Dear Simon,

Four years ago today, after five hours of pushing and begging the doctor not to perfom a C-section, I saw you for the first time. For that first split second, you were hanging upside with your head clamped in large steel salad tongs, screaming loud, angry air from your baby lungs.

Your daddy and I both had the same first thought: "Well, this kid is going to be tough." We figured if you could endure five hours stuck in a birth canal with not a single dip in your heart rate, one attempt at suction removal (instead of coming out, you resisted so much that the suction cup flew across the room and hit the wall), two attempts at the forcep/salad tong deal (it eventually took 4 nurses holding my hips on the bed while the doctor pulled you out against all of your prenatal will), you weren't going to let anything in life phase you.

Well, now that I've known you for a while, I think we were wrong. I think the scary salad tong birth was not so much a prediction of your personality as a foreshadowing of your life. That wouldn't be the last time that you were ripped from one world to the next, feeling as though your head is being squeezed in the process.

You were given to a crazy Mommy & Daddy who drag you from place to place, country to country, culture to culture. You had more stamps in your passport at 2 than I had at 22. And, while this has been an exciting, positive experience for you, it has rocked your world.... and probably squeezed your brain a bit.


Meet these grandparents. They speak this language. Meet these grandparents - they speak another language. We're moving to India. We're moving back to America. This is the 16th place your pack n play has been set up in the past year. We're having a baby. The baby isn't coming home. We're having another baby. This one is coming home and is going to play with your toys forever. We're going back to India but just for a bit. We're here and here and here and here. We're having another baby, but this one lives in Africa and he's going to be your brother, but Mommy & Daddy have to go on a trip to get him.

You are so amazing to me. In many ways you are tough, but you are also tender. You ask non-stop questions, reminding me how important it is to have the world make sense. In your questions, I experience my own memories of asking questions that have no answers (How can God be sovereign and I have free will? How can God be good while bad things happen?).

I remember what childlike faith feels like. People think it's the easy faith, the I'll-believe-anything-faith, but they are so wrong, and in you I see what child-like faith really is. It's I want the world to make sense so bad, but sometimes it just doesn't, but my Mommy always comes home and my Daddy always gives her lots of kisses and Jesus loves me this I know.

It's I've been ripped out of comfort and my head is being squeezed and I'm going to scream for a while but someone is going to hold me and sing to me at the end of the day.

I love you Birthday Boy. You teach me every day. And I will hold you every day, and be there when you're being squeezed.

Madness Setting In

With our dossier entrusted to the powers-that-be, and Taly's biting lessened (apparently she just need me to out her to the Internet), it is time to focus on The Next Big Thing: a family trip to India.

Tis the season for family vacations. To places like Disney World or lake houses or water parks. We pack up the kids and head over the ocean and through the woods to the Mother Land.

I am really excited. Really excited. Excited to do this as a family, and not to wait at home for a month while Ben gets to have all the fun. I am thankful that my kids, young as they are, get this experience. Simon doesn't really remember India. He thinks he does, but when asked about it, he always refers to monkeys, and I think monkeys are maybe the one kind of animal we didn't see in Bangalore.

American-ization has fully set in. Like his mama, he hates loud noises. It makes me laugh, because I remember how well he did as a baby living in the loudest country in the world (in my opinion. I haven't been everywhere). That kid slept through Diwali fireworks, dogs barking, vendors shouting, horns blaring. He never blinked, and now he freaks when I start the KitchenAid.

He hates getting dirty. When we lived in India, his favorite place to play was on a pile of dirt and gravel across the street from our house. I let him climb all over it until a rat beat me in a staring contest.

So, it's time. Time for him (and me) to reawaken the parts of us that the peace, quiet and cleanliness of America has lulled asleep.

It's hard getting ready to go back when I've gotten soft. There was a day when this freaked me out. When I would literally pray that my visa application would get denied at the Embassy so I wouldn't have to go. When I cried at the thought of the unknowns that my "country-in-law" presented.

Then a new day dawned. When I realized I was comfortable in my Indian surroundings. That I loved the adventure, loved not being able to control my day. I relished the challenges of power cuts and shady rickshaw drivers. My life was like a big puzzle, and I just had to wake up each morning and figure out how to fit the pieces together.

