Flashback Friday: Borrowing Babies

The first time I heard the story of Baby Island I was too little to read it on my own. Instead I listened to it every night while sitting next to my mom. My mom read a lot of stories to me when I was little that I wouldn't have been able to read otherwise. The Little House on the Prairie series, among others. Of course, it wasn't just me that she'd read to. Bedtime stories involved everyone.

Sometimes we'd only read picture books, and believe me, I sat in and listened to picture book readings well after I had surpassed the recommended reading level. Sure, I lost the privileged spot of sitting right next to Mom, but there was just something magical about hearing her read to us that I couldn't give up. I'd probably still let her read story books to me.

Usually we'd sit on the couch. The smallest child on her lap, then two on every side, and maybe one or two sprawled across the floor, or, if the pictures were too entertaining, crowded around the children flanking Mom to get a better look.

Reading a novel was always more relaxed. It would take us several nights, sometimes weeks, to get through a book. Since there are few, if any, pictures in a novel we didn't have to squeeze in so close, but that didn't mean anyone wanted to sit too far away, either. Occasionally we'd even all sit on Mom and Dad's bed while Mom read to us.

I loved listening to Baby Island, perhaps because, in the very beginning, it talks of baby-borrowing and I was always a baby-borrower, myself. It was easy to imagine that perhaps I was Mary or Jean and was left with the responsibility of taking care of all those little babies.

I started baby-borrowing the neighbour's babies very young. I'd come over and ask to play with their children and, by golly, they'd let me. We had a next door neighbour named Nancy who had a little baby named Amy. I was over there nearly everyday entertaining Amy. For hours.

Nancy decorated cakes and made dolls. I would keep Amy happy for hours at a time while she worked. She would pay me a dime. I would think I was the richest girl in the whole world.

Some twins lived up the street and they had a baby sister. I was over there all the time, also. I would play with the twins while the baby sister and mom napped. I can't remember their names right now but, trust me, I was always over there.

Later I joined in the baby-mongering crowd in High River. A bunch of us girls would flock around together after church, stalking young mothers, and taking their babies from them so that we could hold them, ourselves.

When I first had Rachel I was worried that girls like I was didn't exist anymore. Rarely did any young girl ever come up to take Rachel from me after church. I'm inclined to say that it never happened. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge, though, because somehow I forgot that we were in a newly-wed, nearly-dead ward. We had 2 nurseries, close to 15 babies too young for nursery, and about 5 Young Women. We were overrun with little rugrats, too many for any potential baby-borrowers, even the most dedicated, to get around to playing with.

Now that we're in a more normally distributed branch, I rarely know where Rachel is after church. She's always off playing with someone or other. Young Women, primary kids, Sara...

It's actually kind of nice to have baby-borrowers about again. I would have loved me.

Hat Model

This morning Rachel walked into my bedroom, picked up the hat (that she refused to wear at all before this moment), said, "Oooh! Hat!" and plopped it on her head. She then started prancing around like a crazy monkey. So I broke out the camera.


She has a lollipop in her mouth because I wanted to look at her teeth but she didn't want me to. Lately she's been really grumpy and is always chewing on things. She'll put her whole hand in her mouth and chew, chew, chew until she has slobber running down her elbows. I told her that if I could look in her mouth and feel around a bit that I'd give her a sucker, so she let me.

I can't find any evidence of any more molars getting ready to break through. Sadly, it looks like she's whiny and drooly for absolutely no reason. But she sure does look adorable.

Paying it forward. Finally.

Back in, oh, February I commented on my friend’s blog and won something! Yippee! The catch was that I had to post on my blog the opportunity for three of you to win something, too.

My main problem was that I had no idea what I was going to make. At the time I had zero supplies for any projects and only knew how to crochet square, flat things.

At least, I thought I knew how to crochet. But then Andrew bought me a little crochet kit at Moudy’s and I found out that I have been crocheting wrong for the past 5 years. Somehow I learned wrong, in spite of having a wonderful teacher, and have been crocheting incorrectly ever since.

But I retaught myself and now I’m good to go.

Oh, and I can crochet things that aren’t square and flat so you have half a hope of winning something that isn’t a dish cloth or scarf, like this cute hat that I finished yesterday. It fits Rachel but she is anti-hat so she won’t wear it.

I got the pattern from this cute blog and had to learn like 3 different stitches (thank you, Google) and what all the abbreviations meant.

Chain 3, dc in next 5 dc, 2 dc in next, * dc in next 5 stitches, 2 dc in next* repeat around, slip stitch to join in BLO. Say what?!

