Continued Progress at Zero, Zip, Zilch

Yesterday we seemed poised on the cusp of so many things happening, that I thought I needed to give another update.

Equally poised.  No actual progress on any front.

I was really hoping that the landlord would have some good leads on other apartments, and would have in mind something similar to this.  He was so helpful to spend half his morning taking me around to a couple of places, and I know he made a bunch more calls as well, but the places we saw were duds.  I have discovered something within myself in the last few weeks since I did the last apartment search: I am unwilling to move into a LESS nice place.  I just am not going to do it.  I can focus on the positive, like it will be interesting to live in three different places in the city, and that will give me a broader perspective.  I can think of the things that I would be happy to switch over to in a new place, like a refrigerator-sized fridge.  But I now realize, that if I have to move and find myself somewhere kind of grungy, or the kids have nowhere to play, or half the appliances are missing.... I am just going to go over the edge.  I really am.

We now live in a really nice subdivision of Kampala, which I have mixed feelings about.  I really miss being right in a real trading-center-y village, with a huge outdoor market down the street, and minibus taxis into town just past that, and walking past all the little fruit stands and tailors who all knew me.  This area is much more isolated.  I don't think I ever would have gotten to know Kampala in the same way if I had lived here, simply in terms of going out and exploring around, because it's less practical to do.  I am quite sure I wouldn't have been able to gain such a strong feeling for the culture.  I might not have had a million best friends in Ggaba, but I did have a lot of personal relationships.  I went to the same shops and fruitsellers every day, and people knew me.  EVERYONE knew me!  And that did lead to a million small but meaningful interactions, very different from someone just coming up to me on the street, asking me a bunch of questions, and I never see them again.  (Like happened today.)  So I miss that.  But in a wealthier suburb, I also feel more pigeon-holed, like I am obviously a rich white person and they know all about rich white people.  I'm glad I'm not in the even richer suburb next door, where almost everyone is rich; I enjoy the different houses and people doing different things around the neighborhood.  But I also know that that makes it a little bit safer here.  I don't stand out as much, and the kind of places where I would stay is not a big glowing beacon of "find the rich people here"-ness as it was in Ggaba.  (My apartment building was robbed at least four times in the five months I lived there, despite multiple layers of security, not including my insider-theft.)

Anyways, I don't want to leave this area, since at least by now I know it somewhat, and I'm not going back to the Ggaba area where I am quite sure Crazy Evil Lady bears a big grudge against me.  And in a month, if I'm still in Uganda, this apartment will be open again and I can move back if I want.  So I've decided that it makes more sense to pay too much for a month of feeling pleasant and safe, rather than move to some place kind of dumpy after two very good apartments.  In which case I think I would totally lose it, and my husband would have to buy emergency Christmas-priced airfare to come pry me off of a puddle on the floor.  And my children would be traumatized by the mama-puddle-fying.  And the airfare would cost much more than the apartment upgrade would have in the first place.

(In case you are curious, the kind of apartment that would suit the children and I would be about $800-$2000 US dollars a month.  No matter how grungy I felt like going, I think it would be just plain stupid to get a place that was not fully gated with 24-hour security, and that's about the starting price for that much.  Being white is just too much of a temptation here.  Being white with black children is also mildly dangerous, although probably not in the daytime with normal people around.)

So, we didn't get anywhere on the apartment search.  First, the landlord brought me to a couple of places.  Then on my way back home, I asked at a couple more places, just because they were there and looked available.  Nope.  I was planning on going out again to a couple other places thatI saw on the last search, but decided to save those for tomorrow.  I actually did an internet search, realizing that it might possibly come up with something because I'm in an upscale neighborhood.  I did have a couple of agents call me back, so I think they will show me something tomorrow.  If that doesn't work out, I can go the previous route and get the house-hunter guy to drive around in the car with me, making all kinds of telephone calls and pointing the driver in different random directions to where he hears a rumor of a vacancy.  So I'm far from the end of the house-hunting line, but I had really hoped this worked out the easy way.


As for the other projects.... the guardianship order is still sitting nicely in the judicial halls.  Apparently my lawyer checks in with the girl who types things up, who said it is typed up and the judge needs to sign it but was very busy today.  After she signs it, the lawyer needs to pick it up, and make the payment for the order.  After getting the payment, she takes her receipt (probably in triplicate) and goes over to a different office, where they confirm the payment and the signature and who-knows-what, and then put the seal on it, and then she can take it away.  Although apparently the problem is that the guy who puts the seal on it is often not in his office, and then it takes longer.  She said the guy who puts the seal on it causes many delays.  Sigh.  The amount of complicated-ness around here is really spectacular.  On the up side, the typist girl confirmed that the ruling is in our favor.  I suppose that's kind of nice to hear, although the judge was about as clear as she legally could be in the court that she would be ruling in our favor, so it's not really a great load off my shoulders.  Like actually being able to hold the thing in my hands would be.


