Walking to School with Charlotte

Every once in a while my schedule allows me to enjoy a slower morning (not the crazy scramble for a 6:30 departure, followed by a 45 minute commute, and a 7:30AM class start time). On these rare mornings, instead of rushing off to school, I accompany Charlotte to her school.

It is a short walk. Just a meander, really. Up our brick-paved street, past the columns of towering palm trees, a morning greeting of "Salamat Pagi" with the embassy guards at  the green gate, across the street from, Hero, our neighborhood grocery store, and next to the flower stalls. 

All along the way, Charlotte stops to smell and pick flowers. She wears a uniform, and I love to see her in her red plaid dress. A little school girl.

She collects a bouquet of flowers for her teacher, Ms. Sheryl, while keeping up a constant stream of chatting...about her school, her projects, her friends (Adam, Matthew, and Sienna), and her dance class. I nod and answer "uhuh" in the affirmative so she knows I'm listening. She pauses only long enough to hand me a flower to smell. 

Once we've entered the wooden doors to the school, Charlotte picks up her name tag. We climb the stairs together then she places her backpack at the "bag drop" near the front door of her classroom. I'm impressed by the neatness and order of things. Games and activities line the floors and tables, ready for the students.

When it is time for me to leave, Charlotte hugs me in an over-dramatic way. She clings to my neck, monkey-style, and grunts with the exertion of the hug. Then she looks over her shoulder to make sure Ms. Sheryl is taking note of this display of affection.

After I extricate myself from Charlotte's enthusiastic goodbye, I walk back down the stairs and begin my commute to work. It is always a bittersweet moment...where I try to balance my gratitude for Charlotte, her unconditional love, her great school, our walk together, and wondering if I made the right decision to work full-time.

I love my little girl so much. She is my sunshine.

What I missed

I've been waiting to write this blog. Waiting until I had time to upload the pictures of the Halloween I missed. But I never seem to have enough free minutes when I'm home...and I'm worried my thoughts about this will disappear before I can upload the pictures.

While I was traipsing around Australia, here's what I missed: two soccer tournaments, a basketball game, ten breakfasts, ten dinners, two family home evenings, two Sundays (both of which my children attended church sans parents, yes they were orphans), an elementary school United Nations day, and Halloween.

I'm not going to philosophise about whether or not my trip was worth missing all these family events because life is a balance. And I wonder if part of my enjoyment of the trip was knowing I had exchanged so much to be there. (Oops, I think I'm philosophising).

Here's what I want to record. I missed my kids. A lot. Especially on Halloween. I thought of them Halloween morning during my run along the highway in Katherine. As I watched the sky wake up with orange and fuchsia stripes, I wondered if Owen was fixing them a fun Halloween breakfast. As I handed out the spider and scull rings to the students on the bus, I wondered if Madi had helped make Tman's ghost costume. As I walked through the palm grove with hundreds of fruit bats hanging from the branches, I thought about how my own children would think it was very "Halloweeny" and cool.

And Halloween night, as I ducked and shimmied to avoid the pesky, flying beetles and braved the toilets with the poisonous toads, I thought of my children in their costumes trick-or-treating.

Now I will also confess in this blog entry that when I returned home, all was not perfect. I may have actually uttered outloud the following words in a moment of great frustration, "Twenty-two 14 year olds are easier than my own five children!" And in an effort to try to make me feel better for missing the family so much, Madi tried to comfort me by saying, "Don't worry mom. We missed you. But really we didn't need you here."  Ouch.

Quick tangent...I think the reason twenty-two 14 year olds were easier than my own five children is quite simple. My investment level (emotional and spiritual) with the students was minimal. My main job on the trip was to keep them physically safe. My investment level with my own children is eternal which makes my job never-ending and oh so important. So when my own five children have five very different needs all at the same time, I'm pulled very thin logistically, emotionally, and spiritually. I want to do a good job. That is what makes mothering so much more challenging than chaperoning.

Conclusion: I loved my trip. I love my children. I love being a teacher. I love being a mother. I'm grateful for both. It's a balance that I'm not sure I've completely figured out.

But here's what I know for sure: I'm going to try very hard not to miss another Halloween with my kids. Cuz, I really missed having fun with them on Halloween!

