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!

Flashback Friday: Once I babysat Snow White

My mom's cousin Burt lives less than a block away from my parents' house. He's actually in Andrew's parents' ward, which is in my parents' stake. I never knew Burt too well when I was really young but I got to know him and his family a bit better when we moved to Utah, probably because of our close proximity.

I'd watch their cat when they went on vacation and would babysit their grand kids when their kids were in town and wanted to go out as "grown ups." I don't know any of Burt's children very well because most of them were grown, married, and had kids of their own before we'd even moved to Utah.

Once I had agreed to babysit Burt's grand kids on a day that I was scheduled to work at the pool. Forgetting that I was booked to babysit, I promised to take Josie swimming when my shift was over. So instead of picking me up from work, my mom just dropped my little sister off and we went swimming together. And then one of my coworkers called me out of the pool, saying that I had a phone call.

It was my mom. I was supposed to be babysitting Burt's grand kids. I panicked because that's what I do best, but it was really no big deal. Burt had dropped his granddaughters off at our house and Dad was watching a movie with them. She'd come and pick me and Josie up and then I'd take the girls over to Burt's house to get them ready for bed.

The only problem was that my dad couldn't remember their names. I asked the older girl what her name was.

"Snow White," she said.

"Oh, really?" I asked, "And what's your little sister's name?"

"Emily," she answered honestly.*

"So, your parents named your sister Emily and you Snow White?"

"Yes."

Alright. I took Emily and Snow White and walked over to Burt's house. Periodically throughout the evening I would test Snow White.

"What's your name?" I'd ask in the middle of a story.

"Snow White," she'd answer immediately.

"What does your mommy call you?" I'd ask while helping her brush her teeth.

"Snow White," she'd answer confidently.

The child was never swayed. For all I knew she really was Snow White. Then her parents and grandparents got home.

"How'd it go?" they asked.

"Fine, except I have no idea what the oldest girl's name is," I admitted, "She told me it was Snow White, so that's what I called her all evening."

"Oh, she probably loved that!" her mom said.

She did. Trust me, she did. But she also had a real name. Something normal. Like Caitlin.

My cousin Jenna's daughter Savannah went through a stage where she would answer to nothing but Kitty Kat. She'll answer to Savannah now, but they still call her Kitty Kat sometimes.

I'm glad mine is not the only child who insists on being called something other than their actual name.**

*As embarrassing as this is, I can't, for the life of me, remember these girls' names. I haven't seen them for years and years.

**We talked with Andrew's parents on the phone this evening and Rachel wouldn't tell them she was a Pretty Princess, but she did say Cinderella. But only once. As soon as we got off Skype she not only said goodbye (which she wouldn't do while they were still there), but immediately began insisting on being called Princess 'Rilla again.

"Get up in your chair, Rachel, and you can have some cake," Andrew said.

(We promised her cake hours ago.)

"No, I'm Pen-cess 'Rilla!" she corrected.

"Get up in your chair, then, Cinderella, and you can have some cake," he corrected.

I've never seen her be obedient quite so fast...

'Rillas continued

Just yesterday Rachel started pointing to herself while declaring, "Petty pen-cess!"

It took Andrew and I a while to realize that she was calling herself a pretty princess. We call her that a lot because she is our pretty little princess. Somehow she knows what princesses are, even though we have no princess movies or stories or toys. I know she's watched some of The Little Mermaid at the House's house and she's probably caught a few other snippets of princess life here and there, but it wasn't likely at our house. Wherever and however she learned about them, she's enamored by them.

She really confused her primary teacher today. Every time Anne said Rachel's name, Rachel pointed to herself and said, "Petty pen-cess!"

During sharing time when I asked Rachel to come over to me, she wouldn't until I obediently re-asked her by saying, "Yes, fine. Come over here, Pretty Princess."

Anne gasped as the realization sunk in, "Oh, that's what she's been saying all day!"

