Napping Strike, and Mission Accomplished

Have you ever heard of a nursing strike? Like, when a baby basically decides they won’t breastfeed for some reason? Well around these parts, the Tank has enacted a napping strike, which (in our case) is when a baby who used to nap very nicely decides once the clock hits the 30 to 45 minute mark, sleep is done. And this baby who was taking 3 or 4 good hour and a half naps a day is no longer giving me a chance to read a chapter, or shower, dry my hair and get dressed.

It ain’t purty.

In other news, the internet was out for two days, hence things being quiet here. And. It came back on, and that evening I was planning to catch you up on the life and times of this here expat-repat, and do you know what? It sure enough decided it was time to stop working again.

Weren’t too purty either.

{I should warn you I’m writing this tired and the southern comes out when I’m tired. Alright y’all? Let’s move on.}

In other news that’s a lot better, we actually did achieve those little photographic missions I was hoping to accomplish just before, and upon, our arrival. The photos from London aren’t ready yet, but the arriving photo I was hoping we’d capture is hot off the presses.

In case you need a reminder, this was when the Bear met G-pa, back in Cape Town airport in 2008:

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And I hoped we could snag something similar, right here at Raleigh-Durham International Airport, September 2011.

And we did!

See?

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G-pa opted for the purple, instead of the yellow hat on this occasion, which was nicely complemented by the Tank’s yellow onesie. We didn’t even plan that. And like the Bear, the Tank was equally impressed with G-pa’s hat.

Another very special reunion/introduction ensued, after a wee car drive to eastern North Carolina.

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Very exciting, and rather different from when G.C. met the Bear:

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because he was only a few days old, but Blakey already had six month notches (now seven!) under his belt. Or on his onesie. Or etched into his crib. But we sold that. Ahem.

So the news in a nutshell is: the Bear loves preschool, the Tank loves solid food but doesn’t like napping, Hero Hubs officially starts work next week, and I’m still feeling a bit loopy getting settled in to life here again. And I think it’s gonna take a while.

But I’m thinking I’ve got a while.

And that’s good news, too.

xCC

Where’s My Ferret?

I‘m in the middle of a couple of good books at the moment. I grabbed one of them off my sister’s bookshelf, and she’d made notes in it that make me feel like I’m getting to read it with her, even though she’s many-a-mile away in Colorado. Special treat. She has a great sense of humour. Or humor, since she’s American. So am I.

My own thoughts still feel like a bit of a jumble at the moment…like I’m struggling a little bit to get a grip with the new reality. It reminds me of a dream I had the other night that seemed so certain and so real, I woke up and wondered where my ferret was. I have never owned a ferret. And I don’t think I ever will own a ferret. But I woke up from the dream with the cuddly little white ferret, it may or may not have had a collar, and the first thought in my mind in those waking moments — troublesome, loud and important was:

Where’s my ferret?

The good books I’ve been reading have had some good thoughts I thought were more mention-worthy than my imaginary ferret.

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{A bookshelf at Se7en’s house!}

I’ve been challenged by these words: “Andrew is the one who taught me that what I believe is not what I say I believe; what I believe is what I do.” This reminds me of some definitions of integrity I’ve heard, and makes me thankful for grace.

Jesus didn’t value what people thought; he valued people, period.” This is an incredibly freeing statement for me. I need to internalize this wisdom.

I’ve also been thinking about Mark 11, and Jesus deciding to make that triumphant entry into Jerusalem, not long before He died, on a donkey. I’m sure His disciples would’ve been willing to put on a show for Him — a big jazzy parade with flags and loud music, maybe even some people to toss figs and dates to the crowd. He could’ve had strobe lights and fog machines if He wanted. Or at least bubble blowers to make all the children giggle.

But He opted to go the road low. And I’ve been thinking about Him leading the way, in that way, and what that might mean for you and me if we want to follow His lead. Hmm.

I made a second trip to the grocery store, and once again enjoyed seeing exactly three people I knew. I kept the list short and thus avoided the fog of too many decisions at once. In case you ever plan on making a transcontinental move, I highly recommend taking the engagement with grocery shopping S.L.O.W.

We don’t quite have our routine and rhythm yet, but I’m hoping making a meal plan for the week will help. And I’m hoping Blakeyboo will decide sleep is awesome and he wants more of it. And I’m hoping to get a grip with reality again, so that my heart and my brain can focus for a decent length of time, and enjoy clear time in the presence of the Lord, and share encouraging thoughts and revelations here.

Until then, if I ask you where my ferret is, just remind me I don’t have one.

xCC

P.S. Want to take a stab at what two books those lines might be from? Two hints: free and Blue.

He Came, He Saw, He Pouted

Although this post is available to friends and family near and far, being posted on these here internets, it is especially devoted to the Goo-Goo and Gammy who are spoken of each and every day, who I’m certain would like to hear how preschool is going. And who would also probably like to hear that after requesting a drive to G-pa’s house on Wednesday, the Bear asked where Goo-Goo and Gammy’s house was. He was disappointed that “not so close” and “South Africa” were words involved in answering that question.

Miss you guys.

Okay everybody. The Bear had his first day of preschool on Monday.

And the morning started off in a bit of a blurry wee hurry, but when he tripped over his own foot in the living room and met the floor a lot faster than usual and cried his eyes out and wanted me to hold him and wanted Daddy to hold him, the thought suddenly occurred to me that that very same thing could happen. And happen at preschool. And I wouldn’t be there.

It was a troublesome thought, which I banished quickly to a dark recess for another day, and pressed on through the morning without tears. A remarkable achievement, don’t ya think?

As we embarked on the adventure to preschool, the photojournalism, documenting this historic event began.

