wedding plans and so on, I spent the remainder of the class staring at the front page of my paper, doing my best not to cry. I have no idea what what's-her-name did. I couldn't look at her.
I ended up staying in the class and ended up getting an A- (which isn't bad, although I probably cried about that, too).
Sometimes I wish I was braver back then. If I could have spoken my mind to her would I have been able to resesitate some of the self-esteem she crushed?
Would it have been so hard to say, "Well, at least I finished my draft. And speaking of finishing something, you didn't have to be in this class with me. You could have finished your bachelor's degree years ago!"
Sometimes, though, it is best to say nothing at all, especially when you don't have anything nice to say.
Perhaps she was having a bad day. Perhaps her kids had been up the whole night with the stomach flu. Perhaps she never learned how to give constructive criticism and really didn't know where to begin. Perhaps she was intimidated by the sheer awesomeness of my paper. Perhaps she never watched Bambi and so never heard Thumper say, "If you can't say something nice... don't say nothing at all."
I don't know what made her say what she said, and as much as I wish she hadn't said it sometimes I'm glad she did. It makes me think twice about what I say to others. I don't ever want to be a "what's-her-name" to somebody else.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Swimming and sliding
Since Rachel and I aren't getting along so well this morning--I'm not being very patient with her and she's already peed her pants twice and thrown several temper tantrums over everything and anything and bit my face during one of her temper tantrums--I thought I'd write about yesterday, since I haven't yet and yesterday was pretty fun.
Andrew ended up coming home from campus rather early (gotta love the first week of the semester) and since we didn't have playgroup today and it's so incredibly warm here already, we thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go swimming. Rachel has been feeling housebound recently. I think our trip to Spain and Morocco didn't help things any because she was so used to waking up and going outside right away. We didn't spend any mornings harbored up in our hotel rooms. So now that we're home she thinks that we need to be going places all the time.
It's kind of nice to have her reminding me to "GO!" so often. We do tend to stay inside a lot since there isn't really anywhere to just go and play here. Except on Wednesdays, which are free days at the Maadi House.
So we phoned Sara and she agreed to sign us in at the Maadi House because she's nice like that. (Thanks, Sara!)
Rachel was so excited to go swimming and the water was, in my opinion, perfect. The pool is heated, so it's far too warm to swim laps or anything, but it's great for taking a baby swimming in. It felt like a bathtub, nice and warm.
We haven't gone swimming since December sometime, so it had been a while and Rachel was a little shy of the "wawa" (water) at first. Soon, though, she remembered that she loves swimming and started being really brave again.
She usually will kick her legs on command, but yesterday when I told her to "swim" she would do this super rigid prone float, sticking her legs straight behind her and reaching above her head with her hands making a perfect rocket pose. If she had pushed off of me instead of just flipping onto her tummy she probably would have glided across the whole pool!
She would only kick her legs if Daddy was chasing her. He kept swimming under the water and tickling her feet and she kept kicking her legs at him and grabbing his hair and "pushing" him back under the water. They were so funny to watch.
Rachel wanted to go to the "wa" (wall) a lot. She loves playing on the wall because she can go where she wants to go without being carried. She likes to inch her way, hand over hand, across the pool while blowing bubbles in the gutter. She also likes to climb out and jump in. She almost jumped in all by herself, but chickened out at the last minute and made a grab for my hands.
She is not afraid of the water at all, though. The first time I dunked her she was a little upset but when I asked her if she wanted to go under the water again she got all serious and thought about it for a mintue before smiling and saying, "Yeah!"
After we dunked her a few times, she got so brave and started letting go of us and trying to swim to the wall. She can make it, too, if we're about a foot away. She'll just let go of my hands, jump off my knees, and reach for the wall. She keeps her eyes open and kicks her legs until she grabs it and then pulls herself up. She's always so proud when she makes it. She even tried turning around from the wall to try to come back to me by herself, but that was a little too tricky for her.
We also spent a lot of time playing on the stairs. She can sit on the first stair and stand on the second, but the third one goes up to her nose. She kept climbing down onto the third stair and then doing jumping bobs to the other side of the stair until she got to the railing. It was crazy to watch her do this! She's so comfortable in the water!