We just finished playing games as a family. Rachel likes to play a very watered-down version of UNO, using Winnie the Pooh cards, numbers 1 through 4, in all four colors, without any fancy wilds or draw 2 cards or anything like that. She also has a Winnie the Pooh memory game and a Bible Stories set of cards. So far we've only ever played with those.

Today, though, I remembered that we had a set of face cards, Disney Princess style. (I know I said we didn't have any princess toys; I don't think face cards really count as a toy--they're a game). We broke those out and played a very watered-down version of Go Fish, using only the portraits of Belle, Ariel, Snow White, Aurora, and Cinderella.

Rachel was very excited to be using princess cards and she quickly learned the names of the different princesses. She plays Go Fish very politely, saying,

"Pease, may I has more dis card?" while she points to one of the cards in front of her on the table.

When it was Andrew's turn, he asked Rachel if she had a Cinderella card, which she did.

"Oooh, 'Rilla!" she sang while she handed Andrew her card, "Petty girl-rilla! Petty pen-cess 'rilla!"

As if she wasn't confused enough, we've just introduced a whole nother dimension to the 'rillas!

**UPDATE**

Rachel and I just had a conversation in the bathroom. It was mostly Rachel talking, and this is what she said,

"I'm pen-cess! I'm pen-cess 'Rilla! I'm girl, too! I'm pen-cess girl 'Rilla!"

Visas

The easiest way to know which visa of ours is most current is to look in Rachel's passport. Hers is the most empty of all of ours and only has the trips we've taken while living in Egypt recorded, meaning that 11 of the 20 pages in her passport are full, already. Looking through either Andrew's or my passports is unfruitful, at best. Whenever we go anywhere we have to locate the appropriate (valid) visa for passport control ourselves. It's far too confusing, otherwise. And now that we've had to get extra pages put in it's even more so.

We relinquished our passports to the AUC visa folk near the beginning of June. Our last visa expired on June 30 and we wanted to give them plenty of time to get new visas for us because these things take time. Lots of time. We're so happy to have a representative from AUC whose job is just to go to the mugama and get visas for people. That way we don't have to go to the mugama to get visas for ourselves. Phew.

It's still annoying, though, since we have to do it so often and it takes so long. We just got our passports back today. Apparently we're back to being tourists. We haven't once received a student visa. We're beginning to wonder if those even exist here. For the life of me, I can't figure out any rhyme or reason to the way visas are handed out here. We've had 6 visas issued to each of us so far and we haven't even lived here for a full 12 months.

Here are the visas we've been issued to date:

13 August 2008 thru 13 September 2008 -- One month touristic visa -- 15 USD

13 September 2008 thru 13 February 2009 -- Temporary Residence for Touristic Purposes -- 83.10 LE or 3.10 LE -- Plus a Re-entry Visa (thru 12 February 2009) -- 61.10 LE (total: 144.20 LE or 64.20 LE)

13 February 2009 thru 30 June 2009 -- Temporary Residence for Non Touristic -- 53.10 LE

30 June 2009 thru 30 September 2009 -- Temporary Residence for Touristic Purposes -- 83.10 LE -- Plus a Re-entry Visa (thru 29 September 2009) -- 61.20 LE (total: 144.20 LE)

Does that make sense to anyone? It kind of reminds me of those MasterCard commercials. "A temporary residence visa, 53.10 LE. A two-year stint as poor international students in Egypt? Priceless."

What really boggles my mind is why we've suddenly become tourists again and why there are so many discrepancies between the details of the long-term tourism visas.

September through February is 5 months, but June through September is only 3 months since that visa technically only covers July, August, and September. Yet they are the same price (maybe). The first long-term tourism visa in our passports is listed as costing 3.10 LE, in each of our passports. It isn't really that cheap since we also have to get the re-entry visa and that costs 61.10 LE, but still. 3.10 LE is dirt cheap. That's like 55 cents. I'm going to assume that it was a misprint since our current long-term tourism visas, which last only 3 months, are each listed as 83.10 LE.

Somehow I just don't feel like I'm getting the same bang for my buck when a visa lasts only 3 months, compared to lasting for 5.

