This post may seem to be nearly two months late but really has little to do with St. Patrick's Day and more about a truly great Christian man. I've been reading a book about St. Patrick I found at the English library. So many myths and legends surround this man; the Irish culture and tradition lends itself to some bizarre portrayals. "The Steadfast Man: A Life of St. Patrick" examines the scarce historical records on the true Patrick - namely, two documents he himself wrote, as well as few contemporary (that is in his lifetime) descriptions of him. Carefully piecing together the details, Paul Gallico is able to accurately (or so it appears) paint a picture of man who truly loved God and spent his life serving Him.
Many of us have heard the story of how young Patrick, at the time Magonus Sucatus Patricius, was taken by Irish raider from Britain and sold as a slave. From there, I knew nothing else of his life other than he later returned to Ireland to spread the gospel and died on March 17th. Not much else of his life is actually confirmed historically; even the years of his birth and death are uncertain. The speculation in this book is interesting enough, but what I have really enjoyed is learning the true character of the man.
Patrick's writings leave no doubt that he was a man of faith and purpose. The Lord clearly called him to spread the gospel to Ireland, and he did. It is encouraging to read of a man, long ago in the fourth or fifth century A.D., with God's guiding converting an entire nation from paganism to Christianity. It inspires me to be steadfast, humble, and self-sacrificing. Patrick gave glory to God for everything he was able to accomplish. That same God is living in me!
Lorica is the Latin word for breastplate which was the name given to certain morning prayers in St. Patrick's era. A lovely one is attributed to him. It's a wonderful idea to think of the first prayer of the day as a protection for the events to follow, like putting on the armor of God in Ephesians 6. Patrick was acutely aware of both physical and spiritual battles in his daily life for which he required the Lord's safekeeping. It is a beautiful poetical prayer that, with the exception of a couple stanzas, I find my own heart echoing.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength,
The invocation of the Trinity
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through Confessions of the Oneness,
Towards the Creator.
I arise today
Through the strength of Christ with His Baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His Burial,
Through the strength of His Resurrection with His Ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the Judgement of Doom.
(This stanza reflects some teachings of the church at the time regarding angels, which do not resonate with me.)
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.
I arise today
Through God's strength to guide me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's Wisdom to lead me
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's host to defend me
against snares of devils,
against temptations of vices,
against the lusts of nature,
against all who wish me harm
from far or near
with few or the many.
(This stanza reflects the many dangers with which Patrick was afflicted.)
I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength,
The invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through Confession of the Oneness
Towards the Creator.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Count Your Blessings - Running Water
I must have been taking running water in the house for granted. Actually, many of my neighbors do not have running water in their home, so this is something that I do try to be mindful of and thankful for. However, I didn't truly appreciate it, so something had to happen to make me do so. The kids were taking a shower in the bathroom one Friday evening, and Meriel slipped and fell onto a pipe that sticks out of the wall. I was sitting on the couch reading - a few minutes of child-free time. Eris came out to tell me that one of the water spigots had broken and water was rushing all over the bathroom. I thought she must have meant that the knob had come of the spigot, which has happened before. This is an easy fix, just twist the knob back on and turn it to the off position. When I got to the bathroom, however, I realized this is not what had happened. The pipe that sticks through a hole in the wall to connect to the main water supply had snapped in two. I called to Philip to shut off the water to the house.
Philip surveyed the damage and determined that we just had to keep the water off to the house until he could get it repaired. Our shower is a full bathroom shower with a drain in the floor, so there was no need to mop up the water. I took a Thai style dipper shower from the tub that normally stands full in our bathroom. Then we arranged tubs at a few spigots in the house to fill, and especially made sure to have a water bottle or two ready to fill from the filter. Philip turned on the water, causing another bathroom flood but also providing enough water for us to get through until the next morning.
The next morning, we planned to go the the library, so we would be out of the house for a while. Philip would ride the bus to the supply store and hoped to have it all fixed before we returned home that afternoon. In the meantime, we survived the morning with no running water in the house. We washed our hands in a tubs of standing water, flushed the toilet the usual way with a dipperful of water from a tub, and washed dishes outside. I was thankful to have the hose available, as it is connected to the water supply before the turn off to the house. The kids were excited to help wash up outside, and Eris had fond memories of camping.
