Short People

I'm 5'4". I am pretty sure this is on the shorter end of American height. But here, I feel like what my tall friends must have been feeling all along. Put me in a crowd of local women and I'll stick out...for many reasons...one being my towering five feet four inches! I'm even taller than a lot of men I know.

You don't really notice the height difference between our countries until you
1) are in a crowded elevator and are asked to reach above everyone else's heads to push the buttons,
2) easily find your husband in the dark, in the middle of a festival, on an extremely crowded street,
3) are asked to be in a group picture...back row please, or



4) your three-year-old easily reaches the sink in the public bathroom. "Mommy, it's Molly-size!"

Should I break it to her that this country was not made just for her? That her stature will soon surpass her friends and neighbors?

Maybe not just yet. It's fun being short...just like everyone else. 

Starfruit

Bet you didn't know this.

It's starfruit season. 

Rejoice for a little while, but then remember that no one actually likes starfruit. It's bitter and weird.

No one likes it....except perhaps Teresa's daughter. She spent 5 rupees (15 cents) a few weeks ago at a street food stall for some pickled starfruit with chilies (note: in my opinion, this does not improve the taste of said starfruit). Well, Teresa put a stop to her daughter's flagrant spending. But you know us moms. We'll do crazy things to make our kids happy.

So here's how you get to Teresa reaching over our balcony with my kids' butterfly net to snag a few starfruit. It was great fun for all. Plus we got about 30 bitter, unpalatable starfruit. Teresa's daughter was thrilled. She pickled them and added plenty of chili.












The best thing we use it for is stamping crafts.

Aunties and Uncles

"When you're here, you're family." So, says Olive Garden. I don't like to dwell on American restaurants with amazing salads and breadsticks.......for too long.....but I think their little slogan is true of the community here. Not the country as a whole, no. But I feel like we are really becoming good friends, like family, with so many people here.



A cool family thing about here is that kids call any adult older than them "Uncle"or "Auntie". For my American readers, here's the formula:

For people you know: Name+Uncle/Auntie (Manoj Uncle)
For people you don't know: (just) Uncle/Auntie
For people you don't know and are not addressing but want to talk about: Descriptive Adjective+Uncle/Auntie (Ironing Auntie, Fish Seller Uncle, Big Mustache Uncle)
This also applies to adults referring to older adults with respect. It can backfire though. Once a twenty-something called me "Auntie"....









Anyways, my kids have this formula down. It's normal life for them to interact with uncles and aunties every day. Kids, in general, seem to "get" community and welcoming quicker than I ever do. I love this part about being here. They learn to enjoy being with Brian and I as we interact with adults. We do most social things as a family, with other families. We have people in our home and are welcomed into other homes.

Of course, that means Brian and I are "Uncle and Auntie" to some kiddos here too. I, uh...don't know how that is going to turn out. :) 

Molly Turns 3

When you turn three and want a "painting chicken mermaid party" you get an "under the sea" party! There's a limit to birthday theme choices.

She wanted a craft. She wanted a chocolate cake with a crab and fish on it. She wanted a sign for the door, storytime and hot dogs cut in the shape of an octopus. We delivered. Because you know, it's fun to make this little girl happy. 

We made jellyfish out of paper cups. My friend, somehow, made this amazing cake! Lydia and I created a sign for the door. We read "The Singing Mermaid" to a riveted audience of children. I even made octopus-ish looking creatures out of hot dogs. Thank you pinterest. Nailed it. 

Also, we managed to unknowingly introduce a few friends to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (I called them peanut butter and jellyfish...ha!). I was tempted to take credit for this flavor combination, but alas I confessed it was the most popular un-glamorous sandwich in America. 

So, we made Molly happy. She does her share of making us happy every day. I'm supposed to say "I can't believe she's three!" but I can. Because, truthfully it feels like our family is a family with Molly. And it's only been three years since she came along. To think, only three years that we've had this daughter who loves to help, makes up silly songs and lights up a room. What a privilege and joy!

Maybe next year we'll do the "painting chicken mermaid party".

Regroup

I use this word a lot since moving here.

"Regroup."

As in, "Ok, so the store is closed for a holiday, let's regroup and figure out what Mommy will make for lunch." or "Yes, I know I said we'd go read books, but monkeys pooped on my laundry. I'm gonna need to regroup." or "The gas is out. Let's regroup and order pizza!". You get the picture. Basically, it's making lemonade out of lemons. It's not a bad thing to teach my kids, and hopefully it's character-developing for me as well.