The mysterious AUC people (I have no idea who they are because I'm not allowed on campus) warned Andrew that he might have to get the more expensive visa (the long-term tourism plus re-entry one), so they asked him for more money, saying that they'd clip the change to his passport. Giving extra money to Egyptians is always a gamble. Usually they come up with change, but sometimes...you just wonder...

Luckily these folks were honest and Andrew's passport came back with a whole 50 piasters paper clipped to it. 50 piasters! That's less than 9 cents in USD. It comes in bill form, though, and is highly paper-clippable. Way nicer than getting 9 pennies back (or 8 pennies, depending on which way you round). How would they have managed to return that kind of change?

Obviously the better visa to get is the long-term non-touristic visa. This one only lasted for 4 months, but counted as a re-entry visa all on its own (I'm not sure why the long-term touristic ones don't) making it much more cost effective and taking up far less room in our passports. Who knows if we'll ever see one of these puppies again. They're kind of my favorite. (Is it normal to have a favorite visa?)

I wonder what kind of visa we'll get, come September/October. Maybe we'll even catch a glimpse of the elusive, largely rumored and rarely seen, so-called "student visa."

What a headache! I just realized that we'll all have to get visas at the beginning of October and the baby isn't due until the end of October. I wonder if the visa people will have the decency to put the baby on the same visa schedule as the rest of the family. My guess is they probably won't. You can call me cynical or you can assume that I've just lived here long enough to know...or is that the same thing?

After hearing about my friend Jen's experience getting her baby's paperwork done, I'm positive we're in for an adventure. Her baby was denied an entry stamp in his passport (foreign babies born here have to first apply for a passport in their home country and then get an entry stamp for entering Egypt...via the birth canal...I wonder what the stamp for that looks like--will it have a plane, boat, car, or pregnant lady on it?) because his middle name wasn't his father's name and they therefore couldn't prove that his father was his father, even though his father was listed on the birth certificate. (They eventually did get the entry stamp, in case you were wondering.)

Weird things like that happen all the time. Like the time they tried to detain Rachel when we came home from Greece because they couldn't find the right visa in her passport. Did I mention hers is the empty one? How did they find the correct visa in my passport but not in hers? And how could they possibly suggest that someone come and take my baby away to be detained until her visa could be sorted out?

"Give me her passport, I'll find it myself!" I half-screamed at the passport control guy. Don't mess with mama bear at 2 AM after an international flight. Just don't.

Another time Andrew and I had to have his mom search through our important documents at home to find our marriage certificate and scan it for us so that Andrew could present it to the folks at the mugama. They simply wouldn't believe we were married until they saw that document and wouldn't give Rachel or me temporary-residence status until we could prove that we were dependents of Andrew. The only document they would accept was our marriage certificate. And they were miffed that it wasn't the original. We've only had to show that once, though, and it was for our second temporary-residence visa, not the first.

I wonder if the other visa-giver-outers were smart enough to realize that since we have the same last name and have a baby together and because I followed Andrew halfway around the world that we're married. It's not like getting married young here is uncommon so I fail to see why we were suspect. Or maybe the rules are different for touristic vs. non-touristic purposes.

Or maybe it's simply because all rules are arbitrarily enforced here (that could be it).

So, I'm almost tempted to throw Andrew's name into baby's name just to be on the safe side.

Miriam al-Noor bint-Andrew Heiss or Thomas Spencer bin-Andrew Heiss.*

Kind of catchy, I guess. Or we could go with the more Scandinavian style Miriam al-Noor Andrewsdotter Heiss or Thomas Spencer Andrewson Heiss. That almost goes back to Andrew's mom's maiden name: Anderson. Maybe we'll just throw that in; it is a family name, after all, and it looks more normal and sounds better than Andrewson.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. It will definitely be an experience, I'm sure. Getting anything accomplished with all the bureaucracy here always is.

*We're still pretty positive it's a Miriam but have a hopefully-more-decisive ultrasound scheduled for the end of this month. There were no boy parts last time so unless that's changed...it's a girl. But it might have changed since our last ultrasound was technically before the magical 20 week mark, by which time testes are supposed to have dropped.