But I (almost) successfully figured it out. It’s not perfect, but it’s also not square, so I’m happy. I’m not saying that you’re necessarily going to get a crocheted item because I know crochet doesn’t float everyone’s boat (*ahem, hi, Steph! ahem*). I’m just saying that I finally feel a little crafty and creative again so I’m up to the challenge of creating 3 new items. Or just 2 if I count this hat as one of them. Anyone want it?

Plus we don’t know the gender of the baby yet so I can’t start making a baby blanket yet, anyway.

And I’m glad that it’s only three because my friend Joy posted one of these that said 5 people and I suddenly felt a little overwhelmed worrying that maybe I had signed up to make 5 things as well. (It’s not too late to change that 5 to a 3, Joy, *wink, wink*).

S0, if you aren’t in the first three comments here, you can also comment here to get something made by Joy. For some reason she hasn’t drawn a lot of comments and I don’t know why because she’s an amazing seamstress, just so you all know. The only reason I haven’t commented is because I had already signed up for this one, but since her offer still stands I might just commit to making 5 more things since I’m already making three. Might as well, right?

Also, if you want a nursing cover you can enter to win one here.

I’m totally rambling, but I thought I’d share this cute story about Rachel. Her favorite blanket is a pink crocheted blanket with a white trim that my friend Emily made. Incidentally, Emily taught me how to crochet, but she crochets correctly. I’m just a slow learner. Anyway, Rachel has always liked that blanket but has been very attached to it recently.

While I was crocheting the hat, Rachel picked up my skein of yarn and called it a “bwainty-ball.”

How very correct she was. If we unraveled her blanket it would still be essentially the same thing, only a big, tangled ball of a blanket instead of a nicely crocheted one.

Alright, now finally, here are the rules:

The first three people to comment will get something handmade by me. They must agree to also gift three handmade items to three different individuals. Since I live in Egypt I have lifted the “you will get it within 2009” rule and have changed it to “you will get it when you get it.” The postal system here is just that unreliable and I will probably rely on visitors to transport my items back to the States and mail them there (if you don’t live here). So it could take a while.

To sum up: comment, promise 3 things to others, get 1 thing from me. Go!

Welcoming the second trimester

"When did you turn into such an awesome cook?" Andrew asked over dinner tonight.

That's one of the reasons I love my husband. He thinks Spanish rice and bean burritos qualifies as an awesome meal and therefore makes me an awesome cook. The awesome part is that he made the beans, so really all I did was boil some rice, tomatoes, and spices together. And he still thinks I'm awesome. That makes him awesome.

I think my awesomeness is a sign of two things:

1) I'm finally adjusting to the ingredients we have available here and the food I make no longer tastes...gross.

2) I might be overcoming all those first trimester feelings and have some energy back and can therefore cook a decent meal.

Overcoming all those first trimester feelings takes a while, though, which is why I had to say "might be overcoming" them. I'm progressing slowly into being a normal person again. I know I'm not all the way there because when Andrew mentioned asking to borrow House from the Lewises and I asked him if he had time to watch it this far in the semester he answered,

"Well, I need something to distract me from homework every now and then."

And what, the way I lie on the couch all day and do nothing doesn't distract him? Weird.

More of yesterday

Life in Egypt always keeps us on our toes.

Andrew stumbled in the door yesterday shortly after 9:00 PM. Some of his days are soooo long. He sometimes puts in 12 hours on campus, or longer, which, in my opinion, royally stinks since he only comes home to do more homework.

"I just got hit by a car," he announced.

"Like how bad?" I asked.

"Enough to knock me over. I would have fallen completely over but I fell into another guy who fell onto a parked car and caught me."

And because we live in Egypt where road rage, even while walking, is both accepted and necessary to survival, the driver didn't even stop. He slowed down to make sure he hadn't killed anybody and then peeled off. All anyone said to Andrew was,

"No problem."

That is a very common phrase here. And the problem is is that when someone says, "No problem," it usually means that it is a problem.

Oh, did I just hit you with my car? No problem.

Oh, did I just about run over your wife and baby? No problem.

Oh, was I three hours late to pick you up and drive you to your destination? No problem.

I'm almost positive that translates as "No problem...for me."

He's fine, but his right side is a little sore since that is the side that collided with the car. His left side is fine since it was padded by the man who "caught" him. I wonder if that man is sore.

Meh, no problem, right? Of course right.

In happier news, Andrew announced that he met with his adviser and since he took extra classes each semester this year he only has 4 required classes left, so 12 credits. 3 of those credits are thesis writing credits. He could take that many credits in one semester...but we're still going to spread it out over two semesters. Partly because some of the classes aren't offered that first semester and partly because he's still not 100% sure what he wants to write about he will need 2 semesters to write his thesis. Still, that means that he'll only have to take 9 credits each semester until he graduates which sounds like he might have fewer 12+ hour days on campus next year, which will be nice with the new baby coming.

