Secrets

Let me tell you a couple secrets. First, I love summer. (OK, that's not a huge secret). But I really do love summer. I love having the kids home all the time. I love lazy mornings with big breakfasts. I love letting the kids stay in their pajamas. I love walking up to the swimming pool mid-morning and staying there until our hunger drives us inside for lunch. I love baking in the kitchen with Madi making cranberry coffee cake and homemade macaroni and cheese. I love staying up late watching movies - or lately, an episode of "Once Upon a Time." And I love answering "yes" to the request for just one more page from "Roll of Thunder Hear my Cry."

Now, more of a real secret.

Years ago, I gave up on my dreams of travel. I think once the twins were born, and the cost of life doubled, I put my desire to see the world, on a very dusty back shelf. I watched as friends and family traveled to far off places like England, France, Italy, Iceland, Holland, South America, and Turkey. I looked at their pictures, I listened to their stories, and while I was happy for them, I was sad for me.

Around the time that I was pregnant with CJ, I fell in love with a poem by Anne Campbell called To My Child. My friend, Karen, knew I liked the poem and framed it for me. It sits on my dresser. Here is a stanza:

You are the trip I did not take;

You are the pearls I cannot buy;

You are my blue Italian lake;

You are my piece of foreign sky.

I find peace and comfort in the words because they remind me that my children are so much more precious than any place I could visit...and they are worth any sacrifice. 

And now. Now, because of living in a third world country, my prospect of travel has changed.

Tomorrow our family will board a plane to go to Italy. For one week we will tour the Tuscan country side and visit Florence and Pisa. Then we head to Rome for a week where we will meet my parents. There we will explore the Colosseum and the Vatican and eat lots of Gelato. From there, the kids and I fly to England where we will stay with friends who live an hour outside of Oxford. (Just typing these words seems absolutely surreal).

To think that I get to see this...

And this...

 

And explore this...

When I try to wrap my mind around it, I get all weepy. Weepy with overwhelming gratitude.

And it is no secret that I am counting down the hours to a dream coming true - a dream that I had parked on that dusty back shelf years ago.

There is something truly sweet about the full circle idea that it will be with my children and dear husband that I will finally get to see my Italian landscape and experience my bit of foreign sky.

Italy...here we come. 

Things I Don't Want to Forget

With the school year wrapping up in warp speed, I haven't taken the time to write. And there have been quite a few moments, like snapshots, that I don't want to forget...

Three Indonesian boys huddle under a broken payphone in a rainstorm. The boys are barefoot. The smallest one wears spiderman pajama pants. Rain drips down their noses and chins.

I find Madi in her favorite teacher's classroom at lunch. She sits on the giant floor pillows surrounded by friends. They are laughing and chatting and playing games on their laptops. And I think...wow, one year has made such a difference.

I see my classroom for the first time. It is on the second floor. Big mural windows on the far wall open to a beautiful view of trees. I imagine lessons, discussions, wall-decorations, and I am thrilled.

I drive by a garbage picker in a rainstorm. She has three young children with her. One is just a baby that she carries in a sling, the other two children are just toddlers. She drapes a tarp over her garbage cart to form a make-shift shelter from the rain. They are filthy, and their eyes are sad. And I think my heart will break. I am on my way to buy pearls with some friends. Yes, pearls. The dichotomy rocks me to my core. And I cannot reconcile these two worlds that are really just one. 


Tman shows me his slideshow on the computer at school. He looks almost shy with pride (if that makes sense) as he hears his recorded voice recite all the accomplishments of the year.

Meya asks me if I want to eat a cookie not once, not twice, but three times during her class workshare presentation. She is such a nurturer, wanting to make sure I am enjoying myself.


I watch my children play hide-and-go-seek, "beckon", and capture-the-flag until after dark with the neighborhood kids. Hearing squeals of laughter as they duck under bushes, run through the grass, and charge down the road. Tman and Meya's cheeks are flushed when they come inside for a quick drink of water. It is almost a throw-back to a previous generation when people lingered on porches, neighbors chatted, and children played. And for a moment, the craziness of the world halts and I count my blessings.  

Leasie makes the difficult choice to join her class to go to the Indonesian school. She is completely out of her comfort zone, and her best friends have opted to stay home. I love seeing the confidence in her stride as she comes off the bus and announces that she was glad she went.

The heart-stopping phone call that CJ has hurt her leg while jumping on a trampoline with friends. Suddenly everything blurs except for getting help. Riding with my husband in the car to the SOS (International hospital here in Jakarta), praying for a good doctor and quality care. I am humbled as suddenly all priorities realign with absolute clarity. My children.

Watching my husband comfort CJ in the hospital. Her blond hair is a messy tangle (with remnants of gum) over his shoulder as he gently rocks her.

The flurry of kisses and hugs as we return and are greeted by four worried, loving siblings.   

