I'm Latvian, but my kids are not

A few years ago, probably when B and Z were 5 and 7 and V was just little, there came a day, a moment, when it just hit me. "I can't do this anymore."
This was trying to communicate with my kids in Latvian.  Trying to pass on the cultural heritage with which I was raised. I would talk to them in Latvian again and again, only to have them respond with confused looks and annoyed comments about, "I don't know what you're saying, mama!"
The details of the moment are beyond me now, but the feeling that I had at that moment was one of being broken.  It was a feeling of failing.  It was a loss.  It was giving up. 
I fought with myself- what was more important?  A language, or being able to build a relationship?  A language, or communication? A language, or a bond?
I chose the latter.  In every case, I chose the latter. 
But, there is no denying that it was stacked against us from the get-go.  From living in a place where the language wouldn't be useable, to not being around even family that would use the language, and most importantly, it not being the language of our couple- the odds were never in our favor. 
Part of me wants to weep, another part wants to rage, another part just looks on feeling like a failure.
There is hope, I suppose.  We'll move back to the States and be near more people who speak Latvian.  We might send the kids to summer camp in Latvian.  Maybe even Latvian school.  There is a chance that they might still pick it back up- a good possibility even- but we all know that the ease with which they could have learned the language as toddlers has been lost.  This was stolen from them by circumstance, by fearful adults lacking understanding, by my personal inability to just keep going.  *sigh* It's a massive loss.
Growing up, I never identified as American. I just didn't feel it.  This was because I was being raised Latvian in the USA.  Our home language was Latvian, we went to Latvian school on Saturdays, we went to Latvian camp in the summers- all the way through high school.  Spending all that time being Latvian took effort, and it took me away from other experiences that might have made me feel more American.  We never really celebrated the 4th of July, not really, because we were always already at Latvian camp.  I didn't connect to American holidays, because mostly, we had Latvian versions or Latvian ways to celebrate.  Heck, even my favorite American holiday- Thanksgiving- was taken over for years by Latvian time because ALJAs Kongress happened then.  Our food was Latvian, especially at holidays and celebrations.  Most of my lifelong friends are Latvian, the way one would expect of a second generation. 
But when my son needed to present a cultural lunch, he shocked me by demanding to bring in hotdogs as an American delicacy. What?  He didn't even mention anything Latvian.  I mean, on the one hand, thank goodness I didn't have to make piragi.  I could have done it, but it wouldn't have been easy! And it would have been EXPENSIVE.  Whew.  But it's weird when your experience is so different than that of your children.  My kids have 2 passport countries, and neither of them is Latvia. 

So I find myself, admitting, sometimes through tears, that I am Latvian, but my kids are not. 

It was hair, and then it was gone

Yeah, super cheesy headline on this one.  But here's what happened.

My little brother grew a mustache. He'd never really had facial hair before, mostly because his biology didn't really lend itself to such things.  But suddenly, at 37, after 3 weeks in the woods, he had the beginnings of one, and he went for it. 

When I first saw it, especially with mustaches NOT being a thing right now, I was shocked.  Well, maybe surprised.  It was unexpected for sure.  And, I'll admit, I commented on it.  I said, "Whoah! What's on your face?"  He didn't like that question.  In fact, he straight up told me I was rude. 

He wore the mustache for about a month, I think, growing into it more every day, and then suddenly, it was gone.  By the time it was suddenly gone, I had really gotten used to it.  I liked it.  He had worn it on a trip to Italy, where it being a nice cool spring, he was dressed in nice jeans, dapper long sleeve shirts, sweaters, and that mustache.  The whole look worked really nicely actually. 

Behind the scenes, he was experiencing something that he wasn't used to. People kept commenting on his mustache again and again.  Saying things like, "I don't know if I approve of this." 

Basically, a month into the awesome mustache, it was gone.  He was sick of it, he was sick of the comments, and he had the choice to shave that baby off.  And so it was gone.

The cool thing is, he learned from this experience.  What it opened up to him is the world of unsolicited comments on his body.

He even called me out on it.  Because I was guilty.  I had commented.  I had said I wasn't sure if I liked it.  I didn't know how I felt about it. 

What right did I have to feel any way about it at all??

He pointed out that I am constantly saying, "it's my body, my business, not for you to comment on!" This is true.  And internally I thought, "yeah, but, it's different." But it's not so different.  It's his body.  It's his presentation to the world. And it is his choice.

What feels different in it to me,  is the choice.  The bodies we are born into are not a choice.  We cannot control our height, our shape, our colors, our features, nor the way our bodies tend to carry weight. 

Man, that's hard to write.  Did I really just say that we can't control our weight?  Aaaaaah.  Diet culture is so fricking deeply ingrained.  Even my own brain wants to scream back at me, "you can control this!  Your weight is a choice!"   But, can I? Have I ever been able to?  If I *could* control it, would I be choosing what I have right now?

Science is now showing us that upwards of 95% of intentional weight loss efforts fail, and are generally followed by a reciprocal weight gain.  This is science.  It's not laziness, it's not value, it's not morality.  Intentional weight loss fails.   And in the few cases that it succeeds, it is often accompanied by habits that can be classified as anorexia or orthorexia, and frequently, unhealthy exercise habits. 

I get questions ALL THE TIME- are you pregnant?  (And when I say no, my ever forthright students ask, "well then, why is your belly so big?") The looks I get suck as much as the questions.  It sucks to walk around feeling watched, knowing people are wondering, waiting to hear that I'm pregnant again.  I'm not.  This baby bump is what it is.  A constant reminder that I grew four larger than average babies in my shorter than average body.   But after the interactions with the public, there is more... trying to dress a round body that society says is only worthy if it's actually square.  So all the clothes are made for squares.  Nothing fits right.  Nothing flatters.  And when you face a closet, on the daily, full of clothes that are kind of uncomfortable, whew, that wears on a person. And then... even at my relatively not extreme size, some spaces are hard to get through, seats are tight, aisles are too narrow. I don't WANT to imagine how difficult it is for people in bodies larger than mine, because, I honestly don't know if I could handle it. 

In the news recently, Nike was getting shamed for condoning being fat.  *headdesk*  What Nike did, was to make some workout clothes that might actually fit a larger section of the population and then display it in a store.  They said, "Oh hey, our sizes don't work for like, the majority of the population.  Let's make some bigger sizes."  And then, "Oh yeah, now we have a wider range of sizes, let's put them on display so people know they exist and can see what they might look like on a body that looks like theirs."  Applause, Nike.  Huge applause.  That is THE RIGHT THING TO DO.

But PEOPLE, people who apparently think the world should revolve around them, say that Nike, by making clothes for people who EXIST, is condoning them.  Good God, there is nothing to condone or not.  These are real people.  Real people who want to run, and lift, and CrossFit, and yoga.  Real people who might just want to wear their yoga pants to fucking Target like the rest of you. 

What this continues to come back to, is the fact that people believe they have a right to comment on other people's bodies.  Whether it's their mustache or their body fat, everyone wants to comment.  People apparently feel like they are owed something- like they are entitled to have the world around them conform to their aesthetic ideals. Where did this idea come from?  And then beyond that, when the world at large doesn't conform to our ideals, it is our right to comment on it?  No.  No.  No.

During a conversation with friends, I was reminded that this goes so deep, that, even though I am a constant fighter for body positivity and bodily autonomy and respect, even though these things matter to me deeply, it was still my first reaction to comment on my brother's face.  I have not yet escaped the culture that groomed me. 

This whole topic is so multifaceted and huge, I am not doing it a shred of justice. And I'm not going to be able to, so I'll just stop. 