But, now, as I scan my lists - TO BUY - TO DO - TO PACK, I admit that that day has also passed.

Now, I live in the wretched in-between. Where I know there is more out there - more richness, more color, more life. But, I also know it's hard and dirty and noisy. I know I CAN do it, and that I WANT to do it, but...

....but, I have to adjust my kids to a new time zone. And since they're too young for Tylenol PM, it's not an option for me either.
....but, I'm pretty sure they're not going to love Indian cafeteria food. (Like I will?)
....but, it will be stinkin' HOT!
....but, we will all be sharing one room. For a month.
....but, I have to pack light. (um, I'll let you know how that goes)
....but, I will have NO internet access!!!!!!!!!!

In the big picture of global perspective, amazing experiences, life-changing opportunities, these buts are miniscule. But to a mommy of two, these buts seem pretty monumental.

We're excited. And thankful that this is our life. The logistics, however, are making me crazy.

Still not used to it

When you first arrive in India, there are many sights, smells, tastes, ideas, practices, and sounds that shock the senses. After a year of living among these things, many have become natural to me, but most still cause a double-take. Here are the things that have been "different" for me, and a rating of how "used to it" I've become. (1 is What?! Are you Kidding and 10 is So What?)

The Smell 6
On my first trip to India, as I stepped off the plane, I was overwhelmed by the scent, compounded by heat and humidity. It seemed everywhere I went, I was being assaulted by a mixture of food, body odor, sewage, and animal dung. Now, unless we are driving by a particularly bad area, I don't notice it. I do notice, however, when I'm in a place that doesn't smell!

The Food 7
Wow! After 5 years of eating Indian food and being married to a man who loves it and has a mom who cooks it well, I thought this was a lost cause. It seemed that time was not helping - I still hated it! In the past few months, I've actually begun to like it, and since pregnancy crave certain dishes. This is a wonderful surprise to Ben! Now before any over-eager cooks start heaping food on me, I still like it in moderation.

People Peeing Everywhere 5
Take a drive or a walk down ANY street and you will see any number of men relieving themselves against a wall, fence, field, train track, etc. You will see schoolgirls, peeing in front of stores, while their parents help them hold up their skirts. One time I saw a boy about 6 bent over in front of his house while his older brother used a bucket of water to clean his rear end. This has at least gone from "disgusting" to novel and humorous to me, but I am definitely not used to it! Also, as much as I care about equal rights, one ask to ask, where do women pee? They are apparently not allowed to pee outside.

Poverty 2
If I ever get used to this, hit me over the head with a Bible. People are suffering here. They do not have enough to eat. They don't wear shoes. Children are bonded, exploited, abused because they and their parents have no other options. People who are born with disabilities or into lower castes have no opportunities to advance themselves. Here's just one story.

Haijas 3
Haijas are eunuchs. They are biological men who are now women, either by a genetic anomaly or mutilation. They dress as women and use intimidation to demand money from people and businesses. They live on the fear that they instill in people, who believe that they have special powers to curse them. Sometimes, if they don't get the money they are demanding, they will become rough, or expose themselves to the person they are intimidating. When I see them, I go between fear that they will gang up on me (which they never have) to anger that they thrive on intimidation, to heartache at the life that they live. I cannot imagine believing that the only respect I am entitled to is because people are afraid of or disgusted by me. Some of these people were just troubled boys who didn't know what to do with who they are, and this is the life they've ended up in. Now, Simon and I pray for them when we see them, but I wish I could do more.

Rats 1
This is the one thing that could have ended this experience for me. If I had had a rat in the house, I might have come home. They are in the streets - I've seen several live ones scampering around, but mostly I see them dead, being picked apart by birds. Gross.

Bugs First a 7, now a 2
I was doing pretty well with the bugs, but I'm done now. So is Ben. We spend our evenings together killing mosquitoes. Roaches come out at night, and so if I have to go to the bathroom or get some water, I wait until morning because I don't want to see a roach in my bathroom or kitchen. When I was pregnant with Elijah, every time I'd get up sick in the middle of the night, I'd have to take a shoe in bathroom with me and kill roaches before I could throw up in peace. Gross.