Charlie T. Right

Charlie T. Right is our primary’s CTR bear. He visits a new child each week to help them remember to choose the right. You can’t tell from this picture, but he has a big, green shield on his tummy that says CTR on it.

This week was Rachel’s turn with Charlie. She got to write in Charlie’s journal about what she did with him this week. Here is what she wrote:

All About Me:

Name: Rachel Anneliese Heiss

I am: 23 months old.

Some of my favorite foods are: freezies, fruit, yogurt, rice, macaroni, ice cream, cereal, apples, and pizza.

My hobbies include: swimming, coloring, playing games, reading, cooking, and yoga.

My favorite place to go: church and outside.

My CTR moment: I tried very hard to remember to say sorry when I hurt other people. I also worked at staying reverent during prayer time.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Charlie came to sit with me during primary because I was sad. He helped me to be happy until Mommy could pick me up. Then he came home with me. I call him “My Charlie,” which Mommy thinks might turn into a problem. Charlie did everything with me today.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Charlie helps me remember to say sorry when I forget to choose the right. He helps me remember to be reverent for prayers. Today I hurt my toe. Charlie helped me be brave while Mommy washed it and put a band aid on it. Then we got to watch a show about sharing. I asked Charlie to kiss my toe better, and he did. I’m happy Charlie is with me.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

I loved having Charlie stay with me. I will miss him very much. I hope the next child to have him will enjoy him as much as I did!
_____________________________________________________

Rachel really did everything she could with Charlie. If Charlie didn’t go somewhere or do something with us, it was because we forced Rachel to leave him at home.

Charlie sat at the dinner table with us, slept in Rachel’s bed (wearing pyjamas), talked with Rachel’s grandparents on Skype, came on family walks with us, helped Rachel play, helped bake a cake. Basically everything.

He didn’t get to go to the doctor’s office or the swimming pool with us, but Rachel told him about it when we got home. As soon as we got home.

He’s kind of become her second half and it will probably break her heart terribly to have to give him away in primary. But at least she’ll be good during sacrament meeting…because she’ll get to hold Charlie.
_____________________________________________________

Rachel wants to type something, too:

k;kvkvvvvvvvvkkvyuuyuyuyuyuyuyyyyyyyyyyuuyuuuuuuuuuuuuuul.x/vvvvvvxxxrxxrrrrrxr vcccccccccccccccccccccccccxxxxxxxbbbbbnm m/m///////////////v/ ;;;;;;;;;;;; nfwjqauOJ:j;QQQJQ;QJ2dqqdj;dddddj;oddddddddjj nnnnnnnnnnnngg gnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggmmggdgdggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggmggn mggm mmmmm gmggggggggmmmmmmmmmmm

O Canada

Andrew stopped by Moudy's (our little store of everything-you-could-ever-want-for-your-house on Road 9) to get a game for my birthday. While he was there, he noticed they had sparklers and mentioned that we should get some for the 4th of July.

I scoffed at him. Seriously? Sometimes!

Canada Day is before the 4th of July. Thinking of celebrating the 4th of July before celebrating Canada Day is like thinking of celebrating Thanksgiving before Hallowe'en.

Oh, wait. We do celebrate Thanksgiving before Hallowe'en. And again after. I need a new analogy.

It's like celebrating St. Patrick's Day before Valentine's Day. It's blasphemous.

I haven't actually celebrated all that many 4th of Julys in my life, at least not while present in the States. I've been in the States for...maybe 4 that I remember....We definitely have celebrated the 4th of July the years we've been in the States together as a married couple, which is altogether fitting and proper. However, we're not in the States and so I don't think it's fair that we should play up the 4th while playing down the 1st.

I am Canadian, hear me roar!

We didn't ever go back to Moudy's to get the sparklers, but we did have fun. Rachel and I spent the whole day at the pool, but somehow still found the time to make a cake. It was our friend Joseph's birthday yesterday and he didn't do anything to celebrate so we promised him cake. Rachel was talking about "Joseph's Cake" all day today and was so excited to help make it.