But I get tired of regrouping. And here's where I wish character-development (or call it sanctification) wouldn't take so darn long. Once every four years, Brian's company has a big retreat. It happened just this past week. And on ONE of those days during the retreat we were going to get a free day with an optional family activity! We choose the Singapore Zoo. We were all looking forward to the animals, the cleanliness and order (I know, it's a zoo, but those are the sort of things I anticipate when I visit other countries now!), the whole it's-taken-care-of excursion-ness to it.

Well, it wouldn't make this sort of blog post if it lived up to my expectations. Due to a very slow immigration check-point and a lackadaisical bus driver we never made it to the zoo. Instead, we were dropped in the middle of the city (80 minutes from the zoo) with tired, hungry kids and no clue what to do.

Regroup. Make lemonade out of lemons.

First stop: ATM. We don't know the exchange rate so we guess and find a restaurant. Burgers and milkshakes! (Later we realize the milkshakes gave us food poisoning...but that's another blog post). We explore a toy store and find a park with turtles and some sort of prairie chicken. My kids find a gardener watering the lawn. To these profession regroup-ers, this is a water park!

So, it turned out to be an ok day. We regrouped. But I was so bummed I had to. I anticipated a break from my lemonade-making. Instead I got a pile of lemons. As I lay in bed with food poisoning the next day (with two of my kids on either side), I got angry. Angry at Singapore, the bus driver, the retreat planners, the milkshake and maybe a bit at God. Seems really silly to admit that. But it's true.

Eventually,I got over myself. I have a big enough God to take it, to hear me, to comfort me and surprise me again and again with grace in the midst of every single regroup. And after all, I do rather like lemonade. 

How Martha Saved My Mondays

Oh Martha. 

She's a little crazy. I mean, let's not forget she went to prison. Also, how on earth does she sheer her sheep, knit her own sweaters (after dyeing the yarn in her acai berry blend) and possess intimate knowledge of heirloom hydrangeas? 

Scary right? 

But let's face it. Give Martha butter and she can bake. Her cookie recipes (as well as pies, cakes and breads) are the best. I will not prove it to you picture by picture. This is not that kind of blog. Nor will I poll my audience. I will not be "the girl who ate every cookie" and blogged and later wrote a witty novel about it. I'm just saying. She puts a teaspoon of cinnamon with chocolate chip-peanut cookies. She whips up snickerdoodles without cream of tartar. Citrus cornmeal shortbread...genius. 

A few years ago, my friend Dana introduced me to Martha's baking. She gave me this book. People come to my house and look at like a coffee-table book. It has a pictorial table of contents for every cookie organized by texture. Read that last sentence again. Yes. Light and Delicate? Cakey and Tender? They are all here. 

A few months ago, my husband introduced me to Mondays...in a new way. He started co-leading a small group Bible study. Though Brian let me know it was not mandatory that I go, he really encouraged me (and the 3 kids) to go. Now, I don't want to make it sound worse than it is. It's Monday (right after a working Sunday...something I'm still getting used to), 25 minutes from our house, trying to participate (without frustration!) while my kids are hungry/tired/bored/disturbing the study. I didn't like it. I had a bad attitude, a case of the Mondays. 

Enter Martha. I mean, enter Jesus using Martha. 

I decided to start making cookies for the Bible study. Turns out cookies make people happy (including me as I come having tasted a few before the study). So, I started making a new cookie each week. Pretty soon, anticipation was building. What cookie is next? 

I don't think people come to the Bible study for the cookies. I don't think it hurts. If I'm honest, cookies got me to come a few times. I went out of obligation. I went with a job to do. But as I baked, God changed my heart. Maybe I found my purpose. Maybe I got into a routine. Whatever it was, God used Martha's cookies to get me over myself. 

Now I love Mondays. I really do. The community is coming together and people are seeing Jesus! It's still hot and right after an exhausting Sunday. My kids still interrupt and need me. And sometimes the cookies don't turn out just right. But (never thought I'd use this comparison) Jesus is better than Martha. He knows what He's doing. And I won't go into a baking/recipe analogy for sanctification. This (thank God!) is not that kind of blog. But He will use even cookies to point me to Him, what He's doing and how He will use me (and butter). 

Picture of the Week: Asian Molly

I like to think that my girls are seeing themselves as not so different than the people around them. It's still strange to my ears to hear Lydia or Molly refer to this place as "home". America is a place we visit. It's a place with Grandma, Chick-fil-a and dreams of riding bikes on smooth streets. But they don't have dosas or mangoes. This is home. For now.