After swimming for an hour, Rachel decided it was time to go, so Daddy took her out to get her dressed and to use the potty. Then they played at the playground for a while while I, dressed and ready to go, waited for them to come back and find me. I figured, after I had waited for a few minutes that maybe they weren't finished getting dressed yet, so I went to find them and saw Rachel going down the huge slide at the Maadi House playground all by herself.
This child is crazy!
Now she's in her room, singing along to Primary songs. At least she's not screaming anymore. I just hope she falls asleep soon and wakes up happy. We still have the whole afternoon to go. The afternoon may include finding somewhere to get all her little wiggles out.
Andrew ended up coming home from campus rather early (gotta love the first week of the semester) and since we didn't have playgroup today and it's so incredibly warm here already, we thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go swimming. Rachel has been feeling housebound recently. I think our trip to Spain and Morocco didn't help things any because she was so used to waking up and going outside right away. We didn't spend any mornings harbored up in our hotel rooms. So now that we're home she thinks that we need to be going places all the time.
It's kind of nice to have her reminding me to "GO!" so often. We do tend to stay inside a lot since there isn't really anywhere to just go and play here. Except on Wednesdays, which are free days at the Maadi House.
So we phoned Sara and she agreed to sign us in at the Maadi House because she's nice like that. (Thanks, Sara!)
Rachel was so excited to go swimming and the water was, in my opinion, perfect. The pool is heated, so it's far too warm to swim laps or anything, but it's great for taking a baby swimming in. It felt like a bathtub, nice and warm.
We haven't gone swimming since December sometime, so it had been a while and Rachel was a little shy of the "wawa" (water) at first. Soon, though, she remembered that she loves swimming and started being really brave again.
She usually will kick her legs on command, but yesterday when I told her to "swim" she would do this super rigid prone float, sticking her legs straight behind her and reaching above her head with her hands making a perfect rocket pose. If she had pushed off of me instead of just flipping onto her tummy she probably would have glided across the whole pool!
She would only kick her legs if Daddy was chasing her. He kept swimming under the water and tickling her feet and she kept kicking her legs at him and grabbing his hair and "pushing" him back under the water. They were so funny to watch.
Rachel wanted to go to the "wa" (wall) a lot. She loves playing on the wall because she can go where she wants to go without being carried. She likes to inch her way, hand over hand, across the pool while blowing bubbles in the gutter. She also likes to climb out and jump in. She almost jumped in all by herself, but chickened out at the last minute and made a grab for my hands.
She is not afraid of the water at all, though. The first time I dunked her she was a little upset but when I asked her if she wanted to go under the water again she got all serious and thought about it for a mintue before smiling and saying, "Yeah!"
After we dunked her a few times, she got so brave and started letting go of us and trying to swim to the wall. She can make it, too, if we're about a foot away. She'll just let go of my hands, jump off my knees, and reach for the wall. She keeps her eyes open and kicks her legs until she grabs it and then pulls herself up. She's always so proud when she makes it. She even tried turning around from the wall to try to come back to me by herself, but that was a little too tricky for her.
We also spent a lot of time playing on the stairs. She can sit on the first stair and stand on the second, but the third one goes up to her nose. She kept climbing down onto the third stair and then doing jumping bobs to the other side of the stair until she got to the railing. It was crazy to watch her do this! She's so comfortable in the water!
After swimming for an hour, Rachel decided it was time to go, so Daddy took her out to get her dressed and to use the potty. Then they played at the playground for a while while I, dressed and ready to go, waited for them to come back and find me. I figured, after I had waited for a few minutes that maybe they weren't finished getting dressed yet, so I went to find them and saw Rachel going down the huge slide at the Maadi House playground all by herself.
This child is crazy!
Now she's in her room, singing along to Primary songs. At least she's not screaming anymore. I just hope she falls asleep soon and wakes up happy. We still have the whole afternoon to go. The afternoon may include finding somewhere to get all her little wiggles out.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Book Crisis
Sometimes when Rachel goes potty I read her stories to keep her entertained until she's finished her business, otherwise her short attention span takes over and she does wild and crazy things like standing up midstream. Stories are an excellent diversion.
While Rachel was working on some hefty business early this evening I was sitting with her and absentmindedly began reciting Mr. Brown Can MOO! Can You?.*
I know that book so well I can read it without looking at it. I even know the "dibble" to "dopp" ratio that the sound of the rain makes. I'm that good.