Noise 4
I am hear kids scream, American music from 10 years ago (usually UB-40), birds screeching, buses roaring, vendors shouting, buzz-saws sawing, hammers hammering, dogs barking. Between the population, construction boom, traffic and animal life, this place is LOUD. I've always hated loud, so this has been tough. Sometime I go over the edge, but I've learned to tune it out, although I think it just makes me tired to hear everything going on around me all the time.

Men holding hands 5
They say it doesn't mean anything. I have some of my own opinions about this that are substantiated in some research, but I'll leave that be. The point is that men are very touchy-feely with each other, but you won't catch them touching their wives out in public. I have gotten used to this, in the sense that I don't notice it as much, but I'm not yet used to all the reasoning for it.

Cows in the Street 10
When Americans visit here, they take pictures of every cow they see. Now, I don't notice, don't care, but I am mindful of the poop they leave behind.

The Fact that I Stick Out 9
This has been a funny one for me. I've never really noticed the stares, or the fact that I dress differently than people here. I actually only notice it if I'm wearing Indian clothes - then I feel like everyone is staring at me. One time, someone overheard me using a Malayalam word with Simon and she said, "Oh, are you Indian," to which I immediately responded, "yes." She looked impressed, and then I said, "Oh wait, I'm not, but my husband is."

Reflections on Safety

I cannot begin to think about the changes ahead of me as I return home without giving some serious thought to the issue of safety.

As Americans, we are obsessed with staying safe. Scan the headlines and you will see references to safe driving, playing it safe, workplace safety, safe sex, lunchroom safety, etc. We protect ourselves from every bad guy, monster, germ, terrorist, or miscellaneous danger by recalls, warnings, advisories, and law.

As we were getting ready to leave for India, I had just had my first baby, so I was very concerned with safety. I made Simon sleep on his back, even when he probably would have slept better on his stomach. I took note of recalls on child products. I made Ben take our car seat to the fire department to make sure it was installed correctly. As a mom, I did my best to control everything I could about my child's environment for his protection.

When I got to India, every idea I ever had about safety was challenged. You have to be a new American mom moving to a third-world country to really appreciate how shocking this was. I spent $160 on a traveling car seat that I would never use once here. Not only did Simon not use a car seat, he spent most of his transportation life bouncing around in an open-air autorickshaw. There were no seatbelts. Then, I broke all of my safety laws by letting him ride a scooter.

All of these safety infractions were compounded by the intensity of the traffic here. When we weren't riding, we were walking, and that meant pushing a stroller through traffic, nosing into intersections, where no one was going to stop and learning how to best sprint to the middle of the road and wait there for the next two lanes to clear.

And, then there was dirt. Now, mind you, even when Sy was an infant, I have never been too paranoid about dirt or germs, telling myself it was good for his immune system (which I was either right about, or God has just been protecting him because in 2 years, he's only had a cold once). But, when you come to India, you realize you hadn't seen dirt yet!

The floors are dusty. Always. There are dead bugs which get eaten. If your kid wants to play in mud, you can't be sure he's also not playing in poop. If he walks down the street, he might get curious about the dead rat that is lying there. People touch him, all the time. And, yes, they are dirty, because there is dirt everywhere, and because water is scarce enough that bathing is not an every-day activity.

As an American mom, I am taught by Oprah and by Parenting Magazine and by Good Morning America that it is my job to control all of these things. As an Indian mom, I am shocked to learn there is little I can control. It didn't take long for me to turn into what I would have once labeled "reckless," but now call "realistic."

I wonder how these changes will affect my return home. How quickly will I get over resenting the fact that I have to strap my child in the back seat? How thankful will I be that anyone who comes in contact with Sy will be expected to meet certain standards of safety?

I know I must sound like I've gone crazy over here, and I do promise that I have continued to look after Sy's best interests. I have, however, enjoyed a certain amount of freedom in the Indian understanding that accidents happen. Not every tragedy is a reason for a lawsuit or a new law. I have enjoyed letting him explore his world from a front-row seat, even if it means I need to be extra alert to grab him if trouble comes.

It was shocking to me when I moved here and security guards, waiters, and shop keepers used to pick him up and hold him so I could take care of business. While, at first, Amber Alerts would sound off in my head, now when someone is nice enough to do that, I smile at them gratefully and watch Sy entertain them. (Here, kidnapping is not a big fear.)