Philip was able to have everything fixed and the water on in the house by the afternoon. I was very thankful for a resourceful and helpful husband. Even less than 24 hours without water was enough to make me extra thankful the next time I turned on the tap. God has a way of helping us stay thankful for our blessings!
Philip surveyed the damage and determined that we just had to keep the water off to the house until he could get it repaired. Our shower is a full bathroom shower with a drain in the floor, so there was no need to mop up the water. I took a Thai style dipper shower from the tub that normally stands full in our bathroom. Then we arranged tubs at a few spigots in the house to fill, and especially made sure to have a water bottle or two ready to fill from the filter. Philip turned on the water, causing another bathroom flood but also providing enough water for us to get through until the next morning.
The next morning, we planned to go the the library, so we would be out of the house for a while. Philip would ride the bus to the supply store and hoped to have it all fixed before we returned home that afternoon. In the meantime, we survived the morning with no running water in the house. We washed our hands in a tubs of standing water, flushed the toilet the usual way with a dipperful of water from a tub, and washed dishes outside. I was thankful to have the hose available, as it is connected to the water supply before the turn off to the house. The kids were excited to help wash up outside, and Eris had fond memories of camping.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Eris's Birth Part II
The chaplain settled me in a wheelchair and pushed me to the
elevator. Philip was directed stay downstairs and fill out paperwork. I
was about to protest that I really needed my husband with me but was
silenced by another contraction.
It seemed like forever before Philip was able to rejoin me. Then my mom came up. I can't relate clearly much of what happened during the next hours. Resting in the warm water of the bathtub helped ease the pain somewhat. I wanted the water hotter than was allowed; I like my baths steaming. The nurses kept needing to try to find the baby's heartbeat; I would have to sit up out of the water for this, and it was quite uncomfortable. Eventually they requested that I get out of the tub so they could monitor the baby's heart rate better. I was in to much pain and too exhausted to question what was happening. They did tell me the baby was fine, so I just took that at face value.
Laying on the bed, the contractions became even stronger and more close together. I don't remember how far along I was at this point or how long I had been in labor, but I do remember that I was hopelessly far away from being complete. Philip was in too much pain from his back to do any massage, support me to stand and "dance," or even support me on the birthing ball. At one point, he experienced a wave of pain so severe it nearly caused him to collapse. The nurse recognized it and called a "code DAD," or something like that. A bunch of nurses hurried into the room and helped Philip lay down on the couch in the room. Another link in our carefully laid plans gone wrong. I broke down in my resolution to have a completely natural birth, and whined for "medicine." I didn't want an epidural, and I couldn't even remember the name for anything else. It's probably a good thing, because if I had asked for morphine or something else by name, it would have been harder for Philip to convince them not to give it to me. Months before, I had requested that Philip not allow me to give in, since I knew that I would be frustrated with myself if I were to not to stay firm. Philip upheld his end of the deal, better than I did. He later told me that the nurse told him that if I asked for something one more time, she would feel obligated to give me something. Fortunately, at that point I was too exhausted to request anything further.
Philip later mentioned that from his vantage point, it looked like I was relaxing and breathing just the way the Bradley books recommended. In reality, I was just focusing on breathing and couldn't think beyond the end of each contraction. My mom was at my head, breathing with me. I know it sounds strange, but without her there, I'm not sure I could have kept breathing. Finally, I got to the point where I could hardly keep myself from pushing, so I was told to go ahead. It was such a relief to be able to do something other than just ride through the pain. Three hours later, my energy was nearly spent. The baby's heart rate was still okay but mine was spiking very high. I was breathing oxygen between contractions but wasn't getting much of a rest as they were coming too quickly. Eventually, I was offered a vacuum assisted delivery. The baby was far enough down for this but still high enough that it was going to take quite a bit more pushing and not much progress was being made. In my bleary state, I weighed the options and chose the vacuum.
Just two contractions later, my baby was born. In all the excitement, I had to ask if it was a boy or girl. Everyone had forgotten all about that. The doctor handed Philip the baby and he looked stunned. He had been convinced all along that our first baby would be a boy, plus the story of a friend whose recent baby had been mistakenly announce by the grandmother, "It's a boy!" was going through his mind. Finally, he said, "It's a girl!" He placed her in my arms and I named her "Eris Mae."