Snakes, Spiders, Frogs, and other Australian Wildlife

My first night in Darwin, Australia we stayed at Banyon View Lodge - a YMCA hostel. This HUGE stick bug greeted us in our bathroom:

Do you see how the bug is bigger than my hand??

And this was just the beginning. In fact, I like to think this bug was the welcome committee warning, "You ain't seen nothin' yet!"

There were some cute Australian critters. At the aboriginal cultural center outside of Katherine, I got to hold a baby wallabie.

In this case, the baby was not as cute as the mom. I thought the baby looked a bit alien or rat-like (but a whole lot cuter than snakes!)

This green fellow might appear cute. But just imagine him and ten of his friends lining the toilet seat at our campground. 

 

Yep, the frogs liked hanging out on the toilets - guess it was the best source of water they could find. They would peer up at me with their apathetic eyes, just daring me to go to the bathroom. Now imagine having to use the bathroom at night, not knowing if a frog is going to jump out of the toilet at any minute! Horrifying, let me tell you.

But the little green frogs were NOTHING compared to the giant cane toads at the next campground. 

These bulbous creatures are as big as an adult's foot...and poisonous! Their skin secretes a venom that is deadly for small animals and can cause a serious skin irritation for humans. Guess where these lovely animals liked to hang out? 

Yep, the bathrooms. The showers. And the toilets. 

We had the boys go in the bathrooms to scare out all the toads so we could take showers. I've never heard boys holler quite so loud. There was no pretending - we were all afraid of the cane toads. For my closest friends, and I mean closest (those who will not disown me, no matter what) I will share, in person and under strict confidence, what happened when nature called at this campground in the middle of the night. 

Okay. So I can deal with bugs, frogs, and toads. Snakes, on the other hand, make me fly into chicken-flapping-screaming-panic. While walking through the Cutta Cutta Caves 50 km outside of Katherine, our guide pointed out this cave dweller. The stalactites were home to these venomous snakes who fed primarily on bats. Imagine me, huddling through the cave, trying NOT to think about a snake falling on me. 

Here was a non-venomous snake we found at a rest stop.

Our guide thought it would be fun to let the students hold the snake. I was perfectly fine letting the guide hold the snake during my picture. Do I look scared? Cuz I am.

Which gets me to the last "critters" of Australia. The Australians were as colorful and entertaining as all the animals we saw. I found the beer drinking, shirtless men whose burps rivalled thunder, quite charming. Our guide named, "Sauce," (yes, as in tomato sauce) looked every bit of the crocodile dundee Aussie man - from his long scraggly hair and greasy beard to his tan shirt and shorts which I'm pretty sure he never changed out of during our seven day trip. There was Flick, our cook. Her short pixie hair was fuchsia and purple - as bright as bubblegum.  She swore like a sailor and cooked our morning eggs with a cigarette between her lips. But this was nothing compared to the drunk men who flashed us while we walked home from the late movie on Saturday night in Darwin. I think there might have been some silver speedos...but I averted my eyes as fast as I could.

We retreated back to our YMCA oasis to the chorus of "Who let the kids out, who, who, who?" (to the tune of "Who let the dogs out?") An entire bar singing us home.

Australia was definitely an adventure!

Do You Come From the Land Down Under?

10 Days in the Northern Territory of Australia with twenty-two 14 year olds. A recipe for crazy fun, physical challenges, and incredible views of aboriginal land. Three national parks. Seven nights of camping. Here are just the highlights - my favorite moments. I'll post about bugs, reptiles, and "colorful" people in the next few posts.

After two days of acclimating in Darwain at a YMCA hostel, we finally got our first taste of the outback. Here we are in Kakadu National Park where we hiked to the top of a Mesa. The Australian outback spread out before us in all directions. 

I kept having dejevu moments because the outback is so similar to Southern Utah and the four corners area in the US: the mix of spring green trees, rusty red rock, and blue sky. I found myself thinking often of Owen and the time we spent together exploring, hiking, and camping during our courting and first years of marriage. To say I missed him and wished he was with me are huge understatements.

