With any luck our baby will be born at the el-Nada Hospital. I keep having dreams that we never quite make it to the hospital and frankly, I'm a little concerned that we won't. I didn't quite recognize when I was in labour with Rachel and I'm worried I won't recognize it this time around, either. Dr. Baxter lectured me while he was stitching (and stitching and stitching) me up that I had better start heading to the hospital sooner with the next child because childbirth tends to progress faster with subsequent births, so unless I wanted a child named "Highway" I had better get in the minute I suspect I'm in labour....
...which with Rachel wasn't until I was already transitioning.
Amiee said that if I don't think I'll make it to the hospital to just rush over to her house instead (because it's way closer) and I can have the baby at her house. She and Brent researched all about home-birthing for one of their children (although they ended up having it at the hospital) and she sounded pretty comfortable with the idea, although I mostly think she was joking.
Andrew keeps telling me not to be so pessimistic; he's pretty confident that we'll make it to the hospital. I don't feel quite so confident about it, obviously. In Orem the hospital was 5 minutes away from our house and 15 minutes away from BYU campus and there was always someone around to drive me to the hospital. Here? We didn't even know where the hospital was before today and I have no idea how long it takes to get there from here in a car with the unpredictability of Cairene traffic. And we don't have a car. So that complicates things, especially because if I go into labour while Andrew is at school he will be at the mercy of the AUC bus system, which runs somewhat sporadically and it takes an hour just to get from AUC campus to Maadi.
All my worrying aside, we eventually had to figure out where the hospital was, anyway, so that's what we decided to do today.
El-Nada's website was less than helpful, but provided us with an exact address. We knew it was on Roda/Manyal Island and within walking distance from the metro stop at el-Malek al-Saleh. We also knew that you turned right after crossing the bridge onto the island, but we've only ever explored the other direction. Turns out it was super easy to find.
We did end up riding the metro and walking there, which isn't how we plan to arrive at the hospital when the time actually comes, by the way, and it isn't a very long walk. Andrew was trying to imagine his mom walking there by herself from the metro and wasn't sure he could. I can, though; it's really not a bad walk.
The hospital is right above a big McDonald's, but the McDonald's is so big and impressive-looking that it's hard to imagine there is a hospital right there. There is. Just around the corner from the entrance to the McDonald's is a small, unimpressive sign announcing your arrival at the hospital.
The receptionists were hospitable and spoke English. We were immediately handed a price list (yes, a price list) for the rooms we could stay in and were assigned a tour guide of sorts to show us around. He didn't speak a lick of English and neither did anyone else that we ran into: nurses, janitorial staff, elevator guy.
Our tour guide showed us some of the cheaper rooms. I guess that in spite of our obvious Americanness we didn't look "money" enough to be shown the more expensive rooms. Usually people assume we're rich because we're American; it was refreshing to not have this assumption be made, but I'm still a little curious about the upper-class rooms. The rooms range in price from 300 LE (55 USD) for 1st Class to 1900 LE (340 USD) for the Royal Suite. We were shown a 1st class room, a 1st class lux room, and a lux suite.
The rooms were decent enough and smelled like a regular hospital...the decor, however, reminded Andrew and I of our baby pictures instead of Rachel's baby pictures. The furniture is outdated and definitely as old as it looks, but I can deal with that. I don't plan on staying at the hospital very long. As much as I want this to be a positive experience, staying in a foreign hospital for longer than I have to simply doesn't sound fun. Still, they were about the same size as the room I had for Rachel's birth...of course, we stayed in the triage room the whole time we were there because there wasn't time to assign us to an actual room...but still. They looked fine.
We hear the nurses are nice...but require adequate tipping to assure quality care. The food is not the kind of food you would expect to be served after having a baby (nothing to help loosen things up and get things moving), but the rooms are equiped with a mini-fridge (well, at least the 1st class lux on up through the Royal Suite) and there is a grocery store across the street. There's pretty much everything you could want just across the street, really. Clothings stores, pharmacies, grocery stores, American fast food (a guarantee for sanitary ice), and local Egyptian grub. It's quite the neighbourhood for a hospital to be located in. We aren't used to jumping out of the way of donkey carts to get to hospitals...
...But it really does look alright. We're happy to know where it is and that it looks like a normal (but rather antique) hospital. We didn't see the delivery floor or the nursery, but I'm sure those are fine, too.
On our way out of the hospital we shared the elevator with a young couple carrying a little baby girl. Rachel was in awe. The mom held the baby up for Rachel to see and we congratulated them. She seemed to survive the experience, so that was encouraging.
Packing for the hospital stay is going to be fun. We have to bring our own linens for the baby--no blankets, burp cloths, hats, or shirts are provided. We have to bring our own diapering and bathing supplies. We have to bring our own towels. We have to bring our own...everything...which is part of the reason I don't want to stay at the hospital very long. If I have to supply everything myself anyway I'd rather be at home so I don't have to pack and unpack everything.
The name el Nada seems a little ironic to me, because they supply nothing and in Spanish "nada" means nothing. So we're going to the Nothing Hospital. In truth, مستشفى الندى / el Nada Hospital means either the hospital of wetness, moisture, or dew; or the hospital of generosity or magnanimity. We think the Hospital of Generosity is the best bet, although Andrew likes the word magninimity far better. We hope that it isn't the Hospital of Wetness or the Hospital of Moisture because that just doesn't sound sanitary. Hospital of Dew is acceptable, although we're really quite sure it should be translated as generosity.
I sent our parents a "list of things we want from America" a while ago. It was pretty short.
"I guess we're just used to living here," I quipped, "I can't think of anything we need or want."
But I forgot I'd be having a baby here, I guess...or at least what labour and post-partum pains are like. While I'm not planning on having an epidural, I would like some Dermaplast or Epifoam to deal with the post-partum pain and I don't know if they have that here. I don't know how I'll manage to walk out of the hospital without it though...it was a lifesaver with Rachel. I think I'll be making another list of medical supplies we'd like after seeing what they have available in the pharmacy here. We haven't checked for things like witch-hazel tucks or numbing sprays because, frankly, we don't normally use those things.
We still have several weeks to go, so we aren't in too much of a rush...
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Mystery Music
All week long Rachel has been repeating, almost demandingly, a partially comprehensible sentence:
"Jesus come donna."
All week long I've been trying to guess what she's saying.
"Jesus comes again?" No.
"Jesus comes down?" No.
That's about how far I got before I couldn't think of anything else that "donna" could possibly mean. Then tonight at dinner, quite out of the blue, Rachel said,
"I wanna go Jordan!"
Andrew and I looked at each other. We've been discussing making a trip to Israel/Palestine/Jordan for a while, but most of our discussion has been happening after Rachel has been put to bed.
"You want to go to Jordan?" we asked.
"Yeah," she nodded, "Jesus come donna in Jordan! I wanna go Jordan, too!"
Andrew and I looked at each other. Our dinner was getting cold. But we just couldn't figure this girl out. So we just sat there, staring at each other.
"Jesus came to John the Baptist!" I finally blurted out like I had figured out a Wheel-of-Fortune puzzle or won Jeopardy or something equally life-changing.
"Yeah," Rachel said after recovering from my overenthusiastic outburst, "Jesus come donna..."
"Baptist." Andrew finished for her, "Jesus came to...John...the...Baptist."
Phew. So now we know that when she says "Jesus come donna" she's requesting for us to sing Baptism for her. With that figured out and our previous dinner conversation topic completely forgotten we decided to start a new one.