Just please, if you read this, remember, we are all our own people.  Our bodies serve us, and we make some choices about how they appear in the world. But mostly, when you see someone, just greet them.  Just say hello.  And step back from the need to validate or justify their appearance to them or yourself.  You don't know what they're going through, what their choices mean to them, or why and how they have come to the place that they are. Maybe you'll have your own chance to learn about how awful it feels to have constant comments on your body like my brother did- but honestly, I hope it doesn't take that.     

Rest in peace

This morning, I awoke to news that my grandfather had passed away.  The text came from my mom, as it was her father, via facebook messenger. I had an immediate sense of loss. Something was lost.  Gone. But it passed.

See, the thing is, I wasn’t close with my grandfather.  Growing up, we saw him now and then. Sometimes years went by when we didn’t see him.  And at other times we saw him relatively frequently. In the last 15 years, since I have lived abroad, I have seen him perhaps a handful of times.  At Benita’s naming ceremony, when my little brother got married the first time, at Christmas once when Benita and Zintis were young. I don’t think he ever met Vilnis, and certainly not Johans. Which means it had been at least 3 years, perhaps closer to 4, since I had seen him. Time flies when life gets busy.

He was the last of that generation on both sides of my immediate family.  All of my grandparents are now passed on. That is something remarkable. It’s not every day a generation comes to an end. He is survived by his wife, known to us as Duda, a lovely woman who’s been around my whole life, but not my blood grandmother.

My grandmother, his ex-wife, passed away just over a year ago.  I also hadn’t seen her in many, many years. Benita was about to turn 1 the last time we saw her.  I was able to travel home for her memorial- things lined up schedule-wise, and I felt pulled to be there.  

I learned a lot about my grandmother at her memorial.  She didn’t want a big funeral, so we kept it short and sweet.  A few people said some words- anyone who wanted to actually. They shared memories, told stories, shared laughs.  It was a really nice way to remember her. During the memorial, I stood back and listened, and felt a deep, deep sadness at having missed out.  My path in life had taken me away from her. She lived far away from where I generally traveled when I returned to the States. I didn’t know her.  I found out during that memorial, that apparently she and I had a lot in common. We both loved to cook, shop, be indoors (instead of the great outdoors).  We both enjoyed the finer things in life. Eggs Benedict was both of our favorite breakfast. She was a collector of dinnerware, place settings, Christmas ornaments, and clothing and jewelry.  I am a collector of baby carriers, nail polish, makeup and coffee cups. We both enjoyed a very well stocked kitchen- both in terms of food and tools.

It turns out, I found out, my grandma might have been someone with whom I would have gotten along. But I wasn’t there to find out.  

I won’t be able to travel to my grandfather’s services, and I am not drawn to be there either.  I am at peace wishing him peace from here. I have offered my support to my mom if she needs it from me, and I have sent my love to Duda.      

Mostly, the thing that keeps bubbling up over this last year of loss, is what it means to stay in touch with family.  I realize that my relationship with my grandparents was highly influenced by my parents' relationship with their parents.  And now that I am an adult child myself, I realize what a complex thing it is to be an adult child and to have that relationship with your parent.

I want my kids to have their grandparents in their lives.  I will do my best to allow them access to those relationships- but relationships are, and always have been, a two-way street.  Grandparents have to make an effort to connect with grandkids as well.

Not all grandparents are equal.  Not all grandparents are out of the movies.  Sweet little old men and women with white hair who bake cookies and read stories.  Nope, in fact, my kids don’t have anyone by that description. My kids’ grandparents have varying levels of gray in their hair, super varying cooking and baking abilities, and very, very different amounts of patience for their grandkids’ antics.  Some have lots, some have little. They are human.

And what I have come to see, what I have come to uncover because of my personal, inward journey, is that my parents are the children of broken people.  People who lived through and survived things that broke them. People who lived with realities they never desired, realities they didn’t dream. People who were torn from their homes, forced to new lands, dealt cards for a game they didn’t want to play.  They made it through, they healed some of the breaks, but there was a cost. There was a big cost. It cost them personally, which in turn cost their children, which, has also, in turn, cost us, their children's children.

Pain, suffering, hurt and grief can be passed on generationally.  Bad habits, parenting mistakes, and all the ways we never meant to do things- they can all be passed on.  And, of course, all of these things can be healed as well. My parents both work on healing in their own way. I am also working on it.  None of us is permanently broken. We all have the ability to heal- but there must be willingness. The willingness to heal seems to be a generational thing too. As in... older generations, those still living, sometimes don't see the point in getting into it all. The attitude seems to be something along the lines of, "yes, these things happened, they were terrible, they shouldn't be talked about, it won't change anything, move on."

I whole-heartedly disagree. And I challenge anyone who thinks the best thing to do is to take all the bad things that have happened in their life and stuff them down and keep them hidden forever, to ask others, anyone near and dear to them, whether or not it's obvious that they are doing so. I pretty much guarantee that your hidden hurts are not as hidden as you think they are. You're not fooling anyone, except maybe yourself.

This is all why I'm still in therapy, still working on healing stuff. It's ongoing work to try to actually be able to move past the things that happened in your life. Because life is full of shitty things that happen. And if you don't know how to heal or transform the stuff that has deeply affected you, it stays with you, ongoingly affecting everything, whether you want it to or not. Which is why I don't try to hide it. I mean, you don't have to throw your stuff all over the place- but you don't have to pretend that life hasn't happened to you.

I have to bring this back to the beginning and say that, my grandparents were not the willing types. They weren't able to heal the stuff that happened to them. They didn't like to talk about the things that happened to them. And that is what it is. And so, what I wish for them, in the afterlife, is to be in a place, where their hearts are freed from the experiences and memories that plagued them. To be able to face, forgive and move on from the pain.

I don't know how to end this... my grandfather passed away. A man I didn't have much of a relationship with. My grandmother passed away and I wished I had known her better. My grandparents went through really tough times in their lives. They didn't deal with a lot of it, and that had an impact on their kids, and their kids' kids, and the relationships we all had/have with each other.

When you're no longer normal

I don't want to apologize for where I'm at- but, I do hate that I'm still here.  That is, I'm not *still* HERE.  I am in a wholly new place, a long off different place than I was years ago- BUT, I still struggle with food, my body, my worth and all the ways in which these things tie together.  I'm 38 years old, and I still struggle.  I don't think I ever would have guessed as a younger person that these things would still be issues for me at this age.  But they are.

Here's the thing.  These issues are deep.  Sometimes they feel like just really big personal failures.  Other times they feel like issues stemming directly from so many ways in which the world failed me.  Some days I feel responsible, other days I want to shirk it all.  And on the good days, I know that I am the only one who can choose to make any difference now, so what's my next step?

The next step is the thing I've been thinking about a lot lately.  And I had a great conversation with a friend about it recently.  Friend and I have been ships passing in the night for a few weeks, so when we finally got together, we had lots to say and not that much time to say it all in.  She shared about all the cool stuff happening in her life, and then,  I shared what's been going on for me.  Most notably, I am still trying to adjust to being back at work with such a young baby at home.  I am trying to adjust to being the mother of 4 children.  I am trying to adjust to doing all of this without my mom.  I am not feeling successful a lot of the time.  In fact, it often feels like a losing battle.  And when I start feeling this way, there is this automated app inside of me that tries to helpfully distract me from the real issues by making it all about my body size/shape/weight.  Of course, it's not really helpful, but, my brain hasn't gotten that far yet, so this keeps happening. The good thing is that I at least recognize that app.  I just can't quite disable it yet.  Would love to uninstall and clear up some space.  (Ok, going too far with this app metaphor...)