So you can see where I'm going with this: The Magic School Bus, exactly. We have this book, "The Magic School Bus Gets Eaten". A magical story of food chains and how you can connect green pond scum to a tuna sandwich...get on board and let's find out! Ok, the story is not important for this post. It's the pictures. Molly...my blond-hair blue-eyed Molly, loves to point herself out as one of the characters in any story we read.

In this story she is the fifth kid behind Ms. Frizzle. That little girl in the pink wetsuit. On every page, she will find that girl and point her out, "That's me!".

Notice the girl two kids behind "Molly"...the one who looks like my Molly.
"No, Mommy. That's not me."

Who am I to argue about the self-perception of a two-year-old who's lived most of her life in Asia?

On Toil: [or "What's with all the worms, rotten eggs and poo?"]

There are worms in our eggs.

One I cracked last week was totally black. Rotten, stunk up the whole house.

Isabella has had terrible poo (may or may not be related).

Something mysteriously gnawed one of my cucumbers in the night. Our road has been dug up for repairs. One of the repairing trucks literally fell through the road.

Sometimes I feel this curse of toil. Adam got the bad news that because of his sin, work would no longer be easy. The ground would fight back. Eve got that whole pain in childbirth thing. That's real. Believe me. But also, as a helper to an Adam, I am not immune to his curse of toil. This curse affects me as I make a home. Home fights back.

Some of it's living in another culture. Some of it's having three young kids. Some of it's just my laziness or unmet expectations or selfishness. Some of it's rotten eggs. I mean, it just happens as I make my banana bread. And it's continual. Spinning like this merry-go-round.

But let me not despair into fatalism. All is not meaningless. And at the same time let me not make my battle with the worms an analogy of God's faithfulness. It's real. It's gross and frustrating and pressure-cooking my sin. It's covered by grace. Because we can expect toil but we can also hope in the promise of God working all things for our good and His glory. God will not redeem rotten eggs, but He will redeem me. He has promised to transform me more into His likeness (whether that's thanking God for rotten eggs, making a list of gratitude for all the not-rotten eggs, asking what Jesus would do with a rotten egg, or just processing my thoughts on a blog...I don't know yet).

I can hope with certainty in His promise. I can expect toil. Home will fight back with all it has. And yet, I am not home yet. I look toward that Home where there will be no fight, no wasted time, no fruitless work, and certainly no worms. 

Picture of the Week: Bake Sale

Alison and I accomplished a lot on Saturday morning. We got our kids out at the park (the "frog park": the one with no frogs but potential to have them because it has a small area of standing water, and some grass...that you cannot walk on). We met neighbors and realized we actually know quite a few people in our community. We ate baked goods (and sold them). We made 1800 rupees (about $30).

Clearly, the money wasn't the driving force.



Our little community hosted a "flea market"...which basically means you can rent a table and sell whatever you want. Alison and I baked. Pumpkin bread and cookies are kind of an oddity here. So in between the pani puri (look that up) and embroidered elephant purses, we were the sellers of exotic imports: things-baked-with-butter. Our cinnamon rolls and snickerdoodles sold quickly. Our kids found interesting caterpillars and flowers. And we felt like part of this community. Despite our uncommon goods ("Sooo, the snickerdoodle doesn't have Snickers in it?"), I dare say we didn't feel so uncommon.

I am starting to love this city. There are good many days I don't. But Saturday was a day that God gave me joy in where He's called me.

And all that butter didn't hurt. 

Isabella's Birthday Party (Video)

Isabella's ONE year old Birthday Party from Brian Stock on Vimeo.

Picture of the Week: Syrup

Far from the maple trees of Canada (and the even the factories of high fructose corn syrup), we must survive on whatever waffle toppings we can find.

Today, for Brian: cream cheese and green olives (which by the way, both are considered "gourmet imports" from our grocer). I was pretty excited just to get a waffle maker. We bought in Thailand while on a visa run. I forgot about the syrup.

My girls "settled" for peanut butter (another "gourmet import") and a dusting of powdered sugar.

I ate mine plain. Not because I'm trying to make a point. I just like plain waffles. And bland food in general. But that's off topic.



Just a note. Yes, we can find syrup. It is $7.50 a bottle (for the imitation stuff). I consider it a sacrifice to support our ingenuity (and my love of plain).