tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56332796041143469232024-03-12T20:01:42.875-07:00The Kotrla FamilyKeith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-80623814333442715152015-10-09T04:33:00.002-07:002015-10-09T04:33:53.309-07:00A History LessonIf you don't learn from history, history will repeat itself. <br />
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We have all seen it to be true with family and friends. Stuck in a lifestyle no sane person would ever choose. Poor choices led them there, and more poor choices keep them there for decades. The rest of us think, "Really? Again." Yes, again. <br />
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I am going to learn from history. Right now. This 6th day of October, the year 2015, I will never again move my family into a home under construction / while remodeling at the start of a school year during which I am the teacher and our home is the school setting. And, if I do, I refuse to pack up my family for a trip before I have unpacked the house. Never. I mean, unless God intervenes. But, seriously, never. <br />
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Last year, I corralled the kids to the front of the house for first-day-of-school pics. I mentioned grabbing anything they'd like to bring "to school." Avery spent 10 minutes meticulously packing her backpack with various supplies she could rummage from drawers around the house. Ivan tossed a pencil and library book into a drawstring bag. Garrison finally grabbed a pencil when prompted for a second time that he would still need a writing utensil even though he was "doing school" at home. <br />
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Because the carpets were being ripped out that very day, the first day of school, I let the kids wear their shoes inside. Gasp. And also go to town on the carpet with markers. The boys drew out games of hop-scotch and tic-tac-toe while Avery made herself a desk labeled so that no one would be confused. <br />
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She also wrote and illustrated a story in the corner of the room. I guess that was during creative writing class. <br />
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When I looked to my calendar at the end of the summer, our scheduled moving day coincided with the first day of school. Lucky for everyone, we encountered a few setbacks along the way. The plumber stepped through the ceiling. Twice. In separate rooms. Then he left without a word. Yes, he did. And, the cabinet installers bolted the island into the wrong tiles. It was time to cry. <br />
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At least I didn't have to make lunch in the bathroom like last year. Food. In the bathroom. Just gross. <br />
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Somehow I've made it through mentally unscathed. Thanks to these cute helpers. <br />
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And they come with their own work gloves. <br />
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This is the year I've planned the most, stuck to a schedule the most, and even started school a week early. However, one month into school I saw that I was 3 lessons behind in math. <br />
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I guess that's why we finished school by wrapping up a science lesson at 6 PM one day last week. Yes, that's the reason, and it's not at all because I'm a slave driver. <br />
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A sneak peak at our kitchen. <br />
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Just a peak. Keith had taped off exactly where the cabinets were to go in...so there'd be no mistake. However, we also learned it doesn't matter where that tape is since some people will bolt an island in anywhere they want. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-54615579271638077722015-09-16T05:10:00.000-07:002015-09-16T05:10:37.064-07:00PTSD or Something Like ThatI moved into our house with neither a functioning kitchen nor bathrooms. <br />
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Correction, I had a toilet. One lonely toilet in the kids’ bathroom. <br />
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This is the state in which I found the house when I zipped over to beat the movers. Embarrassingly, I admit that we (i.e. Keith) hired movers to take the big stuff 10 houses down the street. <br />
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The kind movers didn’t know what to do with me. I wavered between crying fits and staring blankly at the walls. The younger one kept asking what was bothering me so much and tried to assure me that whatever it was would be okay. Poor guy. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into. <br />
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I was having a nervous breakdown because I felt I hadn’t adequately cleaned the floors before putting furniture on them. But look at what I was going to have to move just to clean them. You’d have a nervous breakdown too. <br />
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Plus, I have issues. Mostly about the cleanliness of floors. <br />
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I’m also going to blame PTSD. Or maybe there’s some diagnosis that would explain heightened emotions on the anniversary of a traumatic event. <br />
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It was 2 years prior that armed men showed up to our house in Ethiopia looking for the founder of the ministry we worked with. Armed, meaning big machine guns. And men, meaning about a dozen lined up in a semicircle enclosing our front door. <br />
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And 4 days later that infamous call from Keith that said, “We’re leaving.” And I had 3 hours before a van would be there to take us to the airport. <br />
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Bon voyage, dear Ethiopia. <br />
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Our cook Birkea didn’t know why I was hysterical as I hugged her and sent her home for the day. I miss all my Ethiopian friends, but I really miss Birkea. She loved my kids so well. Always hugging and kissing on them like a grandma. Making their favorite dishes, despite my meal planning. And, every Friday afternoon around 4:00 she’d come upstairs to my room, which doubled as our homeschool classroom, and serve us popcorn. It’s like she was saying, “Okay, Mom, school’s over for the week.” The kids would cheer and beg to start Friday Family Fun Night a few hours early. I’d usually cave because somewhere way deep inside I do have a heart. <br />
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So, moving into a house with no kitchen or bathroom (or clean floors) isn’t the worst that could happen. Definitely not the worst. <br />
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And, in the 11th hour, Keith and his dad installed a sink so that I could brush my teeth like a human, and not like I forced the kids to do in the backyard before tucking them into bed. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-51708854075462103912015-09-01T21:17:00.000-07:002015-09-01T21:17:09.338-07:00Another MoveOn a Thursday we had no plans of moving. But by Friday night we were putting together an offer for a house just down the street. <br />
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We’d been quite content here in the matchbox, albeit bursting at the seams. It’s big enough for people OR things. We chose people. <br />
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Then, I received a ceramic travel mug and a very impressive blender for my birthday. Two additional kitchen items with no home. Gasp. <br />
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I solved one conundrum by squeezing the mug in with the fancy glasses. It’s an extreme measure, I know. Now every time I open that cabinet, my brain cramps a tiny bit and I think to myself for a moment, “What’s this mug doing over here with the fancy glasses?” And I consciously do some deep breathing. <br />
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The blender? It is amazing, but there is no solution for it. It will not fit anywhere. It is currently a homeless appliance sitting on out in the open on the counter. <br />
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Do I return it? No way. <br />
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So, we are moving. It’s our last option. <br />
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We didn’t want to move and were definitely not in the market for finding a new home. Just a few days prior to finding the new house, we’d had a contractor come over to lay out plans and give an estimate to add on to our current home. <br />
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That addition would have given us one extra bedroom, a legit playroom…plus a little extra space for homeschooling. I didn’t need much. <br />
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This is the current playroom. It's just the area below Avery's bed, which hangs from the ceiling...thanks to Keith. <br />
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The new house gives us exactly that. Plus, it’s the same square footage we would have had with the addition. <br />
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The most exciting thing about this house is that it comes with a life-sustaining animal. <br />
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Five of them actually. The kids affectionately named them Kevin, Stewart, and Bob (for the Minions), Miss Phyllis (for their favorite babysitter), and last Abraham Lincoln (for their favorite president). <br />
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The debate among them, as if it would change their daddy’s mind, is a debate over which is better: the 5 animals we have or 1 dog. They desperately want a dog. A conversation among children is most interesting when it is of no significance. <br />
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Avery is head over heels for these 5, but she matter-of-factly stated a disclaimer that if it were our beloved Boston Terrier Simon, she would choose him. Of course. <br />
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Ivan is dead set on getting a dog and pleads with Keith over every “free” dog we see on the side of the road. Last week it was the free-puppy-with-a-purchase at a garage sale. The other day it was a collar-wearing dog who had merely wandered too far in our neighborhood. Because he thinks he can convince Keith, he turns to me for my opinion. Ivan, please. <br />
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Garrison, who always votes for quantity over quality, used a different logic this time. During the brutal Texas winter, he plans to put one of the animals on his face to keep warm. I mean, that’s normal, right? So all votes are in. Four against one. <br />
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These animals. I’ve already grown weary of them, driving down the street 2-3 times per day to check on them. And, they’ve “produced” nothing yet. The thing I’m looking forward to the most, more than a place to put my blender and enough cabinet space to separate the mugs from the glasses, is relinquishing responsibility of these animals. <br />
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We can’t move in yet. The house isn’t livable. I mean, it was. Then, I kindly asked if we could move the island a bit to make better use of the kitchen space. We had a few calm discussions about it.<br />
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Then I walked in one day to find the entire kitchen in the garage. And, that was only the beginning.<br />
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I’ve lost count of my trips to various home improvement stores, and ever growing is the pile of samples I must haul around with me. <br />
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If I’ve learning nothing more during this venture, it is this: 1) I have amazing and usually obedient children who don’t mind an excessive number of boring shopping trips to look at kitchen counter top options. 2) My husband generally has great taste and always wants the best for our family; therefore, I should trust him in all things…at least concerning our home. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-77863751242050196382015-06-30T03:45:00.005-07:002015-06-30T03:45:40.084-07:00June, the BirthmonthMy friend Sierra jokes that “June is for Jessica.”<br />
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This year, Keith finally listened. <br />
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I arrived home on the 1st to a homemade sign rigged to raise with the garage door. “Happy Birthmonth” said the letters drawn by my kids. <br />
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When I entered the backdoor, they jumped up from behind furniture to surprise me and serenaded me with a slight change to the traditional song. “Happy birthmonth to you…”<br />
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It wasn't so much the surprise as the hilarity of the event that did it. I'd been driving for more than 3 hours on a giant coffee and weak bladder. While my kids rushed me their cards, I had to excuse myself for a little clean up clean up before returning to the party. Lucky for me, I was wearing crocs and a cotton dress, which made it easy.<br />
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The cards they made me. Bless their daddy. He must have told them all to say “one day is not enough,” but he refused to help them spell “enough.” <br />
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The kids were dying to show off their presents, which were in addition to the cards. They led me to their rooms and pointed out the cleanliness and general lack of clutter. The bedside, shelf, and table that seem to collect what I would deem as garbage were now all clean. <br />
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Then, drum roll for the best part. All beds were neatly made, even mine. <br />
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My kids. They know how to win me over. <br />