Writing a thesis sounds like it will add extra work...but at least he won't have coursework to do, right?

To celebrate, we decided to watch an episode of House. We've been watching a lot of House recently. The Penrods left their DVDs of the show with the Lewises and we started watching while we were babysitting last week (was it last week?) and borrowed a season from them (thank you both Penrods and Lewises). It's one of my little sister's favorite shows and I know a lot of other people who like it. And now we like it, too. Even Andrew the trypanophobe likes the show.

We had just settled down to watch it when the power went out. We waited for a few minutes for the power to come back on because sometimes it's only out for a few minutes...this outage was apparently going to last longer than that. We got some candles out, disconnected the portable DVD player from the TV, and settled in again to watch the show using battery power.

The power was out for the whole show and while we were getting ready for bed, so more than an hour. I asked Andrew to check outside to see if the neighbouring apartment building had power. Because sometimes they do and we don't and then we know that our boab is being a slacker. If they don't have power we know it's a bigger problem and don't think bad thoughts about our boab who is probably thinking, "So, you don't have power. No problem."

He was working his way back into the black hole that doubles as our kitchen and we were trying to remember which lights had been on and which ones had been off so that we could turn off the ones that had been on so that we weren't blinded by light at 3 AM when the power came back on.

"They don't have power either," he announced.

Just as he said that our house was flooded with light.

"But we do," I said.

"Yeah, we left the kitchen light on. You were right," he answered, "The neighbours have power now, too."

And so, with the power back on, we successfully redarkened our house and went to bed to the sounds of a big truck delivering something (bricks, gravel, sand, who knows?) just outside our bedroom window. Just because it's midnight doesn't mean construction in a residential zone should end.

No problem, right? That's why we live in Egypt.

I don't get no respect

Rachel and I just got back from an outing. Yesterday we had a little sandstorm and it was hot and dusty all day so we stayed cooped up. Today, though, was bright and sunny and it felt, shockingly, cool, so we went out. (Side note: I described to Sara our 26°C/78.8°F as "actually quite cool").

On our way home I was, for the first time ever in the Middle East, touched inappropriately by a man. I was pushing the stroller and he was coming straight at me and didn't look like he was going to move, so I moved over, and he mirrored my movements. I was barely able to squeeze the stroller between him and the car beside me. As he walked by he patted my rear end and then kept on going.

I must say that in my pregnant state my behind is much more voluptuous and womanly than usual, so perhaps it was a little more tempting than before I was pregnant and had no rear end at all.

Still, it was uncalled for. So I stopped walking and turned around to yell at the guy.

"HEY, YOU!" I screamed, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Not that it was very helpful because I was screaming in English, but still, I felt like screaming, so I did.

He turned around and indicated that he was deaf by making some mute squeaking noises and pointing to his ears. Now, I'm sorry, but if you turn around to tell someone that you are deaf, chances are you aren't all that deaf.

"WHATEVER!" I yelled, "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID AND YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE!"

He rolled his eyes, waved me off with his hands and kept walking. There wasn't much else I could do, so I turned around and harrumphed the stroller into action again. No sooner had I done so than I ran into a nice lady who was out on a stroll with her son, who was on a bicycle.

She asked me something in Arabic that I didn't understand. So I told her that I didn't understand.

She started yelling in Arabic and waving her arms. A policeman jogged over from wherever he was stationed. She continued to yell and pointed from me to the man who had touched me.

The policeman pulled out his revolver and ran over to the man, waving it and yelling. The man turned around.

The policeman said something and the man, again, insisted he was deaf. Apparently the policeman didn't think that deafness was any excuse for violating a lady's personal space. He wrote out a citation, took some money, and jotted down the man's ID number. Oh, and he yelled a lot.

"Pardon," said the lady, "هو مش كويس/He's not good. خلاص/It's over."

She gave me a small, timid embrace, "مع السلام جميلة/Goodbye, pretty."

I thanked her and we went our separate ways, she with her son, and me with my daughter.

And that was that. Maybe I overreacted a little, and things probably did escalate a little more than I expected them to. After all, the man probably didn't deserve to have an armed policeman confront him. But he did deserve some repercussion. He can't just go around touching women, thinking it's normal.

In general, I'm impressed with the respect that I, as a woman, command in the Middle East. Single women seem to have a harder time, but I don't seem to find much trouble here. The role of wife and mother are very respected.

