.....consider joining me on Tuesday

It is Tuesday.  

Why pray?    

I am shooting from the hip here.  Honestly I would rather read a work of Pastor John Piper and give you some reasons thence however here is why on Tuesdays we pack on our kids, walk through the morning smog and pray through gulleys for those living around us.

Firstly we are called to pray.

Secondly we are blessed to pray as we talk and listen to our Father.

Thirdly when we pray we see God answer and our faith is built.

Fourthly when we pray and we hear and see how our Father answers we praise Him.

Aaah the sweet work of prayer.  There are those silent prayers mouthed in deep, warm solitude.  There are those wrestling prayers like Hannah where our words seem strange to those around.  There are those sung prayers, music full of adoration or supplication.  There are dynamite prayers, the Word coupled with real life issues for today.  There are healing prayers.  There are weeping prayers.  There are chatty prayers.  Prayers of praise.  Prayers for change, revival.  There are prayers prayed for years, faithfully worn on the knees and prayers prayed for days lifting hands in delightful glee. There are prayers full of hope or despair.

The list goes on and on and on.  However from my earthly father I learned the great joy of working prayers.  Prayers that you pray on site with insight.  Walking through gulleys, walking down neighborhoods praying with VISION for Christ to come.  Praying before leaving to prayer walk for direction and being so intimately led by our Father in Heaven that your toes tingle. 

We are a motley crew that attracts attention, us Prayer Walkers.  Four folks.  Two pack horses and two riders.  Abe and Zana fairly ooze out of their Ergos bumping along on our backs as we plod through tiny alleys that don’t leave room for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder.  We pray.  We pray hard.  It is work.

Join me today to pray for change in your world.  Pray prayers that you barely have faith to utter.  Pray prayers that seem impossible, write them down and see God work.  Go for a walk in your neighborhood and pray.  Be ready to pray aloud for a neighbor or a stranger.  Pray in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.  Pray with faith.

How can we pray for you?

How can we pray for your family?

come follow me...

Here are my kids playing in the graveyard nearby.  Zana has no shoes because I thought she would stay in her Ergo prompting me to leave her shoes behind.  She is running barefoot on a rocky, (in some places glass) strewn ground as happy as punch.  She is like some fabulous fair ride that when it is on it plays music, spins around, makes people laugh (or scream), and runs unstopping until it is turned off and then it is off.  Folded up and stored away for another moment.  

One sure way to get my little lady excited is to include goats in any activity.  Here is Mr. Pied Piper with his three goats.  I thought I was going to lose my kids to farming in the city today.  They had no thought of me or of home.  Who cares about candy just lure those kids with goats!

"Yes. Yes we will go where you are going!"

Zana is fearless.  She has been butted straight in the stomach.

She flew backwards and landed on her diaper padded rear.

Still she seeks out the feisty ones.

The shepherd let Abraham hold the string.

Little did the young man know, he had earned a friend for life.

Goats... white kids.... CROWD. 

(there are probably thirty people out of the picture)

"Did you say, Come or Go?"

Consider the Lily

Sing flowers sing. 

Sing of your Creator loud and clear,

Sing flowers sing.
In all your glorious splendor, sing

to my heart so oft to doubt that I’ll be clothed tomorrow.

Sing flowers sing.
 Of your coming King Victorious. 

Sing.

No matter how dirty the corner of the world you live,

Or how dark the darkness.

No matter how deep the sorrow that you face each night.
Or the broken loneliness.

Still there are flowers that sing.

And still your voice too, must be heard, for, if not

The rocks would cry out.

....chadors, duputtas, burkhas

Zana runs around the house with her duputta.  She is so destructive to the gauzy pieces of cloth I tend to wear in and around the house that she has her own two duputtas just for play.  If the pink doesn't match she grabs a white onesie and cloaks her shoulders.  Her volume crescendos at nap time when her "dah-pah-tah" gets taken away.  

She knows I wear it.  She knows the women she loves wear duputtas.   She knows the women who love her, often by stuffing her pudgy cheeks with some illicit sweetmeat, wear coverings.  So why not Zana too.