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I don’t know why I demand that birthdays are a big deal. I must have had some traumatic experience on a birthday, and this is the effect. Or, maybe that I have a summer birthday and never got a birthday pencil in school. Sniff. Until 8th grade when my English teacher Mrs. Suter made a list of all summer birthdays in May and gave all of us neglected kids our first birthday pencils. That was life changing. Thank you, Mrs. Suter. <br />
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The other morning, Keith was taking an extra long time in the bathroom. Then a few hours later, the phone rang. It was a girlfriend many states away calling to inform me that my surprise gift from Keith was a plane ticket to go visit her, which he purchased hours before while in the bathroom. Plus 4 days away from my kids, whom I adore. <br />
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That boy. He can’t keep a secret. Not when it comes to gifts for me. After the disaster year, my first birthday as a married woman…where he gave me a laundry basket full of his dirty clothes, all concealed under a black trash bag, he learned his lesson. Since then my birthdays have surpassed any expectation, which is typically low after having received basically a chore. “Here are my dirty underwear for you to wash. You’re welcome. Happy birthday.”<br />
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Am I crying or laughing over the laundry basket? And the other picture is proof that I received more than just laundry. Rubber gloves. As in, "Go do the dishes." Keith refers to this as my best birthday ever. <br />
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One year I received all my presents in March because that’s when he bought them. I got home from work one day to see him gushing with excitement and pride. He waited all of 5 minutes before asking if he could give me my birthday gifts. Three months early. I take what I can get. <br />
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This year, I didn't want much. I mean, since I had that surprise party 24 days early, a clean house, this trip, and a few unwrapped gifts from the kids the day they went shopping. No, I didn't want much. <br />
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I was going to ask for no arguing, but everyone beat me to it. I'd had a few things on my mental list, which included fixing the toilet paper holder in my bathroom. I've always thought a birthday is someone's day (or month) of the year to be selfish. "Stick to the list!" I used to tell Keith. <br />
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My MIL made one of my favorite cakes. And, naturally, I wept. That's like a love on a plate. <br />
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Of my girlfriends, there are 2 whose personality is identical to mine, so we have our moments. They're mostly good. It's funny that they gave me the same gift...a hodgepodge of necessities, including this gem: <br />
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As it turns out, letting people do what they want for you...even on your birthday...has its perks. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-38788414360415714852015-06-07T19:39:00.001-07:002015-06-07T19:39:53.942-07:00May Is for Family Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">May marked 4 years that our family of 5 has been together. <br />
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I use the word “together” instead of “complete” because I think God has a way with definitive words like “complete.” He’ll be like, “Oh, yeah? I’ll show you complete.” Then I’ll have children showing up at my doorstep, and someone’s vasectomy will come undone. <br />
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So, together it is. For four years. <br />
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May is for Family Day, although this year the actual day passed without any notice, except for my spending a few leisurely moments (or maybe hours) being nostalgic and looking through old pictures, videos and posts. <br />
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I have friends who look on adopted families and say they feel like the kids have always been here. Not true for me. I totally remember what it was like to have just one compliant, docile child. It was really quiet. And clean. <br />
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Those were the easy days. <br />
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But these are the fun days. <br />
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Here’s to 4 super fun years. <br />
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</div></div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-32734588961202597332015-04-01T05:54:00.000-07:002015-04-01T05:54:55.946-07:00Last but Not LeastThe smells. The stinch. The noise. The sheer volume of it. That’s how I will forever remember Ivan’s 7th birthday. We finished the festivities with a sleepover. There were only 4 boys playing xBox, but when I opened the door it smelled like a dirty laundry basket. When I wanted them to take their noise outside, Keith wanted them inside as to not disturb our neighbors. It was a lose-lose situation. Meaning, I lost all the way around. <br />
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Since it’s the last one of birthday season, we dragged it out more than the others. He had to wait the longest, so it seemed fair, which is so often not the same. <br />
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And he got an extra cake. <br />
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He’s the only one I address as “Son” when I get really frustrated. The other 2 laugh and ask me why. I’m not sure. Maybe it’s to keep me from calling him something less endearing or profane. Because it’s he who pushes me to the limit. Daily. He’s also the one I typically warn. It’s usually something like, “I’m getting really angry, and I’m about to scream. I suggest you take the disobedience out of my sight.” Before I strangle you, I think to myself. <br />
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That seems like too many words to use when dealing with a child, but he pushes me beyond angry. Beyond enraged. I get into the Scary Calm Zone. You know what I’m talking about. Your voice, involuntarily, lowers to a whisper. The serenity that surpasses me is unnatural. Divine. It’s God’s intervention in order to save a life. His or mine. Depends on the day. <br />
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I speak slowly and softly as I recount the recent events that led to the present and what his future entails if he doesn’t do exactly as I say. <br />
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But before he can even comprehend the weight of the situation that he’s put himself in, he’s flitting about, gathering up and taking out the trash, without being asked…and putting a new bag in the container. Or visiting his daddy’s office to offer a water refill. Or doing cartwheels or spins in the middle of a room. <br />
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He is a happy kid. And, unless he’s being provoked by another child, he is content. A sweet snuggler. He is a servant. A lover of all living (and, honestly, even non-living) creatures. He is innately aware of the needs of those around him. Intuitive. He is a jokester. He is also really good at disassembling (i.e. breaking) things. <br />
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I try my hardest not to let his actions define him. But it’s hard on some days. <br />
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“God, help me to see him as your child, not mine,” I pray. <br />
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It helps. Usually. <br />
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Happy birthday, Ivan. Sweet One. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-78775761713576914712015-03-15T04:55:00.001-07:002015-03-16T14:37:05.624-07:00Round 2: The EldestWe finished celebrating the birthday of the eldest child last week. Although he turned 9, he’s been with our family less than 4 years. Physically less than 4 years, but God knew since time began that he would be part of this family. And eventually His family. <br />
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If the bakery could freehand a unicorn, a horse head shouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t. The only problem was that I forgot a lighter for the candles, so they were blown out on a half-eaten cake the following day. <br />
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His siblings adore him as their big brother. In the week leading up to his birthday, they continually made pleas for him to get extra this or that “because it’s his birthday.” I have created little monsters. But sweet ones since these requests were selfless. <br />
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They excitedly gathered gifts for him long before party day and hid them in my closet. Dust magnets from their own stuffed animal collection and a 5-dollar bill from each of them. “So that he has $10 to buy Legos,” they said. The sweetest. <br />
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Plus there’s this, which they made the day I took just the 2 of them with me to volunteer with the refugees in Houston. I had brilliantly gifted Garrison an entire day of limitless xBox while we were gone. I am pretty great. <br />
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It wasn’t until the day of the party that Keith tried to strip me of my duties as Birthday Extraordinaire. He wanted to cancel my party and arrange a different venue and theme the following day. He wanted me to just hand over “all boy birthdays from here out.” Preposterous! I said with doubt in my voice, “So, you want the party planning, cake ordering, present shopping, the very important present wrapping, and guest inviting?” I don’t think so. <br />
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Garrison and his BFF love art and are both relatively talented, so it was only fitting that we have the low-key party at an art studio. Although we had an equal gender ratio, the painting soon turned into a Boy Dance Party with the boys, not girls, belting out the Kidz Bop tunes in the background. Then a kid busted out the worm in the hallway for the grand finale.<br />
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As the oldest child in my family, I know him well. I remember being told, “You’re not the parent, Jessica Lynn,” and thinking my parents were ridiculous for assuming I would back down. And I’m like a broken record to him, “Let me be the mom,” as I go on to explain in too many words that being the mom is a difficult job, hoping he’ll feel sorry for me and cease fire. <br />
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It’s a battle I don’t like fighting. But it’s a battle through which God continually reminds me of His never-ending love for me… that he loves me the same whether I am a headstrong child fighting for my own way or submissive and compliant. And, always whether or not I deserve it. <br />
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I pray I am able to model that same kind of love for Garrison daily, no matter how much hair I want to rip out in the process. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-87734974129356012652015-01-27T05:29:00.000-08:002015-01-27T05:29:15.942-08:00"because it's my birthday"Christmas lasted for 6 weeks. Avery’s birthday lasted for 6 days. <br />
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This was the first year I actually planned a location party. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened. Ice skating.<br />
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Pictured below are her favorite friends and cousins at the party. The boys are in the background somewhere. And, 2 gals from Bible study are not pictured. Girl A fell down, bummed her knee, but became distraught when Girl B, her sister, told her that the kind stranger who helped her when she fell was actually going to try to kidnap her. Every party has a pooper. This one had two. Girl A didn't want to get up for the picture (and rightly so...she had cried her eyes out over the fear of being kidnapped...poor thing), and I may have intentionally cut out Girl B.<br />
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Last year I was smart. I did family parties and piñatas. I mean, I bought a My Little Pony piñata and transformed him into a purple unicorn, pieced him back together and turned him into a black and white horse. I’ve got skills. Spray adhesive and hot glue are my new BFFs. Sorry, Megan. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aJ6BxSOiPfw/VMeRvyGSUcI/AAAAAAAAMg0/yv4fut7z3xM/s1600/IMG_0699.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aJ6BxSOiPfw/VMeRvyGSUcI/AAAAAAAAMg0/yv4fut7z3xM/s320/IMG_0699.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_vPrKofnXOw/VMeR0JNaOFI/AAAAAAAAMg8/ksKSAKKgnI8/s1600/IMG_0792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_vPrKofnXOw/VMeR0JNaOFI/AAAAAAAAMg8/ksKSAKKgnI8/s320/IMG_0792.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QTttn_r4juY/VMeR4roxXvI/AAAAAAAAMhE/q_USbYZxqM4/s1600/IMG_0823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QTttn_r4juY/VMeR4roxXvI/AAAAAAAAMhE/q_USbYZxqM4/s320/IMG_0823.JPG" /></a></div><br />
It’s also the first year I’ve opened the door to a themed cake. I caved. Artificial food coloring. And a lot of it. I just didn’t care. I talked the bakery into attempting a unicorn. It was awesome. I mean after he scraped off the purple Great Dane mistake.<br />
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Avery’s birthday was last Sunday, so this post might seem late. However, we celebrate birthdays for about a week around here, which means I’m right on time. Correction, we celebrate kid birthdays for a week. Mine gets the whole month. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ya5eB8opT3A/VMcIB7kvD0I/AAAAAAAAMgA/3fnmBrFy8aI/s1600/IMG_2277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ya5eB8opT3A/VMcIB7kvD0I/AAAAAAAAMgA/3fnmBrFy8aI/s320/IMG_2277.jpg" /></a></div>"Make this your motto," reads the inside of the card. <br />
Done <br />
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That girl and I. We are so much alike. Too much. <br />