So I was talking to Friend.  I said how, I'm struggling with all this adjusting I'm doing, and it's making me worry about losing weight or wanting to lose weight.  And then the hard thing is that, while losing weight won't change my worth, it could improve other things, and would not be a bad thing.  There is excess weight to be lost. And especially now that I am done bearing children, there is forward motion to be had.  This body is coming back to me- for the last nearly 10 years it has been at the mercy of others- but soon it will be mine again, for me, mine alone to use as I would like.

Recap, there is weight to be lost.  But I don't NEED to lose weight.  Losing weight won't make me a better teacher, mother, wife or friend.  Losing weight won't make me a better person, or help me adjust to all my new roles any better.  Losing weight will change the way I look- *maybe* the way I feel.  Losing weight will not bring happiness that is not already there.

So next steps.  What do I do?  How do I get there?  And this is where it gets tricky... when you're no longer normal.

You see, I have a lot of years of food misuse behind me.  Food abuse.  Eating for the wrong reasons.  Or, eating to extremes.  Or using food as a tactic or tool.

There is this indulgent side to me.  When life gets hard, this little indulgent voice says, "hey, you deserve that."  A LOT of times, starting from when I was very young "that" was food.  I learned to eat so I could get a temporary high from the feel-good of nice food, the comfort of a full belly, the distraction from whatever else was going on.  Distressing feelings set aside, it's time to eat! Sometimes, depending on how big the feelings were, it took a lot of food.  And the more I did this over the years, the harder it became to notice when I was actually hungry, or actually full, because, when you're always eating for the wrong reasons, you lose touch with these natural instincts. Damn.

I'm no longer normal when it comes to eating.  Sometimes I can eat what feels like a normal amount, or for a normal reason- because I'm hungry.  But I often question- is this really a normal amount?  Should I be hungry again?  Am I really hungry?  Am I eating more than I need?

Back to that conversation with Friend.  You know what was so nice about it?  She was able to relate.  Not with food though.  So she actually couldn't offer any advice.  But she KNEW NOT TO OFFER ANY ADVICE, because of her own situation.  You see, she struggles with alcohol.  She enjoys it, but, has trouble stopping.  What she has found is that it's hard for her to drink in moderation.  It's all or nothing.  I might have a glass of wine while making dinner, and maybe one more with dinner- but she'll finish the bottle.  I might have a happy hour drink with friends- she ends up out until 2am when happy hour turns into a night out.  She ends up emotional and distressed, arguing with people she loves because alcohol has control of her.

I can't really relate to all that, because, I know if I drink more than a certain amount, I won't be able to take care of my kids, I'll feel sick, I'll be tired, etc... so I don't do it.  I only really enjoy the first 2 glasses of anything anyway- maybe 3.  4 and we're in trouble.  So mostly, I don't do it.  I just stop.  But she can't do that.

She can't do that, in the same way, that I can't just eat a bit less, or just cut out certain foods, or, just eat a little bit of something.  And she doesn't really get why I can't just not put more food in my face, just like I don't really get why she can't just not drink another drink.  AND YET, we both get it perfectly, because, although the substance is different, for both of us, it's something we're no longer normal with.  We can't deal with the issue the way a normal eater or casual alcohol user would.  Because that is no longer us.

All that to say- I'm not sure what my next step is.  I don't know where I should try to go, which direction would be the best use of my time and energy at the moment. But what I do know is that this is a journey... and the road I'm on might be a bit longer and a bit windier than someone else's road.  I do believe that the road leads somewhere better.  That I can hope for a brighter future, where there is less struggle.  But, how long it takes me to get there, and just how much work I will have to put in to get there... who can say, but it'll probably be a bit more than normal.           

Meet Johans Martins

This is almost my favorite baby noise ever. Almost.  My actual favorite is the one he makes after sneezing, but so far I haven't been able to capture it on video.  I will try.   Because I don't want to lose these memories.  I mean, I'll never forget, but, I know in time, it will be harder to hear the sound in my head, and soon he will grow out of making it.  Johans Martins, 2 months and 8 days old. 

This is us... forever

My mom was just here for a month.  On Saturday night I took her to the airport, and just before she was headed into security she said to me, "Your family is entering a new phase now.  This is it.  You are you- for the next 80 years!"

What she is referring to is the fact that now that Johans has been born and completed our family, this is it.  This is us.  This is us not just today, but, for a long time to come!  

Mom is right.  This is big.  

First of all, it's big for me, as the person responsible for growing all new members of our family. Every time I had a baby, of course, I was interested in trying to get back in shape, but, there was always this voice in my head which said, "Hey, what's the point, you're just gonna get pregnant again!"  But, not anymore! This time, this is it!  I have about 18 months until I turn 40.  There is time... but it's time to DO SOMETHING for sure! 

And of course, when I say DO SOMETHING, I mean things like, honor the journey my body has been on. Feed it delicious, nutritious food.  Move it in all the ways that make me happy- right now it's Pilates, and hopefully, relatively soon it will be weights and cardio again because while I enjoy Pilates, weights make me giddy.  I want to lift some heavy shit!  This body is a machine- and right now the machine has been through 9 years of tough work.  It needs some love and attention for sure.  

Our children are now all here.  They have each other.  Beni will never have a biological sister- though I can only wish for her to grow to find sisterhood among her peers like I have with mine.  She is the big sister to three brothers.  She and Zintis, though they would never admit it, are still best friends, and I hope that continues forever.  The little boys will have each other.  And ultimately they will all have each other.  Beni will be in university before Johans enters high school, so who knows what their relationship will be like over the long run.  Perhaps it will make them closer, perhaps the opposite.  

As a mother, I can only sit and wonder about who they will become.  Who will have children first?  Who will have children at all? The paths they will take are certainly not predestined.  If I had to take a stab at it now- I would say Beni will take a predictably responsible path.  She may end up doing something with animals, like becoming a vet.  She already says she wants kids, so I hope she finds someone with whom to make that happen, as raising kids in a partnership is definitely easier. Zintis will, I think, do something wild.  He may take a more alternative path.  He loves numbers and math, and has a unique way of thinking when it comes to them- but he won't become an accountant.  If he uses his love of maths in the future it will be in an artistic way, or some wild crazy way that makes him a billionaire.  That would be cool.  Vilnis, if anyone will, will grow to be like his father.  Either his wildness will take him into actual sports, or, he'll follow directly in dad's footsteps and become a PE teacher.  But he'll have to get all that energy out somehow.  Or maybe he'll follow in his godfather's footsteps and be an outdoorsman.  I could see that.  He'll be giving us all heart attacks climbing cliff faces without any kind of safety measures or something.  And Johans, well, it's really too early to tell just yet.  But whatever he does, my guess is that it will be a serious job to which he brings joy.  Because so far, he is my most serious baby yet, but then, given a reason to smile (like a diaper change) he is just all smiles and giggles.  He'll make people smile, that is for sure. 

Anyway, that's all a mother's crazy predictions, and I wouldn't put money on any of them.  These kids will grow up to be ordinary humans, each extraordinary in their own way.  

This year, Joel and I will celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary.  10 years!  It hardly seems possible it was that long ago until we look at our soon to be 9-year-old daughter. :)  In any case, now that we're done baby-making, we still have to get through baby-raising of course- no small feat- but, certainly, it will mark a new phase in our relationship as well.  Within two years, I will no longer have a baby at home, within 3-4 years I will no longer have a nursling.  It won't be too long until we're no longer tied down to small children that need us ALL THE TIME.  We'll still have 4 kids, and I know they will always need us, and I know the demands will change over time- Beni is already giving us a preview of the shitshow the teen years might be- but, it will be different than a tiny baby who literally needs your body to survive.  Who knows what will open up for us, and what we will have to sort through as a couple.  But, I am pretty clear there will be some stuff to sort through.  Focusing on babies for 9 years takes a toll on a relationship.  It changes people.  And Joel and I will have to find our new connection.  The focus shifts for us- from growing to establishing.  Like, before, our family was being added to all the time.  Now, we're all here and it's about establishing who we are as a family.  