"What did you learn in nursery today?" Andrew asked Rachel.
"I'm Jesus!" she said, pointing to herself proudly.
Once again Andrew and I stopped chewing and stared at each other. Last week I asked the two young women in our branch to teach nursery for the rest of the summer. I suddenly found myself regretting that decision since my daughter had apparently come home from church with a Messiah complex.
"Didn't you learn about saying sorry?" I asked.
Bekah had given me a necklace she had helped Rachel make--a little circle with a picture on it that I couldn't make out because it had been coloured-in so intensely--that said "I can say I'm sorry." She was a little upset that neither Rex or Rachel wanted to wear their necklaces after they had made them. I told her that kids are just like that sometimes and that I was sure they had fun making them.
"Yeah. And...I'm Jesus!" she insisted again.
Luckily we have the nursery manual and use it for our FHE lessons and we've given the "I can say I'm sorry" lesson before. I was sure the answer to why Rachel kept insisting she was Jesus was in the lesson. Still, it took a few minutes before I figured it out.
"I'm trying to be like Jesus?" I asked, tentatively.
"Oh, yeah!" Andrew said, "I'm pretty sure that's the song they suggest singing for that lesson!"
"Yeah!" Rachel squealed with excitement, "Sing mama! Sing I'm Jesus...Jesus doves you!"
In her defense, I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus is a rather long title for a 2-year-old to remember. In defense of Bekah and Clara, they taught a good lesson, even if Rachel didn't catch all the words between "I'm" and "Jesus."
"Jesus come donna."
All week long I've been trying to guess what she's saying.
"Jesus comes again?" No.
"Jesus comes down?" No.
That's about how far I got before I couldn't think of anything else that "donna" could possibly mean. Then tonight at dinner, quite out of the blue, Rachel said,
"I wanna go Jordan!"
Andrew and I looked at each other. We've been discussing making a trip to Israel/Palestine/Jordan for a while, but most of our discussion has been happening after Rachel has been put to bed.
"You want to go to Jordan?" we asked.
"Yeah," she nodded, "Jesus come donna in Jordan! I wanna go Jordan, too!"
Andrew and I looked at each other. Our dinner was getting cold. But we just couldn't figure this girl out. So we just sat there, staring at each other.
"Jesus came to John the Baptist!" I finally blurted out like I had figured out a Wheel-of-Fortune puzzle or won Jeopardy or something equally life-changing.
"Yeah," Rachel said after recovering from my overenthusiastic outburst, "Jesus come donna..."
"Baptist." Andrew finished for her, "Jesus came to...John...the...Baptist."
Phew. So now we know that when she says "Jesus come donna" she's requesting for us to sing Baptism for her. With that figured out and our previous dinner conversation topic completely forgotten we decided to start a new one.
"What did you learn in nursery today?" Andrew asked Rachel.
"I'm Jesus!" she said, pointing to herself proudly.
Once again Andrew and I stopped chewing and stared at each other. Last week I asked the two young women in our branch to teach nursery for the rest of the summer. I suddenly found myself regretting that decision since my daughter had apparently come home from church with a Messiah complex.
"Didn't you learn about saying sorry?" I asked.
Bekah had given me a necklace she had helped Rachel make--a little circle with a picture on it that I couldn't make out because it had been coloured-in so intensely--that said "I can say I'm sorry." She was a little upset that neither Rex or Rachel wanted to wear their necklaces after they had made them. I told her that kids are just like that sometimes and that I was sure they had fun making them.
"Yeah. And...I'm Jesus!" she insisted again.
Luckily we have the nursery manual and use it for our FHE lessons and we've given the "I can say I'm sorry" lesson before. I was sure the answer to why Rachel kept insisting she was Jesus was in the lesson. Still, it took a few minutes before I figured it out.
"I'm trying to be like Jesus?" I asked, tentatively.
"Oh, yeah!" Andrew said, "I'm pretty sure that's the song they suggest singing for that lesson!"
"Yeah!" Rachel squealed with excitement, "Sing mama! Sing I'm Jesus...Jesus doves you!"
In her defense, I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus is a rather long title for a 2-year-old to remember. In defense of Bekah and Clara, they taught a good lesson, even if Rachel didn't catch all the words between "I'm" and "Jesus."
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Meeting new mothers
I met up with some mothers at Maadi House on Wednesday. I didn't personally know any of them, at least not well, but I kind of knew Jenni, who knows my friend Melissa. I asked her if she wouldn't mind answering all my in depth questions about having a baby here. She said she'd be glad to, and invited another friend of hers who recently had a baby, as well as another woman who recently moved here and will be having a baby in September.
They were all super nice. I hope we get together again soon because there are so few children Rachel's age left here...that I know.
The new family is here to work for AUC and they live...drum roll...right next door! That is awesome on so many levels.
They have a son who is 2.5 years old. Rachel had an okay time playing with him, although he did do something mean to her on the playground. No one is really sure what he did. All we know is that Rachel started screaming bloody murder and running across the playground to me. She was so upset that she couldn't even make it the whole way. When she saw me stand up she stopped in her tracks and howled until I made it over to her.
I asked her what was wrong but should couldn't tell me. John, the dad, brought Elijah over and asked what Elijah did.
"She probably just fell or something," I said. She didn't look hurt so I wasn't concerned.
"I don't know," he said, "He probably did something to her."
Funny, that's what Rachel (his mom) told me, too.
"What happened, Rachel?" I asked (my) Rachel again.
"You! You! YOU!" she raged, pointing her finger at Elijah with such intensity that she was shaking. She never did tell me what happened, but I thought it was safe to assume that it probably did involve a little bit of bullying on Elijah's part.
I walked her back to the table the moms were talking at and held her.
"So was it hitting or pinching? Those are his specialties. We don't know what to do about it," Rachel (the mom) sighed.
She's the one having the baby in September. Did I mention that I'm excited that they live so close? Not that we've done anything yet...but we just met yesterday, so we have time.
Rachel will forgive Elijah eventually, I think. She wouldn't go back to play with the boys until we went swimming. Instead she hung around the table, where the moms were talking about labour and delivery, playing with the babies.
Nellie has a little baby girl named Norah who is 5 months old. Rachel fell absolutely head-over-heels in love with Norah. I've never seen her act the way she acted around Norah. It was like watching a little stranger. Of course, Rachel hasn't had the opportunity to be around many babies lately. It was encouraging to see her be so tender and doting with Norah; it gives me hope that she'll get along nicely with her own baby sister.
Of course, I realize that not every day will be perfect...but at least there will be perfect moments!
She rocked Norah's seat, followed Nellie to help change Norah's diaper, and was very concerned every time Norah acted the least bit fussy.
When we got home, Rachel named her baby doll "Baby Norah" and played with her for the rest of the evening. (Baby Norah has a split personality and is sometimes Baby Brother Knapp...I don't know why. Usually, at least for the past 2 days, she has been Norah, but occasionally Brother Knapp slips in somehow).
Before coming home, though, we swam. We swam and swam and swam and swam and swam. I couldn't get Rachel out of the pool. We stayed quite a while after everyone left. Rachel was having too much fun and was behaving so well. She didn't have much fun in the big pool because she spent the whole time worrying about whether or not we were going to visit the little pool, but she did enjoy jumping in a few times and playing with the beach balls Jenni's boys had brought.
When we went to the little pool, Rachel relaxed a lot and started playing all sorts of games.
She stirred the water for quite some time with her arms. I asked her what she was doing.
