Month: February 2018

The good news is that Camille has been doing much better the past 2 weeks, generally peaking on Wednesday/Thursday, but struggling a bit on Sunday/Monday after having the weekend off of school. At this rate she’ll be fully adjusted by spring break and then we’ll get to start this nasty cycle all over again at the end of her two week vacation. Imagine me as an eyerolling emoji and you’ll understand how much I’m looking forward to that.

I was really happy on Sunday that she got on the bus with no tears at all. I thought we had had a breakthrough — the beginning of the week and off to school with a smile. Hallelujah.

I headed to the gym and an hour later my friend arrived and said, “You have a few missed calls from me. When I got to school Camille was crying and she couldn’t tell me what was wrong, so I suggested we call you.” This is not the first time that this friend has come to girlie’s rescue. Good grief. So much for my breakthrough hallelujahs.

“She stopped crying as soon as I dialed and gave her the phone, but when you didn’t answer, the tears returned.” Me, listening to the story: rolling my eyes and sighing. Another item to add to my list 1001 Things That Make Camille Cry.

“So I asked her, ‘Sweetie can I help you with your problem? Maybe I can fix whatever is wrong.’ In-between sobs she choked out, ‘I don’t know what country I’m walking with on International Day. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be with America or another country.'” (International Day is an annual event at all the international schools my kids have attended. Kids dress in clothing that represents their home country and there is usually a parade similar to the Olympic opening ceremonies.)

My friend, a fellow American, exclaimed, “Oh baby! Of course you are with America! You are 100% American. Don’t even worry about that!”

Her fears relieved, Camille’s tears immediately stopped, she sniffed, smiled, and ran off to play as if she’d never had a crisis of nationality. That girl … crying on Sunday over an event that isn’t going to occur until Thursday and stressed to the point of tears about something that is supposed to be fun … hmmm I have no idea where she gets that from.

Later that day I stopped by to see her at lunch and the first thing she asked me was, “Mom? Did you sign me up to walk with America on International Day? Because Aleena asked me what country I was with and I wasn’t sure so I was a little worried about that.” (Um yeah, I’d say that’s a bit of an understatement. Way to minimize, baby.) I reassured her that she is indeed an American and that I did confirm that she was walking with America in the parade.

Dressed in her red, white, and blue! (and tear free today)

With her teacher, waiting to walk with America. She was nervous because last year she walked with Calvin and she was sad that he wasn’t here this time. Ms. Bulluck to the rescue! She entered with Azerbaijan and then came back around and walked with Camille to represent the USA.

Here come the Americans!

Meels and Aleena. Friends, neighbors, and Americans.

I’ve been writing a bit, but not publishing since all my thoughts lately are about our future and I don’t actually know anything. We are 4 months from the end of school — the time when we should know something about where we’ll be in the fall, but it’s hard to believe that things will all fall into place between now and then.

Right now it feels like we’re in the clouds and things are drifting and floating past, but we can’t grab on to any of it just yet. There are a bunch of opportunities out there and more are coming Josh’s way every day, but we’re still drifting and waiting. He’s applying to different jobs, but hasn’t had any interviews yet. He’s met with a lot of different people, getting advice on his resume and making connections with people who know people who are looking to hire, but it’s all abstract, nothing concrete to grasp. Because it’s not quite time yet. It’s like standing on the beach, surfboard in hand, ready to paddle out, but needing to wait a few hours for the tide to come in so you can actually catch a wave. We could head out into the ocean, but would end up paddling around, wasting our energy. Not that I’m doing any of the catching or the paddling — that’s all Josh, who has been diligent in looking for opportunities, finding the best way into a company, and sending them his impressive resume (Seriously, he’s got all sorts of skills and experience that I was unaware of until I saw it all listed in black and white).

So we wait. Maybe April is when the sets will start rolling toward the shore? When those wispy puffs of air start to build and get heavy with rain? In the meantime, we aren’t nervous. Just excited. At least I’m excited (Josh may be a little nervous since the pressure is all on him). I have no doubt that someone is going to want to snap him up as soon as he’s available.

I have a love/hate relationship with some of the songs we sing at church. Many of them are older hymns, with Ye Olde English lyrics that barely make sense to me as a native English speaker, and I’m certain mean nothing to the majority of the congregation that speak English as a second language. Maybe they’re like me and google words they don’t understand or maybe they aren’t “word people” and blissfully skim over them in their enthusiastic singing. Meanwhile I’m parsing and studying and getting annoyed by shouldsts and blests in our songs and wondering why no one else seems to think this is a problem. If you are trying to teach people about Jesus and God’s love for us, why wouldn’t you use language that the people listening would understand?

Lest you think I’m being picky, even the classic How Great Thou Art isn’t easily understood by someone from a different language background. If I’m translating word for word, Art = paintings so does the woman next to me think we’re singing about God’s great museum?