I wanted another girl.  We have 1 girl and 3 boys.  Of course, we do.  That was meant to be the way it is.  Johans was meant for our family.  His sweet little smile is the perfect launching point into the future.  Because this is us.            

Does anyone even write blogs anymore?

I mean, really.

The thing is, I need to. 

I need to write.

I need to put words together and get them out of my head. 

Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they are measured and sure and thought out.  Other times they are a rant- fast and violent and aggressive and possibly something I'll regret later.  Sometimes its just loving on my kids or my husband.

Well. 

Whatever it is.  I need to get these words out. I need to use my time and my energy to do writing.  And since I'm not writing anything else, I'll write a blog. 

I'm back. 

Watch this space.

Confessions of a mother

This summer, I did something that still rocks me to my core, if I think about it too long.  Not because it was great.  Not because it was fun.  Not because it was awesome.   But because it was completely awful and could have ended with the worst possible ending that ever could happen ever in the history of ever. 

It was our last day in the US.  Joel had been packing all day, the last 2 days actually.   He was trying to fit in all the things I insisted we needed to cart back across the world.  I was trying to help him, while also taking care of the kids, and handle other last minute things.  One of the things that needed handling was the return of the rental car I had used all summer.  We had already picked up the minivan that my mom would drive us to the airport in.  The only problem was, mom wasn't with us when we went to pick up the minivan.  She needed to be on the rental contract because she was the one that would be driving and returning the car.  But, they require photo id of all drivers that want to be put on the rental contract.  So, we had to go back, with her and her id, to get her put on it. 

It was late in the day.  Dinner time was nearing, and we still needed to drive all the way across town to the airport to put mom's name on the rental.  Mom and I decided to do two birds with one stone - we would run that errand, and then pick up dinner on our way home.

At this point, Joel had already packed all the suitcases into the minivan.  The vehicle was FULL.  Seats were moved into the only position they could be in.  Every inch of space in the rear cargo space, between seats, where there was meant to be foot space - it was ALL full of suitcases.  3 car seats were installed in the only optional configuration.  Joel would have half an actual seat to sit on for the ride to Chicago.  The car was full and Joel was stressed out and exhausted, so, as I normally would anyway, we grabbed the baby, strapped him in, and off we went. 

Mom and I were having a hilarious conversation on the way to the rental agency - trying to figure out where to order dinner from, then trying to figure out where the restaurant was located, and then trying to figure out what to order.  We ran into the normal struggles of the tech/Internet savvy person being at the wheel, and mom being ridiculous about all of it in the passenger seat.  It was silly.  Vilnis slumbered peacefully in his car seat the whole way. 

When we arrived at the rental agency, I finally snatched the phone from my mom, called the restaurant, and ordered dinner.  Then we hopped out of the car and headed inside to handle the paperwork.  The errand went as easily and quickly as expected and mom and I were getting back in the car no more than 5 minutes later. 

I turned around to back the minivan out of the parking spot, and my heart dropped into my stomach.  

"MOM!"

She jumped. "Did you hit something?"

"MOOOOOOM!!!!!  WE LEFT THE BABY IN THE CAR!"

He was just sitting there.  Still sleeping.  All strapped in and safe and completely oblivious. 

I backed out and exited the parking lot.  I'm pretty sure I was in shock and probably shouldn't have continued to drive at that moment, but I did.  As we drove to the restaurant, mom and I chattered nervously about what we had just done.  We went over how wrapped up we'd been in ordering dinner.  How we were in an unfamiliar car.  He was sleeping.  Everything was different.  We were both emotionally exhausted at the thought of myself and my family leaving the States again the next day.  We were not ourselves. 

When we reached the restaurant, I went in to see if our order was ready, but it wasn't.   I came back out to the car, and now,  I finally opened the back door.  I looked down at my sweet, sleeping 7 month old, at his innocent, unaware face. 

I leaned in and covered him in kisses.  I apologized profusely for being the worst.  

Good mothers don't forget their babies. Good mothers don't leave their babies in cars.  Forgotten babies die.  Babies in cars die.  Mothers go to jail for this.  People call the cops when they see a forgotten baby.  Only the worst, most irresponsible, horrible, uncaring, unfit mothers do this kind of thing.  Criminals!

I immediately ratted myself out in my private mommy group online.  Of course, it made no difference, but it was the only punishment I could think of and execute at the time.  Surely, I needed to be punished for this!

In the end, of course, we simply got our food and returned home.  We got the baby out of the car at home, and went about our night.  And the next day, I drove us to the airport, mom drove the minivan back to Kalamazoo, and that was the end of that.  I came back to Laos with all three of my children; healthy, happy and whole. 

I had another nightmare just last week about leaving him in the car.  It haunts me.  I could have been one of those stories.  I could have been one of those mothers.  It all happened so easily, and so quickly.  It happened without me noticing. 

I've heard about so many stories of children dying in hot cars, forgotten by their parents.  I couldn't ever imagine how a parent could let that happen.  Until, of course, I came this close.  Until, it all but happened to me.  I didn't think it ever could, and now I know that it can, because it did.  Vilnis and I are obviously surrounded by angels - the car was cool, it was a not too hot late afternoon, there was no line at the service desk,  and the paperwork literally took 30 seconds to complete.   The little guy slept through his near death experience without a care in the world.  He had no idea. 

I'm not sure what the appropriate end is to this post.  A reminder to stay present.  Pay attention to where you are, and what you're doing.

It's got nothing to do with loving your kids, or thinking of them.  I've spent the last 7 years of my life thinking of not much more than my kids.  I was one of those moms that other moms criticized for spending too much time with their kids, for being too attached, too connected.  I skipped date nights and nurseries and cribs and babysitters, because *I* wanted to do it all and be with them always.  And then I forgot my baby in the car anyway.  

We are all only human.  We all make mistakes.   And I can only only thank my lucky stars that our story had a happy ending. 

Where is that place?

A dear friend of mine is moving away from Laos in June, when her initial 2 year contract ends.  I don't blame her.  She hasn't been happy here; Laos just hasn't been a good fit for her.  I will miss her, and our weekly Taco Thursday dates, but I do not begrudge her leaving. 
She posted on social media today (after seeing yet another dead body in the road) about coming to the realization that she just doesn't like it here, and that that is ok.  It's the second part of that statement which is a big deal.  Every where you go, you're bound to find lots of people that are happy to be where they are.  Because, hopefully, most people don't stay in a place they hate forever.  Or maybe they do and I'm looking at this from a super privileged perspective.  That could very well be true. 
In any case, my friend brought up that she felt guilty for a long time about not liking it here.  Of course, there are people who have chosen this place as a forever home, there are people who find the culture and the environment magical and wonderful and can't imagine why anyone would complain.  And there are plenty of people who fall somewhere between.  But there are people who don't like it - and hopefully we don't meet too many of them, because hopefully they move on before too long.
My friend's realization, and her mention of guilt, reminded me of my own feelings when I left Latvia.  I so wasn't happy there.  I didn't feel like I fit in.  I stepped off the plane on every return with a sinking feeling in my gut.  Heck, sometimes it started in the last port before arriving in Latvia, at the boarding gate as I looked around and saw people who were clearly headed the same place as I was.  It wasn't good.  I felt super guilty because this was supposed to be the place I came from, the place my family and culture and traditions hailed from.  Heck, it IS the place all that came from.  But, it still didn't feel like home to me.
The truth is, surprisingly I have felt more at home in Laos than anywhere.  I don't have a sinking feeling coming back here.  But, is that because this is the place where my family has grown? Where we have MADE a home? Or just because I like it here?  I'm not sure.  It could be a bit of both. 
Between road construction, an endless hot season and just plain life,  I am so so so so so ready for a good long break from Laos right now.   But at the same time, I'm pretty sure I'll come back here in August refreshed and ready to settle in back home and into our life here. 
And so the question remains....where is that place?