Shortly after that, Eris was taken to the nursery for monitoring. She was breathing too quickly; Philip went with her. After my stitches were finished, my dad, brother, and two friends who had been waiting came in. They had been able to see Eris in the nursery. By this time it was late and my mom, who is not a night person in the best situations, was exhausted. My Dad drove her home, and I was alone. It was certainly not the happy birth experience I had anticipated. I was too exhausted and in pain to go see my baby in the nursery. I was assured that she was just fine and would likely transition out of this phase without any future trouble, but it still wasn't what I wanted. My Dad came back to spend the night at the hospital with me; he understood my feelings and I was able to cry a little bit.
Four days later, we were able to take Eris home. It was then that I was able to experience all the new mommy feelings of joy and pride. I was so happy to have a sweet baby girl who was healthy. I was proud of myself for going through eleven hours of tough labor and thankful for my husband and mother who had helped me. Since then, motherhood has continued to present challenges but each moment is also filled with so much joy and love. I love being a mommy so much, and I have three other birth stories to prove it!
It seemed like forever before Philip was able to rejoin me. Then my mom came up. I can't relate clearly much of what happened during the next hours. Resting in the warm water of the bathtub helped ease the pain somewhat. I wanted the water hotter than was allowed; I like my baths steaming. The nurses kept needing to try to find the baby's heartbeat; I would have to sit up out of the water for this, and it was quite uncomfortable. Eventually they requested that I get out of the tub so they could monitor the baby's heart rate better. I was in to much pain and too exhausted to question what was happening. They did tell me the baby was fine, so I just took that at face value.
Laying on the bed, the contractions became even stronger and more close together. I don't remember how far along I was at this point or how long I had been in labor, but I do remember that I was hopelessly far away from being complete. Philip was in too much pain from his back to do any massage, support me to stand and "dance," or even support me on the birthing ball. At one point, he experienced a wave of pain so severe it nearly caused him to collapse. The nurse recognized it and called a "code DAD," or something like that. A bunch of nurses hurried into the room and helped Philip lay down on the couch in the room. Another link in our carefully laid plans gone wrong. I broke down in my resolution to have a completely natural birth, and whined for "medicine." I didn't want an epidural, and I couldn't even remember the name for anything else. It's probably a good thing, because if I had asked for morphine or something else by name, it would have been harder for Philip to convince them not to give it to me. Months before, I had requested that Philip not allow me to give in, since I knew that I would be frustrated with myself if I were to not to stay firm. Philip upheld his end of the deal, better than I did. He later told me that the nurse told him that if I asked for something one more time, she would feel obligated to give me something. Fortunately, at that point I was too exhausted to request anything further.
Philip later mentioned that from his vantage point, it looked like I was relaxing and breathing just the way the Bradley books recommended. In reality, I was just focusing on breathing and couldn't think beyond the end of each contraction. My mom was at my head, breathing with me. I know it sounds strange, but without her there, I'm not sure I could have kept breathing. Finally, I got to the point where I could hardly keep myself from pushing, so I was told to go ahead. It was such a relief to be able to do something other than just ride through the pain. Three hours later, my energy was nearly spent. The baby's heart rate was still okay but mine was spiking very high. I was breathing oxygen between contractions but wasn't getting much of a rest as they were coming too quickly. Eventually, I was offered a vacuum assisted delivery. The baby was far enough down for this but still high enough that it was going to take quite a bit more pushing and not much progress was being made. In my bleary state, I weighed the options and chose the vacuum.
Just two contractions later, my baby was born. In all the excitement, I had to ask if it was a boy or girl. Everyone had forgotten all about that. The doctor handed Philip the baby and he looked stunned. He had been convinced all along that our first baby would be a boy, plus the story of a friend whose recent baby had been mistakenly announce by the grandmother, "It's a boy!" was going through his mind. Finally, he said, "It's a girl!" He placed her in my arms and I named her "Eris Mae."
Shortly after that, Eris was taken to the nursery for monitoring. She was breathing too quickly; Philip went with her. After my stitches were finished, my dad, brother, and two friends who had been waiting came in. They had been able to see Eris in the nursery. By this time it was late and my mom, who is not a night person in the best situations, was exhausted. My Dad drove her home, and I was alone. It was certainly not the happy birth experience I had anticipated. I was too exhausted and in pain to go see my baby in the nursery. I was assured that she was just fine and would likely transition out of this phase without any future trouble, but it still wasn't what I wanted. My Dad came back to spend the night at the hospital with me; he understood my feelings and I was able to cry a little bit.