"Oh, the wonderful sounds Mr. Brown can do," I began, "He can sound like a cow. He can go..."
"MOO! MOO!" Rachel chimed in.
"He can sound like a bee! Mr. Brown can..."
"NO!" Rachel said, "Moo Moo Boo! Boo, mama."
"Alright, I'll go get the book. You just sit here. Don't move. I'll be right back."
And off I went to find the "Moo Moo Boo."
Usually our books are in the book bin because that's where they go. But "Moo Moo Boo" wasn't there. I checked the couches next. Often when books aren't in the book bin it's because they were being read on one of our many couches and chairs. I checked all eleven of the couches and chairs in our living areas. I found a lot of other books, but no "Moo Moo Boo." I figured it was just somewhere else and I'd find it later.
"I can't find Mr. Brown Can Moo," I told Rachel, "We'll read it later."
"No." Rachel said, "Moo Moo Boo!"
"Yeah, well, that's too bad because I can't find it. So we'll read it later. Finish up going potty and we'll choose a different story."
"Moo Moo Boo," Rachel insisted, starting to get off the potty in an I'll-just-do-it-myself fashion.
"No, no! Sit down. I'll go look again. You stay here and finish. Don't move."
I went out to look again. The last logical place to check is the diaper bag. Sometimes things get packed for an excursion and never get unpacked.
I went to the diaper bag, unzipped it, and looked inside. It was virtually empty: baby wipes, a pair of underwear, a pair of pants, and a belly dancing scarf (because you never know when you'll need one of those).
I began to panic.
"Where's Mr. Brown Can Moo!?" I asked Andrew. He could tell I was on the verge of hysteria so instead of saying something like, "I don't know. We'll find it later," he jumped up and started helping me find it.
He checked all the logical places I had just looked and then started helping me think of the illogical places it could be. Dropped inside the AC unit in the playroom, in one of Rachel's drawers, in the toy box. We looked everywhere. It was no where.
I was almost crying now.
"We can buy a new copy," Andrew said when I tried to explain to him how important, how vital that book is to my existence as a mother.
"Oh, when?" I countered, "IN TWO YEARS!!? I can't go for two years without that book! I need that book!"
Yes, we are stuck in the Middle East where the postal system is severely sub par. And we lost our toddler's favorite book. Ordering a new copy and getting that new copy here would be like finding a million dollars. Not going to happen.
"Okay, think!" I demanded, "Where were we the last time we had the book...we were at the...doctor's office! Oh, great! We're doomed, I tell you! Doomed, doomed, doomed!"
Perhaps I was overreacting. However, when I realized that the last place we had Mr. Brown Can Moo! was at the doctor's office I realized that we had also brought I Love Trains along. And I couldn't find that, either.
I Love Trains is Rachel's other favorite book (which, incidentally, I can also recite by heart). So if we can't find "Moo Moo Boo" we pull out "Choo Choo Boo" and everything is still okay because they're both favorites. And now we had neither.
It was 8:00 PM and I thought the chances of the doctor's office being open were pretty slim, but I phoned the doctor's office, anyway. Luckily we live in the Middle East and the clinic was still open at 8:00 PM because Arabs never sleep so I was able to talk to someone who informed me that she hadn't seen anything like that.
I was praying, almost begging, that the books would appear out of thin air right in front of my face. Just one small miracle...please! Oh, please, oh, please help me find that book!
And then, it hit me. They were in the old diaper bag. We had switched diaper bags when we came home from the doctor's office because it was there we realized that our old diaper bag was falling apart so badly it was embarassing.
I ran over to the "closet," threw open the doors, and yanked the diaper bag out. There inside, almost glowing with heavenly light, were "Moo Moo Boo" and "Choo Choo Boo." Thank you, thank you, thank you! Alhamdullah! I sighed a big sigh of relief and ran into the bathroom, where Andrew was trying to entertain Rachel, who was still on the potty but whose mind was entirely too much on why I wasn't bringing her the "Moo Moo Boo."
"LOOK!" I said and held up Mr. Brown Can Moo.
"MOO! MOO!" squealed Rachel, at once greedily and lovingly reaching her arms out to take it.
I held up I Love Trains.
"Choo! Choo!" she shrieked, twice as happy as before.