The Bear seemed… concerned… about the day ahead.

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Perhaps it was a defiant look of determination.

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And then rather an “I’ve got this” sort of pose.

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Mayhaps he was downright excited?

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But arriving at the gates he was back to determined.

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An expression followed quickly by an I think I can moment.

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Upon arrival, he gave the space an intentional perusal before settling in.

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And determined it was worthwhile spending time here.

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Perhaps it could even be good. {Especially if I get to play with this! thought he.}

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He felt uncertain about the customs and behaviour of the natives.

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{And his mother blurred faces out, because we’re back in the land where people have sued people for less, and I don’t have parental permission!}

He was uncertain that the friendliness of their leader was genuine.

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{But his mother thinks his teacher is Awesome! Capital A.}

And by the time his mother came to collect him at morning’s end…

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{disclaimer: Quiver Tree Photography would like it to be known that it is not responsible for this shocking attempt at a photograph. And I take full responsibility for the lack of skill involved in its capturing.}

…the overall outlook at the end of day one was pretty bleak. Perhaps starting a week late (he couldn’t help it, he was in the UK!) was a bigger problem than we thought.

On Day Two, after a field trip to the local library, there was a heart sore moment involving one or two kids’ parents or grandparents arriving before the Bear’s (he didn’t know I’d been waiting in the parking lot for ten minutes). The (perceived) temporary absence of his mother was mildly disturbing. I arrived to find him in tears about it. Fortunately, that was very brief.

On Day Three, his stuffed animal Beaver made an appearance in the classroom. And besides practicing the songs they sing in the morning that I’d picked up while sitting in with him for a little while (at his request) we’d practiced answering important questions: Beaver’s name is Beaver. Beaver is the colour brown, Beaver is small. Mama got Beaver in Germany. (Which sounded like Jury-uh when he said it.)

And somehow, on day three, things began magically clicking into place. (Answered prayer.) And the Bear enjoyed preschool. And seemed happy when Dada arrived to pick him up. The teacher’s assistant said he had a very good day.

Monday will be day four, and here’s hoping there’s more happy in store!

So, that’s how it’s going with preschool! Goo-Goo and Gammy, we wish you were here!

xCC

Happiness Is…

I still have a rough cold and a crackly whisper of a voice, but I saw three people I knew at the grocery store yesterday, and only converted prices back to Rand a couple of times. And I bought my Mom a bottle of wine to accompany the magnificent birthday meal I cooked her, and I got carded.

And happiness is these photos from Bloemfontein:

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which are the bees’ knees to me.

Or this one,

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which takes the cake.

Or some other similarly appropriate metaphor, by which it is clear to you that this photograph puts a great big whoppin’ smile on my face.

Now does anybody know where I can find Rooibos tea, besides Starbucks?

xCC

{Guest Post} A Soul Searching Transformation

Reflecting on where life was ten years ago last week, a friend of mine wrote a piece of her story, strong and brave, and offered to share it here. You might remember her from {Thanks}giving Week last year. May Laura Anne’s words challenge and encourage your heart…what a strong reminder of the amazing God who loves us they are to me!

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was known as the Bacardi Queen. She was a bubbly caring sort of lass who loved to dance, with a thick Scottish accent and quite the potty mouth. She liked to drink Bacardi and often got a little tipsy as her teeny body filled up with alcohol and sugar, and the Bacardi would turn into tears and anguish of all the hurts she’d kept locked inside of her. The queen wanted to be away from all the hurt, so she came up with a plan to escape.

And then a chance came! The Bacardi queen gave up on her love of dance and studied hard hoping it would earn her a ticket to another world, a world free of all the people that had hurt her.

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The Bacardi queen got her ticket, but at a high cost. She had to sacrifice the life of her unborn daughter in order to keep it. She made the sacrifice, and got to keep her ticket, and so she ran away to a place in the far North where she met people from foreign lands.

There seemed to be a never-ending flow of Bacardi in this land, and the queen drank and soon all the tears came out and the queen felt all the pain that she’d not allowed herself to feel before. Soon the pain began to overwhelm her and she went on a search for something that would ease it.

She met some strange people. They called themselves Christians. These Christians were funny characters, and did things and said things the queen found very bizarre. One day she asked one of them to take her to the place where they all gathered, and she saw them all together for the first time. There was an energy she had not encountered before, and being a curious sort of girl she decided to investigate further. What was this energy they had that she did not? She wasn’t sure what it was but her instincts said it was good.

After some months of observation and a little bit of study, she found out what it was. Agape. Love.

But could the queen partake of this love after the sacrifice she’d made for her ticket?

She decided to dance again, but it did not bring her the same kind of love that the Christians had.

One day the Christians caught her singing, and they asked her if she would lead them in songs. But the songs were about the love she couldn’t have and she didn’t know how to tell them that.

The more she tried to sing, the harder it got to hold in the hurt, until she finally told one of the Christians about why she couldn’t have the love they had. “There’s a bigger sacrifice that was taken up and it makes up for the one you made”, said the Christian. “Look! See!” And he showed her in a book that it was true, and he explained to her how to receive the Agape.

And that day, the Bacardi Queen began a transition…gradually she put down her Bacardi crown, and she got a new crown of laurels, and could now use the name she was first given:

Victory. Grace. Worshipper of God.

***

Laura Anne, thank you for so bravely sharing your story. Knowing the work you do now, considering the life you are living for the Lord — it is such a beautiful picture of the God who Redeems. Thank you for living it and sharing it with many.

And friends, Laura Anne blogs at Learning from Sophie, if you haven’t checked her out already!

xCC

P.S. Do you have a story to share and want a space to share it? I’d love to create an opportunity for you to step up to the metaphorical microphone. Please get in touch!