My trigger word to this issue was good old ebenezer from Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, written in the 1700s. One of our first weekends at church in Abu Dhabi they sang this song and when we got to the line Here I raise my Ebenezer my gut reaction was “What the hell am I singing here? (yes, even the hell part) Who knows what that means?!” So as the congregation went on singing their thines and thous I googled it and figured out that it’s a memorial stone that the Israelites used to remind them how God had acted to save them in the past. Great concept, terrible execution. In the 1700s Robert Robinson’s audience probably understood his symbolism when they sang “raise my Ebenezer,” but I can guarantee that most of the people in church today don’t. That line conjures up images of Scrooge McDuck being hoisted in the air (if you’ve ever seen Mickey’s Christmas Carol, you’re right there with me, aren’t you?) and distracts from the message of the song. And at our current church, they probably don’t have that cultural reference; it’s just a word to gloss over as they filter known words from unknown and infer meaning from the leftover phrases that make sense.

I’m about 10 seconds away from dropping a note in the offering plate and suggesting that someone be conscious of our second language members when choosing songs. Instead of:

Here I raise my Ebenezer,
Hither by Thy help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Hither by thy help I’ve come? I think that means we’ve gotten here because of God’s help. But by the time I mentally got there, the congregation would already be onto the 3rd verse . . . Instead of requiring mental gymnastics to come up with the meaning, we could sing something like:

My Savior
He can move the mountains
My God is Mighty to save
He is Mighty to save

I’m sure there are even better substitutes, but I quickly found this one that is in easily understood English and expresses the sentiment that God is our help and saves us in times of trouble. But for some unknown reason we keep singing about ebenezers, hasts, and hithers. Maybe I’m more sensitive to it because I’ve witnessed the struggles of an English speaker trying to understand the nuances of colloquial Arabic?

Sigh. Music is always the problem child in a church.

I’m back at the gym, doing my thing and getting bumped around. This bruise is from a rogue kettlebell I was lifting over my head that banged against my ulna (that anatomy class is still paying off, right Carrie?). Twice. It only hurts when I poke it, so of course I poke it all day long to see if it still hurts.I don’t mind the bruises as they are proof that I’ve worked hard and I’m getting stronger (or at least not getting weaker). I’m the same way with my mental scars — unseen by others, but I still feel the marks and the places where I’ve healed and view them as signs that I’m better and stronger than I was before.

My girlie is going to have her own scars and it drives me crazy (figuratively, not literally, thankfully) to see her struggling and not be able to fix it or change her brain. She’s currently in an anxiety cycle that started when we returned from Christmas break. Tears every morning about not wanting to go to school (she likes school, she’s just nervous before it begins every day), complaints that her stomach hurts, that she’s tired, that she misses her brother, that she’s upset about her uncle dying — probably all true, but from experience and practice I know that something is misfiring in her brain.She loves to swim, but she’s nervous about after school swim practice every. single. time. I’ve tried catering to her fears, ignoring them, bribing her with treats/toys for putting on a brave face, experimented with encouraging her to suppress her tears or express them . . . it’s all the same.By the end of the session, she’s perfectly fine and all smiles. Even eager to be first in line to jump in the pool. But we’ll wake up tomorrow and it will be Groundhog Day all over again . . .

I’ve always tried to be honest with my kids and share as many details as I know about our future, which at times are very few, but I can tell a good chunk of her anxiety stems from our uncertainty about next year. So, in a moment of desperation, I told her that we’ll be living in Abu Dhabi next year. I figure it’s 98% true since I’m 100% sure that Josh will be able to find a job here and the only question is whether the salary offer will be enough to cover housing and school for 3 kids. I’ve already told the school that I’ll continue working in the library next year, inshallah, inshallah. The instant I said it I saw relief wash over her face and I could see the weight fall off of her shoulders, but a 1/2 second later, because she knows how our life works, she asked, “Is it for sure, for sure?” I told her it was mostly for sure and we’ll just pray that it becomes for sure soon.

That seems to have helped a bit. I’m praying that she will be able to live in the present and not wrestle with the “what if’s?” of the future. Our sanity depends on it.

Winter brings the season of air shows — any festive occasion is a reason to send the jets flying into the sky. We live near the airport where they take off and land and school is about a block and a half from where they perform so we’ve been hearing them practice all week as they get ready for the Red Bull air races that are taking place today and tomorrow.

This is the “half time show” and we’re used to their hearts, circles and loops all in UAE’s national colors, but we still are mesmerized as the figures form in the air and then float away, blanketing the city in colored fog. Josh and I are spending the night in a hotel downtown with a perfect view of the airplanes as they soar high and low — a happy coincidence that it lined up with his birthday weekend.