Hijab speaks of layers.  Layers that people often don't understand.  Layers of culture, religion, personality, family, femininity, identity, and protection.  It is a swirling covering of mystery that for each individual can mean something different.  For Zana it means she knows and loves the people beneath.  

This photo is taken in America.  The woman under the veil is a past student in Pakistan.  Though she does not wear a veil she is committed to love and serve those clothed as such.

Changing Habits in the Heat

We get up earlier.  We eat lighter.  We go to bed later.  We nap.  Or at least lay low for a short time in the afternoon.
It is hot.  The highs are not that much higher than last week but the lows are creeping up and up.
Here is Auntie with the kids this evening.  She comes sporadically throughout the week.  Not only do I hire her to cook a meal in the evening but I learn how to make important dishes like Briyani from her, ask her cultural questions, visit her home, go to her grandkid's birthday parties, and just practice language with her, loudly.
Her coming can be a bit of a tempest.  She comes either happy or perhaps a little annoyed (often with her son) but she enjoys us as much as we enjoy her.  I love to chat with Auntie and share stories with her.  This is a walk in humility as I ask her to tell them back.  She often changes integral parts or just little parts.  Numerous times I have called in my ever talented Hubster to investigate where I went linguistically awry just to discover Auntie did not like the way I told it so she changed the story.  Ah.  Hm.  Oh dear.

Don't miss the fridge outside the kitchen.  Or

the toddler in just a shirt and the toddler with just a diaper!

They both are wearing shoes for a romping game of chase with mommy.

Côté, de

Sideways. Used to indicate that a step is to be made to the side, either to the right or to the left.

This is a ballet term used in ballet. (rather repetitive that)  Zana and I went to a ballet recital today.  A mom with a talent taught kids with talent and kids with no talent tap and ballet.  Then a real ballerina with real training came and taught a gaggle of little girls ballet.  They moved sideways and around and up and down and looked spectacular in their yellow, bashful tutus.

It was a moment of glee, depth and just a little sadness.  A kind of reminder of living a world away from extra curriculars in a land full of richness and poverty.  They were beautiful little butterflies.  You have to love butterflies and these girls had to be loved and adored as they danced to an impossibly beautiful song about letting your light shine by a voice named Addison Road.  It matched so perfectly with the little girls.  (I cannot suggest the album as I have not listened to it as of yet but the one song complimented the little ballerinas.)

The audience was a hodge podge of adoring parents, single aunties outnumbering the single men by dozens, hippies fresh out of the garden, American loudies complete with sporting teeshirts, humble Aussies wearing beads and skin touched with sun lotion (no skin cancer for those conscientious natives), South Africans dressed to the nines, Canadians fairing a solid score excepting their accent, and a new baby with lungs to match his hair.  It was a motley crew at best packed into a gem of a space bejeweled by Nature Herself and lacking nothing in the way of green.  Personally, if I was not holding a little tutu toddler, I wanted to climb into the central treehouse and watch, curled up in the foliage, the festivities.  But I sat, said tired things, smiled, and loved the dancing, the fellowship and the snacks!

My little sunshine was in her own little tutu but was not her happy little self.  She likes to dance but she was a little bit more grumpy than usual.  Quiet.  Thirsty too.  I forgot water so I placated her with apply fizz.

Hmmm.

On the way home just us two girls on our first of many mommy dates she let loose with a wide stream of a waterfall of goodness.  All over her, her car seat, and finally all in my purse lying open at her feet.  A lesson learned.  Keep it zipped.

We still had fun.  So if you are a little down today.  Turn some music on and twirl.  Or just move sideways and say the fancy words de Cote and perhaps you'll feel better.  Or you'll feel like throwing up.

That is NOT the take away point of this post.  Lets see.  Take away point.
Go on mommy dates?
Don't give your child anything but water?
Tutus are a must for all little girls?

no.....

Use your gifts to bless your own kids and someone else's kids.  The woman who has poured out so much, her pre teen daughter stole the show in grace, beauty and just plain old sweetness.  So ladies find someone to love for a season and use your gifts to bless.  And then celebrate those kids like they are butterflies.  Beautiful Creations of a Magnificent Creator.