The next day we hiked up to Gunlom plunge pool - a series of natural infinity pools at the top of mesa. I swam in the emerald pools. I felt the heat of the bright sun on my shoulders and back. I listened to the splashing and laughter of the students. I breathed in the warm, clean air. And I looked across the vast expanse of land so primitive, raw, and beautiful - and I was grateful to see nature, such a respite from Jakarta city life. 

 

On day four we kayaked Katherine's Gorge. I was grateful to my Dad for his years of "adventures" - all which prepared me for the hiking, camping, and kayaking. Wayne Kelsey and I were a force to be reckoned with on the river. My years of kayaking in Alaska paid off - I actually knew how to hold the paddle and steer. Some kids literarily couldn't kayak in a straight line. Some went in circles while others zig-zagged through the water, covering twice as much space as they had to. 

 

We beached our kayaks and hiked a short distance to the next gorge. Stunning.

 

My final favorite scenic moment of the trip was our last day in the outback - a hike to Florence Falls in Litchfield National Park. 

We hiked to the double waterfalls. The water was refreshingly cool - almost chilly. Such a refuge from our 95 + degree heat (both day and night). Here I am with Erin, a JIS student from South Africa. We swam to the waterfall, dipped under the pounding water, and touched the slick rock on the other side. 

Besides feeling extremely hot and longing for cold drink of water (the campsites' water was bathwater warm), the overwhelming emotion I felt throughout this trip was gratitude. I never dared dream to see this part of the world. And while I missed my family to the point of aching, I will be forever grateful for their support to let me go to Australia. 

Temple Blessings...in Bali

We arrive in Ubud at 2AM. The streets are strangely quiet, and the stars glitter above us. We are so excited to be here for the Ubud Writer's Conference. But we are too tired to truly appreciate the beautiful hotel, De Munut Balinese Resort, with the multiple pools, gardens, or even our private outdoor shower. We fall into bed utterly exhausted.

The next morning is a new day. I breath in the air, clean with a hint of flowers and fruit. The conference doesn't officially begin until Saturday, so we have a day to explore. Madi and I decide to try something new with my friend Shana (who is also here for the conference). We want to visit the Empul Temple. Our driver, Budi, explains this holy Hindu temple was built in 962AD. For over one thousand years, people have come to the temple to ask for blessings. With an adventurous attitude of "When in Bali do as the Balinese do" we drive north of Ubud to the temple.

Water pours from seventeen small fountains. I try to step into the cold water bravely. The icy water comes to my waist, and I can't see the bottom. We stand in line with a group of Balinese school children. We shiver together, our teeth chattering audibly.

 My feet maneuver blindly on the uneven stones. My toes grasp for balance. And I try not to think about what else might be at the bottom of the pool.

Moss drips with spring water, coating the black stone like carpet on the wall. Koi fish swim around my knees - I see flashes of bright orange and white. I wait in line for my turn. At the first fountain, I am tentative. I quickly duck my head in the water, soaking only the front half of my head and face.  The water is so cold I gasp, then panic reminding myself to keep my mouth closed and not swallow the water. I look up sheepishly at Budi who stands at the edge. "Your whole head" he instructs. "For full blessings, you must wash your whole head."

I am braver at the next fountain and submerge my head in the water. While the ladies in front of me offer their Hindu prayers, I offer my own prayers. I start with gratitude. I pray offering thanks for this day, this experience, my family, living in Indonesia, and my incredible job.

By the sixth and seventh fountain my prayers turn to pleas for blessings - blessings of health, joy for my children, to grow old with my sweet husband, safety, finding the right house for our family next year, publishing a book, health and happiness for my parents. My prayers pour forth like the constant water. And I am swept up in the whole experience. I think of the importance of water in my own religion - baptism, sacrament, washings and annointings. And by the time I've prayed and washed seventeen times, I feel very blessed indeed. 

Here we are at the end. Before getting out, I look down the long pool at the Balinese people waiting in line, and I know we are more alike than different. All of us pray for blessings. 

On the way out of the temple grounds, we walk through rows of shops and stalls. This beautiful Balinese child sands a Buda statue.  

She works alongside her mother. We pause for a moment to watch and admire. When we round the corner, I reach out and link arms with my own daughter. I am so grateful to be here with Madi. And I know absolutely, to be here in Bali with my daughter to attend a Writer's Conference, life doesn't get much better than this.