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At first I was grateful that she likes things clean and organized. Put in its place. A child who cleans on her own. Praise the Lord! But I know that need for a clean and tidy space can be exhausting. Physically and mentally. It can be debilitating. I don’t want that for her. I don’t want it to keep her from enjoying life (and messy people) like it did me for so many years. Messy people have value too. I’m married to one. (I threatened to post a picture of his "sock trail" as proof.)<br />
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That girl. She squeaks when she walks. She had mentioned wanting a few things, but when I encouraged her to spend her birthday money, she no longer wanted those items. Oh, no. I took her to Target, and while in the aisle showed her the same item on Amazon. She’s smart and patient. I forced her to spend that money, hoping she won’t have the same stigma about spending money on herself as I do. <br />
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But that girl has got her daddy’s heart. His big mushy bleeding heart. While I would want the fun of putting Legos together myself, she invited her brothers to help her as she opened the new boxes, thinking in the end they would play with her because of it. But when it came time to play “shopping mall,” I watched the boys sit with Legos in front of them while their eyes intermittently shot a glance at the TV. Then I noticed they each had a finger on a nearby controller for a video game. Seriously, Boys! <br />
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I’ve got a couple weeks before I have to start planning for the their birthdays. And thinking about their cakes. With all that food coloring. And I shudder. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-2236896028823289492015-01-09T19:13:00.001-08:002015-01-09T19:13:22.117-08:00Traditions: Broken and NewThis was the Christmas of firsts for our family. There was no new addition. No new location. <br />
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But many firsts. Which means new traditions. <br />
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As soon as we cleaned up the pumpkins from Halloween, I put up the Christmas tree. With Keith (and his certain arguments about a tree before Thanksgiving) out of town, I seized the moment. We usually begin reading Christmas stories in early November, so it was only fitting that the tree go up at the same time. And, it stayed until yesterday, the day after January 7th, Christmas in Ethiopia. <br />
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We had gotten rid of all non-essential items, which included all Christmas decor. So, while garage-saling in the spring, I snagged a fabulous tree. Fabulous meaning, it's pre-lit, and fully assembled. All I had to do was unzip it's handy bag/cover and plug it in. A new tree meant new fixings for it. But I'm too frugal to purchase anything at the before Christmas price. I was in luck. My sis-in-law had an extra box of ornaments in her attic, and I found 2 skeins of tinsel yarn in my closet from a prior clearance purchase. Perfect-O. The only item it lacked was a star. I sent Ivan out hunting for sticks which I hot glued together and wrapped with the remnants of that tinsel yarn. Viola! It was fabulous. Well, at least it was free. <br />
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What Christmas items we didn't give away we took to (and left in...sniff, sniff) Ethiopia: the stockings and stocking hangers. Again, I couldn't bring myself to splurge on stockings before the after-Christmas sales. I could have crocheted them, but instead took the easy way out and purchased gift bags. Stuffing gift bags is much easier than stuffing stockings, especially since we only do 3 gifts. All that other junk has to go in a something. Besides, we don't even have a mantel on which to hang them. Gift bags can stand on their own and are here to stay. <br />
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This was the first year the kids and I have made Christmas cookies together. What kind of mother am I? I know. We always do a gingerbread house, which comes in ready-to-assemble kit but is inedible. If it were at one time edible, it's not after being saved from last year's after-Christmas sale and surely expired. Starting this year, I'm not fighting that (food) battle. We only make what we can eat. I made the dough solo and refrigerated it according to the recipe instructions. Then, I borrowed cookie cutters and set my kids loose at the kitchen table, which is more their height than the counters. I dumped out flour for the rolling pin and realized I didn't have one of those either. (I mean, I used to. But setting up house again is a long process and kind of trial and error.) So, I gave them a large pot to share and smash the dough. Worked like a charm. Because we are a household free of artificial food coloring, our cookies were delicious but pretty boring. Santa didn't care though. Neither did Mrs. Claus, who ended up eating the majority of them anyway. <br />
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Avery made one cookie into the shape of Baby Jesus in the manger. She's a sweet one. <br />
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This was the first year I attempted making my maternal grandmother's dressing recipe. I slaved for days in the kitchen. For one dish. For one meal. It started with a cornish hen to make the broth. This is what my grandmother started with when I asked her for the recipe. (Kind of like when I asked my grandpa how to start a garden and he launched a compost-making lecture. A lengthy lecture. About compost. It was thrilling. And, exactly what I had asked for with my gardening inquiries apparently.) And it ended in an attempt to added black pepper, and seeing it was nutmeg I had just measured out. The containers are exactly the same. <br />
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Christmas morning we didn't start opening presents till nearly 10:00. The kids slept in, and then we all let Keith sleep in. They eventually remembered that the night before we had opened presents with extended family, and that they had new toys. I was in shock that a puzzle kept them busy while I leisurely enjoyed coffee on the couch, presents sorted into 3 piles in front of me. Clueless. They were clueless. Two new traditions for Christmas morning, besides the sleeping in: ice cream pints in the stockings (gift bags), and a handful of presents I buy and wrap all for myself. Just in case Keith follows my instructions for no gifts. Plus a few for him too. <br />
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As the kids ran in and out all day on Christmas going back and forth between new toys, I let them merely kick off their shoes at the front door...without putting them away. Gasp. I told myself, "It's Christmas." And I let it go. <br />
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Every year I look up how to celebrate Christmas Ethiopia style. I noticed a few things: 1) They wear the traditional white dress with a color band across the bottom, but I read "urban" Ethiopians wear Westerner's garb. Easy enough. We were all fully clothed in normal attire. 2) They don't exchange gifts. Awesome. My kids need a break from gifts with "birthday season" coming up. 3) They celebrate with feasting and games. My thought was Mexican food and an Uno Flash marathon. Keith's idea was far superior to mine: an "incredible" pizza place with arcade games, bowling, etc. Oh, and a buffet. However, the kids "feasted" on crackers from the salad bar and Goldfish, items I never purchase. Because I would eat them all the livelong day. <br />
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This is the first year our family has been together at home for Christmas. Not having to travel a day and living near family is a luxury we never thought possible. That is, until we tried to move to a different continent. But God had a plan in that. As He does in all things we may not understand. <br />
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So, at home for Christmas. In our own home. A first.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ohT_gK2_738/VLCTxn4raQI/AAAAAAAAMfU/3H4LYVTkUNw/s1600/IMG_2188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ohT_gK2_738/VLCTxn4raQI/AAAAAAAAMfU/3H4LYVTkUNw/s320/IMG_2188.JPG" /></a></div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-28424645272767273442014-11-27T09:40:00.001-08:002014-11-27T09:40:34.735-08:00Temporary HomeWe bought a house. In June. Yet it was almost Halloween when I unpacked the last box. <br />
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That's a lie. There's a tub sitting in the garage next to the back door, glaring at me each time I walk to the van. "I'll get to you...someday" I say. <br />
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This house at first glance, I deemed entirely too small for our family. Our family of 5. Which includes 2 Active boys. However, I re-evaluated the situation the first morning while I was cleaning up breakfast and the kids were within eye shot down the hall where they brushed their teeth, did their chores and completed their morning routine. And the angle hidden from me was clearly visible from Keith who had set up office in our room. (This is my morning view, behind Garrison and the impressive Lego tower.)<br />
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Keith and I struck a deal. We shook on it. A pinky deal. Serious business for this family. In 6 months we would rent the house and move our family to better suited quarters, or I was given liberty to go house hunting on my own. <br />
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Here we are near the end of our pre-set timeframe, and I’m having second thoughts. <br />
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I admit to screaming at my children a few times for not moving fast enough, which probably wouldn’t happen were they not in my line of vision every single second of their waking hours. But perhaps that’s more a reflection of me and my expectations of how fast a child should move when I ask, “Have you brushed your teeth?” (This one can be a slow mover.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vJf8LUv17GE/VHdH0OKXIxI/AAAAAAAAMcg/uIkZF8q49ug/s1600/IMG_1956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vJf8LUv17GE/VHdH0OKXIxI/AAAAAAAAMcg/uIkZF8q49ug/s320/IMG_1956.JPG" /></a></div>But I’m starting to like it in the matchbox. <br />
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I’m also starting to have perspective. I had fewer curtains to purchase, fewer blinds to dust. Who am I kidding? I don't dust blinds. Less counter space to keep clean, smaller rooms to vacuum. It’s been nice. It's been especially nice for the child whose chore it is to vacuum. (This one has that privilege.) <br />
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I’ve also thought about the mud and straw home our boys were born in, where they spent the first few years of life. <br />
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Our neighbors in Ethiopia with concrete homes, corrugated tin roofs, no electricity and often no doors. <br />
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The refugees I see every week who have taken in extra family members into an apartment too small to house their own. <br />
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So, the matchbox…is a place to call home. At least while our home is here…in Texas, the United States, planet Earth. <br />
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But we do have a great backyard.<br />
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With deer and everything. <br />
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And great <a href="http://www.wearethatfamily.com">neighbors</a>. Plus family just one block away. <br />
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</div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-46758017358982858342014-07-24T21:58:00.000-07:002014-07-24T21:58:42.534-07:00Redemptive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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That's the word my friend <a href="http://www.wearethatfamily.com">Kristen</a> used to describe the work we are doing together. <br />
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Volunteering with the <a href="http://therefugeeproject.net/the-refugee-project--our-story.html">refugees</a> has been both cathartic and redemptive. Each Friday we load up a van or two with supplies, snacks and people. Make the one-hour drive to an apartment complex whose sole residents are refugees. <br />
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It's so much like the work that Keith and I did in Ethiopia, and also the work she does yearly in Kenya. Both groups of women need to know their value. Ultimately, it is in the God who created them. For now, we are helping them see it through their <a href="http://www.storenvy.com/stores/320410-the-refugee-project">beautiful creations</a>. <br />
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I am able to communicate with just a handful of the ladies. The same was true when I spent a day at one of the sites in Ethiopia. But we more than manage. Somehow they know I love them, and eventually they will ask why. Enter Jesus. <br />
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It is crazy how God is bringing things around full circle. Somehow, our time here is making our experience in Ethiopia better. It's getting easier and easier to look back on that time and say it wasn't so bad. Don't get me wrong. We loved it and were completely torn when we had to leave. <br />
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But the adjustment was a difficult process. And a long one. We were finally finding our new normal, thinking "Okay, we can do this." <br />
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My comfort isn't God's priority. His priority is His own glory.<br />
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Kristen turned to me one day and said, "I've had this idea for about a year and you're the perfect person to do it with." <br />
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I said, "I'm the perfect person to do most things with, but go ahead. What's this idea?" <br />
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In a nutshell, it is a way to empower women all over the world. It's a way for their work to help women across the globe but in their same walk of life. <br />
