On Little Ys and Big Whys

Picture me, down a long hall in a dark room, surrounded by 4 little sleeping faces. Shouldn't be too hard. Got the pic? Ok good. Sleeping might be the only thing these faces have in common besides being in this place at this time. Jessie* and Jolene* are sisters but a shared last name is where the similarities end for these two. Jessie is a vivacious and sweet one year old who loves to be hugged and held. This place and our sister home not an hour away are pretty much the only homes she has ever known. Jolene is a different story. At two she is one of our naughtier kids. It doesn't bother her to pinch or hit or hurt someone else anytime she wants. You can literally watch her face soften as she drifts off to sleep but a troubled look still creases her face in slumber. Apparently she comes by it honestly. 1-year-old Yo* is a spoiled, charming little boy with a silly grin and wonderful hugs. His favorite people are Mama and Papa and often it takes one of them to quiet him down before he sleeps. And then there is almost-3-year-old Sammy*. She was a sweet little girl who only stayed a few days but apparently had been here before. A quiet child, she often sat on your lap or played peacefully by herself. Or with Landon* who made fast friends with her when he tirelessly pushed her in the swing for an amazingly long time. Darling little Sammy who understood way too much for her age, who cried and wrapped her arms around me when I told her she was leaving us.
 How do one and two year olds know enough to understand about their hard lives? Why do they have to understand that much? Why do they're lives have to be this hard? Why do these kids have to be here with 11 mothers instead of just 1?Why did I get so privileged to be able to have a wonderful childhood with loving parents who took care of me? Why, why, why???
 Why can't life ever supply answers to the questions it makes us ask?

*not their real names

On the Consequences of Life

It doesn’t matter if one is tough, they still get to a person. They come in many different shapes and sizes. They can be to big people or to little people. They can come after a few days or after many days.  They can be big ones of big consequence or big ones of small consequence or any mixture of big and small and consequences of equal or unequal sizes. They can happen to fast or too slow. They can happen unexpectedly or you can be expecting them yet not be ready for them. They can last for a few days or weeks or sometimes months, years, and even for eternity. Sometimes they are unknown. I have experienced them all. I am well versed in goodbyes. 

But goodbyes mean I am privileged enough to have loved and be loved. 

On Surviving Kitchens

 

For the last two weeks in this enchanting land of Red I have been stuck in the kitchen staring at white. Two endless weeks of doing dishes, setting tables, dreaming about recipes (not literally), trying to prepare fruits and veggies in a way little people will eat them (lesson learned: stick with the basics), and wishing to be outside with the aforementioned little peoples. And now l, 300 dishwasher loads later (probably more like 400 actually), I’m (pretty much) done. As I write this (May 16) I have one more day left (for now). While setting those endless tables (upwards of 20, 3 times a day) and doing those endless dishes, I didn’t always feel like I’d survive. The few breaks I got from these everyday tasks I had to cook for over 20 people. What lovely breaks. But I did survive it. My friend (John Green in Paper Towns <no I don’t highly recommend it>) who stated such obvious truths in such eloquent ways says, “I’m not saying that everything is survivable l, just that everything except the last thing is.” Thanks, John.
So guys I guess this is over a week late. Sorry. The kid life of this place has totally engulfed me. Pushing swings, playing McDonalds, dealing out bandaids, holding hurting kids, driving school children,.... little A and her whispered “wuv you” after her prayer, sensitive I praying specifically for me when I put her room to bed, baby K with her ready smile and big eyes that are so very curious (especially at night), the J girls who have no conscience and can throw the most amazing fits (they come by it honestly, I’m told). It’s a busy life. A crazy life. I love it.

On Phone Calls and Waiting

This child care home and its inhabitants claimed me almost 3 weeks ago. But only now, a few phone calls and faxes and emails later- 19 days after I reached here- am I finally cleared to work with these little and not so little humans. It took 19 days, but now I have also claimed this as Home and the inhabitants as family. It was worth the wait.

