Friday, October 19, 2018

I wake to light coming through the curtains. I can not trust the amount of light to give me any indication of what time it is because it has been too rainy lately. I can, however, trust my ears to tell me that it is after 5 am, because I hear Chris out on the couch in his conference call. Most weekdays he leaves at 4 am to walk across the river to his campus where the internet is better. But as it gets closer to the weekend he is willing to battle the bad internet and stay home.

I hear him, but don’t wake up fully. A heartwrenching dream about my estranged aunt reconciling with my 93 year old grandmother lingers. I savor it and pray it will come true. Then I get up and dress in the soft yellow light.

Chris is done with his call by the time I get out to the living room. He asks if I am going for a run and I say yes. He puts his left arm out, indicating that there’s a spot for me inside it. My heart tightens at the gesture and I awkwardly accept. I read a letter I wrote him the previous morning, and tell him I am having trouble coming out of my turtle shell again. He wonders if the world will be slippery and wet for my run.

It is not. It is beautiful and sunny, maybe 19 degrees Celsius already. The day feels way too old for 5:45am. The sun is warm and bright. The earth does not cool off as much at night this close to the equator. There seems to be less disparity between night and day.

As I run down our street I savor the whiffs of exotic flowers, one of the things I know I will miss the most about Brisbane. But when I run by the compost bins at the community garden on Jane St, I have to hold my breath.

The day feels old because of how many people are out and about too. When I get to the river, I am never alone. There are people everywhere, of all kinds. Runners, bikers, walkers. Some with dogs, or friends, or spouses, or strollers, or any combination of these. I love to say ‘good morning’ to everyone I can. It is one of the best things for helping me come out of my turtle shell. This morning I pass a large, dark-skinned woman with a very furrowed brow. She does not look up. After I have passed, I wish I had said ‘good morning’ anyway.

At the parking lot in the park people are taking their kyaks out of the water. They are drenched in sweat, washing down their boats and themselves. It’s not even 6am, I think, what a way to start the day! Rowing is very big here too. I count 9 people in a boat this morning, but only 8 at the oars. I wonder what the person sitting in the front is doing. They appear to be along for the ride, but they could be coaching, or looking out for other boats perhaps?

When I get to the end of the park, I turn up the hill into the residential neighborhoods again. I see hoards of bikes before I see a single car. I hear the different sounds of pedalling and coasting. Most people are very obliging and give way when they hear a runner panting up the hill behind them. Groups of large older men walking together are usually the exception. I am thankful that I’m young and spry enough to easily find my way around them. And glad they are walking together, not in isolation.

I run under the awning that spans many restaurants and shops just a block from our house. They are all still sleeping at this hour and I wonder who will be awake in our house now. I stop to catch my breath, and smell the flowers, at the house next door. Here an old Greek man and his son have tended a beautiful flower garden for 60 years. When I ask them about the flowers’ names, they don’t always know, but they clearly enjoy caring for them.

Wesley is the only one up inside, snuggling next to Chris on the couch in his blanket. He tries to snuggle with me, but I am “too wet” with sweat. So I shower first. While I am showering Twill wakes up crying, so I don’t shave. But Chris takes such good care of him that he doesn’t need, or want, me when I come out to shower him next. Wesley has had his turn and Twill’s the last one on the shower schedule today. He runs away, as usual. When I finally get him in the shower he cries, as usual, but it turns into laughter by the end. The water is tickling him.

Then we enter the crazy part of the day, where I buzz around like a bee making breakfast. Friday is the day when the week’s homework is due for Lewis and Stewart. I catch myself getting anxious about it getting in backpacks before the last minute. I take a deep breath, and say nothing. After I calm down, I ask them to get it in their backpacks before breakfast. Inwardly I celebrate the fact that I slowed down.

Breakfast always starts with eggs on a school morning. When all 6 of us are here I have to make 2 batches, because there’s not enough room in the pan they’re cooked in or the cereal bowl they’re mixed in. There is quite a bit of confusion this morning, because Chris isn’t aware of the two batches. He thinks I am slighting myself. He also tries to get me some orange juice, because I am feeling a bit faint, but I like the high pulp stuff and speak up about it. He takes a little breather from breakfast chaos.

I’m not used to having Chris around in the mornings, but we get through the awkwardness. Before long I am celebrating that we are all sitting down together for breakfast on a school morning. We sing our stretching prayer and I hear some young voices. A few weeks ago Lewis started saying, ‘this is just an us prayer,’ meaning that I needed to be quiet so just the kids could sing, and hear themselves, presumably.