My special little snowflake

Sigh. 

The longer I mother, the simpler I wish to make things.   Yeah, Beni got homemade purees for her first foods.  (Which she never ate, by the way! I may have lied about that on this very blog 5 or so years ago.  She hated purees!) Zintis got a few special foods here and there, mostly just stuff cut to the right size for him.  With Vilnis, I was basically planning on making sure whatever he was gnawing on had some nutritional content.  You know, as you do with third babies. :) 

Alas, it turns out Vilnis is our special little snowflake.  Vilnis is having blood in his diapers.  It's happened 4 or 5 times in his life when it's been visible to the naked eye. 

The first time it happened I took a picture, made note, mentioned it to a doctor at some point, but didn't freak out.  The next time it happened, I took pictures again, and sent my pediatrician friend a quick message on Facebook.  

Then it happened twice in two weeks and I started getting worried. 

Add to the blood that he's been a huge spitter-upper since the beginning.  He makes people gasp and make faces when they see how much he spits up.  He makes me change my clothes. I sometimes have to change his too.  He makes frequent sheet changes necessary. 

And then, add on to the spit up the fact that his poops went from being beautiful, yellow, seedy things to mucousy, green things.  The green maybe wasn't so much a worry (some say yes, some say no), but the mucus was. 

He does have 2 siblings and 2 parents who bring germs home from school, but he's been sick a lot, too.  Snotty noses are frequent with him. 

The one good thing, the wonderful thing that we can really thank our lucky stars for, is that throughout all of this he's been eating and growing and happy.  He's a happy spitter-upper.  He sometimes cries out before he toots, but, a little pressure sometimes causes that doesn't it?  Anyway, he's happy. 

But the blood.  So, I went to the doctor again after it happened twice in two weeks and after a good physical check-over (which showed nothing abnormal on the outside), we decided to do a stool sample analysis.  This came back testing positive for white blood cells (infection) and for blood in the stool. 

So, Vilnis's diet consists of one thing, which is mamma's milk.  That means that likely something that is getting to him from my milk is causing his issues.  So, in order for him to get a special diet, *I* have to have a special diet.  Good thing I love him.

So the first thing to go was dairy, which is the number one cause of gastrointestinal distress in babies.  No more parm on my spaghetti,  no more cheese on my breakfast bagel, NO MORE MILK IN MY COFFEE.   Killing me, dude, killing me.

But I powered through.   I found an "extra milky" soy milk which actually was an acceptable substitute for real milk in my coffee.  I had made it almost 2 full weeks dairy free, and close to a hopeful second stool sample analysis,  when he had another bloody diaper.   I was crushed. 

Not just because I can't have milk in my coffee.  Because I'm so sad that my baby is suffering, even if silently.  I'm so sad that what I'm giving him isn't best for him right now, as it's causing him issues.  I just want him to be ok.  And man, I really hope he doesn't have gut issues forever. :(

So, a quick consult with the pediatrician,  and we've decided that I should cut out soy, and then eggs.  Frankly, at this point, I'm just doing my best to take out both, because I don't particularly want to wait to see soy not make a difference and then wait again to see if eggs do. 

So, my diet is now dairy, soy and egg free.  Can I tell you, this is not easy living in Southeast Asia.   Soybean oil is the favorite, cheap oil to cook EVERYTHING, and of course, soy sauce is in a LOT of stuff.  Dairy is pretty easy to avoid as long as I don't want to eat any complete western meal.  Hold the cheese, hold the butter, hold the milk.  Yeah, I'm just gonna cook at home, thanks. 

So, my special little snowflake, my delicate little flower, baby #3 is demanding more.  He's not letting me get away with feeding him food just off my plate.  He's making me think about what I'm feeding him before I'm actually even feeding him. 

Tonight I whipped up a couple baguettes just so I could have some bread and know it's safe. 

Watch this space for updates.

Baby's first...

Airplane trip! Trip to the beach! Swim in the ocean! Swim in the pool! Stay at a hotel!

A whole lot of firsts for wee 4.5 month old Vilnis.  Trying my best NOT to add sunburn to that list...oh wait, he already had a sunburn once.  Yeah, oops.

It was a first for a lot of us yesterday at the airport when after getting everyone on the plane, we just sat there and sat there and sat there.  Trying to keep the kids occupied, at first I didn't notice that there was actually something going on to delay us.  There had been no announcements made, so I was just focused on the kids.  But then, I realized the lady in the window seat next to me kept taking photos and making videos out the window.  I realized there was a royal air force plane next to us.   I also saw a huge mass of uniformed people standing in perfect lines outside the airport.   And there was a red carpet and a super fancy car.  Finally, 4 choppers flew in, the car drove up to one, drove back to the red carpet.  A person was escorted up the red carpet and into the airport.  A few minutes later the plane got moving.  Actually, that whole thing delayed us by nearly 2 hours.  It should have been only an hour long flight.  Yeah.  Supposedly it was the princess.  The lady next to me thought it was the king, but others said this would be pretty improbable. We couldn't see close enough to tell. 

Anyway....thankfully this trip we chose to stay right near the airport, which means even though we had such a big delay, and arrived much later than we planned,  at least we didn't have to deal with a long car ride after the long plane ride.  Whew.

Now, Zintis woke up sick today - has been vomiting and burning up with fever.  Poor dude is pretty miserable.   :(  hopefully it won't last too long.  Beni had to be taken to hospital once while we were on vacation, so it wouldn't be a first, but, it's not really one we want to repeat.

The joy of possibilities

Yesterday I felt a giant swell of possibility come over me. It was a very welcome and sadly long since not felt feeling. 

I have a friend of a friend in town who is also a teacher.  She has worked at a couple different schools in the time that I have known her.  I've hung out with her a few times in social settings and I get a good feeling from her. 

Being that we're friends of friends,  we also became Facebook friends.  She was intrigued by my nails wraps.  She ordered some in the last big order I facilitated.   Yesterday, I went to drop them off to her. At her work.

Her work.  She recently (less than a year), quit her admin job at one preschool to buy and run her own preschool.  She is deeply dedicated to ideas which fall under the Montessori and Waldorf umbrellas - basically, letting kids be kids, letting them explore, be outside, get dirty,  use their imaginations, etc.

When I walked into her preschool, I looked around and saw lots of happy kids and babies interacting with loads of adults.  They were in the sand,  in the grass, running around chasing balls,  riding bikes and more.   Some were just cuddling.  I heard one parent communicate to her that her child had had a rough night, and she immediately said, "we'll do what she needs today - a longer rest is no problem."

My point?  I immediately got a warm, welcoming feel from this place.  It was nice.  

Now, we all know I'm not really the type to get excited about preschool and even less so daycare.  BUT, sometimes life demands things of you.  Our family's finances get pretty sad when we go down to one wage.  It's something we've agreed on because of how much I need to be with my baby, and Joel knows that, but it doesn't make it any easier on our bank accounts. 

Plus, there is the fact that I really like to shop.  I enjoy buying myself and my kids and my friends things they need, things they want, things they didn't know they needed or would love as much as they do.  Shopping requires money.  Money doesn't grow on trees. But I can earn money! By working! But I have a baby.

This was the problem before...the time to get a full time job for next school year has passed.  And Joel and I both know our family would suffer (because of my inability to work full time, be a good employee  and be a good mom to a baby- NOT because it's not possible for others to do it) if I did go back full time so soon.  So the next choice is subbing.  The school often needs subs and they have been trying to get me back this school year already.   But I'm not leaving Vilnis at this point.  Plus also,  I have no one to leave him with.  He's 4 months old and we don't have a nanny.   You see where this is going.