On Being Four and Uncaring

When you are four, and fed up with life,
You don’t care what happens; you’ll kick and cause strife
Or pinch or pull or bite or hit
Or occasionally be kind if you feel like it
A few f-bombs you drop, a few books you have hurled
You feel the world is after you so you go after the world
You wish you we’re back with your mom or your dad
Who didn’t care whether you were good or bad
They neglected you, abandoned you, left you no innocence
Maybe they loved you, but my love is different
My life is something you do not understand
You don’t know the warmth that can come from a hand
Instead of just slaps and uncaring neglect
You respond to love with nastiness so punishments you’ll get
You pull out all tricks to make people dislike you
Cuz that’s what you know and think you want, too
Then no one who knows you will be shocked
When you say that bad word, when you throw that rock
Or kick that friend or break that toy
You think you are happy being that naughty boy
But deep down inside though uncaring you seem
Is a plea for love if someone can see through your masked identity of wanting love
But because you can’t know how to ask for love
You keep being bad and making people sigh
By being a bully, by telling your lies
But deep down inside it’s not you that they hate
It’s your actions that they don’t appreciate
They don’t know what it’s like to be you
They don’t know how to give their love to you
When you seem to just want timeouts
And you kick and cry and scream and pout
And by these actions make it seem
That you just want a bad boy to be
But I’ll show you love as best I can
I’ll hug you, love you and show you then
How to be a good little person and how to act
When given love and what to do when it is expected back

Identical

It’s almost comical when the weather is in the same mood as you. But it’s also a comfort. You are not alone in your feelings. You’re in this together with someone. Your boat is not yours alone; the weather is sailing (or sinking) with you. You could could trade shoes and you would know how to handle the mile you walk for the weather. And no one would know you weren’t wearing your own rubber boots (or sandals.) You can hide in plain sight out in the weather because you are so much the same; you would have to change your mood or the weather would have to change before you could be found. 

The Beginning

Ah. Yes.  Either you have been waiting (im)patiently to see an update from me or else you haven’t even remembered. Either way, I’m fine with it. I’ve been waiting for an update from me too. And this is just as much for future me as it is for current you. So here goes.

The moment of Gone that I spoke of. The True Moment of it eludes you. Are you Gone when you finally say your last goodbye? when you finally find your seat on the plane? when you finally land in your new world? when you finally sever 87.5% of your ties to your old life  and launch full force into your new one? I’ve come to conclude that my moment of Gone is Never. I’m Gone but not Gone. I’m not where I used to be but I’ll be back.

Takeoff for my new life was at 7am. People-watching and reading kept me busy. The gentleman beside me had the same wish for quiet as I. We had a great conversation, him and I. We said nothing.

The sky-view of my new world was amazing. Canyons, rivers, red. Everything was red. Looking down in the city of Albuquerque, I wanted to gather my fellow flying mates and reach down and rearrange the buildings and roads and trees until they resembled Home. But I couldn’t.

I was welcomed warmly at the airport by 3 strikingly white-clad girls and the couple who quickly became Mama and Papa to me. The next 24 hrs are a blur to me. airport...drive...lunch...airport... shop..drive...sightseeing...drive...home.. meet the rest of the girls...tour the house...sleep...

The next few days I ran around doing many different things. I spent a few random hours with the other girls observing their skills and techniques; learning from them. Also I’ve spent a few lovely hours on play duty, endlessly pushing the kids on swings and settling fights. I cannot be alone with the kids until I’m cleared by my fingerprints so right now my days are mostly spent doing dishes and cleaning up spilled milk.  Okay so the only spilled milk I’ve actually cleaned up is my own.

Home. I miss Home. But what is Home? This has become Home. If I had to leave now I would cry. I would cry for misunderstood T, the troublemaker who can be so kind yet wants to be a bad guy like his daddy.  I’d cry for darling little Y, walking silently around; for I with her crazy giggle or pouting face, who loves unicorns almost as much as my S at home; for O, who can’t run and play like the rest of the boys, who arrived with a police escort with 4 or his 6 siblings; and, of course, I’d cry for baby T, our only baby, who is cuddled and spoiled by everyone.

So. Welcome to my thoughts; my home, my life. I hope you enjoyed and continue to enjoy the tour.