"I'm making soup! I'm inna soup! I'M SOUP! Mommy's soup, too!" she said and then proceeded to pretend to gobble the two of us up.
She played Ring Around the Rosie. She knows almost all the words now, though not quite.
"Pocket fulla rosie...husha, husha, ashes, husha...ashes, husha, ashes, ashes, husha...all fall down!"
Her "hushas" and "ashes" last for several minutes at a time.
She even fell in the water face first once, and couldn't get up. Usually she can...but she was struggling, so I helped her up after waiting a few seconds. I wasn't really concerned because she just blew bubbles the whole time. When I lifted her out of the water she had a big smile on her face and said,
"Whoa! I went in there!"
It made me wonder if she wasn't planning on standing up on her own eventually...when she ran out of bubbles and needed to take a breath...and if I wasn't just being over paranoid. Oh, well. Better paranoid than dead, I always say. (Okay, truthfully that's the first time I've ever said that).
After being in the water for a few hours, I had to get out to use the restroom. And when I say had to, I mean had to. I am pregnant, let's remember. The problem was, Rachel didn't want to get out.
"You have to get out," I told her, "Because it's Mommy's job to watch you and there's no one to leave you with. You can't stay in the pool without a grown up to watch you."
"Jesus watching me," she countered.
Uhhhhhh...true. BUT...Jesus doesn't like it when parents are downright irresponsible, either. At least, I'm pretty sure.
I explained to Rachel that Jesus is watching her, but that he gave me the job of taking care of her and part of that was not leaving her alone in a swimming pool. I explained further that if she got out and went to the restroom with me and sat nicely while I used the WC and didn't whine or cry that we could get back in the pool when I had finished.
"We come back?" she clarified.
"Yes, if you come now and don't cry we will come back."
She hopped out of the pool and prompted me to join her, "Come on, momma! Goin' potty! No crying! Come back pool!"
I was amazed that she had reasoned so nicely. Yesterday was an amazing communication day. It was so wonderful! She cooperated and communicated like that the whole day.
Today...not so much. Words that describe Rachel today: Wildebeest. Screaming Banshee. Grumpy. I could go on, but I won't.
Still, yesterday was so nice. Another little glimpse into how life will be when she reasons more often than not and life will be speckled with temper tantrums rather than speckled with sanity.
One day she'll learn that relationships are give and take and when she does what I ask her to do I'm much more willing to do what she wants me to do, be it getting back in the pool, going to a friend's house, or anything. One day she'll learn that screaming doesn't help her get her own way. One day she'll learn a lot of things. I hope, I hope, I hope...
Because we're having another one and I hope it learns things, too.
They were all super nice. I hope we get together again soon because there are so few children Rachel's age left here...that I know.
The new family is here to work for AUC and they live...drum roll...right next door! That is awesome on so many levels.
They have a son who is 2.5 years old. Rachel had an okay time playing with him, although he did do something mean to her on the playground. No one is really sure what he did. All we know is that Rachel started screaming bloody murder and running across the playground to me. She was so upset that she couldn't even make it the whole way. When she saw me stand up she stopped in her tracks and howled until I made it over to her.
I asked her what was wrong but should couldn't tell me. John, the dad, brought Elijah over and asked what Elijah did.
"She probably just fell or something," I said. She didn't look hurt so I wasn't concerned.
"I don't know," he said, "He probably did something to her."
Funny, that's what Rachel (his mom) told me, too.
"What happened, Rachel?" I asked (my) Rachel again.
"You! You! YOU!" she raged, pointing her finger at Elijah with such intensity that she was shaking. She never did tell me what happened, but I thought it was safe to assume that it probably did involve a little bit of bullying on Elijah's part.
I walked her back to the table the moms were talking at and held her.
"So was it hitting or pinching? Those are his specialties. We don't know what to do about it," Rachel (the mom) sighed.
She's the one having the baby in September. Did I mention that I'm excited that they live so close? Not that we've done anything yet...but we just met yesterday, so we have time.
Rachel will forgive Elijah eventually, I think. She wouldn't go back to play with the boys until we went swimming. Instead she hung around the table, where the moms were talking about labour and delivery, playing with the babies.
Nellie has a little baby girl named Norah who is 5 months old. Rachel fell absolutely head-over-heels in love with Norah. I've never seen her act the way she acted around Norah. It was like watching a little stranger. Of course, Rachel hasn't had the opportunity to be around many babies lately. It was encouraging to see her be so tender and doting with Norah; it gives me hope that she'll get along nicely with her own baby sister.
Of course, I realize that not every day will be perfect...but at least there will be perfect moments!
She rocked Norah's seat, followed Nellie to help change Norah's diaper, and was very concerned every time Norah acted the least bit fussy.
When we got home, Rachel named her baby doll "Baby Norah" and played with her for the rest of the evening. (Baby Norah has a split personality and is sometimes Baby Brother Knapp...I don't know why. Usually, at least for the past 2 days, she has been Norah, but occasionally Brother Knapp slips in somehow).
Before coming home, though, we swam. We swam and swam and swam and swam and swam. I couldn't get Rachel out of the pool. We stayed quite a while after everyone left. Rachel was having too much fun and was behaving so well. She didn't have much fun in the big pool because she spent the whole time worrying about whether or not we were going to visit the little pool, but she did enjoy jumping in a few times and playing with the beach balls Jenni's boys had brought.
When we went to the little pool, Rachel relaxed a lot and started playing all sorts of games.
She stirred the water for quite some time with her arms. I asked her what she was doing.
"I'm making soup! I'm inna soup! I'M SOUP! Mommy's soup, too!" she said and then proceeded to pretend to gobble the two of us up.
She played Ring Around the Rosie. She knows almost all the words now, though not quite.
"Pocket fulla rosie...husha, husha, ashes, husha...ashes, husha, ashes, ashes, husha...all fall down!"
Her "hushas" and "ashes" last for several minutes at a time.
She even fell in the water face first once, and couldn't get up. Usually she can...but she was struggling, so I helped her up after waiting a few seconds. I wasn't really concerned because she just blew bubbles the whole time. When I lifted her out of the water she had a big smile on her face and said,
"Whoa! I went in there!"
It made me wonder if she wasn't planning on standing up on her own eventually...when she ran out of bubbles and needed to take a breath...and if I wasn't just being over paranoid. Oh, well. Better paranoid than dead, I always say. (Okay, truthfully that's the first time I've ever said that).
After being in the water for a few hours, I had to get out to use the restroom. And when I say had to, I mean had to. I am pregnant, let's remember. The problem was, Rachel didn't want to get out.
"You have to get out," I told her, "Because it's Mommy's job to watch you and there's no one to leave you with. You can't stay in the pool without a grown up to watch you."
"Jesus watching me," she countered.
Uhhhhhh...true. BUT...Jesus doesn't like it when parents are downright irresponsible, either. At least, I'm pretty sure.
I explained to Rachel that Jesus is watching her, but that he gave me the job of taking care of her and part of that was not leaving her alone in a swimming pool. I explained further that if she got out and went to the restroom with me and sat nicely while I used the WC and didn't whine or cry that we could get back in the pool when I had finished.
"We come back?" she clarified.
"Yes, if you come now and don't cry we will come back."
She hopped out of the pool and prompted me to join her, "Come on, momma! Goin' potty! No crying! Come back pool!"
I was amazed that she had reasoned so nicely. Yesterday was an amazing communication day. It was so wonderful! She cooperated and communicated like that the whole day.