Cobwebs and a Dish Washer

 Jannat is the heavenly girl who comes and cleans my floors and washes my dishes every day except Saturday.  She works for two other Indian families where she does not get a day off and receives substantially less in pay.  One of the hardest questions for me in the States concerns Jannat.  It is simply and sadly my pride but people seem to assume that she makes life easier.  Life Can't Be Hard With a Super Lady who Comes Every Day to Clean.

Hmmmmm.  Honestly I would rather have a dish washer, carpeted floors, tiled bathrooms and a dustless home where the temperature is monitored by a dial rather than God and the dirt flying in does not include black sticky stuff.  Does Jannat clean as well as a vacuum.  Honestly Jannat lives in a home with a mud floor.  Her home is neat but cleanliness means something different to Jannat.  At least she does not bring too much dirt in with her when she comes to clean.  She does have lice.  All the time.  But she gets her family members to pick them out once a week so according to her she is clean.  However I need her.  Every single floor has to be mopped each day, every surface wiped or Zana's feet are black after walking around inside.  Together Jannat and I battle a losing battle daily but at least my house is not completely taken over by filth.  We battle hard against dirt.

You would think my house would be clean but the constant battle with dirt, and bugs and smog mean that every day I can write my name on the Already Been Wiped surfaces of my home.  This lovely cobweb (see upper right corner) took one day to create in my home!  I was rather offended by this squatting spider.  You would think Mz. Spidee could find a less obvious corner.  Guess she is distantly related to another exhibitionist spider named Charlotte.

Cooking or not cooking...your turkey

My parents went to a Turkish restaurant in London for their meal.  My sister, brother, Grandma, Grandpa and a few other relatives ate out in Minneapolis. And I slaved over a meal for my family in India.  NOT.  Nope.  Who am I kidding!

We went with a bunch of other families out to eat.  I sat snuggled between my Hubster who had Abe on his lap, and a prego, lovely Aussie mommy who had her darling toddler on her lap and Zana was heating up my lap of luxury.

We ordered Indian food, chicken, mutton, and paneer.  We ate roti, rice and saucy dishes with our fingers.  No sweet potatoes, ham and silver cutlery for us.  We sat, two American families and two Australian families surrounded by other friends at other tables from India, South African and West, South and Mid America.  It was chaotic but pleasant.

Even though it didn't include a family photo, or Christmas crafts at the ready, or turkey, it felt homey because each of us around that table have made this place our home for this time and by Christ's grace we are truly family.

Thanksgiving is difficult.  I miss my grandparents more than I can ever express.  Some wise man wrote from Duluth to us today.  He wrote to us a Happy Christmas and remarked how when he lived overseas it was Thanksgiving that was the most difficult.  I have found this to be true.  I think it is because Christmas is perhaps more universal, more known, more shared.  But Thanksgiving isn't quite as universal.  The menu varies, the traditions vary, the traditions are as diversified as the number of families there are in the US of A.  However the people never vary because Thanksgiving is always for family.

I miss Grandpa who always leads our family in singing hymns, a small devotional and then a prayer of dedication.  I miss my Grandpa who faithfully calls the entire family, no matter how fidgety, to give thanks to God for something in the year past.  I miss my Grandma who made the bestest food and sits fidgeting more than ANYONE else while Grandpa leads.  I miss my Grandma fluttering and flying about and making the meal special.  I miss that they aren't doing Thanksgiving in their home this year due to physical limitations.  I miss them.

Around our table today a beautiful Aussie (not the prego one but a blonde with a dreamy voice and an awe inspiring creative talent in everything from salads, to art, to music, to writing, to gardens) led us in a song of praise, I heard echoing around me the power of my Grandpa's voice.  I was even a little disappointed that Aussie lady did not wave her arms around to keep us all together like Grandpa does but I think that would have been a tall order.  She may have knocked out a waiter who was hovering.

As we finished our Indian (not the Native American kind) Thanksgiving and Abe and Zana were ready to leave we did my dear to heart tradition led by my kind and willing Hubster.  We went around and we said what we were thankful for this year.  My heart swelled as I saw the many years past and the many years to come and I was thankful.

Guess that was the point of the holiday.

Cooking Achar Gosht

They came at Nine.  They left after Two.  I made Indian food that didn't flop.  I think they will be back even though the meal was on the fly!  For clarity it did not include any flies.