Four days later, we were able to take Eris home. It was then that I was able to experience all the new mommy feelings of joy and pride. I was so happy to have a sweet baby girl who was healthy. I was proud of myself for going through eleven hours of tough labor and thankful for my husband and mother who had helped me. Since then, motherhood has continued to present challenges but each moment is also filled with so much joy and love. I love being a mommy so much, and I have three other birth stories to prove it!
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Eris's Birth Part I
I wrote this a while ago and wasn't sure whether to post. Well, now even more people I know are pregnant and this is an important part of my life, so I will share....
With one of my closest friends expecting her third baby and a friend here in Bangkok pregnant with her first, pregnancy has been on my mind. No, we are not planning on a fifth, just reminiscing on the past. Both of these friends are interested in natural childbirth. When I was pregnant with Eris, I read the advice that reading lots of childbirth stories would help prepare so I would have a better idea of what to expect. Someone gave me a book of birth stories which was a fun read but didn't really prepare me. Each story was very different from the others, and each of my own four birth stories are radically different. Everyone should just expect each birth to be different from anything they've ever heard of; that's the best way to be prepared.
As a rising third year medical student, I knew the basics of labor but had not experienced many deliveries. I also had read quite a bit about giving birth and practiced the Bradley method of relaxation. I was actually very terrible at relaxing, but thought that in the "real thing" I would do better - ha! I knew that most labors do not begin with the water breaking (supposedly Hollywood often depicts it this way, but I didn't know as I don't watch many movies). I expected contractions to begin far apart and so mild that I barely noticed them. I would have time to pack my bag, go on a walk with my husband, maybe eat a light meal before the contractions started becoming uncomfortable. I had taken a major medical school exam (USMLE Step 1) at 38 weeks pregnant and had been anticipating the birth any day after that. I had made up my mind that the baby was going to be born after the due date, so was not anticipating going into labor on this particular day which was the day before the due date.
Philip and I were staying at my parents house for the summer. I had wanted to have the baby in the States, as it was my first and I was more comfortable with the medical system and language. I also wanted to be with my mom, although she would have come to Israel for the birth if I had requested. This particular morning, Philip was working in the front garden while I relaxed in the soft green grass. My mother was away grocery shopping. Philip somehow managed to lift a garden rock in a way that tweaked his back. He suddenly cried out in pain and couldn't stand up or talk. I thought he was having a heart attack. I started sobbing and trying to lift him up. He finally managed to pull himself up on the nearby truck, and I was able to help him into the house with him trying hard to to lean too heavily on me. I had just gotten him to the couch just inside door and sat down beside him when a pain nearly doubled me over. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even cry. I didn't immediately tell Philip, as he was in pain himself, and I thought maybe it would be an isolated event. Before I had much time to hope that would be the case, another pain came, just as bad. I told Philip that I thought that I was in labor; he looked at me in disbelief. He couldn't walk, so in between contractions I him a cane we had in the house from my brother's twentieth birthday (the age of becoming "old" as we considered it as children).
With the cane, Philip was able to hobble around the house. He got a watch and timed the contractions - five minutes apart; at this point we were supposed to call the hospital. In the meantime, I went to the bathroom and was pretty certain my water broke. I was dismayed. All of this was not supposed to happen until hours into labor. My mother had a cell phone but couldn't be reached. We called my dad at work and left a message. Philip called the clinic, and they instructed us to come in. A few minutes later, they called back and told us to go straight to the hospital. Philip tried to gather all the supplies that I had planned to pack during early labor. He just threw things into a bag. I gave reminders as I could from the couch. As my mom pulled in the garage, Philip met her with a cane in one hand, an unzipped and overflowing overnight bag over one shoulder, camera bag over the other hand. He told her we needed to get the hospital as I was in labor.
My mother is very practical and stable. She is not one to rush into things. She calmly unpacked the groceries and then started slicing potatoes for the soup she had planned for supper. She explained that she wanted to have supper in the crockpot in case the labor proved a false alarm. It seems funny now, but then all I could think was that she was crazy. In her defense, she had no idea how uncomfortable I was and probably thought that my contractions were pretty mild. Finally she got the potatoes in the pot, so in between contractions, Philip with cane in hand, helped me to the car. I had to stop for a contraction on the way and afterward promptly threw up all over the garage. At least it wasn't in the car.