Today...not so much. Words that describe Rachel today: Wildebeest. Screaming Banshee. Grumpy. I could go on, but I won't.
Still, yesterday was so nice. Another little glimpse into how life will be when she reasons more often than not and life will be speckled with temper tantrums rather than speckled with sanity.
One day she'll learn that relationships are give and take and when she does what I ask her to do I'm much more willing to do what she wants me to do, be it getting back in the pool, going to a friend's house, or anything. One day she'll learn that screaming doesn't help her get her own way. One day she'll learn a lot of things. I hope, I hope, I hope...
Because we're having another one and I hope it learns things, too.
I dove you
I phoned my little brother two nights ago so that we could get some details straightened out for his trip out here in August. He called back and we chatted for a while. In the end I said something to the effect of,
"Okay. Bye. Have a good day. I love you."
And then I had to hang up the phone quickly because Rachel heard me say, "I love you" and was zooming across the room to me with her arms stretched open wide yelling,
"I DOVE YOU, MAMA!!"
She was so fast that I barely had time to drop into a squat to receive her high-speed, full-force embrace.
It was pretty much the best part of my day, although I always laugh a little when she says she "doves" me. It's so funny to me that she says "dove" and "Dacher" for "love" and "Rachel" but uses either a "y" or a "w" for most of her other L and R words.
Uncle Patrick phoned us yesterday morning, too, to discuss a few more details. Naturally my phone call started with,
"Hi, Patrick!"
I then wondered what he was doing up, with friends, at the hour he was calling me. Turns out he was in line at the movies, waiting to see Harry Potter 6. Auntie Em was there, too, we we got to talk to her for a minute as well. They both work in book repair in the HBLL at BYU, only for different bosses, and were with their other coworkers who had all decided to go to the movies together--I've always been a little jealous of people working in book repair; they always have so much fun!
When that conversation ended, Rachel, who was at the table eating breakfast, explained some things to me and Andrew.
"Mommy's talking Uncon Patwit. I'm gonna be bid sisterw. Mama's bid sisterw, too!"
Andrew asked her who I was a big sister to...if that's the correct way to phrase that. Perhaps it should be "of."
"Uncon Patwit!" she said.
It is so funny how excited she gets when she understands an extended family relationship. Like when we were talking to my grandma on Skype and I explained to her after that the grandma we were talking to was my grandma. It was Grandpa's mom. Her eyes got all big.
"Whoa!" she said.
"Okay. Bye. Have a good day. I love you."
And then I had to hang up the phone quickly because Rachel heard me say, "I love you" and was zooming across the room to me with her arms stretched open wide yelling,
"I DOVE YOU, MAMA!!"
She was so fast that I barely had time to drop into a squat to receive her high-speed, full-force embrace.
It was pretty much the best part of my day, although I always laugh a little when she says she "doves" me. It's so funny to me that she says "dove" and "Dacher" for "love" and "Rachel" but uses either a "y" or a "w" for most of her other L and R words.
Uncle Patrick phoned us yesterday morning, too, to discuss a few more details. Naturally my phone call started with,
"Hi, Patrick!"
I then wondered what he was doing up, with friends, at the hour he was calling me. Turns out he was in line at the movies, waiting to see Harry Potter 6. Auntie Em was there, too, we we got to talk to her for a minute as well. They both work in book repair in the HBLL at BYU, only for different bosses, and were with their other coworkers who had all decided to go to the movies together--I've always been a little jealous of people working in book repair; they always have so much fun!
When that conversation ended, Rachel, who was at the table eating breakfast, explained some things to me and Andrew.
"Mommy's talking Uncon Patwit. I'm gonna be bid sisterw. Mama's bid sisterw, too!"
Andrew asked her who I was a big sister to...if that's the correct way to phrase that. Perhaps it should be "of."
"Uncon Patwit!" she said.
It is so funny how excited she gets when she understands an extended family relationship. Like when we were talking to my grandma on Skype and I explained to her after that the grandma we were talking to was my grandma. It was Grandpa's mom. Her eyes got all big.
"Whoa!" she said.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Alligator Cereal
This morning Rachel was blessing the food. She can say a short prayer by herself but this morning she tried to cut corners by leaving out the middle part and skipped from "Dear Heavenly Father" to "In the name of Jesus Christ," so I had to help her.
"We're thankful for the food," I prompted her.
"We're thankful...ALLIGATOR CEREAL! UMMMMMM!!" she filled in.
As in America, most of the children-friendly cereals are branded with an obnoxious cartoon animal. At first I wasn't sure their animal-branding would work since there are no commercials for specific foods here (except for Kraft cheese and Philadelphia cream cheese and some random Italian tuna company), but apparently it does because Rachel recognizes her cereals by animals.
It started with corn flakes. As in America, the cornflake boxes here are plastered with a ridiculous-looking rooster. His name isn't Cornelius...in fact I don't think he even has a name (that part of the marketing scheme hasn't been thought through, I guess)...and Rachel has never seen him dive off a diving board or do any stunts on commercials, like his Kellogg's counterpart (I seem to remember a diving board commercial)...but she knows that if she asks for "chicken cereal" she'll get corn flakes.
Personally, "chicken cereal" does not sound all that appetizing to me, but who am I to judge?
We also have "elephant cereal" (Loopy Nuts--an apparently peanut flavored loop cereal that looks and tastes like foam), "rabbit cereal" (rice crispies of sorts--much harder to chew than American rice crispies, but surprising rice-like, so much so that it might actually be made of rice), and "alligator cereal" (Fruit Pops--another foam-like loop cereal that is apparently flavored with a variety of natural fruit flavorings and colorings).
There are others, but that's all we have in our cupboard right now (well, that and bran flakes and granola, but those aren't lucky enough to feature an animal) so that's all I can think of.
Except Honey Pops. That cereal claims a big brown bear, but Rachel still calls them Honey Pops.
This morning Andrew told Rachel that one day should could have "alligator cereal" that actually tastes good (that is open for debate). I told her it wouldn't have an alligator on it but maybe a bird (probably just a kangaroo...we're into buying cheap brands like Malt-o-Meal...for you Canadians who've never heard of this brand, doesn't that just sound not-appetizing?).
She wasn't impressed and said, "Nooo! I like alligator cereal!"
That's just because you don't remember what real cereal tastes like, sweetheart!
Sometimes I'm tempted to splurge and buy a box of good ol' Kelloggs cereal just so that Rachel knows what good really is. But do you know how much that costs? I can never remember, but I know that every time I check the price in the store I'm flabbergasted. Andrew estimates around 55 LE per box, which equals just about 10 USD! I don't want to be stuck paying that when she refuses to eat the Egyptian kind anymore because she knows that cereal can actually taste good. Not that Temmy's is terrible...it's just not great. I would rank it an O.K.
"We're thankful for the food," I prompted her.
"We're thankful...ALLIGATOR CEREAL! UMMMMMM!!" she filled in.
As in America, most of the children-friendly cereals are branded with an obnoxious cartoon animal. At first I wasn't sure their animal-branding would work since there are no commercials for specific foods here (except for Kraft cheese and Philadelphia cream cheese and some random Italian tuna company), but apparently it does because Rachel recognizes her cereals by animals.
It started with corn flakes. As in America, the cornflake boxes here are plastered with a ridiculous-looking rooster. His name isn't Cornelius...in fact I don't think he even has a name (that part of the marketing scheme hasn't been thought through, I guess)...and Rachel has never seen him dive off a diving board or do any stunts on commercials, like his Kellogg's counterpart (I seem to remember a diving board commercial)...but she knows that if she asks for "chicken cereal" she'll get corn flakes.
