Happy Father’s Day

Yesterday was Father’s Day. The day on Facebook when everyone tries to one-up each other with touching tributes, photo collages, and effusive praise for the “best dad ever.” Whoops. Totally missed that one. I’m serious when I say that living in Bahrain is like being suspended in a time warp, where every day is the same and then all of a sudden: AMERICAN HOLIDAY! Except by the time people in the US wake up and start posting about it, our day is already halfway over. Add in the Sunday as a workday twist and we are perpetually confused.

I hate to admit that last week (or 2 weeks ago? Again, time warp) Josh’s mom asked what Camille would like for her birthday and it took me a few seconds to realize that we were already in the month of June and ohgoshIbetterordersomethingfromAmazonTODAY! I’m glad I have people in my life who are on top of things because otherwise her birthday would have been sprung on me when Josh brought home the boxes of presents from the Grandparents that came this week and I would have been left wrapping packs of gum and tic-tacs for her gifts. Instead she’ll be getting a Doc McStuffins costume (I know, I wanted to get her an unbranded doctor kit instead of the commercialized Disney one, but she wanted to be Doc McStuffins and I am weak to her charms . . . ), provided it arrives on time. 
In spite of my failings, I hope both dads in my life know how much I love and appreciate them. We couldn’t ask for more supportive parents. Many people ask, “How do your families feel about you being so far away/living in the Middle East?” and it surprises them to hear that not only do you encourage us, but that you’ve also come to visit us in both countries. When we hear about families that guilt trip about the distance and refuse to travel to this region it makes us love you all even more. (Moms too. Especially when we have taken your grandbabies to the other side of the world. Sorry.)
As for this dad, my kids are lucky that I picked such a good one. I knew he was the one when I was working as a nanny and he would carry Joe and help me put his infant carseat in the back of my gold bug when we’d take trips to the zoo. At 21 he was already showing that he had what it takes to be a great parent. And we are glad he is home! 

We are also off schedule because Josh is home for 2 extra days (as a break from their extended exercise) so the 3 of us headed to the pool/resort today for swimming and lunch. On actual Father’s Day I forgot to wish Josh a “Happy Father’s Day” until I saw a dad hugging his son in the mall and Josh cooked dinner for us that night. Whoops again.


Tomorrow is the boys’ last full day of school (and they are debating whether they have to attend the last 1/2 day or not) and then we are on VACATION. Happy summer!

beep, beep!

(Picture this scene on repeat — that was today.)

My car horn has started honking spontaneously. It’s a part in the steering wheel that has gone bad, but in order to fix it the entire airbag module has to be replaced. I don’t trust the mechanics here to do it and it’s not worth $1000 just to be able to honk at people who need to wake up on the road. For about 2 months I went without a horn because Josh figured out how to cut the connection so it wouldn’t wake up the neighborhood every morning at 5:30 when I would drive to bring Calvin to soccer practice. (Just putting the key in the ignition would cause it to start honking continuously.)

Finally this week, the mechanic came and picked up our car to fix the horn problem. They rewired it and instead of hooking it up to a separate button as originally planned, they hooked up the leads to the original (faulty) sensors. I’m not sure how they thought it was fixed because the very first time I turned on the car, it blared at me until I banged on the steering wheel hard enough to make it stop.

Carter and I were driving home today and the horn was blasting — no matter which way I pulled at the steering wheel panel and how hard I bashed it, it wouldn’t stop. Picture me driving down the road with a horn out of control, looking like I’ve lost my mind as I’m punching the center of my steering wheel. I guess it was funny enough that Carter took a video of (one small part of) it.

Privilege

I’m sitting in my car, AC running (of course because it’s three degrees below the flames of hell outside) and the only place to park is right by a group of laborers grabbing a few minutes of rest in the shade. What am I going to do while I wait 10 minutes for Josh? Let me get out my iPhone and see what is happening with my Facebook peeps . . . ugh, that feels uncomfortable and very “white princess.” These sweaty laborers probably don’t make enough in a year to purchase an iPhone and a data plan and here I am with a cool artificial breeze blowing in my face, lamenting that my electronics aren’t loading fast enough. And they sit watching me, because that’s what people do here.