And that is why I can't live without those books. They are crucial to my existence as a mother. They stop tempers mid-tantrum. They block boredom from setting in. Sometimes they even take naps with Rachel. I need those books. I'm so glad I have them!
*Our book is shorter than this! We don't have "sizzle, sizzle" or the goldfish kiss. We may be investing in the longer version in the future.
While Rachel was working on some hefty business early this evening I was sitting with her and absentmindedly began reciting Mr. Brown Can MOO! Can You?.*
I know that book so well I can read it without looking at it. I even know the "dibble" to "dopp" ratio that the sound of the rain makes. I'm that good.
"Oh, the wonderful sounds Mr. Brown can do," I began, "He can sound like a cow. He can go..."
"MOO! MOO!" Rachel chimed in.
"He can sound like a bee! Mr. Brown can..."
"NO!" Rachel said, "Moo Moo Boo! Boo, mama."
"Alright, I'll go get the book. You just sit here. Don't move. I'll be right back."
And off I went to find the "Moo Moo Boo."
Usually our books are in the book bin because that's where they go. But "Moo Moo Boo" wasn't there. I checked the couches next. Often when books aren't in the book bin it's because they were being read on one of our many couches and chairs. I checked all eleven of the couches and chairs in our living areas. I found a lot of other books, but no "Moo Moo Boo." I figured it was just somewhere else and I'd find it later.
"I can't find Mr. Brown Can Moo," I told Rachel, "We'll read it later."
"No." Rachel said, "Moo Moo Boo!"
"Yeah, well, that's too bad because I can't find it. So we'll read it later. Finish up going potty and we'll choose a different story."
"Moo Moo Boo," Rachel insisted, starting to get off the potty in an I'll-just-do-it-myself fashion.
"No, no! Sit down. I'll go look again. You stay here and finish. Don't move."
I went out to look again. The last logical place to check is the diaper bag. Sometimes things get packed for an excursion and never get unpacked.
I went to the diaper bag, unzipped it, and looked inside. It was virtually empty: baby wipes, a pair of underwear, a pair of pants, and a belly dancing scarf (because you never know when you'll need one of those).
I began to panic.
"Where's Mr. Brown Can Moo!?" I asked Andrew. He could tell I was on the verge of hysteria so instead of saying something like, "I don't know. We'll find it later," he jumped up and started helping me find it.
He checked all the logical places I had just looked and then started helping me think of the illogical places it could be. Dropped inside the AC unit in the playroom, in one of Rachel's drawers, in the toy box. We looked everywhere. It was no where.
I was almost crying now.
"We can buy a new copy," Andrew said when I tried to explain to him how important, how vital that book is to my existence as a mother.
"Oh, when?" I countered, "IN TWO YEARS!!? I can't go for two years without that book! I need that book!"
Yes, we are stuck in the Middle East where the postal system is severely sub par. And we lost our toddler's favorite book. Ordering a new copy and getting that new copy here would be like finding a million dollars. Not going to happen.
"Okay, think!" I demanded, "Where were we the last time we had the book...we were at the...doctor's office! Oh, great! We're doomed, I tell you! Doomed, doomed, doomed!"
Perhaps I was overreacting. However, when I realized that the last place we had Mr. Brown Can Moo! was at the doctor's office I realized that we had also brought I Love Trains along. And I couldn't find that, either.
I Love Trains is Rachel's other favorite book (which, incidentally, I can also recite by heart). So if we can't find "Moo Moo Boo" we pull out "Choo Choo Boo" and everything is still okay because they're both favorites. And now we had neither.
It was 8:00 PM and I thought the chances of the doctor's office being open were pretty slim, but I phoned the doctor's office, anyway. Luckily we live in the Middle East and the clinic was still open at 8:00 PM because Arabs never sleep so I was able to talk to someone who informed me that she hadn't seen anything like that.
I was praying, almost begging, that the books would appear out of thin air right in front of my face. Just one small miracle...please! Oh, please, oh, please help me find that book!
And then, it hit me. They were in the old diaper bag. We had switched diaper bags when we came home from the doctor's office because it was there we realized that our old diaper bag was falling apart so badly it was embarassing.