There is a road in my hometown that is made up of large concrete blocks. When it was made, it was thought that it would be simpler and cheaper to replace one block at a time as needed rather than repave the whole road for each little crack. I have always loved that road; it is the signal that I am almost home, no matter how far I have come. When I was little, the gentle bump, bump of the road would wake me when arriving home late at night. Now this same road was torture; during a contraction every bump jarred me horribly and made me feel nauseous. I wanted my mom to drive slowly but I wanted to arrive at the hospital sooner rather than later.
My mom dropped us off at the front entrance and then went to park the car. Philip and I foolishly thought that since the clinic had told us to go ahead to the hospital that they would have informed the good people at the hospital. We thought that someone would be expecting us and waiting to whisk us up to labor and delivery, so we were a little taken aback when the lady at the welcome desk asked us what she could do for us. Philip announced, "We're having a baby!" The lady smiled politely and didn't know what to say. Then she looked over at me, double over and panting through a contraction and said, "Oh, you mean now?!"
With one of my closest friends expecting her third baby and a friend here in Bangkok pregnant with her first, pregnancy has been on my mind. No, we are not planning on a fifth, just reminiscing on the past. Both of these friends are interested in natural childbirth. When I was pregnant with Eris, I read the advice that reading lots of childbirth stories would help prepare so I would have a better idea of what to expect. Someone gave me a book of birth stories which was a fun read but didn't really prepare me. Each story was very different from the others, and each of my own four birth stories are radically different. Everyone should just expect each birth to be different from anything they've ever heard of; that's the best way to be prepared.
As a rising third year medical student, I knew the basics of labor but had not experienced many deliveries. I also had read quite a bit about giving birth and practiced the Bradley method of relaxation. I was actually very terrible at relaxing, but thought that in the "real thing" I would do better - ha! I knew that most labors do not begin with the water breaking (supposedly Hollywood often depicts it this way, but I didn't know as I don't watch many movies). I expected contractions to begin far apart and so mild that I barely noticed them. I would have time to pack my bag, go on a walk with my husband, maybe eat a light meal before the contractions started becoming uncomfortable. I had taken a major medical school exam (USMLE Step 1) at 38 weeks pregnant and had been anticipating the birth any day after that. I had made up my mind that the baby was going to be born after the due date, so was not anticipating going into labor on this particular day which was the day before the due date.
Philip and I were staying at my parents house for the summer. I had wanted to have the baby in the States, as it was my first and I was more comfortable with the medical system and language. I also wanted to be with my mom, although she would have come to Israel for the birth if I had requested. This particular morning, Philip was working in the front garden while I relaxed in the soft green grass. My mother was away grocery shopping. Philip somehow managed to lift a garden rock in a way that tweaked his back. He suddenly cried out in pain and couldn't stand up or talk. I thought he was having a heart attack. I started sobbing and trying to lift him up. He finally managed to pull himself up on the nearby truck, and I was able to help him into the house with him trying hard to to lean too heavily on me. I had just gotten him to the couch just inside door and sat down beside him when a pain nearly doubled me over. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even cry. I didn't immediately tell Philip, as he was in pain himself, and I thought maybe it would be an isolated event. Before I had much time to hope that would be the case, another pain came, just as bad. I told Philip that I thought that I was in labor; he looked at me in disbelief. He couldn't walk, so in between contractions I him a cane we had in the house from my brother's twentieth birthday (the age of becoming "old" as we considered it as children).
With the cane, Philip was able to hobble around the house. He got a watch and timed the contractions - five minutes apart; at this point we were supposed to call the hospital. In the meantime, I went to the bathroom and was pretty certain my water broke. I was dismayed. All of this was not supposed to happen until hours into labor. My mother had a cell phone but couldn't be reached. We called my dad at work and left a message. Philip called the clinic, and they instructed us to come in. A few minutes later, they called back and told us to go straight to the hospital. Philip tried to gather all the supplies that I had planned to pack during early labor. He just threw things into a bag. I gave reminders as I could from the couch. As my mom pulled in the garage, Philip met her with a cane in one hand, an unzipped and overflowing overnight bag over one shoulder, camera bag over the other hand. He told her we needed to get the hospital as I was in labor.
My mother is very practical and stable. She is not one to rush into things. She calmly unpacked the groceries and then started slicing potatoes for the soup she had planned for supper. She explained that she wanted to have supper in the crockpot in case the labor proved a false alarm. It seems funny now, but then all I could think was that she was crazy. In her defense, she had no idea how uncomfortable I was and probably thought that my contractions were pretty mild. Finally she got the potatoes in the pot, so in between contractions, Philip with cane in hand, helped me to the car. I had to stop for a contraction on the way and afterward promptly threw up all over the garage. At least it wasn't in the car.