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It's a way for you to impact women in poverty all over the world...and for it to impact you. <br />
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It's a way for us to advocate for these women. To give them opportunity. <br />
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It's called <a href="http://www.fairtradefriday.net">Fair Trade Friday</a>. Check out the site or read <a href="http://wearethatfamily.com/2014/07/fair-trade-friday/">Kristen's post about it</a>. <br />
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This post was ready to go out on our launch day but blogger wasn't cooperating. So, here it is. Four days late. We sold out within hours of launching on Monday and have hundreds on the waiting list. God is good. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9eLlH18DtZk/U9Hi8nJm5bI/AAAAAAAAMbI/x6UCRCVICFg/s1600/fair+trade+flags+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9eLlH18DtZk/U9Hi8nJm5bI/AAAAAAAAMbI/x6UCRCVICFg/s320/fair+trade+flags+copy.jpg" /></a></div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-77401385785510775632014-07-07T21:44:00.001-07:002014-07-07T21:44:19.253-07:00This Makes It Official<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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A few Saturdays ago, I walked back to bid the children goodbye before I went out for a few hours. Since they still sleep together on Friday Family Fun Nights, they were all in one room huddled on the floor in their cozy pajamas playing with Legos. <br />
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"Kids, I'm going to a few garage sales this morning, so Daddy will get breakfast for you when he gets up."<br />
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"What's a garage sale?" the little one asked.<br />
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"Well..." I looked down to the bed where I sat. "For instance, a bed in a store might cost $500, but at a garage sale it could be $100 or less." <br />
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From the child whose incessant diarrhea of the mouth makes me jealous of the deaf, "Five hundred dollars! Five hundred dollars!!! I didn't know a bed costed $500. A bed shouldn't cost $500. Five hundred dollars..." And, on and on and on he goes. <br />
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"Awesome! What a great deal. I love garage sales," looking all starry-eyed said the one cut from the same mold as her frugal mother.<br />
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And the little one said innocently, "We already have beds." <br />
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Awe. <br />
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"Each of us has a bed to sleep in, indeed," I concurred. Here at the grandparent's house, that is true. 5 extra people, 4 extra beds. What a provision. <br />
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My kids realize more than I do how God has taken care of us through this. <br />
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Technically, "our" beds were stolen by our former tenant. Yes, you heard that right. Stolen. Along with everything we left to furnish our once clean, beautiful home. This post will not make it past the Blog Police if I go any further, so no tirade today. Boo.<br />
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I feel like we have been through a year-long hurricane, which seems to be over now. As we pick up the pieces, I find myself struggling. <br />
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It's difficult to not let yourself be defined by your circumstances. Although my Sunday School answer that Jesus is the One who consumes me, so often it's my kids, my worries, my planning. <br />
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In the literal chaos that surrounds me (because I have no closet), I find it hard not to think of myself as displaced. The truth is I am exactly where God wants me. He has allowed my circumstances, as crummy as they may seem, to show less of me and more of Him. <br />
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So, we are starting over. <br />
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In Texas. Houston. <br />
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The hot, muggy, congested, smoggy, stuffy, humid, sticky pit of the United States. I realize I am offending all true Texans with this statement. <br />
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The decision to move to Ethiopia was made more easily than the one to "move" here. <br />
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This pretty much makes it official. Keith had to drill holes in the front of my van so that we could display a second license plate. One isn't enough for "The Lone Star State." It's like Texas is showing off to all the others. Two license plates??? Come on, Texas! We know you're bigger and better than the rest of us teeny tiny regular sized states. <br />
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Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-22421841535891487442014-02-22T09:19:00.000-08:002014-02-22T09:19:40.356-08:00Different Ship. Same Course. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div>Although I have sent out information via our newsletter… Wait. You have a newsletter? Yes, indeed. Why not just the blog? Well, while any psycho can stumble upon this blog, we can see a name for each recipient of the newsletter and have the option to NOT send it to the psychos. I have purposefully procrastinated updating here. <br />
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There are so many things I want to say. So many things I want to scream and vent about, yet the Blog Police would veto all of it. In the same way he vetoed all 572 boy names I submitted for Ivan. I would just take a deep breath and accept the Big Fat Negativo. So many things I want to share (because I know you are dying for information), but it would be so very unwise of me to divulge that on such a public platform. <br />
<br />
Where do I start after a three-month rebellion? Today? Nothing blog-worthy. Let me tell you about yesterday.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was my second week volunteering with a new ministry in Houston. New, meaning it began just three weeks ago and there are only a handful of people heading it up. Maybe I should tell you how I became involved in this ministry, a ministry to refugees. God is all over this thing, the story and the ministry.<br />
<br />
In mid-December I met my first friend since our relocation. Is it sad that it took me more than two months to make a friend? It was a first grade Christmas party where both of our daughters are in class. I overheard her explaining to a fellow mom why she travels to Kenya frequently. Kenya is next door to Ethiopia. How convenient, I thought. She and her husband founded a ministry that works with teens who are pregnant either from rape or forced prostitution. Wow. I definitely wanted to know more, but I didn’t want to get into the whole “Ethiopia” story. Despite my excitement, I managed to remain calm and casually engage her in regular conversation. School, kids, the weather, life in The Great Nation of Texas. When she found out I was “Avery’s mom,” she was the one bubbling over with excitement. She’d heard all about Avery (and Ethiopia) from her daughter. “Mom, there’s a new girl in my class named Avery. She moved here from Africa. No, really. Her brothers are from Ethiopia. Mom! She wears paper beads.” <br />
<br />
I knew I needed to further stalk my new friend, but how? Was it enough that our daughters were in the same class? Or that both our families’ hearts were tied to Africa? Church! That’s it. In fact, we were looking for a church. So, in January we visited what I hoped to be our future church home. When I happened to run into my new friend (I mean I wasn’t standing in the doorway scanning each face that exited), she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Score! <br />
<br />
She invited me to an informational meeting for a new refugee ministry. They were going to start by teaching some women how to knit, which sounded super lame to me. Do I have blue hair? Or a bedazzled chain on my bifocals? But, she said, “Don’t you knit or crochet? I thought this might be something you’d be interested in.” Dang. How did she know of my mad crochet skills? At the party where we met, she had witnessed me ditching my “party-set-up responsibilities” to sew a finishing button on a crocheted Christmas gift for the teacher. I was caught. Luckily the meeting did not fit in my schedule, but I promised to contact her about it. <br />
<br />
A month flew by and I hadn’t made good on my commitment to “contact her,” and now the Valentine party had crept up on us. So, it was either face the music. “Hey, I thought you were going to come help the refugees learn how to knit?” says my new friend, calling me out. And I’d have to make up something, “Yes, well, I crochet (stress the crochet, insinuating it’s an entirely different ballgame than knitting) and think my help would just confuse them.” Or, I could make a pre-emptive strike and just go for a week and let her see the disaster I was capable of causing. <br />
<br />
Four of us rode together into Houston, sharing our stories on the way. The gal who began this whole project is a refugee herself, having fled Kazakhstan with her family after a 48-hour notice of their departure. She spent some time in a refugee camp and then was moved by the government to Houston. Explaining our time in Ethiopia to the women in the van was more than easy. It was cathartic. No one was baffled by our having moved there nor by our sudden departure. These women understood the world of missions, living in a third-world country, the corruption in a third-world government and the struggles that come with serving people in a foreign nation. <br />
<br />
My life seemed normal. That was nice for a change.<br />
<br />
We met in a dirty, smelly common area of the apartment complex. The women took their seats around two long folding tables and pulled out their completed projects for inspection. The room filled with the buzz of two languages foreign to us Americans. Immediately, I was taken back to Korah, the dump in Ethiopia which was the site for the majority of the women we worked with. Here I was, an outsider. Surrounded by beautiful women who cradled their babies as they worked or eyed their children running through the doorway. <br />
<br />
I spent a few minutes watching an American woman on a video finish off the knitting, and then I sat at a table, mostly unable to communicate with them, and helped the women finish off their own projects. Turns out, knitting isn’t so terrible. <br />
<br />
The women walked into the common meeting room, which was cleaner this week (thank you, Jesus), carrying their first product: a gold neck warmer. <br />
Week 1: teach and practice<br />
Week 2: receive real yarn and begin first real project<br />
Week 3: sew amazing coconut shell button on neck warmer, sell it (for real), and receive yarn for second real project<br />
<br />
I can’t explain the experience enough to do it any justice. I watched these women, poor in many ways, transform right in front of me. They realized that they are loved, capable, talented, and responsible. Empowerment. What a beautiful thing. <br />
Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-82773750093912361452013-11-07T10:10:00.001-08:002013-11-14T12:10:21.135-08:00Teacups, Mental Breakdowns and Minions<div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">Last week I received the first question from one of the kids about returning to Ethiopia. "When we go back to Ethiopia, are we just getting our stuff or are we staying?" Ivan inquired.</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">The answer to this question I do not know. My reply, (long pause while I gathered a few thoughts) "Well..." (another pause while I thought of a way to pose the truth of the situation...always the truth...in a way a child can understand) "...Ethiopia is where our home is. It's where we feel God has told us to live. We hope to go back and stay." (a short pause because I remembered how much they're enjoying their grandparents and "the cousins") "But each year we plan to come back here for about a month and a half." Then I waited for him to digest that. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">I thank God that we have not been inundated by similar questions since our abrupt departure. He has protected their precious little hearts and vulnerable spirits. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">We left many of our belongings there. I had less than 3 hours notice that we would be leaving. Had there been time to pack, there weren't any totes to put our things in. We had sent them out to one of the Mission Ethiopia sites with donations and supplies. We had a few smallish carry-ons and a couple pieces of luggage that had been accumulated. One of the carry-ons was literally a reusable shopping bag. Another was a child's tiny backpack. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">A contract driver and van were outside waiting for us. "Contract," meaning he did not work for anyone we were connected with...because no one could know we were leaving. So, as everyone else was loading the van, I was upstairs in hysterics. Keith was badgering me, "We have to go. We have to go!" I begged for one more bag. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">I had months to mentally prepare for the massive purge and leaving behind of items. This day, I had just hours. Apparently though, God had been preparing me all that day. For no apparent reason, I cried to at least 4 different staff members that morning, without divulging information or the possibilities. Embarrassingly, not all of them even spoke English. Still, I ranted. The stress of the previous days was too much. I also may have used a few profane words in the midst of my emotional breakdown. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">Again I found myself crying and screaming. This time at my husband. Bless that man. He is the most patient human I have ever met. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">He rounded up one more bag and also wisely suggested I grab some educational materials as I would need to continue homeschooling during this hiatus. I grabbed one book: Saxon Phonics. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">The kids have randomly asked about particular items. We each have a special teacup for what else but tea time while Mommy reads a classic to them. So, tea time has been either without tea...or hot tea in boring, matching cups. Avery asked me to use the crinkle cutter for vegetables one day. I had to break the sad news: no more fun veggies. I left all kitchen items, including the birthday gifts that had just arrived in a care package: a pressure cooker and French press. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">When I tell them the requested toy or book is in Ethiopia, the conversation goes no further. They know it's just stuff. And, hopefully, they understand this time here is just a visit. Quite a long visit. Our residence is somewhere else. For now, home is anywhere we are all together. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">This has been more of a contemplative post. We are still unable to share details for safety concerns. I'll work on some informational posts next. Ethiopia information, as I realize I have been a big fat failure at that so far. </div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">That question from Ivan came the morning of Halloween. So, I feel a few pics from the occasion are relative. Enjoy. We went with Despicable Me 2 for a family-wide theme.</div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></div><div style="font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-1sWTXbdYKiU/UoUuGnTCh5I/AAAAAAAAMWA/NIN0eBY64Ug/s640/blogger-image-1625231217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-1sWTXbdYKiU/UoUuGnTCh5I/AAAAAAAAMWA/NIN0eBY64Ug/s640/blogger-image-1625231217.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-PlNLcuXLEls/UoUuI8kDzLI/AAAAAAAAMWI/JaMvNkifUF8/s640/blogger-image-243369348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-PlNLcuXLEls/UoUuI8kDzLI/AAAAAAAAMWI/JaMvNkifUF8/s640/blogger-image-243369348.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-KXmHmzRVXcY/UoUuKwGZh7I/AAAAAAAAMWQ/5DlmuE1OFNo/s640/blogger-image--1083834765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-KXmHmzRVXcY/UoUuKwGZh7I/AAAAAAAAMWQ/5DlmuE1OFNo/s640/blogger-image--1083834765.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-15495729402564837772013-10-07T07:32:00.000-07:002013-10-07T07:32:39.036-07:00Here in the Hallway<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div>"Until God opens the next door, praise him in the hallway." <br />
<br />
That is where we have found ourselves. <br />
<br />
In the hallway.<br />
<br />
Having left where God had us and not yet planted where he has led us.<br />
<br />
Our hiatus from Ethiopia is looking to be more lengthy than we anticipated. Partly because the issues which caused us to leave are still being settled, and partly because we had planned to be here for the month of December and plane tickets back and forth again would be evidence of poor stewardship of the resources God has afforded us. <br />
<br />
So, we are here. The kids and I. Until January 1st. It may be in the budget for Keith to return for a time to work and "test the waters," as he likes to phrase it to tease his family. <br />
<br />
If you are confused as to exactly what is going on, email me. Although I am an open book when it comes to my own personal life (hygiene, bowel movements, menstrual cycle, etc.), I cannot put much detailed information here, as it is someone else's personal business. You can also click <a href="http://eepurl.com/FRcAj" target="_blank"><u>HERE</a></u> for our latest ministry newsletter sent on 9/25, which has more specifics on the situation. <br />
<br />
While we are here, we will continue to work from Texas. Our hours are a little different, as Keith has been up until the wee hours of the morning on phone calls with mission teams or folks in Ethiopia. This is a job that we don't get to put down at 5 PM. A job that supersedes meal times and bed times. A job we are doing in order to help save the jobs of close to a hundred Ethiopians...who are at risk for losing their families because they are seen as unemployable. A ministry that we are a part of in order to see the Gospel spread and lives impacted both in Ethiopia and Stateside. That is our priority right now. Making connections with people here and there in order to keep the ship sailing during this time of transition. <br />
<br />
We don't feel like God has closed the door to Ethiopia. Not yet at least. That country, its culture and people are still rooted deeply in our hearts. However, while in this hallway, we will praise him. <br />
<br />
A few things for which I am praising God:<br />
<br />
Kids who, in all of this shuffling around...giving half their toys and clothes away...being dropped into a foreign culture...and again leaving their home behind, haven't batted an eye. Their adjustment has been amazing. <br />
<br />
Luxuries like Target, Walmart, Trader Joe's, and other amazing grocery stores within a few miles of us.<br />
<br />
Parents (in-laws to me) who have graciously let us take over half their home. <br />
<br />
I am praising God for a deli counter that slices cheese with a different knife than the one used to slice the beef. That wasn't the case in Ethiopia, hence the bits of beef on the edges of my cheese. I am serious. And repulsed at the memory.<br />
<br />
A kitchen that always has power...so that I don't have to cook wearing a headlamp. <br />
<br />
Water. From the faucet. With no traces of fecal matter. Safe to drink. No worries of the tank running out. I can open my eyes and mouth in the shower. Rinse my toothbrush. No chances of anyone (Keith) contracting Giardia. Oh, man. I have missed the water. <br />
<br />
Driving my van. Driving down the road. Driving my van. Honk, honk, I go. Sing with me!<br />
<br />
Internet. Oh, what did I ever do without you? <br />
<br />
Finally, we all praised God for days when this arrived.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZocVxTs6YuY/UlH0qQlb-pI/AAAAAAAAMSg/RYISZlKTmho/s1600/IMG_0367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZocVxTs6YuY/UlH0qQlb-pI/AAAAAAAAMSg/RYISZlKTmho/s320/IMG_0367.JPG" /></a></div>I never thought I'd see this Barbie bag or its travel contents again. However, Lufthansa airline has won me over. Like I said before, I let the kids completely pack themselves. This was Avery's carry-on, stuffed with her Hannah Montana blanket and Dumbo. I tucked in a few favorite kids books and all our rain jackets before Keith tied the handles together. It was overlooked in the overhead compartment when we gathered our things in Frankfurt. During our layover, Keith was given a business card with an e-mail address to describe the lost "luggage." Although the bag contained none of our information...it's just a reusable shopping bag, with Barbie plastered on the front, the kind employees at Lufthansa tracked it down and mailed it to us. I love them. <br />
<br />
It was a day of rejoicing. <br />
<br />
Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-14854099580364424792013-09-13T12:38:00.000-07:002013-09-13T12:38:50.929-07:00Worst Case Scenario<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div>“We’re going home.”<br />
<br />
Those were the first words out of Keith’s mouth when he called me on Tuesday at noon. <br />
<br />
Friday morning we began walking on eggshells. Tuesday morning it was pins and needles. <br />
<br />
Up until that morning, leaving, especially leaving abruptly, was the worst case scenario. <br />
<br />
That is where we found ourselves on Tuesday at 12:00. <br />
<br />
The worst case scenario.<br />
<br />
Two hours later, I found out we were booked on the midnight flight out of Addis but could not communicate that information to ANYONE until our family was safely boarded on the plane. <br />
<br />
I didn’t know how I was to pack. Were we leaving for good? If we were returning, how long would our house be empty? How many bags could I bring? How much time before we had to leave for the airport? <br />
<br />
Where does one start packing up for a family of five? It took me months to pack for the move, weeding down to the bare essentials. I took so many non-essentials apparently because we brought home less than half of what we took over. <br />
<br />
I let the kids pack themselves, partly because I didn’t have time to do it and partly because I needed them out of my hair so I could pack the rest. I only checked their rooms when I was ready to pack the final bag. As far as I could tell, they did the job. However, when Garrison’s backpack was flagged in Germany for scissors among his random craft supplies, I realized my mistake. <br />
<br />
We left our home in tears. More tears than when we left the States. We left for our family’s safety. That’s the pertinent information I can communicate right now. We will let out more details as they are settled. We do plan to return to Ethiopia as soon as possible. We are still renting our house and are still integrally connected to the ministry of Mission Ethiopia. There’s much work Stateside that we are doing while here. We’re in Houston with Keith’s family and will be going to Dallas soon (where ME “headquarters” is located). <br />
<br />
Pray for the leadership involved. Pray for the Ethiopian government and its legal system. Pray Ephesians 6:10-20 because, ultimately, our battle is not against flesh and blood. <br />
<br />
Here are a few pictures of us at the airport. Proof the kids are okay...having the time of their lives. And that we are still hard at work. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-irenjaKVuU4/UjIsu-yjfBI/AAAAAAAALR8/iNqz7KfAKiA/s1600/image(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-irenjaKVuU4/UjIsu-yjfBI/AAAAAAAALR8/iNqz7KfAKiA/s320/image(1).jpeg" /></a></div>As soon as the kids made it through the first security checkpoint in Addis, they made up a game within the square boundary I allotted them. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rJsnbpw3lnM/UjItFgzCbvI/AAAAAAAALSE/9wXDVypruCY/s1600/image(2).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rJsnbpw3lnM/UjItFgzCbvI/AAAAAAAALSE/9wXDVypruCY/s320/image(2).jpeg" /></a></div>Sitting in the long line to check in. Just more play time for my kids. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N6RsJ-bhIzo/UjItbHV4wII/AAAAAAAALSM/UWbV2spaq6A/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N6RsJ-bhIzo/UjItbHV4wII/AAAAAAAALSM/UWbV2spaq6A/s320/image.jpeg" /></a></div>Working on the other side of the table while we get dinner at the airport: Michael (with Mission ET stateside) and Ann Rae (our favorite housemate).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hUAnyIZiPIE/UjIt4kH70aI/AAAAAAAALSU/fLb4W4-awW8/s1600/photo(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hUAnyIZiPIE/UjIt4kH70aI/AAAAAAAALSU/fLb4W4-awW8/s320/photo(4).JPG" /></a></div>Mr. Sleepyhead Ivan curled up next to Keith in a booth in Frankfurt.Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-47374101096632816882013-07-06T07:48:00.000-07:002013-07-06T07:48:04.861-07:00Two Months...Really<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div><blockquote></blockquote>The lease for our house was supposed to be signed on by Hanok (house hunter who has power of attorney) before we left the States, but because this is Ethiopia it didn’t get done until day 4 of us being here. In addition to both agreeable parties being available to sign, they have to make their way to a government office in order for it to be legal. And said office has to be open. Oh, and also have power. <br />
<p>Finally, the stars aligned. <br />
<p>The rainy season, typically June-September, started early this year, which delayed the actual moving of our things an additional day. Once the moving ceased, the kids helped me open all the totes. My only goal was to find a tub of toys to busy the kids on the 2nd floor while I unpacked on the 3rd floor, the floor which our family occupies. <br />
<p>Meanwhile, outside was a downpour. The heaviest rain we had seen thus far in Ethiopia. Before I could even clean the dirt out of the wardrobe in my room, I heard the kids squealing with excitement about water on the stairs. Indeed, water was pouring in from a corner window. I lay down 3 towels to soak up the mess and called for Keith. <br />
<p>Next, I walked in to mop the room we had planned for the kids to sleep in and the water pouring from the ceiling had spread nearly wall to wall. <br />
<p>I continued my cleaning spree by looking for rooms dry enough to mop.<br />
<p>Every room I walked into was leaking in water, either from a window, door, ceiling…or all 3. <br />
<p>Numerous water leaks + a house that has been collecting dirt for 6 months of vacancy = Mud. Everywhere. <br />
<p>Sounds like the worst day ever, right? Ah, but this is where God’s divine workings and providence come into play.<br />
<p>In addition to us, the tenants, in the house were the following: Hanok (house hunter/translator/power of attorney/Ethiopian extraordinaire), the home owners, the home builder, and the maintenance man. The owners were adamant that all issues be fixed. “Fix it tomorrow,” the wife said to the builder and maintenance man. She was not happy. <br />
<p>Had the rain come before or after those individuals were present in the house, we would be living and sleeping amongst the rain and mud for who knows how long. If they hadn’t seen with their own eyes that the water was coming from a window, sink or toilet (oh, yes, those were leaking too), they wouldn’t have believed it. <br />
<p>There were other things getting fixed. I think the only thing that worked upon move in were the doors (they opened) and cold water (it came out of most sinks). <br />
<p>Weeks later after multiple visits from both owner and builder, there were still 14 leaky windows/doors to be fixed, the kitchen sink, a toilet and at least 1 bathroom sink. One day it sounded like someone was taking a shower on the stairs. But, no, it was the roto (small-ish water tank on the roof) overflowing, which poured into our house from that top-most corner window. And all the way down the stairs to the entry way. <br />
<p>Now, almost 2 months after moving in, we are still dealing with leaks, but I no longer run around pulling up curtains and putting down towels each time I hear rain. <br />