Personally, "chicken cereal" does not sound all that appetizing to me, but who am I to judge?
We also have "elephant cereal" (Loopy Nuts--an apparently peanut flavored loop cereal that looks and tastes like foam), "rabbit cereal" (rice crispies of sorts--much harder to chew than American rice crispies, but surprising rice-like, so much so that it might actually be made of rice), and "alligator cereal" (Fruit Pops--another foam-like loop cereal that is apparently flavored with a variety of natural fruit flavorings and colorings).
There are others, but that's all we have in our cupboard right now (well, that and bran flakes and granola, but those aren't lucky enough to feature an animal) so that's all I can think of.
Except Honey Pops. That cereal claims a big brown bear, but Rachel still calls them Honey Pops.
This morning Andrew told Rachel that one day should could have "alligator cereal" that actually tastes good (that is open for debate). I told her it wouldn't have an alligator on it but maybe a bird (probably just a kangaroo...we're into buying cheap brands like Malt-o-Meal...for you Canadians who've never heard of this brand, doesn't that just sound not-appetizing?).
She wasn't impressed and said, "Nooo! I like alligator cereal!"
That's just because you don't remember what real cereal tastes like, sweetheart!
Sometimes I'm tempted to splurge and buy a box of good ol' Kelloggs cereal just so that Rachel knows what good really is. But do you know how much that costs? I can never remember, but I know that every time I check the price in the store I'm flabbergasted. Andrew estimates around 55 LE per box, which equals just about 10 USD! I don't want to be stuck paying that when she refuses to eat the Egyptian kind anymore because she knows that cereal can actually taste good. Not that Temmy's is terrible...it's just not great. I would rank it an O.K.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
This is why I'm hot
Egypt is not the hottest place in the world. Trust me--this one time Andrew and I thought it would be a good idea to go to Dubai in August. That? That was hot. Phoenix, Arizona is definitely hotter than we are out here as well. Then there are places like Death Valley and Al Azizia that are just plain, old hot. So Egypt isn't really all that hot.
The problem is that it never cools down (not that cools down in Phoenix or Dubai, either).
I have little gadgets on my iGoogle homepage with the weather forecasts for Orem, Cairo, and High River. That way I never have to waste time asking questions like, "How's the weather?" because I already (basically) know the answer. I will admit, though, that it makes me tinge with jealousy a little when I see that our coolest temperature for the day basically matches the high for Orem.
How am I supposed to cool off our house at night if it's still well above 20 degrees at 2 AM? It just doesn't work.
And then there's the added insult of having few places to go to cool off. There's just no guarantee that anywhere you plan on going will be cool.
Some grocery stores are air conditioned. Others aren't. We don't buy eggs, bread, or dairy products from non-air conditioned stores, just in case they've been sitting out too long. Most other stores are not air conditioned. You just walk from one hot place to another all day long.
Andrew's office at school--out in the middle of the desert--hasn't had working air conditioning for over a week now, so he's currently holed up in the library putting in his time. Because the air conditioning works there.
The only rooms with temperature control in the entire Egyptian Museum are the Mummy Room and the King Tutankhamen Room. And you have to pay to go into the Mummy Room.
We have air conditioning but it's terribly expensive to run and is old and clunky. We run our units sparingly. Central air does not exist here.
And that's why I'm hot. Not because it's too hot...just because it never goes away.
We have the same problem in the winter. Not because it's too cold, but because it never goes away. 50°F in the winter might sound balmy, and it is...when you're outside. But when it's the same temperature everywhere you go? It's almost like living in a fridge. Let's just say I never thought I'd be wearing layers in Egypt.
I'm not wearing those layers now!
The problem is that it never cools down (not that cools down in Phoenix or Dubai, either).
I have little gadgets on my iGoogle homepage with the weather forecasts for Orem, Cairo, and High River. That way I never have to waste time asking questions like, "How's the weather?" because I already (basically) know the answer. I will admit, though, that it makes me tinge with jealousy a little when I see that our coolest temperature for the day basically matches the high for Orem.
How am I supposed to cool off our house at night if it's still well above 20 degrees at 2 AM? It just doesn't work.
And then there's the added insult of having few places to go to cool off. There's just no guarantee that anywhere you plan on going will be cool.
Some grocery stores are air conditioned. Others aren't. We don't buy eggs, bread, or dairy products from non-air conditioned stores, just in case they've been sitting out too long. Most other stores are not air conditioned. You just walk from one hot place to another all day long.
Andrew's office at school--out in the middle of the desert--hasn't had working air conditioning for over a week now, so he's currently holed up in the library putting in his time. Because the air conditioning works there.
The only rooms with temperature control in the entire Egyptian Museum are the Mummy Room and the King Tutankhamen Room. And you have to pay to go into the Mummy Room.
We have air conditioning but it's terribly expensive to run and is old and clunky. We run our units sparingly. Central air does not exist here.
And that's why I'm hot. Not because it's too hot...just because it never goes away.
We have the same problem in the winter. Not because it's too cold, but because it never goes away. 50°F in the winter might sound balmy, and it is...when you're outside. But when it's the same temperature everywhere you go? It's almost like living in a fridge. Let's just say I never thought I'd be wearing layers in Egypt.
I'm not wearing those layers now!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Bellybuttons
We woke up earlier than usual to get ready to go to the Red Sea this morning. I don’t know if you know, but Andrew is not a morning person, and while I used to be a morning person, that’s kind of changed since I got married to a night owl. And now that I’m pregnant, I’m doubly not a morning person.
Getting up at 7:30 AM might sound like sleeping in to you, but for us it was torture. At least this morning. (Remember that we’re blessed to have Rachel, who thinks sleep is optional and thinks any hour is a great hour to be awake, from 4 AM to 4 AM, so it’s not like we never get up before 7:30, we just haven’t really had to for most of the summer).
Anyway, Andrew was in the bathroom in front of the mirror and he caught sight of his bellybutton. I don’t know how; maybe he was scratching his stomach and lifted up his shirt to do so as males are prone to do.
“What?!” he panicked, “There’s a hole in my stomach!”
He quickly went to find the hole, only to discover his bellybutton.
I don’t know if he thought I had sold his kidneys on the black market, or what…maybe he was just still in dreamland.
Later today he had a second bellybutton scare, which makes the first story all the more hilarious. While I was napping, Andrew and Rachel made dinner. To keep Rachel content, Andrew gave her some chocolate chips that we inherited from the Lewises (thanks, guys!), as he often does while he’s cooking dinner.
She sat there, happily eating her chocolate chips and not bothering Andrew about getting to help stir or cut…or asking him what he’s doing every time he breathes.
And then he looked over at her. Her bellybutton was oozing a thick, dark, tar-colored substance. He flipped out, ran over to her, and began examining her bellybutton.
“Wait a minute,” he said, allowing his heart rate to return to normal, “Did you stick a chocolate chip in your bellybutton?”
All Rachel said in response was, “Ha, ha, ha! Silly Rachel!”
She had, indeed, managed to melt a chocolate chip in her bellybutton, scaring her poor father half to death.
I don’t know what his current fixation on bellybuttons is. Maybe it is simply carry over from his fear of baby bellybuttons. You have no idea how happy he was to not be the one changing Rachel’s diaper when her bellybutton stub fell off…and now that we’re having another baby he’s facing that risk again! No wonder he’s panicky.