Thank you, Mom, for the recipe.
Thank you, neighborhood pit stop, for my rotis (almost out of atta and I don't do rotis anyways..
Thank you Lord, for grace, peace, patience and a whole bucket load of JOY!

I am tired.
I still have a house to get back into order after a major change in our day.
But I feel a deep sense of satisfaction in just doing life with other believers.  I was honored they came, stayed and will be back.  We were mutually encouraged.

Coco for Cocoa Puffs Part II

Hmmmm.  Well Part I and II do not work well for Mommies with Two Toddlers in Diapers.

It seems so long ago that now I wonder what was so crazy about Thursday.

Here is part two from a Monday's perspective.

We went to play in the graveyard.  The usual huge elephant gate with its' tiny human door had a large blood covered sheet hanging above.  We walked past the area of worship and burning incense to see the horses.  We had two apples, two balls and lots of hope to feed the horses the apples and play with the balls.  As we rounded the corner there were no horses but rather a trio of grave diggers covered in dirt but little else.

I was nonplussed and quickly herded us through another little gate into yet another part of the graveyard that leads to a religious school as is used more as a playground then a burial ground.  It is more dirty and staying on the path is more important as it seems to be used as a bathroom area as well.

Abe busily removed large stones off the path as we plodded along.  I was wrapped up in watching my conscientious son to realize the crowd gathering.  I am used to the kids.  Used to the crowds but due to vacation days this was more a mob.  Numbers were exceeding 50.  Abe was completely unaware.  He had seen a goat and he was determined that one of the apple intended for the horses should be for the goat.  Off he went.

Suddenly I could not see him.  However when I called the sea of children parted and out came Abe, a little Moses.  We puttered along till the Madrassa and then turned to go back our way blocked by the ever increasing crowd of children, toddlers and teens.  Abe started to get flustered.  He ran.  A dozen or so boys ran about him but they were not touching him too much so I was not too worried.  Then he got too far ahead and in the chaos could not hear me.  He kept going through a gate and all I could see was him disappear and then a dozen boys go after him.  Then I heard crying.  I ran like a crazy lady yelling "Stop" at the top of my lungs.  All cultural norms were off.  I was getting to my boy if I had to jump hurtles.
Thankfully he did not fall in the grave.
Thankfully the boys did not hurt him (well they may have pushed him down and they were grabbing him by one arm but he was not offended.) 
Thankfully he fell down which slowed him down.
Thankfully he had no idea how scared I was.
Thankfully I did not fall and Zana thought it was all a big game.

Abe wanted to do it again.

However I was ready to go home.  Ready to shut the door of my house but to reach sanctuary we had to walk  by the neighborhood hovel.  We live near to a couple hundred very poor rickshaw drivers whose families live in tent like communes.  I visit one of these large family groups but one of the family groups is not very friendly or careful with their children.  They run around filthy and wild.  They drag things through the street, they hit each other, they throw things, they are just altogether difficult to walk by but to get home one must go through them.  So I hiked up Zana, grappled Abe and marched through that density of humanity and meanness, by the uncle who always demands to know where I am going and where my husband is, by the person visiting in the neighborhood who tried to literally grab Zana out of my arms as I was walking past her, through my gate, past Abe's best friend, through the mud, up a flight and a half of steep stone stairs through the door straight into the bathroom where I stripped and bathed both kids immediately.

Then I sat down and laughed.

It was better than crying.

Last night that same graveyard came alive with all the Male Shias of our city as they mourned by beating themselves with their hands, knives, glass and other sharp objects.  We could not get home for awhile the procession blocked our road.  Thankfully my kids did not know, did not see, did not understand.

I did not laugh last night.
I cried.
I think it was better than laughing.

Coco for Cocoa Puffs

It has been a long week.  A great week. But long and it isn't over yet.  In fact it isn't even close to over. I felt pretty crazy yesterday trying to parent.  Every time I take my kids out of our gate into the street into our neighborhood I have a posse of kids following me.

I've told you about it.  I've shared how they get down into Abe's little face and yell repetitively "Hello, Hello, Hi."  How they copy everything that I say in English.  Little kids running with dirt falling off of them jab their hands into Zana's mouth.  Two years ago I would have turned heel and run back home.  Now I tell them to knock it off and if they persist, sometimes, I still go home.