I ran over to the "closet," threw open the doors, and yanked the diaper bag out. There inside, almost glowing with heavenly light, were "Moo Moo Boo" and "Choo Choo Boo." Thank you, thank you, thank you! Alhamdullah! I sighed a big sigh of relief and ran into the bathroom, where Andrew was trying to entertain Rachel, who was still on the potty but whose mind was entirely too much on why I wasn't bringing her the "Moo Moo Boo."
"LOOK!" I said and held up Mr. Brown Can Moo.
"MOO! MOO!" squealed Rachel, at once greedily and lovingly reaching her arms out to take it.
I held up I Love Trains.
"Choo! Choo!" she shrieked, twice as happy as before.
And that is why I can't live without those books. They are crucial to my existence as a mother. They stop tempers mid-tantrum. They block boredom from setting in. Sometimes they even take naps with Rachel. I need those books. I'm so glad I have them!
*Our book is shorter than this! We don't have "sizzle, sizzle" or the goldfish kiss. We may be investing in the longer version in the future.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
A Return to Virtue
The Young Women theme has changed, again. I remember when the theme first changed, that is, when it first changed for me. Before that point I thought YW was kind of a static program. You know, that my mom did it and that her mom did it and that her mom did it, and so forth. In reality it changes constantly to adapt to the needs of the YW today. Go figure. But I didn't learn that until I started working at the HBLL and got to go through every church manual for decades.
I had memorized the theme back in April or May of 1997--I was so excited to go to YW that I memorized the theme before I even turned 12, which isn't very surprizing because I had actually wanted to go to YW for my whole life. I was always so jealous of my older sisters who got to go to weekly activities and make crafts and go camping and do fun things like that. My sister Abra and I shared a room for a while and the YW theme hung on our wall. I wanted so badly to turn 12 before she turned 18, but as luck would have it we didn't magically get closer in age and she "graduated" from YW before I "graduated" into YW.
So I had been reading the theme for several years, dreaming of what it would be like to get to stand in a circle and hold hands with my sisters in Zion and repeat the theme together (as was customary in our ward), before I actually sat down one day to memorize it. Because there was this one time in my life that I vaugely remember, before I entered the haze of motherhood, when I actually could sit down and memorize something in one day.
I had it memorized absolutely flawlessly for a good 5 years. Then, in 2002, they changed it on me, right before I was due to "graduate" from YW. I had it memorized so perfectly that I could almost say it backwards. And I can't even say the alphabet backwards without thinking too hard, so that tells you something right there.
They added the words "strengthen home and family," to the end of the theme so that it read,
After a few months I had fully ingrained this little phrase into my mind and was able to say the theme again without tripping over my words. And then I left Young Women and entered the beautiful world of Relief Society, leaving the YW theme behind me.
I liked it when the young women would join the Relief Society for opening exercises and we would all stand to repeat the YW them together. I kind of reveled in my youth, pleased that I was one of the few "old" sisters that could say the YW theme right because I had been in YW when they changed it. I was young and I could prove it because I could say "strengthen home and family" without stuttering.
Well, I just got old, I guess, because I really don't know what I'm going to do now that they've added the eighth value of "virtue" to the YW theme, so that it reads:
However, what a wonderful reminder it is to me, as a less-young woman, that families are important, that virtue is important, and that integrity, good works, choice and accountablity, knowlege, individual worth, divine nature, and faith are important.
In 1995 I didn't think The Family: A Proclamation to the World would ever be such a prophetic, true document. But it is.
I am often surprised, when I get reacquainted with people I knew growing up, how many people I know who have no desire to get married or to have children and/or who blatantly misuse the God-given commandment to multiply and replenish the earth. I think it is an issue that we can't take casually. I am glad that the YW today will be learning more about virtue and that all the YW I know become virtuous women.
I'm thrilled for Rosie to be starting YW, even though that means that I'm old enough to be an aunt to a young woman, and I'm so happy that Josie is still in YW, because that means that I'm young enough to still have a sister in YW. I hope that you both know that, as virtuous young women, your price is far above rubies. I love you both. Have fun tripping over "virtue" for the next little while.