I have bags of groceries in the car, but nothing I can give them. I don’t think they want a slab of frozen hamburger meat or cans of cat food. If I only had some bottles of water or snacks in my car. Oh great! I just realized that they are having to breathe in my exhaust while I idle here. I’m not only rubbing my excess in their faces, but I’m bathing their lungs in cancer causing fumes. Awesome, Rob.

Living here means always teetering on an uncomfortable edge somewhere between self-preservation and sacrifice. Yes, it’s awesome that I have a housemaid who takes wonderful care of us and does every little bit of laundry in the house. But with it comes guilt that she’s there mopping the floor and I’m here on a very expensive computer. Giving her a job and paying her well means that she can send money home to her family and care for many people, but it doesn’t answer the questions of “why me?” or “Why her?” or “What about everyone else?”

I’ve decided to start keeping drinks and snacks in my car (in a cooler) so when the opportunity arises, I do have something to share. It’s not much, but in a place that treats laborers as less than human, maybe a little kindness will go along way.

Sometimes it’s hard to find the balance — how can we justify spending money on a trip to Italy when there are starving people in the world? Should I be eating steak when I could eat more cheaply on rice and beans and give the extra to charity? I think (I hope) those answers come by listening to God’s promptings. Just after having this conversation with myself and thinking that I needed to keep an insulated container in the car so I could carry food and drinks to hand out (because otherwise the water would be scorching), I walked into a store and spied an insulated bag on clearance for $3. “Yes, do this!” is the answer I heard.

It’s been an exhausting week. Josh came home, our best friends moved away, end of year goodbyes and parties right and left . . .

Camille has been wanting me to braid her hair “like Elsa” (from Frozen)

All the layers in her hair makes it difficult, but she was happy. 

She was happy that her daddy finally came home on Tuesday. I guess it was only 3 weeks, but so much happened while he was gone, it felt like more than a month. We had house guests, Calvin came home from Germany, end of year award ceremonies, a baby shower, sleepovers, and endless amounts of driving. 

Reading up on Rome and Pompeii in preparation for our trip. I gave Carter a similar (easy) book about Leonardo da Vinci and he complained: “I don’t like books with facts. I don’t even want to go to Italy. Everybody goes to Italy!” Of course, 3 days later, he’s popping out facts about da Vinci right and left. Typical Carter.

Oh that’s right, we were dog sitting too. Huck left for New York with our friends and I keep feeling like somebody is missing here at home. 

Last goodbyes

What my bag looks like these days . . .

And finally, a little comic relief. Of course it makes perfect sense to block off the handicapped spaces to reserve them. I’m sure people with disabilities have no problem getting out of their cars to move the barrier out of the way . . .

hook

I use this blog as a place to share what our family is doing so that family and friends who are far away don’t forget who we are, but also as a place to keep those memories I don’t want to forget. It has been invaluable when someone asks a question like “What did you do last Christmas?” On the spot, my mind is a blank, grasping at fog that fills the dark void in my head. But never fear, I can always go back and look at my blog history for December 2013 and remember all the little details of our trip to Turkey that I otherwise would have forgotten forever.

A few weeks ago we were talking with friends about babies eating lemons and making faces and it reminded me that Camille used to LOVE lemons. It was one of the only things that would keep her quiet. I knew I put it on my blog somewhere so I went back through my mental file: post evac, at my mom’s house . . . I can picture Camille sucking on a lemon while lying on the floor, that would have been right before we flew to Oman, so start looking in March of 2011. . . bingo! I know you’re all dying to see lemon-sucking Camille, so here’s a direct link: lemons! and more lemons!

In the spirit of minor splices of life becoming priceless memories someday, I had to put this (very short) story here: Carter came home from school this week, bounding into the room where I was reading. “Mom! I learned to read a spinny clock today! I taught myself! Each of the numbers around the clock equals 5 minutes!” I gave him the requisite “Yay! That’s great!” while thinking to myself, “You didn’t know how to tell time on a regular clock before? #awesomehomeschoolmom” In my defense, the boy COULD NOT read and I’m positive that any spare minute of instruction I had was dedicated to reading with him. Technically he would sound out words and I would fall asleep. We even started doing reading lessons in my bed because I gave up pretending to stay awake. It took 2 years post homeschooling and several teachers before he was finally reading fluently so I feel somewhat vindicated. And now he can read a “spinny clock.” Hallelujah.