I Never...

Since moving to Jakarta, I've had to swallow quite a few "nevers" that I'd uttered in the past.

For example, if you had asked me even five years ago if I thought I'd live in Jakarta, Indonesia someday, I would have said, "No, never." And yet, here I am.

I also never thought I'd run at 4:45 in the morning.

I never thought I'd substitute teach in Middle School...and like it.

I never thought I'd fall in love with a third-world country that is overpopulated and polluted.

And at the same time, I never thought I'd miss America so much.

As of last week, I can add another "never" that I need to amend. 

When I was in my high school history class, two decades ago (yikes), our teacher, Mr. Frank, went around the room and asked us students if we would ever teach high school. 

I replied, "Never."

 And yet, here I am.

I just signed a contract to be a part-time high school English teacher for the 2012-2013 school year at Jakarta International School.  

I get to teach this novel:

 And this one:

And this play:

And I never thought I could be so thrilled, nervous, determined, scared-out-of-my-mind, humbled, and excited all at the same time.

Life is full of surprises.

Overrun

It's been a little over a week since I posted about my new running schedule.

And after five early morning runs, I'm completely converted. The cooler air, the quiet, the easy-breathing. All good things.

I got to run with my husband Monday morning before the rest of the city was awake. And at the end of four miles, I felt so good that we went one and half more miles. I haven't run five consecutive miles since my last run in Virginia on my favorite trail about ten months ago.

It felt so good...until, that night my heel felt like it was on fire. Yep. An injury. I guess I ran too long too soon.

So I've had to scale back. But I'm not going to give up.

We're adhering to my mother's motto around here: Hoe to the End of the Row. My mom grew up in Idaho surrounded by potato fields. And as a service project, her family worked on a church farm hoeing potatoes. The rows were long. And I can only imagine how dry and hot it was. As she worked on a row, her dad (my grandpa) would tell her to finish what she started...hoe to the end of the row.

So for the next couple weeks, we're hoeing to the end. The kids are hanging in there as they finish projects and take tests. I'm nursing my heel, but I'm not giving up on my running. I still wake up early to exercise and to make a hot breakfast before school. I finished my last day of teaching preschool and hosted a preschool party.

Plus I'm gearing up for a couple adventures on the horizon (I'll post about those soon).

We may feel a bit overrun, but we're still going. And we're looking forward to celebrating all the good things that come when we hoe to the end of the row.  

Stumble

Running here in Jakarta has its complications. First, there's the heat. Each time I step out my front door, the air is bathwater warm - which is lovely, until I try to run. Second, there's the pollution. I've written about this before - the fumes, the grit between my teeth, and the nausea that hits me after about 20 minutes of running.

I've been running since I was six. My Dad would come home from work, and I would join him on his early evening runs. I entered races starting in forth grade. I ran track and cross country in high school. And when I had kids, running became more than recreation, it became a necessity. My therapy, my stress relief, my me-time.

But about two weeks ago, I actually entertained the idea of quitting running. At least for my remaining two years here in Jakarta. The nausea and pollution-induced asthma were making me wonder if I was doing more harm than good by trying to run. And unfortunately, I'm just not a treadmill runner (makes me go batty and messes up my ankles).

There was, however, one solution. I could get up early. Insanely early. 4:45AM early. And run before having to get the kids up and ready for school. That way, I would avoid all the traffic and pollution.

The idea intimidated me. Because anyone who knows me, can attest to the fact that besides food, sleep is crucial. I suddenly morph into Cruella Deville if I'm sleep deprived.

But I decided to give it a try. Last night, I set my alarm for the ridiculous time of 4:45AM.

The world was dark when I left my house this morning. But the streets were gloriously empty of motorized vehicles. I ran past guards sleeping on a bamboo mat in a driveway. A young man strapped ice blocks to the back of his bicycle for deliveries. I peeked inside the neighborhood Mosque and caught a glimpse of five men in white shirts and sarongs kneeling on their prayer mats. A bat flew beside me at head level for just a few moments. I ran from street light to street light and enjoyed the stillness.

As I rounded a corner, my foot caught on a speed bump hidden in the shadows. I took two lunging steps to try to regain my balance, then I skidded onto the asphalt. My right hand knuckles scraped where I was holding my phone. My knee took a beating. Again, I considered giving up running. But I brushed myself off and kept going, this time, paying a little closer attention to the road.

Then in the last five minutes of my run, the sky lightened from indigo to gray. The palm trees, gates, and houses looked black, like a charcoal drawing on white paper. And I felt that runner's high. That feeling that I could keep going.

Just as I finished my run and entered our neighborhood gate, I looked up. The sky blushed with the rising sun. Pink wispy clouds, like cotton candy, were strewn across the pale blue sky. An unexpected bonus for my early morning efforts.   