The dilemma for subbing next year was the child care.   Would we hire a full time nanny, and only make her work on days I got called in?  Would we end up paying her more than I earned some months? Seems silly. 

But now....there is a new possibility.  This preschool/daycare takes children from 6 mos old.  And they take kids on a drop-in basis, with a little warning.  So, if I can SCHEDULE sub jobs ahead of time - when people know they will be out on professional development or unpaid leave or whatever,  then I can pay just by the day for child care! 

This begins to turn into a big win-win - win! 

Vilnis is the happiest, most chill baby ever.  Right now he's sleeping next to me.  He'd already eaten, and was acting very tired,  so I laid him down, popped a paci in his mouth and covered him with a blanket,  and he just fell asleep.  (Let me tell ya, the other 2 NEVER did that!) He is also very social and loves smiling at people and watching his siblings - so he seems like the type of kid who would enjoy an out of home care setting.  It wouldn't be stressful to him.  And thankfully, with subbing, I aways have the option to say no. 

I honest to god wish we were rich, that we didn't have to worry about money, that I could stay home and take care of children and our home and managing our lives.  I'd be happy to fill that role for quite some time.  But it's not the card we've been dealt, it's not a situation we've managed to create.  So, next best thing - finding a way to be able to earn some money, and know that your kid(s) are in good hands.  Win-win.  And that feels really, really good.

Start saving for therapy now

Today started off ok, but got off track quickly.  Beni had a Girl Scout session today.  We were meeting at a Lao textile museum.  It was in a part of town I don't know at all, but I had directions that seemed straightforward so I thought we'd be ok.  We left the house 20 minutes before we were supposed to arrive, knowing it was supposed to be a 20 minute drive.  40 minutes later I was desperately trying to reach someone,  because I officially couldn't find it.  50 minutes later we gave up and headed home.  52 minutes later we got a phone call that uncovered the issue (there was a fork in the road that was not mentioned in the directions. Yeah.).  So, we finally arrived an hour after we left, 40 minutes late.  Needless to say, especially after realizing the problem with the directions,  I was not in a great mood. 

We get in only to see this was the week only 3 other girls made it.  None of Beni's friends.  So she instantly got shy.  Beni is a lot like me in that she can be crazy outgoing and confident, but in a brand new situation with people she doesn't know, she can also get stupidly shy.  When she does this, she clings, she mumbles, she whines, she baby-talks not real words.  She pulls on me and tries to practically get inside me. 

Sometimes, when I am in a good head space, when I can put the baby down,  etc, I can deal with this.  When it's not 500% humidity.  But when we're out and I have the baby and my bag and I'm sweating through my clothes and the lady who is supposed to be leading a tour through this place is useless, so there is nothing for me to even try to engage my daughter in.... and I'm already in a bad mood because I couldn't finish my coffee while driving  and I just spent 40 minutes trying to find this damn place....well.... then I can't handle it. 

I just couldn't.  I couldn't deal.  Stop whining! Stop mumbling! Stop grabbing at me and clinging to me! Tell me what you need.  Why are you being so shy? Aaaaaaaaargh!!!!!!!

Beni ran away crying.  Fuck. 

On the way home a terrible hour later, I tried to talk to her and as soon as I did, she was in tears again and said she didn't want to talk about it.  I finally got it out of her, and she says,

"I just wanted a hug, mamma."

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

What kind of mother refuses her child a hug?

Sigh. 

I apologized.   I told her how I was feeling, and that I was frustrated because she wouldn't talk to me and wasn't actually telling me what she needed.  We talked about it again later after we got home and I could look her in the eye and actually give her a hug.  I think we're ok. 

But... that feeling of being quite sure that you've let down your kid because they needed one thing - and it wasn't money and it wasn't a toy and it wasn't food and it wasn't candy - it was just you.  That's all she needed.   And I just couldn't.  

Tomorrow is a new day?  Tomorrow is a new day.  But, still might start tucking a bit away for those therapy bills. 

Happy Easter... I think?

Yesterday was Easter Sunday.  I wrote this post yesterday, and it wouldn't publish.  So, now I'm trying again.  Bear with me.

The kids woke to find a Thai blessing bowl with assorted chocolates - some of which were shaped like eggs, but not actually Easter eggs (Kinder eggs), some of which were Easter chocolates imported from France, and not a single anything that was shaped like a bunny.  They didn't really ask where the bowls (no baskets to be seen) came from, they were just happy to have chocolate before breakfast. 

Later in the day (after a totally not Easter brunch and a trip to the DVD shop), we went to some friends' house for an Easter egg hunt.  Again, the children super enjoyed running around the yard,  gathering up colorful plastic eggs filled with surprises - chocolate hearts (no, no bulk bags of chocolate eggs to be bought in this town), stickers, m&ms and gummy bears.  There was some mention of a bunny having been seen hopping away, but the frenzy of 6 children running around a yard more able to find things than ever before in their lives, put any stories or questions as to the origin of this magical activity in the background.  Again, more chocolate?  Yay! Mom gets the gummy bears.

So, we have just "celebrated" the most secular Easter ever, perhaps.  And again, I find myself a little annoyed with myself and wondering what were doing. 

On Saturday night before I went to bed, I asked Joel if he would put the bowls together for the kids.  Yes, he said.  Then I asked what we would tell the kids about these bowls.  It was late, and Joel shrugged.  He didn't really know or care - especially not at that point in the day. 

Joel grew up celebrating religious traditions which are not a part of our created family life.  So there's no, "this is what I did growing up, let's do the same with our kids" for him when it comes to Easter.

I grew up celebrating Latvian traditions with roots in the natural world.  Celebrating the spring equinox, the change of the seasons, the rebirth of plants and animals; it all still makes sense to me.  The traditions feel close to my heart and like ones that I am happy to pass on to our children.  So why aren't I? 

It's the dissonance of tradition and reality.  I grew up in an environment (Michigan) very similar to the environment the traditions hail from (Latvia).  The spring equinox is the spring equinox.  But, here is southeast Asia, it's not spring.   If anything most plants seem to be ending a cycle right now, as leaves scatter in massive quantities.  The weather is generally hot, though it was a wonderfully,  surpringly cool weekend this weekend. 

So, celebrating the beginning of spring,  when that is not what I am surrounded by, just seems odd.  While local Laos holidays don't generally appeal to me, it is understandable that the next big holiday, the new year, will be celebrated with water - both to cool off, and to welcome the wet season. It makes sense. 

So...happy Easter?  Happy equinox?  Happy beginning of the hot season?  Happy day of chocolate.  :)

Little things

Beni has a loose tooth.  It's her first one.  It's one of her front bottom teeth - likely one of the first ones she got way back when she was 9 or so months old. 
She's carefully eating on the sides of her mouth, and tried to talk me into believing that she can no longer brush her front teeth, lest she disturb this loose tooth. 

Zintis has a favorite saying.  He says, "true!" It's when he really, really wants you to believe something.   Recent phrases uttered, "Polar bears live in the attic - true!"

Vilnis.  Vilnis exists.  His first mention here.  Vilnis is the happiest baby that ever lived.  He smiles at pretty much every person lucky enough to lock eyes with him.  He will laugh if that person makes a funny noise.  Vilnis is such a third baby.  He demands all my attention, like any baby should, and at the same time is so very chilled out and easy going.  He is currently curled up on the couch sleeping, nursing a pacifier.  He doesn't really use pacifiers.   A few nights ago he fell asleep in my bed during bath time - he was sucking his thumb.  He knows how to do this, and is often sucking and chewing on his hands, but, he's not quite a thumb sucker.  It's as if, he just takes what he can get, and goes with the flow. 