The other funny story was from this morning. Josie told me that Camille came downstairs and said, “My mom said I can have candy. But don’t ask her.” I came into the kitchen to see Camille eating a bowl of candy, so clearly those tactics are working for her, but she’s going to have to get a bit more clever than that once she no longer has Josie under her spell.

On an unrelated note, one of the high school students that went on the trip to Uganda with Calvin made this amazing video (with a GoPro camera) so you can see a bit of what they saw. He made it as a project for school, so it doesn’t explain the mission of True Impact Ministries as a faith based organization, but it’s a fantastic glimpse of what they were doing there.

Mosaic

Because I need another hobby like I need a poke in the eye with a sharp stick . . .

I went to a mosaic class with a group of friends a few Saturdays ago. You pick a wooden shape ahead of time and upon arrival, you start with a blank board. Mine is the shape of a door/archway like we see all over here in Bahrain. Other options are camels, Bahraini teapots, palm tree, hearts, a mosque, and more. 

These two long tables are FILLED with jars of glass and ceramic tiles (and there’s a third table that’s not pictured). Me, a blank canvas, and 5 hours to create = heaven. Having a time crunch was actually a good thing for me because I didn’t have time to second guess my choices. I knew I wanted to do a door, so I found various light brown tiles and some dark ones to mimic the ironwork of the traditional styles. I thought we’d be using a super special adhesive on the tiles: nope! Just Elmer’s glue. You can see my glue outline in the top photo as I’m working on the sun. 
I love this camel with the bejeweled blanket over his hump
All my blank spaces are filled in! You want to lay the tiles with a small amount of space between them to make room for the grout (which is what actually holds the tiles in place eventually). I used a lot of square tiles for the door, but for the arch and the border, I had to use the tile cutters. They look like a set of pliers with two blades on the ends (red handles in photo), but the action is more of a snapping (like a nut-cracker) than a slicing or cutting. Aside from making sure that tile fragments don’t go flying across the table, it’s pretty easy. Some people were getting amazingly straight cuts, but mine all seemed to be curved or uneven. All day long I joked that it was totally the tool’s fault, but at the end of the day someone picked mine up to use it and said, “Oh, this one doesn’t work right!” So maybe my cut tiles would look straight and professional if I hadn’t had a broken cutter. Stay tuned for that update . . .

We worked from 10am until 3pm almost non-stop. The pieces are much bigger in person than they look in the photos and it’s a lot of decisions to make: color choices, shapes of tile/layout, size of pieces, finding the last few of one color to make your design work, etc. Around 1pm, the lady running the class served us all an excellent lunch, but I had to hurry up and get back to the tiles. (above are an elephant, camel, and coffee/tea pot)

By 3pm everyone has to be finished gluing so the tiles have a chance to set before applying the grout. We take about 30 minutes to sort all the leftover tiles that were pulled out throughout the course of the morning. Try finding the one jar with the metallic brownish gold tiles in the middle of a sea of glass! 
Half of the fun was walking around and seeing what other people did with the same tiles or how two camels, lizards, or mosques end up looking completely different. 

I love the reddish lizard that is at the top next to my door. You can’t tell from the photo, but it’s a bronzy gold and red glass that shimmers in the light. The bottom square one is a tree of life design that the woman sketched out herself. 

On the left is my friend’s mother/baby piece. She’s going to put a baby photo inside the heart and hang it as a frame.

After the glue is set, it’s time to apply the grout. Do not use this photo as an example for all of your future tiling projects. It’s too dry and thick of an application. 

The grout is pressed into every single crevice and then gently wiped off the top with a damp sponge. It seems like it is NEVER going to come clean. Wipe, rinse the rag, wring it out, wipe some more. 

Finally the tiles begin peeking through and the pieces are set outside to dry completely. 

After it’s completely dry, the individual tiles have to be polished with a soft rag to remove the haze from the clay. 
 
At home and on display!
It was so much fun, I already booked myself for another class. Carter and I are going to spend this Saturday making camels. 
And because no post is complete without a funny picture of Camille . . .