Anything truly rewarding in life, I've found, often comes with a price. To run here in Jakarta may require a little less sleep and maybe even a few scrapes and bumps. But if this morning is any indication, it will be oh, so worth it. 

4:45AM and I just might become friends after all.

I miss...

Today, I miss America. Very much.

It started with a trip to our grocery store. I knew it was going to be a big shopping trip because I hadn't shopped in a week. So even though the store is walking distance to our house (a HUGE blessing!), I took the car. When I arrived in the parking lot, it looked full, but still I asked the guard at the gate who was handing out tickets, Is it full? He shook his head no and handed me a ticket to proceed.

As it turns out, not only was it full, there was a line of five cars, just waiting for an open space. In America, when a parking lot that you pay to use is full, they stop letting cars in. And certainly, if you can't find a parking place and you go to leave, you don't have to pay. It's just logical. But not here. Not only was I unsuccessful in finding a parking spot, when I went to leave, they made me pay.

So I drove back home, enlisted the help of Meya and Leasie. And we walked back to the store.

I had some very simple items on my list. Flour, powdered sugar, chocolate chips, wild rice, and lemons. Back in the good 'ol USA, I would have had multiple choices of brands for each of these items (except maybe the lemons). But take chocolate chips - not only would I have had a choice of brands, but I would have to decide which flavor? White chocolate, butterscotch, peanut butter swirl, milk chocolate, semi-sweet, mint.

Grocery stores here can be hit and miss. And on this particular day, none (yes, none) of the items I listed above were in the store.

So today, I miss America. I miss the choices. I miss the bounty. I miss the plenty. Something that, until living here, I took for granted.

I have, however, learned to be flexible. So, here's what I did find:

And after an hour of washing, soaking, debugging, and cutting, we have veggies and fruit for the next few days.

Which reminds me - I also REALLY miss my bag of frozen broccoli from Costco. From freezer to stove top. Done.

Mother's Day Ammendment

My Mother's Day Confession post has created a bit of a stir in our home. Particularly with my oldest, who after reading it, shrugged her shoulders and was unconvinced by the paragraph of "joyful moments" that to her seemed more of an afterthought than the main thought. And after re-reading it, I can see where my effort to be truthful came across as whiny and ungrateful. I guess you could say I'm feeling a bit of writer's remorse (kind of like buyer's remorse). I could, of course, delete the previous post. But somehow that doesn't seem right. Because my Mother's Day Confession is full of truth...just maybe not the kind of truth my 12 year old likes to hear.

So instead...let me add this amendment post.

There are a lot of things I love. I love running on the W&OD trail in the fall with the leaves crunching under my feet and cool air filling my lungs. I love reading a book that makes me cry - the leave-a-mark-on-my-soul kind of book. I love sharing a meal with friends, talking around the table while feasting on friendship and delicacies like apple pie or carrot souffle. I love sleeping in, especially when the bed is warm and the pillow is perfect and there is snow on the ground outside.  

But more than these things, I love being a Mom. I love the baby rolls, the elbow dimples, the saggy diapered-bums and the newly potty trained underwear-bums. I love morning stories, the afternoon book snuggles, and the nighttime chapter reading when we're all in pajamas. I love making cookies with a child standing on a chair at my side - both of us tasting, stirring, nibbling, rolling, and sneaking.  

I love the adventures I've shared with my children. The fruit picking, pie making, jam processing kinds. The museum going, zoo exploring, puddle jumping, NYC enjoying, snow sledding kinds. The build a fort with every blanket and pillow in our house kind. The raising rabbits and county fair kinds.

And then comes the love I feel for when I watch (usually in complete awe) as my children are brave and do hard things. Like when each of the twins had eye surgery (Tman twice, Meya once), when Leasie faced her new school here in Indonesia all by herself (her siblings were all at the other campus), when Madi joined the boys soccer team and stuck with it. When my children make good choices, even when it's not the popular thing to do. These are the times when my mother heart gets so full that I am sure this is a little bit what heaven feels like.  

When Madi was first born, I experienced what can only be described as falling in love. I was enamored with her. She could do no wrong. I couldn't wait for each day to begin. There were times I actually woke her up from her nap, because I missed her (Crazy, I know). That's how much I loved her. I didn't think I could love any deeper.

And then Leasie came. And then the twins came. And then CJ came. And I have since watched Madi serve and help in our home. I've watched my children learn to love each other. And my love just grew exponentially.

Motherhood has stretched me to my limits. And because of that stretching and growing, I have learned patience and I have experienced the kind joy that only comes from serving. I love the opportunity in my life to be needed and loved and to have loved back with fierceness and tenderness (Momma Bear mingled with Mother Teresa).

I know when I look back on my life, family and motherhood will be what I learned the most from and where I experienced the greatest joy. Very possibly, motherhood will be my greatest test in this life.

But most definitely, it will also be my greatest reward.