I iced it in white icing and then decided I'd draw a maple leaf on it out of jam. But it's so hot that the jam just ran all over the place instead of turning into a maple leaf. Bummer. So instead I spread it all over the top of the icing and sprinkled coconut on top. It was still red and white--giving it a subdued hint of nationalism--which was fair because half the reason for the cake was Joseph's birthday and he's not Canadian and I don't even know if he likes red.

After cake we put Rachel to bed since it was late and since she had been at the pool all day and was still a little emotional about the whole duck thing. Then we played games.

I would just like to mention that, while playing Fluxx, we got to use the "Today's Special" card twice. Why? Because today's special. It's a holiday (Andrew!) and don't you forget it (Andrew)!

So, Happy 142nd Birthday, Canada! And Happy 26th Birthday, Joseph!

And since this post has already mentioned so many random things like stores and holidays and games that have nothing to do with each other, I thought it would be a good time to mention that Andrew and I both have a set of great-grandparents who spoke German in the home. His great-grandparents are directly from Germany. My great-grandparents, Art and Ida Conrad, moved from Provo, Utah, to Taber, Alberta, Canada in 1917. They're part of the reason I'm Canadian.

Anyway, Ida spoke German in the home. Her parents, Nicholes and Anna (Wintsch) Muhlestein were both born in Switzerland (in Bern and Zurich, respectively) and so she grew up speaking German.

Art's family is of German-speaking descent as well, but they immigrated far earlier than the Muhlesteins (like in the 1700s vs. the 1800s, which is a whole century, basically). The Conrads hail from Wiese, Germany, and spent quite a bit of time in Pennsylvania, where, I believe, they also spoke German for a few generations.

How unfortunate that neither Andrew or I speak German. We really should, but we don't. I guess we should just be happy, though, that our families ran into each other in Orem, Utah, despite our ancestors' wanderlust* from Europe to America to Canada and all the world over.

If you can't tell I'm kind of on a genealogy kick. My family has been sharing stories and memories on blogs and facebook and I'm just eating it up. Keep it coming, keep it coming!

*That's a German word. Are you proud of me? I'm improving already!

So Bad!

Last night Andrew and I didn't communicate very well about bedtime routines. I had helped Rachel use the washroom and then about 15 minutes later Andrew took her to the washroom again. She was pretty upset about it.

"It's hard, Daddy," she explained, giving a few pushes to show that she was really trying to go.

"Just try a little longer, Rachel," Andrew said, "You always have to go potty before bed."

We make her go potty so often. Right when she wakes up, before and after naps (if she takes one), before we go outside to go anywhere, before bed, anytime she wakes up during the night, before and after swimming...I could go on and on. We just don't usually make her go potty every 15 minutes. I don't even have to go potty every 15 minutes and I have a baby bouncing on my bladder.

"Daddy," Rachel said finally, completely exasperated, "I am so done!"

She stood up and walked away from the potty, leaving it completely empty.

"Rachel didn't do anything," Andrew told me, while wrestling her into a diaper.

"That's probably because I just took her like 15 minutes ago..." I said.

"Oh." He said.

Rachel has been using the word "so" ever since and it's terribly effective for her.

We spent most of our day at the swimming pool today. Amiee gave Rachel an inflatable duck--she was watching Rachel in the kiddie pool while I gave her kids some swimming help (and we got in trouble for that because Maadi House has so many rules it's ridiculous)--that Rachel had been swimming in for the whole day. She loved it and didn't want to part with it and Amiee said they didn't need it anymore, so it came home with us.

I deflated it, which made Rachel a little upset. Or a lot upset. She cried about it for almost the whole way home and I was completely out of patience; I was about to deflate her, too.

"Rachel, the duck is for swimming. You can't just play with it because it might get a hole and then you won't be able to swim with it anymore. It's only for the pool. Stop asking about it. Stop crying about it. Stop whining about it. Just stop."

She looked up at me with big tears in her eyes and said,

"I want it, Mommy! I need it, Mommy! I want it so bad! I want it soooo bad!"