And lest you wonder if Andrew is the only loopy one in the morning, he's not. I walked by the bathroom while Rachel was sitting on the potty and this is what she said,
"Hi, Mommy! I'm wearing my toes today!"
The she did some gas. "Ooh, gas! I like gas. I want cereal. Go beach now?"
She wasn't sure the whole morning if we were ever going to go because we were dressed up in church clothes. She kept asking about that every 2 minutes, just to make sure we weren't duping her out. Still, her train of thought was all over the place.
Baptism at the Red Sea
Today Elisabeth got baptized. We travelled out as a branch to see her be baptized in the Red Sea. We rode out with the Cummings and followed the Knapps, Houses and Cannons (who had other branch members in their vehicles as well), stopping on the side of the highway at the spot the branch traditionally uses for such purposes.
Within two seconds of arriving at the beach, Rachel was covered in sand from her nose to her toes; she’s a sand-magnet. The kids had fun playing in the water while we got chairs and things set up—most of the children there were girls. I actually think Josh was the only boy since the Cummings’ boys are sick today and didn’t come. He was a real trooper, though, and played rather nicely with the girls. I guess he’s used to being outnumbered since he is the only brother in his family of four sisters.
Amiee spoke to Elisabeth about baptism and the Gift of the Holy Ghost. She said that so far in Elisabeth’s life, she has been a caterpillar, but now she is becoming a butterfly. She’ll come up out of the cocoon and she’ll be beautiful and filled with the spirit, but that doesn’t mean that she knows how to be a butterfly. She’ll still have to learn how to fly and how to care for her wings and, of course, she’ll make mistakes. But that’s alright because she’s still learning.
I really liked that because when I was younger I don’t think I ever quite caught on to the fact that the sacrament allows us to renew our covenants every week—that we are expected to make mistakes because that’s what human’s do. The important part is that we repent of and learn from our mistakes.
Amiee did a wonderful job explaining this concept to Elisabeth.
Andrew was asked to be a witness for the actual baptism. He was so excited to walk out into the water in his Sunday clothes…it was a little ridiculous how excited he was. We were told we could take pictures of them in the water while they were trying to find a good spot to stand; they wandered around for quite sometime until Brother Knapp yelled out,
“Tell us when you get to Hurgharda, Brent!”
I think one problem was that the waves were so choppy. Elisabeth almost got swallowed up by the sea several times, just walking out to be baptized. Eventually they found firm enough ground, though, and Elisabeth was baptized.
This was Rachel’s first time attending a baptism since her cousin Deklan’s baptism in 2007. She doesn’t really remember that one. She’s familiar with the idea of baptism, though. She told us at dinner a couple of nights ago that Jesus was baptized. Still, the idea of baptism by immersion was a little scary for her.
I had been sitting on one of the few luxurious camping chairs, provided by the Cannons. Sometimes when you’re pregnant you are offered luxuries like chairs. (Joseph, an Egyptian member in the branch offered me a kursy while we were waiting for everyone to meet at the church so we could arrange rides—I thought it was nice of him to offer but wondered where he was going to dig one up).
All the little children had gathered at the water’s edge to watch, though, and Rachel wanted to go, too, so I went up with her.
When Elisabeth went under the water, Rachel tugged on my skirt,
“Oh, no, Mommy!” she cried, “Help Lissy!”
She was more comfortable with the whole situation after I explained to her, again, what was going on, while Andrew trudged out of the Red Sea wearing his now-soggy Sunday clothes, along with Elisabeth, Brent, and Cody.
After Elisabeth’s confirmation, we set out to find a bigger beach to have a little luncheon/beach party, hosted by the Houses.
Unfortunately, the traditional spot for post-baptism gatherings has been snatched up by the secret police. Instead of being a public beach, it’s now a private beach reserved for the secret police and their families to use whenever they please. Brother Knapp was very disappointed because, he explained, that section of the beach was so beautiful and sandy and calm. And was where they had always gone for branch parties at the Red Sea.
We drove around for a while searching for a spot and eventually ended up exactly where we were before.
The water had calmed down quite a bit and the beach was big enough for our small group, so things worked out.
Rachel had a blast playing with so many kids around. In fact, I hardly interacted with her at all. She was always being toted off into the water by someone or other, or was being taught first-class sandcastle-building skills by someone else.
Once when Rebekah was carrying Rachel in the water she tripped and dropped Rachel, she scrambled to pick her up, but Rachel was just fine. She came up out of the water smiling. Later when Elisabeth picked Rachel up, on the beach, she lost her balance, stumbled backwards, and tripped over Josh (who was kneeling down to play in the sand with the little girls), sending both Elisabeth and Rachel tumbling on the ground. Both girls just jumped up and ran into the water to rinse off. I eventually lost count of how many times Rachel got dropped; she was dropped so many times it’s not even funny. It’s probably good for her, though, since she doesn’t have any older siblings of her own.
She had no qualms going into the sea at all and probably would have let one of the 5 year olds carry her out into the water if I (or any of the other mothers watching) would have allowed it. And even though there were big jellyfish washing up on the shore again, like the first time we went to the Red Sea, she didn’t squawk about “jellybeans” once. She would even follow the other little girls into the water on her own accord when the tide was roaring in.
They were all following the water’s ebb and flow, screaming as it chased them or they chased it. Rachel continued the screaming and running long after the older girls had retired it.
I was quite amazed at how fast the tide came in. It seemed like the sea would be perfectly still for an hour or so and then would just start roaring and we’d be rushing to move the chairs and toys away from it’s grasp. And then, after a few minutes, it would be still again. It was kind of strange.
What was also strange was that everyone seemed to be getting stung by jellyfish. We did see some big jellyfish washing up on shore, but we’ve seen those before, and I’m pretty sure that a) they’re dead and b) they don’t sting. I was touched by one once and it just felt like some huge gelatinous mass bumped into me; I turned around to find that a huge gelatinous mass had bumped into me, but it didn’t sting at all.
I think they are probably some variety of moon jellyfish and probably look like this when they’re alive, although we’ve only ever had dead ones wash up on shore. They’re big but they don’t sting and aren’t really anything to worry about.
Still, everyone kept complaining about stings. I’m quite sure everyone felt it. I know I did. To me, it felt like a pinch that wouldn’t go away. I kept trying to find what was pinching me, but nothing was…I was just being stung. Poor little Emma (I think it was, though it may have been Elisabeth) ended up with an actual welt on her foot.
We couldn’t figure it out because only two jellyfish had washed up and we removed them from the water. We kept swimming though since the water was so clear and just the perfect temperature. Little jellyfish stings weren’t going to stop us…even though they were quite uncomfortable and the stinging sensation lasted for hours.
I borrowed a pair of the House’s goggles so that I could do some fake scuba diving. If you went out far enough you could see clown fish and things like that. I didn’t ever make it out that far because I had to take off my glasses to use the goggles, rendering me blind for all intents and purposes. Swimming blind makes me a little nervous, especially in untamed bodies of water (ie: not a swimming pool) where there are tides and sharks and jellyfish.
I did get to see some fish, though, and some sea urchins and things. It made me wish I had an underwater camera. The ocean floor at this location is much more interesting than the plain ol’ sandy bottom at Ain Sokhna, though far more dangerous. No one was allowed in the water without shoes on for obvious reasons (sea urchins, being one of them).
I did go quite a ways out there, though, and it was there that I noticed that the interesting looking plant-life on the ocean floor wasn’t plant-life at all. It was…upside down jellyfish. They’re called Casseopia (I looked them up when we got home) and look like algae, almost, but they aren’t. They’re jellyfish and they sting their prey by releasing a mucous when the water above them is disturbed.