If I can post from my phone....

Perhaps, since I'm never at my computer anymore, but always have my phone near by, perhaps, if I install a blogging app here, I might post some content.  Perhaps?

It does feel like I need to write again.  It feels like there are important and not important things to say.  It feels like, maybe if I can do it from my phone, maybe I will do it.  Perhaps?

We need to talk about this

We need to talk about depression.  We need to talk about mental health.  We need to talk about the things that make us human, that make us who we are, the things that connect or distance us.  Everyone has something.  We need to talk about it.

In the months since I've been formally diagnosed as depressive, and since I started taking anti-depressants, I've swung back and forth on the pendulum of expression.  On the one hand, I've wanted to talk about it, badly, because, I am that way.  On the other hand, it has at times felt like admitting to a failure.  I've worried what people will think about me if they know.  I've worried if they will trust me with their children in my job, or value my opinion as a friend.  You just never know what people will think.

But here's the thing.  This is why we need to talk about it.  Because you know what I realized?  I realized that I am a super successful person.  I'm educated.  I have a Master's degree.  I have a loving relationship with my husband of five and a half years.  We have two children who are, so far, healthy, happy, mostly polite and super smart.  We might not have a ton of money, but our life certainly is rich in experience.  And though we don't live in luxury (of course, depends on your definition), we don't want for things either.  All our needs are met, and many, many of our wants.  I have friends around the world! I have accomplished other goals I've set my mind to- like become a LLL leader, and helping other mothers with not just breastfeeding issues, but loads of other things too.  I am a mother, and my children know I love them. They turn to me for anything and everything, because they know I am there for them. I'm a successful person. And I've done all that, achieved all of that, while battling depression.

I am not a waste of space.  I am not someone to be scared of. I am not someone you can't trust or count on.  I am a successful person who has achieved awesome things, and who also suffers from depression.    

And yes, sometimes my depression makes me feel angry about myself or my life.  Sometimes it gets control and I forget that I am worth anything, because the only thing I can see is a waist line twice as big as it "should be."  Sometimes it's hard to make myself take care of myself.  Sometimes I eat a lot in one sitting and then some more.  Sometimes, it's really hard. BUT, even so- I am still a successful person.

Which is why we need to talk about this.  Because some people just have mood swings, and other people have uncontrollable feelings which need some kind of help- whether that's therapy or medication or something else. But, we're all still people trying to do the best we can and it's nothing to be ashamed of.

So here's me talking about it.  Because on the off chance that you, the person reading this, is someone who respects me, who thinks I'm pretty cool, or pretty great or anything at all positive, then I want you to know, that everything I've done, I've accomplished while battling depression.  And, heck, now that I'm finally treating it, who knows what could happen next.  Watch this space. :)

Is it allowed?

Is one allowed to abandon a blog for 18 months, and then just return and pick up like it never happened?

Well, I might just do it.

I'm feeling productive.  As in, I feel like producing.

Sometimes I wonder what stands between me and the things I do, compared to other people and the things they do.

I hear people say things about how they do stuff because they are compelled to do it, or just can't not do it.  I'm trying to think of anything that could possibly be that way for me. I can not write, I can not read, I can not watch TV, I can not knit or crochet, I can not do yoga, I can not exercise, I can not cook.  I can pretty much not do a lot of stuff.  I can not do anything.

So, what's the difference between me and them? Is it something in my head? In my composition? In theirs?

I love doing all those things, and now and then I'll do any or all of them.  I've been drawn back to this here writing thing just now. But...

Well, let's see if it lasts.

To Zintis on your first birthday

Oh, my dear sweet boy!  You are one!  You are actually now a few weeks past one, but, here I am only writing this now.  Because this is what life is like now.  I hardly ever get around to doing anything I want to do when I want to do it.  There is always something else to do.  But this is important, so, before you're two, here is who you are at one.

You are amazing.  I am absolutely taken with you.  I watch you, and I say to your dad, "He is so fucking perfect."  Yes, I use those words.  Sometimes I say cute, sometimes adorable, sometimes awesome. But the point is, I just can't get enough of you, even though I see you every day.  I tell him we need to have 10 more kids just because you are so cute (ok, we factor your sister in there too, but, this is about you!).

You say Mamma.  You yell it.  You do it when you wake up at night if I'm not there. You do it when you're hungry.  You do it when you're in the backseat and you can't see me.  You yell Mamma all the time.  I love it.  You also say Tetis, although it sounds a bit more like Tdetde. But it's clear what you mean.  We're all waiting anxiously to hear what you will call Beni.  This is the time when nicknames are born.

You walk.  You practically run.  You started walking *just* before you were 11 mos old, and then you quit totally for a week, and then you got back to it, and never went back to crawling.  It was weird really.  But, once you had the walking thing down, you were D.O.N.E with crawling.  In fact, you try to walk everywhere now, including up and down stairs, and it doesn't always work out so well for you.  Luckily, no major injuries have been sustained, but we're here to catch you, most of the time. You know think you're hilarious when you walk backwards, when you run away from someone at any time.  You laugh at yourself.  I haven't seen anyone manage to not laugh with you.

You are so very aware and alert. You watch and you listen and you copy.  I still can't get over how much you understand.  When I ask you if you want to take a bath, you walk to the bathroom (or to the gate at the stairs, and ask to be let through).  When I say it's time to go, you start waving goodbye to people and find your shoes.  When I say it's time to eat, you go straight into the kitchen.  When I ask for a kiss, you come at me with a gaping mouth, ready to slobber all over me, and then smack your lips once you pull away.

You love, love, love the bath.  You scream bloody murder every night when we take you out. Every night.  It gets a little old, but, yay for another water baby.  Your dad is going to start taking you to the pool soon, and teaching you to swim, and I hope you'll love that too.

You love to clean!  It's hilarious!  You walk around with the broom any chance you get.  At home (in Laos) we have little brooms and dust pans that go together that you carry around ALL. THE. TIME.  Of course, you are still at the point of making a bigger mess most of the time when you try to help, but, hey, you're so freaking cute, so we forgive you!

You love to dance.  I fell in love with the band The Lumineers when you were about 6 months old, and then they were all I listened to for a long time.  When you hear the first bars of "Flowers in your hair", the first song on their album, you just start bouncing.  It's hilarious.  I love to watch you try to get the hang of dancing.  Right now, you more so bop up and down, or you walk around.  Most wouldn't call it dancing.  But it's developing, and I can't wait to see where it goes.

When you want something you grunt and groan.  You kind of sound like a monkey.  You do a "oooo oooo ooooo" when you really want something.  You love to brush your teeth.  You HATE diaper changes right now.  You don't particularly like getting dressed, except you love putting on socks and shoes.  This is new to you, because in Laos you basically haven't worn shoes as you never needed them.  We're in Australia during the school holidays, and it's winter, so socks and shoes are a must.  You carry your shoes around and try to put them on yourself. You are completely incapable of doing it, but you try.  And it is adorable.

You're starting to play with cars.  You're even making car noises.  You love balls.  You push around this little wooden "lawnmower."  You love to play with any toy you can push- your walker, your sister's doll stroller.  Heck, you love to push chairs around if you can!  You color and draw too.  It surprises me.  But you hold writing instruments like you've always known what to do. You love animals.  Well, you love watching them.  We've taken you to a zoo and to a farm, and you just sit and watch those animals for hours.  You have a much longer attention span for them than your sister, which is impressive.

You have a weird obsession with bottles.  Shampoo bottles.  Lotion bottles.  Toothpaste tubes.  Diaper cream tubes.  It's the caps you like.  You like to pull them open with your teeth.  Sometimes you try to suck stuff out. It's gross.  But you scream at us when we take them away from you.  Geez.  