I've also told you how the best place within walking distance to play outside is a graveyard.  Well on Tuesday we went visiting to see friends.  I love these friends.  They love me but even more they love my kids.  They are gentle, patient and kind with them.  However the floor of their house is covered in bits of glass.  Lots and lots of glass.  They make mirrors all day long, except when they are cooking or cleaning or watching Tom and Jerry.  I arrived with my two kids, a cricket bat, my purse made of seat belts, and a story on my hand.  Who was I kidding.  How was I going to tell a whole story with tons of new vocabulary words while watching two kids carefully so they would not fall off the bed and impale themselves?  It happened.  I left to walk home and realized I was not going to make it.  Nope.  So I got a rickshaw and we meandered down the bumpy roads home.  We got to the graveyard gate to take the short cut home and stopped to feed two white horses white radishes.  All very idyllic.  Even nice.

So the next day we decided to go visit the horses that live in the graveyard periodically.  It was a bright Wednesday morning.  I should have been warned by the grave diggers.  I should have taken heed to the extra kids yelling at us from roofs.  I should have just stayed home but I did not.

I have spent five minutes and my story is not done.  I will tell you more tomorrow.  Stay tuned but on a happy note we are all still alive and have all our fingers and toes!

But I may not still be sane.

Calmly Enjoying Our Day of Rest

What do you do on your day off?  Here are some photos from last week's adventure.  Obviously we took a long walk and the goat pictures do not feature the same goat, rather three different mutton friends.

A Goat Getting a Bath

A Goat Getting Sold

The Early Light of Morning As We Walked the Gulleys.

A Goat Getting Chopped.

Abraham Making Friends and Influencing People.

Conked in the Head While Dunking For Apples

I try to do one activity a week with other English speaking kids.  Half the time I return home in the three wheeled auto so tired that I want nothing to do with "play dates" for the next six years.  All the kids remotely close in age to my children seem to live a small lifetime away.  Imagine a 20 minute drive in which you pass more than a thousand people on hundreds and hundreds of different forms of vehicles.  The sheer density of humanity in our city at times takes my breath away.  Sparrows aside how can God know the number of hairs on so many different heads and care for each soul.  Immensity beyond fathom.

Off the rabbit trail back to today's blog on Apple Dunking.  It was a Harvest Party thrown by a Super Mommy of Two.  Granted she had her parent's support along with a cousin traveling through with spouse.  That aside it was FABULOUS.  Everyone was to come as a Bible character.  Personally I felt the little boy who came as Balaam's Donkey took the cake but many felt that Zana was the show stealer.  She came as Samson.  I put a muscle shirt on her and the wig, pictured below, and PRESTO..... hair was the costume to beat all costumes.

She pranced around in the grass (did I mention grass, Abe basically rolled in it he was so delighted). One little girl yelled at her mom to "Look at the GRASS, GRASS Mommy, there is Grass." I was thankful I'm not the only mom without a wedding lawn across from my front door where my kids can play.

I basically let my two darling children run and run and run.  When Abe absconded an apple from the bobbing bin and started munching I didn't even make him put it back and try to bob.  They both had a blast and I felt blessed by someone else's hard work to entertain and love so many children.

The party was worth the traffic jam on the way home.

Obviously she is not in full costume here as the muscle shirt has been replaced by pink.  

Very manly.

Samson had BLUE eyes right?  

Maybe she should have been Delilah.

Check out those thighs.

Cut Throat

I heard someone yelling, "God is Great" and poked my head out around the drying cloth diapers.  A man in a prayer skull cap, skirt (loongi) with no shirt was wielding a large machete.  Don't worry we are all fine.  Though blood is running through the streets.  And Abe and Zana can't play downstairs today because the floor is covered in blood and bits.

Eid is here.  It is messy.  Tomorrow those that have new clothes will wear them, show them off and go visiting but today, the day of sacrifice, it is all blood, guts, gore and sacrifice.  Sometimes as a believer in Jesus Christ I forget how His perfect sacrifice was messy.  The Passion of the Christ, which I watch annually, reminds me of the gore but on a daily basis even in the songs I sing, I forget the bloodiness of Christ's sacrifice.