There are creeps everywhere, though, who don't respect much of anybody. And maybe they do deserve to have cops with guns run after them every once in a while. Who's to say?

Playing with blocks

Sam has a rather large collection of blocks, at least compared to what we have. Here in Egypt we have exactly 34 blocks. We have Rachel’s little wagon full of blocks from Ikea (24 blocks) and her set of 10 squishy blocks.

In Andrew’s parent’s basement we have more blocks, but more blocks would have been too heavy to pack overseas with us. We do want to get more blocks when we get back home for Rachel to play with since all her blocks back home are square. Sometimes it’s just fun to have more shapes to play with. (Something like this; we’d also like trains because Sam has trains and Rachel loves them).

Blocks (and Lego) are some of the few things that Rachel and Sam can both play with without fighting too much. I think that’s because they can be in charge of their own creations while still interacting with each other. A close-but-not-too-close kind of a game…until they start knocking down each other’s towers they’re good to go.

 

Here’s Rachel playing with some of Sam’s blocks the other day. I’m making her say some of her new words: rectangle (huh-tano!), macaroni (muh-roni), and little.

I hear the shu-ka-shu-ka of a little heart

We just got back from the Doctor's office. We haven't been to the doctor since March 14. Dr. Tarek was a little upset that we didn't show up for our appointment 3 weeks ago. The first words out of his mouth were,

"Where have you been?"

He sounded like a father scolding a teenager for breaking their curfew. I was waiting for him to tack on "young lady," but he didn't. He doesn't have any nicknames for me and is always very formal. That's the complete opposite of Dr. Baxter who called me "kiddo" and "spring chicken" all the time. I never thought I'd like to be called kiddo, but compared to "Mrs. Nancy," I almost like it better.

In all honesty, I've only ever had one appointment that wasn't changed at the last minute. And that was today. The clinic has always phoned me a day before or the day of my appointment to tell me that Dr. Tarek won't be available during our scheduled appointment and that we'd have to reschedule. Today they called and asked to confirm the appointment. I was a little floored.

Probably they needed to confirm the appointment because they called three weeks ago to cancel and reschedule and then things just kept coming up and we had to cancel the last 2 appointments.

I, personally, don't think it's a huge deal. But I tend to think that going to the doctor once a month through the whole pregnancy is a little overrated. They don't even weigh me here. I just pop in, pee for them, and they take my blood pressure. I've been monitoring my own weight, though, and so far I'm about exactly the same weight I was when I was pregnant with Rachel at 15 weeks.

This week we added listening to the baby's heart beat to our routine. We were excited for that. Sometimes it's just nice to know that the baby is actually there, especially when you're not feeling very pregnant. I happen to feel very pregnant, actually, so I didn't need to hear the heartbeat to verify that there is, in fact, a baby growing inside. I feel huge already. Andrew says I'm not that big, but I didn't really start showing with Rachel until I was like 26 weeks and I feel like I'm already starting to show at 15 weeks with this one.

I guess that's normal the second time around.

Rachel and I talked about hearing the baby's heartbeat before we left for the doctor's office this afternoon. Not that I knew for certain that we'd be listening to it today, but I had a hunch.

"The doctor is going to put a tool on mommy's tummy and you'll hear the baby's heart go 'shu-ka-shu-ka-shu-ka-shu-ka.' It will sound really fast, not like yours or mommy's or daddy's. Ours go slow because we are big. Ours go 'thump-thump-thump-thump.' The baby is still very little so its heart goes fast!"

She put her head on my chest so that she could hear my heart.

Later in the doctor's office, I had to lie down to have my blood pressure taken. I don't know why since I know it's possible to take blood pressure with the patient sitting, or even standing. Then the nurse covered me with a sheet. I don't know why since I had all my clothes on. I untucked my undershirt and she moved down the waist of my pants about an inch, but they wouldn't go further because they tie up. I was about to untie them when Dr. Tarek said,

"You don't need to do that. The baby should be right here." He poked my abdomen, "The baby is right there."

He stuck the doppler right where he had poked and found the heartbeat as easy as that. He didn't even move it after he put it on my stomach and you could hear the heartbeat as clear as a bell. I've never had the heartbeat be found so quickly.

"Shu-ka-shu-ka-shu-ka-shu-ka-shu-ka," it said.

Andrew and Rachel were sitting behind the curtain (so that I could have my privacy?) but they moved the chair so that they could see around it a little better. I'm glad I had the sheet to cover my legs...which were covered in pants. I still fail to see how it provided me any extra modesty considering the doppler has to go on bare skin. The two inches of midriff I was denuding was pretty risque, I guess, so she had to cover up my ankles to make up for it...or something.