You are a cuddly, happy boy.  You've recently discovered the world beyond me.  You love your dad, and will go to him, cuddle him, and kiss him, too.  But you're still my cuddly boy.  You lay your giant head on my shoulder and I hold you close and will you to stay small like this forever.  You smile and you laugh and you're just so, so, so perfect.    

Life has changed in your first year.  Hell, it's been tough.  It hasn't been an easy year for our family.  You were an impossibly large bright spot- but we struggled through financial woes, me going back to work, dealing with your sister who went from terrible twos to terrifying threes.  It's been rough.  But you have brought light and laughter and smiles to life day after day after day.  Now that I am back at work, I miss you terribly in the days.  I let you nurse all night, because I need you close as much as you need me.  That said, I love that you sleep better than your sister ever did.  But I'm not hurrying you to your own bed any time soon.  I'm sad I'm not around to be with you during all the days anymore.  But, the plan is to push through a couple years so that we can eventually have an even better life in just a few years.  Trying to keep my eyes on the prize, and just enjoy you as much as I can in the meantime.

I adore you as a toddler.  I loved you as a baby.  I mean, I was head over heels with you as a baby.  But you're like a drug now.  I want more.  I love watching you grow and learn and do new things.  I'm looking forward to hearing you start talking.  I know that might be a way off... but, you already have those two words and you use some sign language (nurse, more, drink, eat).

You're getting so big.  You're wearing 18-24 months size clothing, your head is humongous.  You eat so well- Baby Led Weaning for the win!  You feed yourself, and you eat all kinds of stuff.  Actually, you've just recently had your first eating "lull" when you went through a phase of not eating much at all, and it was super weird.  The good news is that you are still nursing plenty, which gets me through the eating lulls, but also means that you still smell like baby.  You still have milk breath.  I'm holding on to that.

We have so much fun ahead of us, but, I love you so much the way you are.  You're the best.  In all those years I was scared to have a son, I obviously had NO FREAKING CLUE what a gift you would be.

I love you, baby boy.

Happy birthday.    

Ready to quit!

There are little things that have started to push me over the edge with living abroad.  I already mentioned long ago (maybe the autumn of 2011?) that I was missing being home because I didn't like that my kid was missing out on some traditions and celebrations that just don't translate to other places.

Having had my mom visit recently made me REALLY realize just how much I like having family around.  And yes, by that I do mean my family of origin.  I do adore the family I married into, but, I don't think many would argue the fact that you can't replace your family of origin.  When my mom visited, even though I was going through one of the most stressful transitions I've ever done (going back to work and leaving my kids at home), except for one very bad evening, I maintained a fairly level head that whole time, despite everything else that was going on.  I attribute the ease of the transition 100% to her being here.

There is this thing too, when you live abroad, and you don't have a lot of close people around, where your spouse becomes your everything even more than usual.  A close relationship with your spouse is a good thing, no doubt.  But expecting your spouse to be....I was going to make a list, but, the list of people that your family, friends, and various support groups are in your life is just too long to write out.     It puts needless stress on a relationship.  It can make it harder to get through tough times.  And it does make you closer too, but... yeah, it can be tough.

But, there are these other things that are doing me in right now, beyond missing family and location specific traditions/holidays.  And it's little things.  Like, so little, you're going to shake your head at me... but these are the little stressors that build up over time until you're like, "Holy crap, make it stop!"

While my mom was here the tub that we use in the kitchen sink (because we don't have drain stoppers in the kitchen, and we have never been able to find any that fit, so, we had to finally buy and use a tub) got broken somehow.  It cracked in one corner. I don't know how it happened, but I can tell you this- we hadn't had it that long.  And you're thinking, "What's the big deal? Go get another tub."  Well, fine, I will... but I have to go to THAILAND to get another tub! Yes.  I have to go across the border into another country to get a tub that is the right size and shape for my sink.  And, last time we were in Thailand this happened and then that happened, and I went into this store, and Joel went to that store, and the kids were sleeping, and next thing you know, we're back in Lao and we don't have a tub.  So we're washing dishes with running water again. Until next time.

While we were on vacation last week, we were in Thailand, in Bangkok and with some friends down in Rayong.  It was a lovely 10 days away.  And every night, the kids would have a bath or shower.  Then we'd put their pjs on, and brush their teeth, and we'd brush Beni's hair.  But not before spraying it with detangler.  She has very fine, easily tangled hair- so even just washing it makes it a rat's nest.  So detangler is a must.  Well, guess what?  On our first night back, there was no detangler.  It got left somewhere.  Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!  Now, we're back to using this cheapo brand we got in Australia which should be fine right? I mean, what kid needs $13 a bottle hair detangler?  Well, actually, this cheap stuff, if you use more than 1 spray (you need like 5 for it to work), leaves Beni's hair gunky and nasty.  Like, might as well just not even wash it.  While the $13 a bottle one from the States works fine, even with a good 5 sprays...but as you just read... it comes from the STATES! You can't buy it here.  And now you want to say to me... but come on... it can't be that bad.  HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO BRUSH A LITTLE GIRL'S HAIR WITHOUT USING DETANGLER???? HAVE YOU EVER EVEN SPENT 5 MINUTES WITH MY TODDLER??? Holy mother of God... someone send me some more detangler!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's a freaking global crisis!!! SOMEONE GET US SOME DETANGLER!!!!  (California Baby brand, please!)  You know the real pisser? That bottle was new. My mom only just brought it with her when she came, so we didn't own it for even a month before it got lost, which also means it was basically full.  Which makes me feel even worse of course!

Because also, you think to yourself... "but come on, you're traveling to a foreign country with two children, staying in two different spots, going from place to place literally by plane, train and automobile (and tuk-tuk), you're bound to lose something along the way."  Yes, it's true... traveling with kids like that means something inevitably gets left somewhere... but, it wasn't the lotion, which I have 3 more stockpiled bottles of at home.  It wasn't the soap/shampoo which I can buy here.  It wasn't anything but one of the few things that you can't get here, is expensive, and probably illegal to ship because it's a freaking liquid!  Do you see what I'm saying here???

Now, my point, if you haven't understood it yet, is that I'm losing my mind, and it's these little things that are doing me in.  Obviously, I am WAY TOO UPSET over a tub and some detangler.  But these little things make a huge difference in my life.  They mean being able to wash the dishes with warm water (since only cold comes from the tap, and we have to boil it to have warm). It means being able to SOAK dishes.  It means having only a level 11 (out of 10) tantrum after every bath every night instead of a level 20.

I have been told sometimes that life "back home" is boring- suburbs, shopping malls, tv and McDonald's- boring.  But the longer I stay abroad, the more I think the only reason living in some of the places I've lived ISN'T boring is because life is so freaking hard you don't have time to be bored!  Because you have to spend your time doing things like driving across the border to get a tub.  Or running around to 3 different grocery stores and a couple markets to find all the ingredients you need for a certain dish.

You know what?  I'm ready for easy.  I'm ready for being able to get through things like shopping and laundry and dishes easily.  I'm certainly ready to be near my family again.  Bring on the boring... because boring also includes theater, movies (at the cinema), grocery stores and farmers markets and health food stores coming out my ears, concerts (and I don't just mean the 1 concert a year that everyone goes to because it's the only one to go to- I mean, choose your band, see where they are playing and go!), libraries, parks...eh... another list that is too long to write in its entirety.

So, yeah... this is what's going on inside my head... just in time for us to decide that we probably won't be leaving Lao until 2015 for sure.  So... two more years of "not boring".  *Sigh*  Thankfully there is lots I like about living abroad too... but that's not what this was about....