I had memorized the theme back in April or May of 1997--I was so excited to go to YW that I memorized the theme before I even turned 12, which isn't very surprizing because I had actually wanted to go to YW for my whole life. I was always so jealous of my older sisters who got to go to weekly activities and make crafts and go camping and do fun things like that. My sister Abra and I shared a room for a while and the YW theme hung on our wall. I wanted so badly to turn 12 before she turned 18, but as luck would have it we didn't magically get closer in age and she "graduated" from YW before I "graduated" into YW.
So I had been reading the theme for several years, dreaming of what it would be like to get to stand in a circle and hold hands with my sisters in Zion and repeat the theme together (as was customary in our ward), before I actually sat down one day to memorize it. Because there was this one time in my life that I vaugely remember, before I entered the haze of motherhood, when I actually could sit down and memorize something in one day.
I had it memorized absolutely flawlessly for a good 5 years. Then, in 2002, they changed it on me, right before I was due to "graduate" from YW. I had it memorized so perfectly that I could almost say it backwards. And I can't even say the alphabet backwards without thinking too hard, so that tells you something right there.
They added the words "strengthen home and family," to the end of the theme so that it read,
We believe as we come to accept and act upon these values, we will be prepared to strengthen home and family, make and keep sacred covenants, receive the ordinances of the temple, and enjoy the blessings of exaltation.I began to stammer when I recited the theme, being so worried the whole way through that I would forget to say "strengthen home and family." It was a wonderful reminder to me, as a young woman, that families are important. Every time I worried about whether or not I would say "strengthen home and family" I would worry a little about if I was strengthening my home and family.
After a few months I had fully ingrained this little phrase into my mind and was able to say the theme again without tripping over my words. And then I left Young Women and entered the beautiful world of Relief Society, leaving the YW theme behind me.
I liked it when the young women would join the Relief Society for opening exercises and we would all stand to repeat the YW them together. I kind of reveled in my youth, pleased that I was one of the few "old" sisters that could say the YW theme right because I had been in YW when they changed it. I was young and I could prove it because I could say "strengthen home and family" without stuttering.
Well, I just got old, I guess, because I really don't know what I'm going to do now that they've added the eighth value of "virtue" to the YW theme, so that it reads:
We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him. We will 'stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places' (Mosiah 18:9) as we strive to live the Young Women values, which are:"Good Works and Integrity" rolls off my tongue like "peanut butter and jelly." Saying "Integrity and Virtue" will be like saying "peanut butter and peanut butter." It sticks to the roof of my mouth.
Faith
Divine Nature
Individual Worth
Knowledge
Choice and Accountability
Good Works
Integrity
Virtue
We believe as we come to accept and act upon these values, we will be prepared to strengthen home and family, make and keep sacred covenants, receive the ordinances of the temple, and enjoy the blessings of exaltation.
However, what a wonderful reminder it is to me, as a less-young woman, that families are important, that virtue is important, and that integrity, good works, choice and accountablity, knowlege, individual worth, divine nature, and faith are important.
In 1995 I didn't think The Family: A Proclamation to the World would ever be such a prophetic, true document. But it is.
I am often surprised, when I get reacquainted with people I knew growing up, how many people I know who have no desire to get married or to have children and/or who blatantly misuse the God-given commandment to multiply and replenish the earth. I think it is an issue that we can't take casually. I am glad that the YW today will be learning more about virtue and that all the YW I know become virtuous women.
I'm thrilled for Rosie to be starting YW, even though that means that I'm old enough to be an aunt to a young woman, and I'm so happy that Josie is still in YW, because that means that I'm young enough to still have a sister in YW. I hope that you both know that, as virtuous young women, your price is far above rubies. I love you both. Have fun tripping over "virtue" for the next little while.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Sometimes I am rude
The doorbell rang this morning, or maybe early this afternoon. All I know is that I hadn’t gotten out of my pyjamas yet. I don’t like answering the door in my pyjamas because, even though my pyjamas are modest (a t-shirt and yoga pants), they aren’t modest enough. Not here, anyway.
I was worried that it might be Carolee, though. She said she wanted to come do laundry today. I peeked through the door. It wasn’t Carolee, but it kind of looked like the gas man.
The gas man comes around to look at our meter every month. If we aren’t home when he comes around to collect our 3 pounds there is a danger our gas will be shut off. So I opened the door, just a little bit so I could take a closer look.
It looked like the gas man. He had a messenger bag of sorts, the kind the gas men can be seen carrying, and he was holding a paper, which he held out to me.