After eggs the kids can have oatmeal, toast, or fruit. Wesley loves oatmeal and suffers through a few pieces of eggs to get to it every day. This morning he says it is his favorite food. Stewart is trying to eat more in the mornings so he can get bigger, and not be so desperately starving after school. So, with a little bit of maple syrup, he tries oatmeal again too. Lewis has a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich, with extra jam, every morning. I try not to get too uptight about him getting jam all over his uniform before school. I am thankful that he makes it himself. Twill picks through a good pile of eggs slowly, keenly observing all the hub-bub around him, and trying to chime in when he can.

Before breakfast breaks up, I read a bit of Luke’s gospel. Today we read about Jesus healing the parapalegic that is lowered through the hole in the roof. I am impressed that Stewart knows what a parapalegic is.

After breakfast the kids make their lunches and brush their teeth. This morning I celebrate that Stewart and Lewis brush their teeth without being asked. They both have things they’re working on that they want to get to when they’ve done ‘first things first.’ Earlier this week, when Stewart asked for his own i-pad again, he admitted it was about control more than ownership. I reminded him that he always has complete control, not to mention our support and admiration, over everything he creates on paper. Today I am thrilled to see them throwing themselves into paper worlds again instead of pining over the i-pad.

After lunches are in backpacks and the food is put away, I brush Wesley’s teeth. I haven’t seen his toothbrush since, yet again. I suspect Twill knows something. (Sure enough, he knew exactly where he’d hidden it when I asked him!) Wesley reads me his sight words that he practices daily for school, and I have just enough time left to brush my teeth before we all head out the door to school. It’s an unusually peaceful departure. I credit Chris’ presence. Twill wants to come with, even though he could stay with Chris. So I strap him on my back, with Mama Teddy, and we walk one simple block to school.

Down at the stoplight there is a conflict over pressing the button. Lewis wishes Papa would take them to school, because he doesn’t let Stewart and Wesley race ahead to press the button. I nod, quietly, I hope.

Lewis and Stewart run off to sit with their friends before I can give them a proper goodbye. I sadly wave from a distance, and take Wesley to his room. I speak with his teacher, asking her to encourage water when his coughing gets out of hand. I kept him home Tuesday and Thursday because of a deep cough.

Twill pipes up as we walk down the ramp by the pool, excited that it’s “just the two of us, and Papa is home too!” Last night at dinner Chris asked him if he liked it when Wesley stayed home from school. He said he liked it when Lewis and Stewart and Wesley went to school and Mama and Papa and Twill stayed home. I wonder if Chris took this into consideration when he stayed home today. We all like to be wanted.

At the stoplight Twill says he wants to play a “real” game when we get home. I ask him what that means and he says hide-and-seek. So I run off and hide from him as soon as we get in the door. He finds me in my closet, putting in my earrings. Twill hasn’t exactly learned how to hide yet. He perches on the back of the couch, where it’s pretty easy to see him. I try to teach him to hide in good hiding places by going in the closet in Lewis and Stewart’s room, but it doesn’t work. Chris has to keep goading him to go find me, because I am hiding too hard. I enjoy the quiet and finally start beeping pretty loudly.

We play one more round of hide-and-seek before Twill tires of it and wants to just play on the big bed in my room. Our beds here are camping mattresses on the floor, which couldn’t be better for little boys. We find somersaults to be completely safe, and wild horsey rodeos as well. I try to teach Twill to tickle me. Mostly he just laughs, for a really long time. At one point he tells me not to sing that song or he will send me to my room. We laugh pretty hard, because we’re in my room. We both ride pillow trains around the room, and he tries to slide down pillow slides. Pillows don’t make very good slides. It reminds Twill of sliding down the breakroom stairs on camping pads back home. He tells me that he misses home, and I am thankful for a moment of seriousness from him.

I consider going to a park, because I really miss getting outside. But I value this time at home too much, doing nothing but giving Twill a tiny bit of control over his world. I enjoy his presence and imagination, but don’t feel fully present the whole time. I am confronted by a looming fear that I am growing more like my maternal grandmother in some undesirable ways. I believe she acted out of what she thought was best in her mind, but didn’t always come across as warm and loving. She seemed to grow more and more unhappy as life dragged on. I wonder if she struggled with feeling trapped inside her mind, like I do. I wish that I could read her writing and try to understand her more. I miss a lot of good things about her too, and wish I could talk with her still.