Her "soooo bad" was so sincere and so passionate that I almost handed it right back to her (have I mentioned recently that I'm a pushover?), but I stayed firm (and didn't even laugh at her cuteness).

"Sometimes we can't have the things we want, even if we want them soooo bad!" I told her.

And then held her and rocked her while she cried and sniffled, repeating, "I want it so bad, Mommy! I want it so bad, Mommy! I want it so bad, Mommy!" in a hushed, woebegone voice. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly; it was almost as if she was making a wish.

"I know, I know, I know," I answered her, stroking her tear-stained face.

When Daddy arrived home, she told him that she wanted the ducky soooo bad. We took it out and she showed it to him and he explained (again) why we couldn't play with it like a toy and that it was only for the pool.

I think part of the reason this is soooo funny is the way she pronounces so. I'll have to catch it on tape or think of a way to describe it fully. It's soooo adorable.

She left her heart in Sam Clam’s Disco

My sister Abra used to tell this joke about Larry Lobster and Sam Clam. I totally didn’t get it until years and years after she told it to me, but that’s what she gets for having an audience so much younger than herself. Not that she seems old anymore, but she used to when I was younger.

Larry the Lobster and Sam Clam were friends and they did everything together. They even died together. The only problem was that Larry was good and Sam was bad.

Larry was happy in heaven but he missed his friend, so one day St. Peter told him that he could arrange to have him visit Sam Clam in you-know-where. There was just one condition: he couldn’t leave anything behind. Larry the Lobster thought that was a deal he could make, so the next day he went down the elevator to visit Sam Clam.

It turned out that they had a wonderful time together. Sam had opened a disco and business was booming. They spent the whole day dancing and singing and at the end of the day Sam walked Larry back to the elevator and Larry went back up to heaven.

St. Peter met him at the gate. “Aren’t you missing something, Larry?”

“Well, let’s see,” thought Larry, “I’ve got my halo. I’ve got my wings. I’ve got my…oh, no! I left my harp in Sam Clam’s Disco!”

You know, like the song…I Left my Heart in San Francisco…

If you happen to be 10 and you understood that joke you are way better off than I was 14 years ago. I was like, “Oh, ha, ha…that’s…funny…I totally get it.” But I didn’t totally get it.

Anyway, Rachel’s friend Sam moved away and I think he may have taken her heart with him. They spent Sam’s last day in Cairo playing together all day. When I told her to say goodbye because he would be moving, she kind of freaked out.

“Moving?!” she gasped, “Like Finn?!”

“Yes, like Finn. Back to America. Forever.”

“Nooooooooo!” she wailed.

She screamed the whole time we were saying goodbye, pretty much, and much of the way home. Poor Andrew opened the door to find me carrying Rachel, both of us dripping in tears, from our walk home from the House’s house.

Rachel just hasn’t quite been the same since.

A few days ago Andrew put the movie Cars on before he left for school so that I could (hopefully) stay in bed a little longer. Ten minutes into the movie, Rachel ran into the bedroom. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m ready!” she said.

“Ready for what?” I asked.

“I’m ready moving Nyutah,” she answered bravely, as if she even knew what kind of headache and preparation that entails. It’s not something we plan on doing spur of the moment, “I wanna go Mrita.”

Nyutah and Mrita are how she says Utah and America, respectively.

“Why do you want to move to Utah?” I asked her.

“Sam’s in Nyutah!” she wailed and the tears started running down her cheeks again, having burst the dam.

We had to turn off Cars. I don’t think we’ll try watching that for a while. It was Sam’s favorite movie, see.

When we draw pictures of our family she always tries to throw in a couple Lewises for good measure.

“Drawing Daddy,” she’ll say.

“Who else is in our family?” I’ll ask.

“Ummm…Jessie. And Sam. And Sam’s dad.”

“Ummm…nope. All those people are in Sam’s family. Try again.”

But I guess that’s kind of the role they filled while they were here. Family.