I am so thankful for Eid.  I am thankful for the reminder that the price is paid.  I am thankful for the festive feeling that permeates the streets.  I am thankful that families are together.  I am thankful for time to spend with neighbors and friends just sitting, talking, and eating the best foods ever.  I am thankful for Christ today and yet also full of burden.  I am saddened as I watch lambs die as a sacrifice for the sins of the family not because I mourn the animal but the deception that a mere animal can atone for sin.

May the True Lamb who takes away the sins of the World be made known today.

Eid Mubarak. 

Cows with Necklaces Parading Through Our Gulley

Friday is Goat Eid.  The Eid of Kurbaani.  Sacrifice.  I love this Eid.  It makes me think of the True Sacrifice, the Final Sacrifice, the Perfect Sacrifice.  The Lamb that was Slain.

Today while at my friend's home the street outside exploded with the sound of children yelling.  A troop of buffalos decked out like Christmas Trees minus the lights were parading by while everyone yelled and laughed and celebrated.  My children hung out the windows two floors up along with the rest of the neighborhood and yelled.  The Holiday of Blood and a Freezer Full of Meat is coming.....

it will be here Saturday.

Until then fatten the sacrificial lamb, goat, buffalo and camel.

Chup Karo

My children were sleeping.  Both at the same time.  My hubby is out doing various amazing things to help our lives resume to normal after being gone for four months and outside my apartment door a fire was brewing.

A fire of five tongues, waving hands, heated tears, flashing anger, sharp pointing fingers and banging doors, raged.  I cracked my door open because one of the voices sounded suspiciously like the lovely young lady who washes my floors and dishes.  It was "Jane", her two sisters, her mom and the new upstairs neighbor who moved in with her sister.  Everyone was yelling in Hindi.  I did not try to wade in, jump in or even dip into this language nightmare NOPE I was pulled into the mess with an abruptness my jet lagged brain squabbled with.

Upstairs Amazon Woman had hit Jane.  Rightfully so Jane's family was on her door step ready to take action.  Overall they are very peace loving and quiet.  It was as though a sleeping giant had been aroused.  This family was up in arms and  good and angry.

I was pulled into the conversation (read here riot) and promptly told to mitigate.  What? Me?  Tears and giggles threatened to spill over at the same time.  Tears because sweet Jane was weeping in terror and giggles because of my complete lack of ability to handle the situation.  Okay I also wanted to giggle because Amazon Woman kept yelling that Jane had torn on her mau mau.  As she shouted this injustice she pulled out her neckline giving everyone a view down to the ground.  Needless to say we were all momentarily floored by the view!

I am not sure how it all ended.  I just know we all yelled "Listen" over and over.   I know that I clearly communicated that Amazon Woman should never touch Jane again.  I also know that I told the lady to stop saying slanderous things against Jane.   I prayed the whole time.  I did not laugh.  I did not cry.

My kids stayed asleep.

A wonderful grace in the light of the war outside my door.

Comfortingly Close

When I make chicken the neighborhood in India knows.  When I make mutton they know.  They know what I serve my guests to eat.  They know what is on my laundry line.  They know if my kids do not sleep through the night or if they are teething.  They know.  When I open the windows to my son's room someone says hi from across the gully.  There is no privacy.

I have been living with my in-laws in the middle of a forest for the last few days and I miss the neighbors!  I miss needing to close curtains.  I have nightmarish thoughts from throw back horror film ads that I saw when I was a teen (note that I said "ads" if I had ever seen one of those movies I think I would have never slept again).  I kind of miss our neighborhood watch.... Whenever Anyone Twitches Conversation Happens!  Not the type of Neighborhood Watch that is only for safety but for conversation, gossip.  I miss it particularly in the dark when I get home with the kids.  I miss Auntie from across the road striking up a conversation at unreal decibals while I try to keep Zana's sleeping ears covered.  I miss telling at least three people where and what exactly we were doing while we were out.  I miss people there to greet me home!  I miss India!