At lunch I bravely come out of my turtle shell and tell Chris about my fear that I am becoming like my grandmother. He says I’m much taller than she was. And that she had a lot less control over her life, because of the day and age she lived in. So she had more reasons to feel powerless and grow bitter than I do. It helps me to see her in context, instead of as a static personality. I am glad I came out of the shell.

After lunch I write another letter to my paternal grandmother, because I still can. I haven’t mailed the one I wrote the day before yet. I try to tell her about my dream, with as much sensitivity as I can. Then I write more about the boys, because I know she loves hearing it. I treasure all the wisdom and encouragement that still comes back in her letters. Twill happily looks at books while I write.

After Twill and I read a large stack of books, he settles in for nap time. I tell Chris that I really like our kids. I like it that they can be silly, and know they have value. I relate a time at breakfast this week when Wesley said, in an amusingly cocky tone, “Kids are the most important to Jesus.” And Stewart really wants his own name tag at church. I tell Chris I’m glad we don’t have kids who only speak when they are spoken to, but ask unashamedly. I know Jesus obeyed his parents, and wants mine to obey me. But I also see Jesus as someone who really likes kids, as they are. I tell Chris that I told Wesley to hang on to that truth as he grows older, because Jesus loves us all as messy kids, even when we grow up, not for all we bring to the table, but simply because we’re His. Chris mostly listens.

I start writing about the day when Chris goes to get the boys from school early so he can look for Mama Teddy. Mama Teddy was missing at nap time, so Chris offers ice cream after supper if we can find her. He did not find her between home and school, so if she’s not in the house, she’s lost.

A wild hunt ensues on Twill’s behalf, that we ironically have to tame so we don’t wake Twill. When we’ve all given up hope I take Wesley into my bedroom to hear about his day and help him calm down a bit. He bounces off the walls as he talks, but makes better eye contact than he has in weeks.

Afterwards, as we’re all mulling about, listening to Chris do a piano lesson, I go into my bedroom to get a book off my bed and notice a cancerous lump on my pillow. It is Mama Teddy! Twill had put her inside the pillowcase.

Before we go out to dinner the boys do their chores. Lewis sweeps under the kitchen table, Stewart puts away clean laundry, and Wesley washes everyone’s lunch containers. Then we file out the door, with water bottles this time, to the Boundary Street Markets. Stewart and Wesley race ahead as we pass their school, and Chris reigns them in by waiting until they catch on and run back to us. I take notes. Lewis was right, we’re all much safer with Chris around.

Every Friday night they have pop-up stands, as Chris calls them, with international food down on Boundary Street near the huge lizard statue that the kids love to climb. The cooks there are clearly sharing the food of their people and you can hear many native languages. There’s food from: France, Malaysia, Brazil, Turkey, Sri Lanka, China, Transalvania, Romania and many others that I can’t name. Those are just the ones we’ve tried. I get the vegetarian sampler from Sri Lanka. Twill gets a Chinese chicken bao, and Wesley a duck bao. The baos are very little sandwiches, but they both enjoy a lot of my plate as well. Chris and Stewart get Romanian samplers, and Lewis the Char Kuey Teow from Malaysia that he has gotten a few times already. The woman he orders it from is impressed with his pronunciation. She makes him tell her how much change he should get back from her.

While we’re eating Wesley whispers in my ear and points across the tables at his friend James from school. Chris takes him over to talk to the family. James’ mother is from Japan. They have friends visiting from Canada. I am very attracted to my husband as I watch him light up in conversation with strangers, from a distance.

We learn the hard way that splitting plates, as we’ve always done, is more than just a good idea. Chris says there’s no ice cream if we can’t finish all the food, so we stuff ourselves painfully. In the end we all agree that ice cream is out of the question in our present state. It is postponed. We all walk home through the noisy streets of West End in the dark. There are buskers on two corners of the Boundary and Vulture intersection. I carry Wesley, even though it hurts to set him on my already uncomfortable belly, and Chris carries Twill.

Back home we all brush teeth and split up for reading. I finally get a turn with Lewis and Stewart at bedtime again, now that they have finished The History of Mankind. We listen to Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt by Anne Rice. It is the imagined life of seven year old Jesus. Stewart tries to clip his nails while we listen, but it falls apart. So I send him out of the room to do it and enjoy some much needed quiet time with Lewis. He tells me about school science experiments, teaching fractions to other classmates, and his friends. I am so thankful to get to hear it. Lewis asks me to sing “I Love You, Lord,” an old camp song, and to pray for them.

As I come back out to Chris I am so thankful for the day and sit down to write about it.