There is a road in my hometown that is made up of large concrete blocks. When it was made, it was thought that it would be simpler and cheaper to replace one block at a time as needed rather than repave the whole road for each little crack. I have always loved that road; it is the signal that I am almost home, no matter how far I have come. When I was little, the gentle bump, bump of the road would wake me when arriving home late at night. Now this same road was torture; during a contraction every bump jarred me horribly and made me feel nauseous. I wanted my mom to drive slowly but I wanted to arrive at the hospital sooner rather than later.
My mom dropped us off at the front entrance and then went to park the car. Philip and I foolishly thought that since the clinic had told us to go ahead to the hospital that they would have informed the good people at the hospital. We thought that someone would be expecting us and waiting to whisk us up to labor and delivery, so we were a little taken aback when the lady at the welcome desk asked us what she could do for us. Philip announced, "We're having a baby!" The lady smiled politely and didn't know what to say. Then she looked over at me, double over and panting through a contraction and said, "Oh, you mean now?!"
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Not in the United States...
Life here feels normal (and it is to those who live here); many days, I forget how different Thailand is from the United States. Then, all of a sudden, something or somethings will happen to remind me. Just the other day, I had three occurrences that would not have happened in the United States.
The first was on the way to visit a Thai preschool for Hollis. She has a great opportunity to attend a little school where no one speak a single word of English. Well, I think one boy actually knows how to say, "My name is..." which is the way Thai people try to ask, "What is your name?", but that's the extent of English ability. We learned of the school from Jeab (a neighbor who comes over sometimes to help us learn Thai) whose son Beum attends. When we walked over to her place to ask directions to the school, she immediately called a friend to come take us there - on a moped. While a moped is not a particularly safe mode of transportation, I did not feel that I could graciously decline without potentially damaging our friendship. In cases such as this, Philip and I have decided the right thing is to go along with whatever it is we feel is culturally appropriate and trust God to take care of us. I did, however, act as an overprotective, crazy "farang" (white person) and run home to get a helmet for Hollis.
While I was filling out paperwork for Hollis to start preschool, I was reminded of another Thai particularity. The questions on the form were fairly routine, although they asked for father's income and mother's income separately. Then it asked for number of children in the family, number of boys, number of girls, then Hollis's birth order. That would certainly never be considered on a school registration form in the States. In Thailand status is extremely important and is influenced, among other things, by education, income, age, and birth order. In an upper class family, younger children would be encouraged to call their older siblings Pi___ (like Pi Eris; pi means older sibling) as a sing of respect.
Later that same day, I learned the word for broom - maikwat. More specifically, I learned that the type of broom I was sweeping with was maikwat matphrao, or coconut broom, because parts of the coconut tree are used to make it. How many of you know what plant material went into making your broom?
Then, Philip came up to me to ask if I knew of what material certain decorative objects in our house were made. They are curved in the shape of tusks, and he was curious if they were ivory. It was the last day to register with government currently owned ivory, as after that it would be illegal to possess any ivory that wasn't registered. He felt we should notify the owners of our house so they could register them if they were ivory but did not want to say anything if they were not. After some internet research, apparently, ivory does not burn. Philip heated a small stick of metal on the stove and touched it to an inconspicuous part of the questionable item; it quickly melted a small dent before he took it away. Not ivory.
So while many at first unusual activities have become routine and other daily events are not much different from in the States, we do live in a country where some things are quite dissimilar. I sometimes wonder what will surprise us when we go back to the States....
The first was on the way to visit a Thai preschool for Hollis. She has a great opportunity to attend a little school where no one speak a single word of English. Well, I think one boy actually knows how to say, "My name is..." which is the way Thai people try to ask, "What is your name?", but that's the extent of English ability. We learned of the school from Jeab (a neighbor who comes over sometimes to help us learn Thai) whose son Beum attends. When we walked over to her place to ask directions to the school, she immediately called a friend to come take us there - on a moped. While a moped is not a particularly safe mode of transportation, I did not feel that I could graciously decline without potentially damaging our friendship. In cases such as this, Philip and I have decided the right thing is to go along with whatever it is we feel is culturally appropriate and trust God to take care of us. I did, however, act as an overprotective, crazy "farang" (white person) and run home to get a helmet for Hollis.