We only got to listen for a second, but I guess a second is all you need.

When I came back out from behind the curtain, Rachel came to sit on my lap again.

"What did the baby's heart say?" I asked her.

"Beep! Beep!" she answered.

Everyone thought that was pretty funny, although I guarantee that is not what it said. It said what a normal baby heart says.

It's kind of strange to think that the next time we go to the doctor's I'll be 19 weeks along. That's basically halfway!

It's a snap

Rachel's known about snapping for sometime but she couldn't ever really figure it out. She'd just put her fingers together like she was clinking castanets, which doesn't make any sound at all. Later this became her sign for snack, but she still knew the action was snapping.

Today she finally figured out how to make a noise while snapping by trying to flick some "nose stuff" off of her finger. She made a fairly decent snapping noise and I commented on that,

"Wow, Rach! You just snapped! Can you do it again?"

She said she could. So she reloaded her finger by digging around in her nose for a minute and attempted to flick off her "treasure." Again she made a pretty good noise. And I didn't mind the nose stuff flinging because it wasn't coming off her finger. She did it again and again.

Dig. Flick. *Snap!* Dig. Flick. *Snap!*

Finally we called for a Kleenex. Her digging was proving too lucrative.

Next step: teaching her that she can do the same thing without the nose stuff. Nose stuff is a crutch.

Flahsback Friday: Yes, my guest

Over dinner one night we had a very long and repetitive conversation about the sultan's mother. Apparently Turkish tour guides are very memorable and the Lewis children had to relate the following story (yet again--we've heard it several times now).

When the Lewises were in Turkey, in Topkapi palace, in the sultan's mother's room, their guide said,

"This is the room of the sultan's mother!"

Samuel, who, keep in mind, is two years old, exclaimed incredulously,

"Sultan's mother!? Nooo!"

If only, if only you could hear the boy's intonation. He starts with a low register and jumps to a high one with every other syllable. And since he's two it really came out more like this,

"thuTAN'S moTHA!? Nooo!"

For some reason he chose to break out that little catch phrase at dinner and for the next 15 minutes everyone else mimicked him and corrected each other's tones and pronunciation and told the story so many times so loudly that I eventually had to ban it from being said again that evening under serious threat of being sent to their rooms for the rest of their existence.

When we were in Turkey, in Topkapi palace, no less, our tour guide was equally memorable. We were taking a tour through the Harem where tour guides are mandatory and, thankfully, free.

Our group was so large that it was difficult to hear his explanation of each room. As we went through the tour we worked our way up to the front of the group so that we could better hear what our guide was saying. We found out that it didn't matter if we heard everything that he said as long as we heard at least one sentence sandwiched between two of his trademark statements, a very personal, non-pluralized statement that he used to address our group of 60 or so:

"Yes, my guest!"

Ironically the room we most remember his various explanations of is the room of the sultan's mother.

Us in the Harem

"Yes, my guest," he said before walking us into the sultan's mother's room, "We are going to see the room of the mother of the sultan. The sultan's mother's room. Yes, my guest."

Then after walking us into the next room and he said, "Yes, my guest, we are in the room of the mother of the sultan. The room where the sultan's mother lives. Yes, my guest, the very room of the woman whose son is the sultan."

We spent the rest of that day mimicking the poor man.

"Yes, my guest, I am hungry. My stomach is rumbling. I need something to eat. I am famished. Yes, my guest, hunger is the feeling I have. What I feel is hunger. Yes, my guest."

We spent the rest of the next day mimicking him as well. We actually saw him at a McDonald's on the Asian side of Istanbul. Yes, we went to McDonald's in Turkey. Not very adventurous, I know, but remember that I am married to Andrew and he is not an adventurous eater. He's only recently begun to expand his palate and experiment with his foods. Plus, it was hot and we wanted ice cream. All the McDonald's that we saw in Istanbul had little walk-by ice cream booths at the front of their stores that sold only ice cream products so it was always very tempting to stop and grab one. Anyway, we had gone over to the Asian side just to say that we went over to the Asian side. Somehow it's just interesting to be able to continent-hop so quick and easily.

While we were at the McDonald's and still mercilessly imitating our tour guide, we saw him, which we thought was too ironic.

Two years and eight months later and we are still quoting that tour guide. So if you ever hear us answer each other (or if we accidentally answer you) with "Yes, my guest," at least you'll know why. Yes, my guest, and if we describe the same thing several times with minimal observations and slightly different wording you'll understand why.

**For more on our 2006 Turkey Trip, see here.**