A new library for the Leprosy School

We get lost three times down the narrow, twisting roads, before finally arriving at the pink school behind the rumah sakit (hospital) in Tangerang.

But the search has been well worth it. The children of the leprosy village greet us with beaming smiles.

We arrive to attend the grand opening of the school's first library. Lena Paul, our relief society president, guided the project which involved cleaning and painting a storage room to convert it to a library. And then collecting and donating bookshelves and books.  

We enter the classroom and take turns reading a book from the new library. A missionary from Solo reads in the photo below:

We sing "Popcorn Popping" and "Primary Colors." But the favorite, by far, is "Head, Shoulder, Knees, and Toes."

Then the library tour! Oh the joy. The students file out of the class giggling with excitement, holding hands, smiling.

Then the strangest thing happens. The students stop just outside the library door. They pool at the bottom of the staircase. At first I think, "What's wrong?" Then I look closer. The children bend over to  remove their shoes as a show of respect. They line their shoes carefully on the ledge and enter the library.

A first look at the library.

Here, this darling boy puts his shoes back on after coming back from the library.

Following the library tour, we hand out a small bag to each child. The contents are simple: a pen, a sharpened pencil, and a small notebook. But you would have thought we were handing out tickets to Disney Land. Many of these children have never actually owned their very own pencil and pen before. 

What makes this moment even more special is the knowledge that the pens and pencils have been donated by Karen, my dear friend. Handing each pencil to their outstretched hand is like handing them love from my friend on the other side of the world. 

We walk to a stall at the edge of the school grounds to buy some bottled water. Packaged peanuts, bags of krupuk chips, boxed juices line the stall's shelves. A group of adults ask to take pictures with us. While one man holds his phone to take a picture, I notice the fingers on his right hand are missing and stunted to the middle knuckle as is the index finger on his left hand - a sure sign of leprosy. We converse with them. We shake their hands. They are the parents of the children at the school. 

As with all things here in Indonesia, although we have come to celebrate and to give a library and school supplies to this community, we leave with full hearts. 

My heart is grateful for children's smiles, for handshakes, for books, for a friend whose children sharpened 650 pencils to give to people thousands of miles away, and for the opportunity to meet a group of people who have so much stigma and physical pain but also have so much joy. 

Morning Drive

We pile in the car. We are a tangle of backpacks, instruments, laptops, lunch bags, and breakfast. I balance a red plastic bowl in my lap with my favorite breakfast: mixed berry yogurt with homemade granola (Katie's recipe), and my cocktail of vitamins (vitamin D, vitamin B, and acai berry).

Margono drives the car through the morning traffic. We stop suddenly as a motorcycle cuts in front of us. I hold tight to my bowl and waterbottle as an Ibu crosses the road flapping her hand at us (Indonesia's signal to let someone pass). Margono swerves to miss the occasional chicken and cat.

And somehow this mayhem of our morning routine has all become quite normal.

Inside the car, we eat, we chat, and we sometimes read (though the sudden stops and starts often lead to carsickness if we're not paying attention). We look outside at the hanging laundry, the bird cages, the motorcycle repair shops whose cement floors are black with grease, the colorful vegetable carts, and the children in their clean, pressed uniforms on their way to school.

My favorite part of these morning rides are the unique conversations I have with the kids. This week, Madi and I shared a choice moment.

Madi: "Look Mom, there's a monkey!" (Pause) "On a chain" (said sadly). "With his own tree house!" (Happy again).
I crane my neck to spot the monkey. Sure enough, there he is on a tree branch with a chain around his ankle. 
Madi: "I want a pet monkey."
I'm not sure how to respond to this so I say nothing.
Madi continues: "But what I really want is a bengal tiger!"
Me (in my mother-voice): "Bengal tigers are dangerous."
Madi: "Not when they are young. When they're young they're like kittens."
Me: "So at what point would the tiger be too old for us to keep?"
Madi pauses, thoughtfully. Then with absolute seriousness she says, "I suppose we'd know the tiger is too old when it eats Charlotte."

It was a good thing Charlotte was not present to hear about her sacrificial position in our family.

While we sometimes use our car time to philosophise and catch-up, very often our conversations (as demonstrated above) lean toward the absurd.

Perhaps it's the exhaust and delusion-inducing nausea??