For some reason I took it thinking that it was the gas bill, even though the gas man hands me the bill after he looks at our meter and not before, naturally. I guess it was a reflex or something.
“Oh, he’s handing me something. I should take it.” I thought.
So I stuck out my hand and took it. Oh, dopey me.
It wasn’t a gas bill.
It was an identification card of sorts. His identification card, to be precise.
I couldn’t figure out why that had ended up in my hands, so I looked at the paper under it. It was a leaflet about the deaf and mute population in Cairo, at least I think that’s what it was. It was all in Arabic so I couldn’t read much of it.
I tried to hand it back to the man.
He put his palms up in the air and took a step backwards, refusing the return of papers. Then he held his hand out for money.
“Laa,” I said, and tried to give him the papers again, failing once more.
He pointed to his ears and then to his cupped palm, asking for money again.
“Laa,” I repeated, shaking my head just in case he really couldn’t lip read the word “no.”
Again he pointed to his palm, demanding money.
I was in my pyjamas and wasn’t about to invite him in while I went to go find my wallet. Besides, I had already purchased that same leaflet from another deaf man who was equally adamant that I pay for something he shoved in my hand while I was walking past him, even though I can’t read it well enough to have it be of any use to me.
So instead I tried to give it back to him once more, while still trying to stay mostly behind the door so that he couldn’t see I was in shorts.
“Laa, laa, laa!” I said, jabbing the air between us with the papers each time I said “laa” to let him know, through body language, that I really didn’t want the paper.
In return he jabbed his palm three times.
I had had enough.
I dropped the papers in the hall and closed the door.
Unfortunately, the only way to close our warped door is to slam it, hard, so it probably seemed a little ruder than I intended it to be.
I must say, this is one of my least favorite marketing approaches, but people do it all the time, especially on the metro. You’ll just be sitting there and someone will walk by and drop a chocolate bar or a tube of super glue in your lap. Then they’ll make a round asking for money or whatever they gave you back. It’s terrible when I ride with Rachel because they always try to give her whatever it is they want to sell and then she wants to keep it. It’s just a horrible marketing strategy. Sometimes the metro stops before they can collect all their money and people start filing off, either dropping the product or taking it with them.
Most locals are amazingly good at ignoring these “salesmen” and will let the item fall wherever it lands and just sit there with chocolate and super glue on their laps, shoulders, and hats, until the “salesman” comes to pick it up again. They don’t even seem to notice when the object is plucked off their person again.
If only I could be that stoic.
Rachel’s sky
I’ve been working on some papers for primary recently and since I’m a perfectionist they are taking a while. Curse those print layout classes we took in college! I kind of miss the days when I would just throw things together sloppily in Word.
Anyway, while I was working, Jaehee and Rachel were coloring. It’s been great to have Jaehee around during the day. Rachel loves her and is quickly progressing from “Juh” to “JayJay.” Soon she’ll be saying Jaehee as clear as a bell.
They were coloring a beautiful nature scene. Well, Jaehee was. Rachel was mostly scribbling circles, which she loves to do. She picked up a blue pencil crayon and drew a lovely blue blob.
“Oh! That’s pretty!” said Jaehee, “What is it?”
Rachel smiled a big smile and point up high, as high as her little arm would reach, almost falling over backwards in the process.
“Is it the sky?” Jaehee asked.
“Ye-ah!” Rachel screamed somewhat giddily.
There, in the lower right hand corner, is Rachel’s little bit of sky. The brown was added later. I’m not sure what it is. Perhaps a tornado or dust storm. Rachel isn’t too familiar with either of those yet, but she knows the word “city” so maybe she also knows “tornado” and just hasn’t shared her knowledge with me yet.
Jaehee was wearing a shirt with a cityscape on it today. Rachel pointed at it and said, “CITY!” as clear as a bell. I was a little shocked, not because she hadn’t done that before but because she had. I thought the first time was a fluke—she pointed at a poster in Spain that had a bunch of buildings on it and said, “City!” I was like, “Whatever, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Apparently, though, she does.
Rachel also says “bocca,” which is Italian for mouth. She learned that from Quanti Colori. And today she asked me to give her doll a “bussa,” which is Egyptian colloquial for kiss. She learned that from the million people a day who want to give her bussas.
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