We kept swimming over them, which is why we kept being stung—their electrocuting mucous was floating up and stinging us and we didn’t suspect a thing from the actual culprit because we were too busy hunting for a pulsing, throbbing, monster of a jellyfish.
We all had a good time, though, and were quite tired on the ride home. Almost everyone in our car fell asleep, except for the row Rachel and I were sitting on. Poor Rachel kept being distracted by things and making embarrassing remarks—she kept telling me that Sister Knapp was so big, big, big, while she, herself, was so little, little, little. She also was quite concerned about Sister Knapp’s wrinkles and kept talking about those.
Sister Knapp was really nice about it, though, and didn’t seem to mind. I guess that’s because she’s a grandma and grandmas are usually bigger and more wrinkly than two-year-olds. It also could be that Rachel kept telling me, “I like her. Sister Knapp. I like her.”
Eventually Rachel forgot about staying awake to stare at and play with Sister Knapp and fell asleep. She had about a half hour nap, which isn’t bad for Rachel.
When we got home, Andrew let me go to bed while he made dinner. That was so nice of him because I was so tired and haven’t been feeling well lately (and he got to nap on the way home).
I hope the day was memorable for Elisabeth. I know my baptism was quite memorable for me—and mine didn’t involve the Red Sea.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Flashback Friday: I was voted most able to...
In middle school--the one year that I attended public middle school--a fair of sorts was thrown. I don't really remember the reason, just that certain groups of students were required to come up with an activity for the fair. I believe we did this in our "advisory groups."
Advisory group was a mandatory class for everyone in our middle school. It kind of makes me think our whole town was dysfunctional or something because, looking back, the words "group therapy" don't seem too misplaced when seeking words to describe advisory group. A teacher led the group, but it was supposed to be slightly more informal than a classroom, so they weren't referred to as a teacher. Instead they were the mentor or leader or something like that.
Groups weren't divided by age or grade. Instead we were randomly placed with a mentor and met once a week with the other peers in our group. The idea was that the older students would help mentor younger students under the supervision of "The Mentor." Or something like that.
Like I said, it was kind of like group therapy or a life skills class or a buddy system program. It didn't work too well, in my opinion, because, like I said, looking back, the whole town seems a little dysfunctional. Still, we did some service projects (because school in Canada requires mandatory community service hours to graduate...uh-huh and I don't think that's a bad thing, either) and talked about how to put a resume together (in case anyone wanted to get a job or something) and tried to bond.
Bonding with anyone in this town seemed impossible to me. Maybe it was just the insecure stage of life I happened to be in while we lived there that made bonding seem so impossible. Or the rampant use of drugs. I'm not sure which.
Anyway, my advisory group was...called...Mr. Stone's Lightning. Or maybe the Lightening Bolts. Or maybe the Thunder Bolts. I don't remember. All I know is that we had to make a banner to hang in the commons area and a theme song and do a skit in front of the whole school and I had to be the cloud. Talk about an embarrassing part to play. The cloud?
My costume was quilt batting with a hole cut out of the center so it could go over my head. My mom assured me that I looked cute. But cute as a cloud isn't exactly the look I was going for in grade 6 so it was slightly mortifying.
Anyway, the fair, the fair. I don't remember much about it except for two stations.
The station that my advisory group did was face-painting with pencil crayons. It was not a big hit. Which is probably alright because what were we thinking?!
We had to take turns manning the stations and after we had filled our time we were free to enjoy the fair with our real friends instead of the forced-friendships of our advisory groups. Maybe I was the only one in the whole school who didn't enjoy advisory group but I just never seemed to hit if off with anyone in that class; I enjoyed the fair a lot more once I was away from my advisory group and back with my friends.
We went to this one station, the only other station that I remember, where you got into teams and duct-taped one member of your team to the wall. You were limited to a certain length of tape and the goal was to stay stuck to the wall the longest.
I was the one selected to be taped to the wall since I was the one of slightest stature in my group of friends. Oh, if only I had any pictures from that stage of life to show to you (I do, just not here right now). I was so willowy and slender. Not that I'm incredibly bulky now (except for the ball of baby sticking out in front), but back then I was so skeletal, it almost looked unnatural.
I never believed I was so small until I saw a picture of myself with the girls in my ward posing by the diving board of the public swimming suit wearing our bathing suits. I was like a walking toothpick and was about half the size of the girls I thought I was approximately the size of. Suddenly the reason my friend's older brothers insisted on calling me "Skelator" came clear. I was absolutely skeletal.
Anyway, I was selected to be taped to the wall. Of course.
I had to borrow my friend Jessica McKay's sweater--I have no idea what happened to her; I haven't seen her since grade 6--because I was wearing a t-shirt and didn't want to be duct-taped to the wall by my bare skin. My friends got their allotment of duct tape and I prepared myself to be stuck to a wall. We thought of a plan of how best to tape and then I climbed on the stool and my friends proceeded to tape my arms, legs, and torso to the wall. No tape was allowed across the neck, no worries.
When they were finished taping they removed the stool and there I stayed, suspended five inches above the ground...stuck to the gymnasium wall...with duct tape.
I wondered if that might be how a fly caught in a web feels, although I wasn't struggling to escape. Quite the opposite, I was doing my best to stay as still as possible so that I didn't disturb the duct tape's hold on the wall. I outlasted everyone who had been taped to the wall the same time that I had. I outlasted several batches of students that were taped to the wall after me, as well. In fact, I spent most of the fair taped to the wall and I believe my picture even ended up in the yearbook because of it...although I can't verify that from here. They eventually just took me down and declared me the "person most able to be secured on a wall with duck tape" or something like that.
I'm not sure that "person most able to be secured on a wall with duck tape" is a title to bear proudly, but I'm just so darn good at being stuck to walls that I can't help but brag a little. Some leave school "the most likely to succeed" or "the most likely to become President." My title far surpasses those; not just anyone can claim such a noble and cool-sounding title. Please, please don't be jealous.
Advisory group was a mandatory class for everyone in our middle school. It kind of makes me think our whole town was dysfunctional or something because, looking back, the words "group therapy" don't seem too misplaced when seeking words to describe advisory group. A teacher led the group, but it was supposed to be slightly more informal than a classroom, so they weren't referred to as a teacher. Instead they were the mentor or leader or something like that.
Groups weren't divided by age or grade. Instead we were randomly placed with a mentor and met once a week with the other peers in our group. The idea was that the older students would help mentor younger students under the supervision of "The Mentor." Or something like that.
Like I said, it was kind of like group therapy or a life skills class or a buddy system program. It didn't work too well, in my opinion, because, like I said, looking back, the whole town seems a little dysfunctional. Still, we did some service projects (because school in Canada requires mandatory community service hours to graduate...uh-huh and I don't think that's a bad thing, either) and talked about how to put a resume together (in case anyone wanted to get a job or something) and tried to bond.
Bonding with anyone in this town seemed impossible to me. Maybe it was just the insecure stage of life I happened to be in while we lived there that made bonding seem so impossible. Or the rampant use of drugs. I'm not sure which.
Anyway, my advisory group was...called...Mr. Stone's Lightning. Or maybe the Lightening Bolts. Or maybe the Thunder Bolts. I don't remember. All I know is that we had to make a banner to hang in the commons area and a theme song and do a skit in front of the whole school and I had to be the cloud. Talk about an embarrassing part to play. The cloud?