<p>More importantly, we are in a house. All 5 of us. Just the 5 of us. Well, 6 of us with Ann Rae, but she’s family for the next year. It’s been a long time. We have seen God’s provision and it is good. <br />
Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-55635202876840346162013-06-23T08:23:00.002-07:002013-06-23T08:23:59.084-07:00Home Improvements<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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We're making progress around here. Inside and outside the house. We've technically done nothing to the outside of the house, but I consider my learning my way around town as progress. <br />
<p><br />
The view from the front of our house. Just behind the kids is a slightly grassy giant dirt mound, which is most commonly used as a "rest stop." By both animals and humans. Kids on the way to school. Passersby. Whoever. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OGXOy_2OrSI/UbMv6-TaSoI/AAAAAAAAK78/4VrBKWF4On0/s1600/DSC08286.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OGXOy_2OrSI/UbMv6-TaSoI/AAAAAAAAK78/4VrBKWF4On0/s320/DSC08286.JPG" /></a><br />
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<p>The police station behind that rest stop.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W7EyflowQB8/UbM06f5UQbI/AAAAAAAAK8M/FyXxz2nllcI/s1600/DSC08287.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W7EyflowQB8/UbM06f5UQbI/AAAAAAAAK8M/FyXxz2nllcI/s320/DSC08287.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>Rocks. The landmark I formerly used to find my way home. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sFeY8ecxNL4/UbM1YWoovuI/AAAAAAAAK8U/6nk_P53pBTM/s1600/DSC08292.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sFeY8ecxNL4/UbM1YWoovuI/AAAAAAAAK8U/6nk_P53pBTM/s320/DSC08292.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>The church next door. Seventh Day Adventists. <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K8rzMTYMbUY/UbM2PMS0n-I/AAAAAAAAK8g/Sg0MuGAsOIE/s1600/DSC08291.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K8rzMTYMbUY/UbM2PMS0n-I/AAAAAAAAK8g/Sg0MuGAsOIE/s320/DSC08291.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>The government school 2 blocks from home. Their morning program starts at 7:20 with nails on the chalkboard over a PA system. I can't make out the words, but the music is familiar. Always something American. <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AFbSavA2BXA/UbM4QyQ9QTI/AAAAAAAAK8w/VLT8hmqESVY/s1600/DSC08293.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AFbSavA2BXA/UbM4QyQ9QTI/AAAAAAAAK8w/VLT8hmqESVY/s320/DSC08293.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>Picture on wall outside school. Ah, the 5 senses. Important stuff. <br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofxIrDd6iXY/UbM5QLKVPVI/AAAAAAAAK88/-oX1lDEG-HI/s1600/DSC08295.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ofxIrDd6iXY/UbM5QLKVPVI/AAAAAAAAK88/-oX1lDEG-HI/s320/DSC08295.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>Police station a few blocks from home. <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-775bEiwyq0I/UbM5t_GXj7I/AAAAAAAAK9I/7HWwQ6SkF8M/s1600/DSC08329.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-775bEiwyq0I/UbM5t_GXj7I/AAAAAAAAK9I/7HWwQ6SkF8M/s320/DSC08329.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>Another landmark on the way home: teepee light pole.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hQz7qhG3eKw/UbNDlUxacAI/AAAAAAAAK9Y/7rScCdac_OI/s1600/DSC08377.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hQz7qhG3eKw/UbNDlUxacAI/AAAAAAAAK9Y/7rScCdac_OI/s320/DSC08377.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>My night stand next to the home school station. I just dig out what I need daily. <br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rDIpG5VIuBg/UbXph7KNoTI/AAAAAAAAK9o/-B5csWCbcQM/s1600/DSC08430.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rDIpG5VIuBg/UbXph7KNoTI/AAAAAAAAK9o/-B5csWCbcQM/s320/DSC08430.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>Keith's night stand and laundry basket.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xOwOhW7CIEQ/UbXqLHnZroI/AAAAAAAAK9w/BwqdBtjFoRE/s1600/DSC08400.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xOwOhW7CIEQ/UbXqLHnZroI/AAAAAAAAK9w/BwqdBtjFoRE/s320/DSC08400.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>Our living room. Currently it has just 3 chairs and the TV, but I just purchased 3 little kid chairs so that Keith and I have a place to sit. <br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mSl-HSCJI5I/UbXqmX1H1rI/AAAAAAAAK94/R_xN_0n7AtM/s1600/DSC08409.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mSl-HSCJI5I/UbXqmX1H1rI/AAAAAAAAK94/R_xN_0n7AtM/s320/DSC08409.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>We all have a place to hang our coats at the front door. This is fabulous. I feel like I'm at home now. <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p04t8oQ6Vgs/UbXqtmhh4EI/AAAAAAAAK-A/itKbPNeW8Lc/s1600/DSC08411.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p04t8oQ6Vgs/UbXqtmhh4EI/AAAAAAAAK-A/itKbPNeW8Lc/s320/DSC08411.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>The "shelving" unit in our bedroom. <br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m0sPSSqRHOY/UbXrr94F7vI/AAAAAAAAK-M/Z3BfVotdSJA/s1600/DSC08396.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m0sPSSqRHOY/UbXrr94F7vI/AAAAAAAAK-M/Z3BfVotdSJA/s320/DSC08396.JPG" /></a><br />
<p>My half of the closet, which houses the medicine cabinet, all my hanging clothes (for which we purchased hangers a few days ago), any article I'd typically keep in a drawer, bed linens, bathroom products, accessories, and all of Avery's cool weather clothes. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UEOxGAeXzGk/UbXr2AvZ3WI/AAAAAAAAK-U/fjVVkNbXY5U/s1600/DSC08394.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UEOxGAeXzGk/UbXr2AvZ3WI/AAAAAAAAK-U/fjVVkNbXY5U/s320/DSC08394.JPG" /></a><br />
<p> <br />
<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ooMwihA0mEw/UcXK9jbdySI/AAAAAAAAK_M/06g_LE0tKFU/s1600/DSC08387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ooMwihA0mEw/UcXK9jbdySI/AAAAAAAAK_M/06g_LE0tKFU/s320/DSC08387.JPG" /></a></div><p><br />
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Ivan and Avery having fun in front of my vanity. This mirror was intended for the kids' bathroom but it broke upon installation. Yes, the house came with no mirrors and few working lights.<br />
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<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2jD6mjiG6_c/UcXLNJMZj-I/AAAAAAAAK_U/T-Cu7x95Sz4/s1600/DSC08391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2jD6mjiG6_c/UcXLNJMZj-I/AAAAAAAAK_U/T-Cu7x95Sz4/s320/DSC08391.JPG" /></a></div><p><br />
<p>Keith's garage, located in our bedroom. <br />
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<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T8ohKisCl8w/UcXLgr4accI/AAAAAAAAK_c/Fd5O0J7BIH4/s1600/DSC08389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T8ohKisCl8w/UcXLgr4accI/AAAAAAAAK_c/Fd5O0J7BIH4/s320/DSC08389.JPG" /></a></div><p><br />
<p>In the absence of closet space, I'm making suitcases and laundry baskets work for the kids' closet. Located, where else but, in our bedroom.<br />
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<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jbIUCE2pSJU/UcXLwvdlwBI/AAAAAAAAK_k/74eHJANeezc/s1600/DSC08406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jbIUCE2pSJU/UcXLwvdlwBI/AAAAAAAAK_k/74eHJANeezc/s320/DSC08406.JPG" /></a></div><p><br />
<p>For now they are all still in one room. This is a much better situation than where they were last week. Bunking with us. All 5 of us in our room, along with nearly everything we own, for one week while we accommodated a team from Cyprus. Fun.Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-58348798091999671092013-05-31T05:25:00.001-07:002013-05-31T05:25:59.262-07:00A Day's Agenda<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We had an agenda: 1. Open bank account. 2. Get SIM cards for phone service.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Hanook took the whole family out, walking, of course. At the bank we learned that only residents can hold accounts at a bank. We are not residents. Yet. The months leading up to the move were spent gathering paperwork for gaining work permits, which must be done in order to establish residency. I had to call an office at the school of my undergrad degree requesting a special note and signature be added to the back of my transcript and that someone write a letter to go along with my diploma. All to be authenticated. Why does Ethiopia need my college transcript? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">On to the next stop. The SIM card. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But they require a passport photo. The first little photo shop did not have power. The next shop was closed for the previous day’s holiday. We finally found an open shop that had electricity. The “photographer” took each of us one at a time through the only door for what felt like yearbook shots: cheery smile, serious face, angle the knees and tilt head. Oh, these were gonna be great pictures. And Hanook returned after the processing to retrieve them for us. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Although we crossed neither item off our list, the day was still a win for me. I picked up a kilo (2.2 lbs) of avocados for 50 cents. Five very squishy avocados. From what I have seen of the produce, it looks over ripe on the outside but is perfect and delicious on the inside. Bananas are yellow and mostly black. I’ve never even seen a green or yellow banana here. And, it’s all a little bit smaller but more tasty. Makes me skeptical about produce from the States. It’s all so big, shiny and beautiful. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The following day, we were more realistic with our agenda. Just the phone service. No AT&T or Verizon Wireless stores here. The SIM card must be purchased at a government office. Really. So, everyone has to be patted down by uniformed officers before entering, but the female officer, without even leaving her telephone booth of a post, just gave me a once over with her eyes and waved me on in. Not my lucky day, I guess. Inside, we did a lot of people watching while waiting on Hanook who was asked to go make photo copies of our passports. This was a no-frills office. Come prepared, people. Those photos we took the previous day? They were stapled to each of our applications. Yes, all this for local phone service. Two hours later, we left with SIM cards. Yeah! But would not work in our iPhones. Ugh! Apparently an "unlocked" phone has a different meaning in Ethiopia. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our new task: unlock our phones. The following weekend, we dropped them off for a few hours at a place a little farther away. A bit more promising but in the end no deal. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We tried once more, at a shop that kept both phones overnight. When they were returned, Keith’s phone was “jacked,” having been taken back a few decades, after having specifically stated not to upgrade or downgrade the iOS and NOT to delete anything. For you Apple geeks out there, they took it from 6.1 to 4.1 and DID delete everything!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Then, one fine day, a light shone down upon a stranger. A translator with impeccable English. Within seconds, he had swiped a few screens, entered some numbers and had Keith’s phone working on an Ethiopian network. I am so jealous. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’ve been without a phone for 4 weeks. No email or internet at my fingertips. There’s no calling the hubs to see if he’ll be home for lunch. Or dinner. Or ask if he can pick up a veggie from the nearest produce stand. Or to just find out where he is so that we know in which direction to walk. None of that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But, I’ve managed to survive. Somehow. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Another essential I survived 4 weeks without. Washing my hair. Yep. 4 weeks of no water, no products, no tools…nothing…for my hair. But it's clean now. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A few pictures I hope you'll enjoy:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Garrison pulled his 6th tooth out one morning this week. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0A-Jms8hkBI/UaiWqYkHyMI/AAAAAAAAK7M/weN27SWm8ac/s640/blogger-image-1077371347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-0A-Jms8hkBI/UaiWqYkHyMI/AAAAAAAAK7M/weN27SWm8ac/s640/blogger-image-1077371347.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All the boys got hair cuts this week. Total including tip: $2.15.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-tHhYHVh1ag0/UaiW1B3caSI/AAAAAAAAK7s/p163llSKguo/s640/blogger-image--2080564994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-tHhYHVh1ag0/UaiW1B3caSI/AAAAAAAAK7s/p163llSKguo/s640/blogger-image--2080564994.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Clean chicken bones, thanks to my children. Who did the best job? That'd be Avery. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-FbOJrjsgg2U/UaiWtTOggLI/AAAAAAAAK7U/Hc3vVjF1scc/s640/blogger-image--1634728592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-FbOJrjsgg2U/UaiWtTOggLI/AAAAAAAAK7U/Hc3vVjF1scc/s640/blogger-image--1634728592.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My little list maker. Walking doesn't stop her. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-1VJG54Tm0-E/UahRc8rU8jI/AAAAAAAAK60/jDJfNTzWqQ8/s640/blogger-image-412701517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-1VJG54Tm0-E/UahRc8rU8jI/AAAAAAAAK60/jDJfNTzWqQ8/s640/blogger-image-412701517.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">No outfit is complete without a giant sunhat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hc98pC2NY00/UaiWvwzmKOI/AAAAAAAAK7c/15-WODuAwus/s640/blogger-image--1547159458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-hc98pC2NY00/UaiWvwzmKOI/AAAAAAAAK7c/15-WODuAwus/s640/blogger-image--1547159458.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Why does this baseball-bat-weilding knight look so unhappy? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ZoYjIesoEGs/UaiWy6H86MI/AAAAAAAAK7k/fJOr7NJWLok/s640/blogger-image-987942461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ZoYjIesoEGs/UaiWy6H86MI/AAAAAAAAK7k/fJOr7NJWLok/s640/blogger-image-987942461.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This one is from before we left the States, but I just saw it. The cake says "We Miss You," which is true for us. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; "><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6d7ixrNzYvw/UaiWm7jvF3I/AAAAAAAAK7E/Gnb4BxaWx3I/s640/blogger-image-1569925374.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6d7ixrNzYvw/UaiWm7jvF3I/AAAAAAAAK7E/Gnb4BxaWx3I/s640/blogger-image-1569925374.jpg"></a></div><br><p></p><div>Also, our newsletter will be coming out in a couple of days. Forgive us as we may have been absent from the world of social media. Oh, the woes of intermittent power and even less internet. Keith has something in the works involving tin foil and aluminum cans though. It sounds very promising. </div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-324626822798993312013-05-19T10:09:00.001-07:002013-05-19T10:09:30.044-07:00Don't Pray for Rain<div>You'd think the early rainy season would only increase or in some way add to the water supply. Well, you'd be wrong. </div><div><br></div>The first 24 hours in our house we had water. Just cold water though because the boiler was on the fritz, as was every other component necessary to a working household. Still, we had water. I was cleaning up a storm. I must have mopped my bedroom a dozen times that first day, as well as a play area for the kids. I can't have my babies playing on a dirty floor now. Nope. I bleached that nasty thing.<div><br></div><div>And then there was none. </div><div><br></div><div>No water.</div><div><br></div><div>For 3 whole days.</div><div><br></div><div>What did we do without water for 3 days you ask. Let me tell you what we didn't do. Didn't flush the toilets. Didn't take showers. We didn't wash our hands or even our brown feet before crawling in bed. No cooking, which means no dish washing.</div><div><br></div><div>(One night we did use a "community" water bucket to wash our hands.) Not sure of its efficiency.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-5IMr2HpuxTg/UZkG01JpfWI/AAAAAAAAK6E/Sed_SueT7rs/s640/blogger-image--94770092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-5IMr2HpuxTg/UZkG01JpfWI/AAAAAAAAK6E/Sed_SueT7rs/s640/blogger-image--94770092.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I had to stop cleaning. Gasp! I know. But only until I could haul water back from the nearest guest home in 1-liter water bottles, which I used to make my own cleaner. Then it was back to work. Those smiley faces are for the "Safe Cleaner" I made out of castile soap, which I thoughtfully packed.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YgVV_XoAY3g/UZkGhnYPb4I/AAAAAAAAK5k/7Ldg9WuJScw/s640/blogger-image--1364708056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YgVV_XoAY3g/UZkGhnYPb4I/AAAAAAAAK5k/7Ldg9WuJScw/s640/blogger-image--1364708056.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Let me go back to those non-flushing toilets for a moment. Our family of 5 had the use of 2 toilets. The toilets here have about half a cup of water in them to begin with. Take that combined 1 cup of water and add to it the daily excrements of 5 people, of whom 3 are males. Now, that's important because everyone knows that males produce more poo than females. Oh, my! I wish I could have somehow bottled the smell and sent it your way. Not that you would enjoy it. No, no. But naturally I want to share with others any grotesque thing, whether it be taste, sight, sound or smell. I feel the need to force this experience on others. </div><div><br></div><div>It was so bad, I used a quarter of Keith's cologne on the bathroom door and frame so that when the wind blew in the stench in from the bathroom to where I slept a few feet away, it would hopefully be masked by the scent of my beloved. </div><div><br></div><div>The morning of day 3, Keith couldn't even stand it. He took a 5-gallon yellow water-fetching jug to fetch water and hauled it up 3 flights of stairs. <span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">Took him 4 trips to fill the toilet tanks. 4 trips up 3 flights of stairs carrying 5 gallons of water each time. Finally f</span>lushing that stinky sludge down town. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-easmltsSScA/UZkGsKr0xtI/AAAAAAAAK50/XBpMaL1-6aU/s640/blogger-image-1382661002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-easmltsSScA/UZkGsKr0xtI/AAAAAAAAK50/XBpMaL1-6aU/s640/blogger-image-1382661002.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>All this, we were told, is because the extra rain has caused problems with the water supply. Anyway, I think through very carefully each time I turn a faucet handle. </div><div><br></div><div>Our newest arrival. Hopefully, this will help resolve the issue in the future. You are correct. That monstrosity is a water tank. It is also the complete view from our living room. Nice. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-C4JA8HLmwiw/UZkG_XOrWwI/AAAAAAAAK6c/CtsYfzgoM9o/s640/blogger-image-393319036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-C4JA8HLmwiw/UZkG_XOrWwI/AAAAAAAAK6c/CtsYfzgoM9o/s640/blogger-image-393319036.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Here are some pictures of my bathroom. Pretty snazzy. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-2Ak1TtIwdrk/UZkGoonAbzI/AAAAAAAAK5s/L__M3JAK-S4/s640/blogger-image-1281841012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-2Ak1TtIwdrk/UZkGoonAbzI/AAAAAAAAK5s/L__M3JAK-S4/s640/blogger-image-1281841012.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>We finally got a shower curtain. Keith said he bought the most descent one available. It was that bluish clear plastic liner and awful covered rings. My goal was to get a dark shower curtain to blend in with the current stains that look like muddy grout. </div><div><br></div><div>Days after Keith hung that plastic curtain, I unpacked a chocolate colored black-out bedroom curtain that was too short to use in our bedroom here. I safety pinned that bluish liner to the two curtain panels and strung it on the rod. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MH2ARoDkOzg/UZkHRCGmqSI/AAAAAAAAK6k/BNH0WNHN5LI/s640/blogger-image--2045994245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MH2ARoDkOzg/UZkHRCGmqSI/AAAAAAAAK6k/BNH0WNHN5LI/s640/blogger-image--2045994245.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><div>I also dug out a taupe padded bathroom rug and traded out the purple trash can for a brown one I had spotted in the corner of the living room. </div><div><br></div><div>Next: bleach the grout or paint it using the darkest nail polish I can find. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-cjGsewvNl8g/UZkG8fBb2_I/AAAAAAAAK6U/wf8EgM76KCo/s640/blogger-image-903641741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-cjGsewvNl8g/UZkG8fBb2_I/AAAAAAAAK6U/wf8EgM76KCo/s640/blogger-image-903641741.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>This is before I found a mirror. That bottle of water is for brushing our teeth. We were using the drinking water, but now I'm boiling water tap water to save a few birr. That's the Ethiopian currency. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hMoSa64IbQE/UZkGw9N2_vI/AAAAAAAAK58/-sH4dqq7Qp4/s640/blogger-image--1441991916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hMoSa64IbQE/UZkGw9N2_vI/AAAAAAAAK58/-sH4dqq7Qp4/s640/blogger-image--1441991916.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>And, finally a mirror but no light fixture. It's a work in progress. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-riwBZdMcZBo/UZkG46uglFI/AAAAAAAAK6M/ta9pI98fLNY/s640/blogger-image--1343692277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-riwBZdMcZBo/UZkG46uglFI/AAAAAAAAK6M/ta9pI98fLNY/s640/blogger-image--1343692277.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-61992624174939455152013-05-10T09:47:00.000-07:002013-05-10T09:47:57.349-07:00Closet Space<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div>Go left at the end of the street; then take the first right. At the big rock in the road, turn left. We are the house immediately past the giant school sign. All in all, it’s about a 2-minute walk. That is if you begin at the Nathaniel house of the Ethiopian Guest Homes, which is where we have stayed since our arrival. Take me anywhere else and I'm lost. On the other end of our street is a medical clinic on the corner and a pharmacy within eye shot of the clinic. <br />
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The house is big. But, the plan has always been to share a home with long-term volunteers. 1) Shared rent = less rent. 2) The volunteers would have stability with an amazing family…us…instead of at a bed and breakfast with a steady string of guests. The first volunteer will arrive in June and plans to be here a year. I’m sensing that she loves kids and will insist on letting us have an occasional date night out. Then behind the kitchen there is a row of rooms that will be used by the guest home for teams during the busy summer months. More entertainment for the kids. <br />
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The first picture is of the gate in front of the house, and of course those cuties I sometimes call my kids. A gate? you ask. Yes. Pretty much every home has a similar gate. Even many businesses in town have them. A few much nicer with a touch of someone’s green thumb, and others on the shabby and even dilapidated side. It’s really no big deal. The kids are super excited about the barbed wire at the top though. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z3aYC8ArKyQ/UYfZwy-jaaI/AAAAAAAAK0Y/SFtbN6eetfY/s1600/DSC08225.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z3aYC8ArKyQ/UYfZwy-jaaI/AAAAAAAAK0Y/SFtbN6eetfY/s320/DSC08225.JPG" /></a><br />
And, a stone's throw away from that gate is a big pile of dirt. Behind it, a police station. <br />
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The common living and dining area are one large room separated by that little step you see Ivan jumping up. Avery is standing in the “dining room.” Right behind her is the kitchen.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1vt0tnLqVD0/UYfffInUOaI/AAAAAAAAK00/_9tQYw1ZfZ8/s1600/DSC08260.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1vt0tnLqVD0/UYfffInUOaI/AAAAAAAAK00/_9tQYw1ZfZ8/s320/DSC08260.JPG" /></a><br />
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The kitchen sink overlooks those extra rooms for busy summers. Keith must have told Hanook, the guy who did the house hunting for us, about my cooking expertise. That little door will come in handy when I smoke up the kitchen, or set it on fire. True story. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9drIgnu96tY/UYfuQcK_1dI/AAAAAAAAK1E/7hvxX6tmEXs/s1600/DSC08227.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9drIgnu96tY/UYfuQcK_1dI/AAAAAAAAK1E/7hvxX6tmEXs/s320/DSC08227.JPG" /></a> <br />
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Kids’ rooms. We’re going to try for the same situation we have at home. Boys in one room, Avery in the other…but they all sleep in one room. Two rooms are nice when we need to separate them, which is inevitable in the excitement of a new house. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c6VVHcJcC4w/UYfw1lhBa_I/AAAAAAAAK1Y/KfujtO3sGdU/s1600/DSC08246.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c6VVHcJcC4w/UYfw1lhBa_I/AAAAAAAAK1Y/KfujtO3sGdU/s320/DSC08246.JPG" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zZj5HpKdI-o/UYfwrCuCgwI/AAAAAAAAK1Q/8javoVmrrcM/s1600/DSC08245.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zZj5HpKdI-o/UYfwrCuCgwI/AAAAAAAAK1Q/8javoVmrrcM/s320/DSC08245.JPG" /></a> <br />
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For now, this will be the family closet since it is the only closet. Seriously. It’ll work, but I am expecting something fantabulous out of Keith’s handy-man and engineering skills. <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-juvF2HCB55k/UYigON-dwOI/AAAAAAAAK1o/5vbjAyPCPaI/s1600/DSC08250.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-juvF2HCB55k/UYigON-dwOI/AAAAAAAAK1o/5vbjAyPCPaI/s320/DSC08250.JPG" /></a><br />
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The only piece of grass is outside the gate. I think we can get by with a pair of scissors for lawn maintenance. That feature alone won Keith over. <br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Blw2DrGAyk0/UY0kd0pAIGI/AAAAAAAAK14/9KS2qMBJWFE/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Blw2DrGAyk0/UY0kd0pAIGI/AAAAAAAAK14/9KS2qMBJWFE/s320/photo+(3).JPG" /></a>Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-62460086834088130372013-05-06T03:14:00.000-07:002013-05-06T03:14:03.660-07:00Mr. Crabby Britches and Our First Day Here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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Uncertain whether it was my newly adjusted internal clock or my bladder (for they are equally annoying), I woke and removed my eye mask to see that it was exactly 7 AM. Ugh! The kids were still fast asleep so I returned to bed but couldn’t sleep for Keith’s badgering me about the banging he heard. However, I could hear neither the banging nor Keith’s question to me because of my ear plugs. All I could make out was, “Mumble, mumble, mumble,” followed by a muffled, “What is it?!” I half thought he was talking in his sleep and half that he’d just give up and let me return to sweet slumber, so I let him go on for a while before finally removing one ear plug. “I hear the banging but it’s nothing I have any control over, and we are lucky it’s not accompanied by a barking dog and music from the Mosque,” I lovingly replied. He ignorantly refused ear plugs, so I put mine back in and slid into the covers just as an angry elbow met my backside. (No bruises were incurred.) Ah, it’s Mr. Crabby Britches no matter how gentle I greet him in the morning. I love him dearly, but I should know by now to keep a safe distance. He never remembers these incidents though, no matter how loud he gets or where he accidentally flails his arms. Hopefully we will have a larger bed once we move into our own home. <br />