When I was worried Rachel might have the chicken pox, it was Sara who called to tell me about fever rashes. When I was worried about Rachel’s 1-year molars coming in, it was Sara I went to for advice.

It’s not that she completely took over the place my own mom and sisters hold, it’s just that she was a great friend…and in the same time zone. Going to her just made sense.

Rachel just fit in with the Lewis kids, too. It was like she was an extra little sister or cousin. They just meshed from day one—everyone loved her and she loved everyone. They’ve definitely left a void behind them. But, there’s always America.

One night when we were visiting at the Lewis’s after dinner or tutoring or something, Sara brought out some little Oreos.

“You can have two because you’re two, Sam!” she said.

That reminded me of a video we took of Rachel a while back. The first time I asked her, not while we were recording, was way cuter because there was no teleprompting involved, but she answered with a loud punk-rock-sounding, “TWO!” when I asked her how old she was going to turn. She put two fingers up and was yelling so hard that her little hands were shaking. It was hilarious.

So I told Sara about that and had Rachel tell her how old she was going to be in July.

“How old are you going to be in July?” I asked.

“TWO!” Rachel shouted.

“Then you can have two cookies, too,” she said, and handed Rachel two cookies.

Sam cocked his head. The light bulb that had turned on above him was almost palpable. He had had an idea.

His birthday is also in July. He’s going to be three. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of the Brian Regan baseball scene…

"Brian, what's the score?"

"Free snow cone! Free snow cone at the end of the game! If you play they're gonna give you a free snow cone, even if you play half game you get a... you don't get a half snow cone...you get a whole snow cone for half the game... people that play whole game get a whole snow cone and the people that play half game get a whole snow cone. So it's always whole snow cone. So, I'd rather play half game. Still get the whole snow cone..."

Sam stood there in shock for a moment, processing his idea.

“I’m gonna be THREE!” he shouted happily, “I want THREE cookies!”

We all started laughing and Sara put her hand back in the bag.

“Mommy, are you getting me three cookies?” Sam asked innocently.

Later, after the Lewis kids had gone to bed, we were still sitting around chatting. Rachel was up, but that’s because she doesn’t have a bed to go to at the Lewis house. We were talking about…something…and Rachel didn’t agree.

“No not!” she said firmly. (No not is a phrase she picked up straight from Sam), “No not!”

Back from the depths of the dark hallway we heard Sam’s little voice answer the opposing response,

“Yes, a-do!”

“No not!” Rachel insisted, indignant that she was being challenged, especially with the official response.

“Yes, a-do!” Sam’s voice echoed out to us again, equally stubborn.

They continued on like this until some grownup or another reminded him that he had been sent to bed.

It’s been fun to have such a nice little buddy around for Rachel—although “little” might be a bit of a stretch. He’s not really all that little at all considering he’s barely a year older than Rachel. He is, frankly, huge.

As good friends as they are, they were prone to fighting a little bit. It was not uncommon for either one of them to run out in tears tattling on the other for doing something mean. For the most part, though, Sam’s pretty gentle. This is a very good thing considering his size.

At first this concerned Jacob and when his parents called to check up on things while we were babysitting back in December, he said,

“Well, Sam’s being a little bit of a wimp with Rachel. He just lets her beat him up.”

Now, I don’t think it’s a good thing for anyone to be beating up anyone and we’re working on the no hitting / pushing / biting / scratching thing as much as the next parents. However, if anyone is going to be doing those things, it’s probably better that Rachel is doing them to Sam than if he is doing them to her.

He’s really surprised himself the few times he’s exerted physical strength against her.

Once he pushed her off the coffee table where they had been sitting, sharing snacks, and pretending to play the Wii, and she just flew off, still in sitting position. She landed a couple of feet away, on her bum, and started wailing.

I sent Sam to timeout to think about what he had done while I collected the sobbing heap that used to be Rachel. When he got out of time out he said, “I’m sorry Rachel.”

“For what Sam?”

“Pushing.”

“That’s right. We don’t push our friends, especially off tables.”

“Yeah, no pushing off tables,” he repeated.