I have learned to enjoy the freedoms that are offered here, and be as cautious as possible, while still taking advantage of the fact that legal and societal codes give Simon more freedom here.

Most importantly, I have had to practically accept that my faith for our safety is in God alone, not in my ability to control our environment. So, while I do my best to be the wise and attentive parent that God asks me to be, I thank Him every day for preserving our lives. (I have found that I have many more reasons to do that when I'm dodging buses, stray dogs, and speeding tractors on a daily walk.)

God has protected Simon from scary germs, malaria, cracking his head open on marble floors, snakes (which he saw on a walk and if I had seen I would have probably come home 6 months ago), one auto accident that we were in, countless others that we could have been in, dogs, motorcycles driving on the sidewalk, and more. I am so thankful that he has protected us so far, and will continue to trust him for the 5 remaining days, where I will have at least 10 reasons to thank Him for protecting us.

And, when we get home, I will keep trusting in His protection. Even when Sy is secured snugly in his car seat (screaming his head off) and there is not a mosquito in sight.

How Am I Doing?

I've recently said goodbye to a baby I couldn't wait to meet, and celebrated two full and lively years of another son's life. I've said goodbye to the friends who have walked this harrowing path with me, and I've also seen God's provision as I've welcomed new friends I didn't know I had. I moved out of the biggest home I'll ever live in and moved into an apartment where mold needed to be cleaned off the walls, and I can't walk across the (unpaved) street without dodging 3 buses and 30 rickshaws. I also just attempted to make sour cream (one of the foods I miss the most) and blew up a glass bowl in my (very small) kitchen.

So, how am I doing? I'm sad this will all be ending soon and tired and hopeful and sentimental and happy and anxious and excited to come home. And I still don't have any sour cream.

In a country where the God I know and worship and love is sometimes hard to find, I have had to face many doubts of faith. What makes my belief system different than that of these people whose spiritual lives seem so futile and ludicrous? I have had some doubts that are easily brushed aside, and some that linger a little longer, begging some more serious thought and prayer.

The one thing that can dispel any insecurities arising from these questions is God's evident work in my life. The joy of the Lord is my strength. That has been by mantra in these recent days - my answer to the question, "How am I doing?" Sometimes it is a victorious declaration, as I reflect on the deep joy I honestly have in moments when my world makes even less sense than normal. Sometimes it is a pleading reminder that the joy of the Lord is constant and there for the clinging when my world is unraveling.

But, for me, the very fact that God has put this song in my heart - [i]the joy of the Lord is my strength[/i] - is evidence enough of His existence, power, love, and sovereignty.

Now, with all that being said, you can pray for Sy's safety around the glass shards I might have missed, and for my peace of mind - for the Lord's joy in my heart - as Ben travels this week.

Culture Clash: Control

One of the things that I’ve realized since being here is how much I used to be in control of my life. In America, control is core value to how we operate. We expect to be in control of ourselves, our schedule, our finances, our environment, our future. We hold others’ to those same expectations, which leads to the frustrations and finger-pointing when things go wrong, even by accident.

That does not seem to be the case in India – probably in many parts of the world. Here, I am not in control of much of anything. The power goes out all the time, and there is no one to call, no one to blame, no one to fix it – it’s just me and Steph figuring out what to do with an unbaked lasagna and a gas flame.

The grocery store might not open until 10:00, and even then might be out of bread. The dry cleaner might lose some clothes, and if he does it doesn’t appear you will get them back, and it doesn’t seem effective to threaten not to pay the 5 rupees he would of charged you to clean them.

The internet is down all the time, and people just look at you funny if you ask them to prorate the cost for the times it wasn’t working. If you call too often to complain, they will probably just stop answering the phone, because they know what we don’t – things like this are often out of our control, and it is best just to wait for them to right themselves.

I am not trying to generalize or complain; it really has made me take a look at how much I, someone who is proud of not being a control freak (don’t laugh!), expect to be in control.

Here, I am in control of little to nothing, but nobody else is either, and nobody really cares. And, when I’m not really, really frustrated by the situation, I kind of like the freedom.