Casseroles and Briyani

Briyani is..... a delicious South Asian rice dish full of meat, spices and onions.  It is a party in your mouth.  It is a crowd pleaser.  It is the dish extraordinaire to serve to guests.  It is a one dish meal.  All in one.  It is the equivalent of brownies for dessert in America or a great casserole that needs no trimmings.

Here in India you better have at least a half dozen dishes to share unless you serve the all purpose Briyani.

My sister-in-law every Christmas makes a slew of different cookies.  Her and her girls make dozens and dozens.  Then they put a mix onto plates and give them away.  When neighbors receive them they do not count the number of types, at least I do not think so.  In America, if a friend visits, coffee and a cookie is great, particularly if the friend just dropped in unannounced.

Here in India, that is not the case.  Three plates with at least three different items is minimal.  Chai is crucial for everyone and it must be served with something savory.  Water with the sweets and chai with the savory.

Just two days ago I sat with my mom drinking a hot drink and eating cookies at a moms and tots play group.  My son Abe was playing with three other boys, one named Mohammed, all from different countries.  They greeted each other with Salaams and then proceeded to do that cute toddler play which means no one play together just along side of each other.  Us women had a delightful time as my mom made a Western time frame become an Eastern time of hospitality with just a little chai and snacks!

This is terribly disjointed and I must sign off as my computer is going to die.

In case of confusion remember Briyani for the East and Casserole for the West and for dessert the West is always easier but hospitality is not always about what is easiest.  

Chand or Sun?

Today's conversation with Jannat.....

Jannat starts the conversation with an impossible demand as no one in her family owns a phone.

"You will give me your number while you are in America."

"I will not give you our phone number in America."

"You do not know it?"

"No, once my husband gave out his number and someone called in the night. Late.  They did not understand that America was having a different time."

"Oh."

"It is night there now."

"No.  Not night.  giggle.  Look outside it is day."

"Oh yes right now it is two in the night."

"No, it is day."

"You know the earth is round."

"Yes."

"See my nose, it is India, see my braid it is America.  My head is round like the ground (earth)  The light bulb is the sun.  When my nose is facing the sun then...."

"America is seeing the chand*."

"Yes."

"giggle"  "It is a strange thing that."

"Yes."

* Chand is the word for Moon

Cracking Down on Dust

I am a new mom.  Yup my little Zana is not yet six months and my Abe is not yet two so I think I still fall under the "new mom" category.  However I feel like the "new baby fog" lifted faster the second time around and I am able to function at something akin to a new normal. 

I recently talked to a new mom who has her first.  She expressed how much work there is with a new baby, "she needs a bath, and I have to clean up when she throws up, and ......" I laughed.  I remember the first baths Abe received that took a good hour of my time, and my mom's time and Chad's time (he was videoing!).  I was pretty sure Abe would break.  Now Zana slips and slides around in a basin with Abe who dumps water with worms and microorganisms on her head with older brother relish.  The times have changed. 

So has my take on dirt.   I live in a country where my kids get monthly house visits for their polio drops.  Where one drop of water can kill you.  Where visitors from America brush their teeth with bottled water. Where tuberculosis is rampant.... TB of the bone, the brain, just normal TB.  And the list goes on, particularly for a hypochondriac like me (remember I'm the one who was sure she was dying when she didn't know she was just pregnant).  


My sister had the best advice ever.  Her son was touching everything in an airport.  You should have seen the build up of grime, grit and grossness and he had to touch it all.  I finally asked my usually pretty conscientious sister how she could handle her son touching everything.  She said, "I can always wash his hands so I taught him not to put his hands in his mouth."  End of story.   Great to see it lived out.  Great to hear her say, "It IS gross but it beats worrying!"  (quotes not verbatim) I need that perspective, that mothering wisdom.

I am still fighting grime in my home.   Dusting could happen twice a day and still anyone could write their name on a shelf.  Not everyday brings the dust so hot and heavy but in this season almost everyday.   I remember my mom talking about having to dust so often where she lived in a hot, desert city.  I remember thinking,  "so what, it is SO cool to write my name on the piano cover."  I even remember writing my name with my finger in the dust on the piano and how I did not want to practice.  Now, only now do I understand why that bothered her so! 

So I fight dust, fight worry, and enjoy that my son has dirty hands and sometimes, sometimes, I have a house free of dust!