While I was filling out paperwork for Hollis to start preschool, I was reminded of another Thai particularity. The questions on the form were fairly routine, although they asked for father's income and mother's income separately. Then it asked for number of children in the family, number of boys, number of girls, then Hollis's birth order. That would certainly never be considered on a school registration form in the States. In Thailand status is extremely important and is influenced, among other things, by education, income, age, and birth order. In an upper class family, younger children would be encouraged to call their older siblings Pi___ (like Pi Eris; pi means older sibling) as a sing of respect.
Later that same day, I learned the word for broom - maikwat. More specifically, I learned that the type of broom I was sweeping with was maikwat matphrao, or coconut broom, because parts of the coconut tree are used to make it. How many of you know what plant material went into making your broom?
Then, Philip came up to me to ask if I knew of what material certain decorative objects in our house were made. They are curved in the shape of tusks, and he was curious if they were ivory. It was the last day to register with government currently owned ivory, as after that it would be illegal to possess any ivory that wasn't registered. He felt we should notify the owners of our house so they could register them if they were ivory but did not want to say anything if they were not. After some internet research, apparently, ivory does not burn. Philip heated a small stick of metal on the stove and touched it to an inconspicuous part of the questionable item; it quickly melted a small dent before he took it away. Not ivory.
So while many at first unusual activities have become routine and other daily events are not much different from in the States, we do live in a country where some things are quite dissimilar. I sometimes wonder what will surprise us when we go back to the States....
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
In Sisters' Arms
One of my favorite things about being a parent is getting to watch my children interact with each other. Going through some old pictures, I found treasures capturing some precious moments. Here is a photo journal of the girls with their newborn siblings....
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| Eris meets Meriel |
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| Sweet sisters |
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| Meriel holds Hollis |
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| Eris with Hollis |
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| Hollis with Simeon |
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| Meriel holds Simeon |
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| Eris holds Simeon |
Saturday, April 11, 2015
When they were young(er)...
I remember the days when I had three nearly completely dependent children. With a newborn, a 22 month old, and a not quite 4 year old, I had to do everything for everyone. My husband would wonder why we could rarely make it anywhere on time. Two in diapers to change, a nighttime pull-up to get off then a last minute attempt at sitting on the potty. Three dresses to put on with buttons or zippers. Then pulling up shorts over fat cloth pull-ups. Wisps of hair to brush and clip barrettes, only to have them slip out (or yanked out) in minutes. Gather each item needed for the outing, packed in the diaper bag. Six sock and four shoes. About to head out the door, when a diaper urgently needs changed, a temper tantrum ensues, a necessary item is missing, a screaming infant. Those days, my children were capable of nothing without my help.
Just a few month later, Eris started pouring Cheerios in bowls (and all over the table and floor) for her hungry little sister when Mommy was still laying in bed with Hollis. Once out of those pull-ups, she could completely dress herself (when the outfit didn't entail buttons or a zipper in the back). Suddenly, I have an independent (well, comparatively so) child!
Fast forward a few years later...ages 7, 5, 3, 1. Three children completely out of diapers, even at night. They all can go to the bathroom by themselves. The can dress themselves; Eris buttons Meriel and Hollis, Meriel zips or buttons Eris. They brush their own or each others hair. I braid, clip, and fix ponytails. I change one diaper, clothe one child (with clothes picked out by a sister), pack a diaper bag with diapers for one. Six sandals on (usually the right feet) independently; two more with help from a sister.
What am I going to do with myself in a few years when Eris can prepare breakfast, Meriel can wash up, Hollis can read, Simeon can dress himself? Treasure the infant years; more craziness ahead!
Fast forward a few years later...ages 7, 5, 3, 1. Three children completely out of diapers, even at night. They all can go to the bathroom by themselves. The can dress themselves; Eris buttons Meriel and Hollis, Meriel zips or buttons Eris. They brush their own or each others hair. I braid, clip, and fix ponytails. I change one diaper, clothe one child (with clothes picked out by a sister), pack a diaper bag with diapers for one. Six sandals on (usually the right feet) independently; two more with help from a sister.
What am I going to do with myself in a few years when Eris can prepare breakfast, Meriel can wash up, Hollis can read, Simeon can dress himself? Treasure the infant years; more craziness ahead!
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