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Keith told me to "not make him sound like a wife beater." Okay, he's not a wife beater. Really. We all have our flaws. He's sometimes a wee bit grumpy in the mornings. I occasionally have gas when I get in bed. Neither is good timing. <br />
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We all slept till nearly noon, then pasta with Keith’s favorite sauce for lunch and I went back to sleep until dinner. I blame the altitude. Always the altitude. Dinner: what looked to be fried zucchini and fried squash. My excitement quickly waned when the first few bites of squash were disappointing because they was actually potatoes, which are severely lacking in flavor compared to my favorite vegetable. The squash. Fried. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ftSWm40cAYc/UYaLgoRt0RI/AAAAAAAAK0I/GYBCVvRPzYw/s1600/DSC08218.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ftSWm40cAYc/UYaLgoRt0RI/AAAAAAAAK0I/GYBCVvRPzYw/s320/DSC08218.JPG" /></a><br />
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Besides sleeping and carb loading, the day was filled with power outages. Sometimes we’d have it for less than a minute at a time. We were told that because it’s Easter weekend here to expect outages…as well as more animals in the street than the usual. Alive and dead. Welcome to Ethiopia.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cl8WEozDox4/UYaKaCXnDJI/AAAAAAAAKz8/mOD0dSUgxtA/s1600/image(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cl8WEozDox4/UYaKaCXnDJI/AAAAAAAAKz8/mOD0dSUgxtA/s320/image(1).jpeg" /></a><br />
A goat head in the street. Evidence of the Resurrection celebration.<br />
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The kids discovered their favorite toy here in the guest home, those giant foam pop-out alphabet inter-locking floor squares. They had a hay day. We used to own a set but gave them away mainly because I got tired of them. Every day it was someone else’s turn to use them to build something ridiculous that I had to pretend excitement over: a car, bed, trash can, Buzz Lightyear costume, etc. I know. I’m the worst for giving away their favorite play thing. They don’t call me “Mommie Dearest” for nothing. <br />
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I’d been wearing the same clothes for 3 days straight, so I took a shower even though it was only my first day in Ethiopia. Perhaps I needed the shower because I found toe jam behind my ears. Both of them. Gross. How does toe jam get up there anyway? Then in the bathroom, I kept getting a whiff of someone’s awful foot odor. But I checked my feet and shoes but neither emitted such a smell. I am still perplexed over it. <br />
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We saw our house by the light of day. Haven’t signed on it yet. But I’ll include pictures next time. We have two bathrooms. And, both are inside the house. I am just giddy. <br />
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Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-79008580093418772052013-05-05T00:13:00.003-07:002013-05-05T00:13:43.780-07:00No Children Were Harmed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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Avery and I got the most sleep on the flights, despite the lack of what most would assume to be common sense boundaries and some good ole discipline in the seat behind me. When we approached our seats, I found Mom and Crying Baby and assumed they were the only threats. However, Grandma and Screaming Toddler soon found their way back from the bathroom and ruined any chance for a pleasant flight. <br />
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Mom and Granny were getting tag teamed by these two little monsters. As soon as Baby would go to sleep, Toddler emerged from her state of contentment. At many points Screaming Toddler turned into Erratic Toddler, during which she would violently kick or beat on the back of Ivan's seat next to me. <br />
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This mother looked plum worn out, tired, fed up. So, I'll cut her some slack. But Granny on the other hand, merely laughed for longer than necessary when Possessed Toddler shook out a bottle of water, heavily spraying me from the gap between the seats. Grandma, I was not amused.<br />
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I've given you the low. Now for the high. I do need to give props to Lufthansa airline for the most comfortable temperature of my international flying experience to date. And, my all-time favorite in-flight meal was served for lunch on the way to Frankfurt. I chose the pasta, which came with a crunchy lettuce salad and tiramisu. All delectable. <br />
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The professional label Keith added to the lid of each tote. <br />
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Keith single-handedly collected all 18 pieces of our checked bags (17 totes + 1 small suitcase deemed by the airline as too large to carry on), while I stood to the side of the chaos with the kids and 10 carry-on pieces. He also wisely found some airline workers who agreed to help move us and our 4 carts through the customs line. <br />
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The mass of people and luggage carts at the customs x-ray machine were so crazy that Keith "forgot" to put his backpack full of electronics and cash on the conveyor belt. And, those kind airport workers ushered me and the kids, suitcases in tow, around to the other side without having to be scanned. Bless them.<br />
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Well, 3 totes and the carry on with electronics were flagged for searching. I took the kids and luggage carts around the corner from the window where 2 workers sat, who would eventually deal with Keith. The travelers in line before Keith were flagged for cases and cases of Trident gum (52 to be exact...Keith counted) and enough body spray to start a Bath and Body Works. <br />
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The item in question for us: a power converter/inverter purchased stateside via amazon for $105. The guys at customs were saying it cost $1,500 USD. Finally they let Keith come behind the glass window and show them on his account the item he purchased and the same item through another website. In the end, getting through customs cost us 3 hours and $180. Duty plus a nice tip for the guys who helped us from baggage claim to our driver. <br />
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To those of you who prayed for our travels, thank you. We saw God's favor in countless ways during the last 2 days. We were charged $0 for 6 extra checked bags (totes, that would have been $200 each). Safe flights in which no children were harmed. We arrived at a guest home (bed and breakfast) and had the kids tucked in by 1:00 A.M. <br />
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We are blessed. <br />
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On the way back from the airport, being blinded by the flash. <br />
Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-5177909457818323182013-05-02T04:18:00.000-07:002013-05-02T13:16:08.601-07:00Note Your Time Zone and Commit to Prayer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div>In the early afternoon of May 3rd at 1:00 PM Central and 2:00 PM Eastern, we will land in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Once through immigration, we hope to find our belongings in baggage claim. Then, the terrifying part: Customs. Dun, dun, dunnn. This is when you start praying. <br />
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The 5 of us with 10 carry-ons and 17 totes (22 gallons each) will attempt to make our way through a procedure that has no rhyme or reason. If the employee on duty sees fit, he/she can open all of our bags and totes, label items as he/she sees fit, then look to a computer that seems to arbitrarily assign values to one's personal property and tax us X amount. You got that right. We hope to not pay duty on those things we already own, but that's the way the cookie crumbles in customs line in Ethiopia. <br />
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On a positive note, every piece of clothing, shoes, accessories, and whatnot I am taking fits neatly in one tote, weighing in at 45 pounds. Wait, I didn't even use those space saver bags where you vacuum the air out of hole after zipping it up. Nope. From socks to scarves, it fits in a single Sterillite container with a handy locking lid. Wow. Let me pause a moment while I pat myself on the back. Again. <br />
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We automatically get those 2 checked pieces each, and Keith graciously called the airline and requested an extra baggage allowance. Turns out with the number of tickets we purchased and the fact that Keith made that phone call, we get 2 extra bags for free "if there's room." So, that makes hopefully 12, but at least 10. We've got 17, remember. <br />
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Long ago, we talked of a moving budget that allowed for extra bags. During that discussion, we were thinking more like 2 extra totes, not 5. But, we got the humanitarian rate on our airline tickets, saving us $1,000, which will cover the cost exactly. <br />
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We found out yesterday that our power of attorney in Ethiopia is signing on a lease for our house today. Zippity doo da! And, some furniture on loan is being moved in tomorrow. Possibly. Well, who knows when. I did hear Keith say on the phone that all we need when we arrive is a mattress. I think he may have forgotten his family when he made that request. Bottom line is we have a house. And, it's not even made of dirt and grass. It'll have real walls and windows. And a kitchen. With a bathroom. Hopefully I'll be able to locate a shower curtain. This is so exciting. I must end here before I pee my pants. <br />
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And, then I need to finish packing. We leave for the airport at noon. Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5633279604114346923.post-53786353959889232152013-03-18T17:12:00.002-07:002013-03-18T18:37:53.450-07:00Pajama Days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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We are allowed 2 50-pound checked bags and 2 carry-ons (one small bag and one "personal item") each. In lieu of suitcases for our checked luggage allotment, we are packing everything in large-ish totes. Most of them are 18-22 gallons. Several reasons: plastic totes weigh substantially less than a suitcase of equivalent space; 10 of them will stack very neatly on those luggage carts...it will take a few luggage carts; totes are relatively cheap; once moved in, stacked totes, minus the lids, can be scooted into a closet. Hmmm, hopefully we will have an extra closet for them. Wait, I hope we have a closet. Period. <br />
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That's all we're taking.<br />
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What about our furniture? Staying with the house. Dishes? Pots and pans? Bathroom linens? TV? Home decor? All staying. Either it won't fit in a tote or it's not worth the space or weight allotment. I'm not particularly attached to any of those things, and they will eventually be replaced as we set up our new home. <br />
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The few sentimental items we own are being stored or loaned long-term to friends and family. <br />
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So, what are we taking exactly? The bare necessities of clothing and shoes, plus a plethora of accessories because 1) they take up very little space, 2) will give me some sense of normalcy, and 3) are just plain fun. After my last closet purge, Keith solemnly came to me and asked if everything was okay, meaning between us. He said it looked like I was moving out. Why did I need 12 pair of jeans when I generally choose one from my 3 favorites. I mean, as long as I don't pee my pants for more than 2 days in a row, I'll be okay. <br />
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Even if my bladder does give out more frequently, I can throw on a skirt and some leggings to cover my bare knees. And, if I'm really in a pinch, I can declare a "PJ Day." The kids love when I do that. Declare a "PJ Day," not wet my pants. <br />
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So that the kids feel at home, we are taking many of their toys. Mostly sets of things: blocks, Barbies, cars, Legos, games, and puzzles. <br />
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Many of our belongings are still being debated upon. Although we can't ship anything over, we can send things with traveling families and hope they find their way to us. It's what we have done on all of our trips. Pack our belongings in carry-ons and save checked baggage for donations or care packages for American families. If you'd like to send us some essentials, they can be shipped to a designated address in the US. Coconut oil, Samoas, Burt's Bees lip balm, Mini Cadburry Eggs. Excedrin and Peter Pan creamy...for Keith. Essentials. <br />
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Why can't we ship stuff? If it won't fit in a PO box, it's subject to heavy taxation. As in, we'd be paying for the item as it entered the country so we may as well save on shipping and just buy it there. Most of what can be purchased in Ethiopia is of very poor quality and generally overpriced anyway. One non-necessity I've packed to bring is a set of sheets per bed. I may even re-think that and bring 2 sets each. <br />
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Oh, I do love me some high-thread-count sheets. I won't even tell you how high. It's embarrassing. <br />
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Where will we live? Will we have a house when we arrive? Does it come with a washtub and clothesline? Will we have electricity and indoor plumbing? How will we get to and fro? Language? School for the kids? Ahh!!! Those are either unknown or will have to wait until the next update. I need to return to my packing. I've worked for 3 days in my bathroom and am determined to finish today. Keith & Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15458530424966815987noreply@blogger.com0