My costume was quilt batting with a hole cut out of the center so it could go over my head. My mom assured me that I looked cute. But cute as a cloud isn't exactly the look I was going for in grade 6 so it was slightly mortifying.
Anyway, the fair, the fair. I don't remember much about it except for two stations.
The station that my advisory group did was face-painting with pencil crayons. It was not a big hit. Which is probably alright because what were we thinking?!
We had to take turns manning the stations and after we had filled our time we were free to enjoy the fair with our real friends instead of the forced-friendships of our advisory groups. Maybe I was the only one in the whole school who didn't enjoy advisory group but I just never seemed to hit if off with anyone in that class; I enjoyed the fair a lot more once I was away from my advisory group and back with my friends.
We went to this one station, the only other station that I remember, where you got into teams and duct-taped one member of your team to the wall. You were limited to a certain length of tape and the goal was to stay stuck to the wall the longest.
I was the one selected to be taped to the wall since I was the one of slightest stature in my group of friends. Oh, if only I had any pictures from that stage of life to show to you (I do, just not here right now). I was so willowy and slender. Not that I'm incredibly bulky now (except for the ball of baby sticking out in front), but back then I was so skeletal, it almost looked unnatural.
I never believed I was so small until I saw a picture of myself with the girls in my ward posing by the diving board of the public swimming suit wearing our bathing suits. I was like a walking toothpick and was about half the size of the girls I thought I was approximately the size of. Suddenly the reason my friend's older brothers insisted on calling me "Skelator" came clear. I was absolutely skeletal.
Anyway, I was selected to be taped to the wall. Of course.
I had to borrow my friend Jessica McKay's sweater--I have no idea what happened to her; I haven't seen her since grade 6--because I was wearing a t-shirt and didn't want to be duct-taped to the wall by my bare skin. My friends got their allotment of duct tape and I prepared myself to be stuck to a wall. We thought of a plan of how best to tape and then I climbed on the stool and my friends proceeded to tape my arms, legs, and torso to the wall. No tape was allowed across the neck, no worries.
When they were finished taping they removed the stool and there I stayed, suspended five inches above the ground...stuck to the gymnasium wall...with duct tape.
I wondered if that might be how a fly caught in a web feels, although I wasn't struggling to escape. Quite the opposite, I was doing my best to stay as still as possible so that I didn't disturb the duct tape's hold on the wall. I outlasted everyone who had been taped to the wall the same time that I had. I outlasted several batches of students that were taped to the wall after me, as well. In fact, I spent most of the fair taped to the wall and I believe my picture even ended up in the yearbook because of it...although I can't verify that from here. They eventually just took me down and declared me the "person most able to be secured on a wall with duck tape" or something like that.
I'm not sure that "person most able to be secured on a wall with duck tape" is a title to bear proudly, but I'm just so darn good at being stuck to walls that I can't help but brag a little. Some leave school "the most likely to succeed" or "the most likely to become President." My title far surpasses those; not just anyone can claim such a noble and cool-sounding title. Please, please don't be jealous.
Primary Overload
For the past few weeks I've been the Primary Prescounsechorister. That means that I have been filling the shoes of the president, counselors, secretary, and chorister. This has been fine since our branch basically dissolved at the beginning of the summer and the only children left in primary were the House children, Keji & Farayella, and Rachel for a grand total of 8 children (when they all show up). And church is only 2 hours long because we are so few in number so I only had a half hour with the kids each week, anyway.
So while I'm technically only the secretary (and I use that in the most respectable way possible...meaning I don't usually act in so many capacities so am "only the secretary" not that I'm "just a secretary, that's all"), it hasn't been a terrible burden to run the entire primary while everyone else has been gone.
I was very happy that Michele came back from the States this week, though. We had 8 new children in primary, which doubles our numbers. It was a little bit crazy and I was happy to not have to deal with the craziness alone.
The Cummings family came for the first week. They have seven kids, but only 4 are in primary. Their youngest is Rachel's age, so Rachel went to nursery today so that she could play with her new friend. She is very excited to have someone more on her level. The Perrys also moved in, and they have 4 children in primary, as well. I knew they would be moving here but I didn't know when. They kind of surprised me (I was expecting the Cummings, so wasn't quite as shocked when they walked in).
The Perrys sat in front of us during Sacrament Meeting and Rachel was quite fascinated with their little baby for a while. I guessed the baby's age right on. She's 9 months old--which means she was born in October last year. I was pretty sure she was an October baby judging by her size and skills. Andrew was impressed with my baby-age-guessing skills.
Primary went well, though. I spent last night making visuals and choosing pictures from the Gospel Art Picture Kit to help the kids learn My Eternal Family. We are so far behind in music. Our chorister disappeared somewhat suddenly. We were expecting her to leave in May, but she ended up leaving sooner than we thought. It's completely understandable because she learned she had cancer so went back to the States for treatment; still, it left us a little understaffed and we never quite recovered. We kind of scrambled for a few months, trying to decide what to do and just never ended up deciding.
Today, though, we learned the first verse and chorus of the song and I think the kids have it down fairly well. It helped that the Cummings came in already knowing the song and they sang out loudly and bravely. Three cheers for the Amman, Jordan Branch!
I know we have a few kids that still have yet to return from the States, but most of those kids have already turned 12...so I wonder if this will be our primary for the next year or if we're due to have a few more families join us...it will be interesting to see. And I'll certainly be glad when our presidency will be reunited and acting in full-force once again!
So while I'm technically only the secretary (and I use that in the most respectable way possible...meaning I don't usually act in so many capacities so am "only the secretary" not that I'm "just a secretary, that's all"), it hasn't been a terrible burden to run the entire primary while everyone else has been gone.
I was very happy that Michele came back from the States this week, though. We had 8 new children in primary, which doubles our numbers. It was a little bit crazy and I was happy to not have to deal with the craziness alone.
The Cummings family came for the first week. They have seven kids, but only 4 are in primary. Their youngest is Rachel's age, so Rachel went to nursery today so that she could play with her new friend. She is very excited to have someone more on her level. The Perrys also moved in, and they have 4 children in primary, as well. I knew they would be moving here but I didn't know when. They kind of surprised me (I was expecting the Cummings, so wasn't quite as shocked when they walked in).
The Perrys sat in front of us during Sacrament Meeting and Rachel was quite fascinated with their little baby for a while. I guessed the baby's age right on. She's 9 months old--which means she was born in October last year. I was pretty sure she was an October baby judging by her size and skills. Andrew was impressed with my baby-age-guessing skills.
Primary went well, though. I spent last night making visuals and choosing pictures from the Gospel Art Picture Kit to help the kids learn My Eternal Family. We are so far behind in music. Our chorister disappeared somewhat suddenly. We were expecting her to leave in May, but she ended up leaving sooner than we thought. It's completely understandable because she learned she had cancer so went back to the States for treatment; still, it left us a little understaffed and we never quite recovered. We kind of scrambled for a few months, trying to decide what to do and just never ended up deciding.
Today, though, we learned the first verse and chorus of the song and I think the kids have it down fairly well. It helped that the Cummings came in already knowing the song and they sang out loudly and bravely. Three cheers for the Amman, Jordan Branch!
I know we have a few kids that still have yet to return from the States, but most of those kids have already turned 12...so I wonder if this will be our primary for the next year or if we're due to have a few more families join us...it will be interesting to see. And I'll certainly be glad when our presidency will be reunited and acting in full-force once again!
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