Sometimes the rules that are formed come from the most interesting scenarios. (For example, we have a “No Yoga at the Dinner Table” rule. That’s not really a related story…but it is an example of a strange rule and I’m sure you can imagine how it came about.)

Another time Rachel came up and pushed Sam. He kind of moved his torso to one side, but didn’t lose his balance or anything. He’s easily twice Rachel’s side.

“No pushing, Rachel!” he said, shoving her away with one hand.

That casual, self-defending shove sent Rachel sprawling across the floor like human tumble weed. She rolled several times before she stopped, halfway across the room. Sam just stood there, staring at his hand, probably wondering what happened and where Rachel went.

For the most part, though, they got along well. It will be fun to see the Lewises again once we get back to Utah. Hopefully Rachel will still remember Sam (I need to get their Skype ID) because they are just so cute together and made up quite the pair.

She still sometimes sings Sam all the way to church, hoping that she’ll go up to the nursery room and find him there, and she often asks to go to Sam’s house.

Alas, poor Rachel. Her heart has been whisked away to “Mrita,” a stow-away in Sam’s carry-on luggage.

'Rillas, 'Matoes, and Counting

This morning Rachel brought me a toy gorilla.

"Pretty 'rilla," she said, because that's what she calls them.

I agreed with her that the gorilla was pretty, or at least as pretty as a gorilla can get.

"That's a very pretty gorilla." I told her.

"Oh, girl-rilla!" she cooed, "Where is boy-rilla? Hiding?"

I love it when she thinks words are compound words when they aren't. She does the same thing with tomatoes. I'll be preparing some tomatoes for dinner and she'll ask,

"Eat 'matoes?"

"Yes, we're going to have tomatoes with dinner." I'll answer.

"Oh, two 'matoes," she'll say, which is funny because she doesn't really understand the concept of counting yet.

She knows some numbers and she knows some letters but she doesn't really understand what they do. Last night we were talking with our families and Rachel was showing off her alphabet singing skills. Mostly she will sing A-B-C over and over and over again. Sometimes she'll throw more letters in there like F and G before going back to A again.

"I'm counting!" she declared to one of her grandparents before singing, "A-B-C-A-B-C-Arba!"

"1-2-3-D!" Andrew said.

Arba was the only number in there. And that's obviously not English, but that's alright because we encourage Arabic. Lately Rachel has been a little possessive of her English. We have an Arabic alphabet book and have read it so much that Rachel has basically memorized it, like most of her other story books.

I was reading it to her the other day--technically I was only almost reading it, because I had barely opened it to the first page when she said, "No not arnab! Rabbit!"

I didn't tell her it was an arnab. I didn't tell her it was a rabbit. But she wanted me to be sure, before I opened my mouth, that we'd be doing this in English. I was equally insistant about doing it in Arabic and she went through every letter, telling me, "No not timsah! Alligator! No not shams! Sun!"

It is so fun to see her language skills develop. Fun for me, at least.

Funny Foods

Sometimes we see things at the store and they just beg to have their picture taken.

Today we have Demy’s salad dressing which is “As good as it takes.”

Also, Spicy Trade’s “Onion Bowder.” Yum, yum, yum.

I always just wonder how difficult it would be for these companies to run their ideas past a native English speaker before marketing them. There are plenty of English speakers available around here. Ones that know that powder is spelled with a ‘p’ and that “as good as it takes” doesn’t really make sense.

I will admit that “as good as it takes” almost sounds catchy. That’s the problem, though: it only almost sounds catchy. After you think about it for a minute you realize you have no idea what they are trying to say.

As good as it gets? As good as it tastes?

They’re as good as it takes, so they aren’t interested in being the best? They want to get by with the least amount of effort required? Only as much as it takes and nothing more?

Sign me up for that salad dressing! They’re going for mediocrity.

Truthfully we usually make our own salad dressings because Demy’s is the only reasonably priced stuff out there—we tried it, and it’s not great. Everything else is imported and costs and arm and a leg, but you can buy olive oil and vinegar for relatively cheap, so when we need salad dressing that’s usually what we do.