And for the ID, I didn't make any progress with that, either.  In Ggaba, I could walk down to the village and have our pictures taken.  From here, I almost have to go back to the same place.  I'll need to pick the kids up from school and do it on the way home, and then bring them home on the minibus, which after all the apartment drama just seemed like too much to handle.


And the trip out of the country: no progress there either.  Except it looks like I'll have to get to both the passport office and the IOM appointment next week, which is making it harder to schedule.  On the positive side, it sounds likely that I will be able to get the girls' passports before the break, which would make it legally simpler to take them out of the country if I can't get it coordinated before the other parent leaves.  Except for the part about actually, physically taking them.


And the kitten.  The kitten is not making the right sort of progress; the kitten thinks he lives here now.  I must be growing jaded, because I can distantly think "oh, attacking that clothespin is pretty cute" but I have ABSOLUTELY NO INTEREST in having a kitten around.  My mind spends all its time on how I don't want the kitten in the bedroom or getting its claws into our clothes, and I move all the wraps out of the room and close the door.  And then Buttercup sees the kitten and screams in mortal terror, and I remove it from the house again.  The problem is that everyone keeps their doors open here to let the breeze come through, which it does very nicely, but apparently kittens can just saunter in too.  And as soon as the big kids come home from school, they spoil it rotten, as long as by "spoiling" you like two very excitable children hovering over you all the time.  Apparently this kitten has an iron constitution.




And the children.  Must Hibiscus talk all the time?  Really truly all the time?  And this afternoon poor Emerson was really getting the short end of the wild-Hibiscus stick.  I don't think I have extra sympathy for him because he's my birth child and I love him better, but I get sympathetic for him when she just natters away at him ceaselessly, and you can see him wilting as the day goes by.  He has started whining and complaining about her a lot, which was getting on my nerves.  And then I realized how often Hibiscus drives ME crazy, and I have to shut my eyes for a moment and steel myself very carefully before I turn around and say something.  And I am 33 years old, have a masters degree in education and child development, and walked into this with my eyes wide open, and poor Emerson is only four, has anxiety issues, and never wanted to share his legos in the first place.

This afternoon, I guess she started immediately by almost pinching him in the gate and then telling him she didn't care, which is exactly the sort of argument I am not going to get in the middle of.  But after he "reported" her I called Emerson over to me, and said that if he wanted to he could go and play by himself.  And that Hibiscus really wants to play with him, so if he just leaves the game when he doesn't like how she's acting, she will try harder to not drive him away.  He immediately took to this idea, left Hibiscus and got his legos out.

A few days ago I did a major re-sorting of the legos, both physically and logically.  There are several sets mixed together, which is okay because Emerson was making up lots of new trucks to build, but now it has gotten overwhelming.  I sorted them all out by color and put them in little baggies, so he can find a specific piece when he looks for it.  And I put an absolute moratorium on Buttercup touching the legos because she is too little.  And I told Hibiscus that she had to build her OWN set of legos, and she had to follow the book and make it properly a few times in a row before she can build something else.  Or she can not follow the book and make her helicopter into whatever she darn well pleases, but what she cannot do is pick up one of the other books, put together the first few pieces that are easy while meanwhile mixing up whatever order the pieces are in, then give up as soon as something doesn't work right, and start grabbing pieces from all the baskets -- including the ones Emerson has spent days sorting out -- stick them on randomly for a couple minutes, then think of something else, drop the whole creation on the floor, all the little bits scatter everywhere, and she has no interest in cleaning them up properly, let alone re-sorting the pieces.  I actually think doing legos would be really good for Hibiscus, but she needs to start small and stick with it.  The full lego basket is too much for her.  I told her that Emerson had one set and he did it over and over and over before he got any more legos and she needs to do the same thing, period.

So what does she do when Emerson comes over to his lego project?  Follow him, of course.  And not even get our her lego basket, but just kind of sit around and heckle him, and try and sneak putting together clandestine lego creations.  Again, I'd love her to build with legos and learn about all the lego-learning things, but not at the expense of Emerson's sanity.  And there is really no reason she can't do that with her own lego set.  Emerson finished his tow-truck and towed-car set yesterday morning before school (it turns out he can do his hour-long morning routine in about three minutes flat if he's trying to get to lego-time), and has been painstakingly sorting out all the pieces for his garbage truck since then.  He wants to put everything in a basket before he starts building.

When it was obvious that she wasn't doing anything at all except sit there and annoy Emerson, I told her that Emerson had found his own space to play, and she could now find her own, which was anywhere except where Emerson was.  After quite a bit of sulking she settled on doing something with Chutes and Ladders in the hallway.  The problem was when Emerson moved to get something and she screamed at him that he couldn't look and he couldn't come near and he couldn't touch and he couldn't even be near her.  My dear child, you are fully allowed to have your privacy, but NOT IN THE HALLWAY WHICH IS BETWEEN YOUR BROTHER AND EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE HOUSE.  The hallway is not actually the ideal place to sit if you don't want anyone to look at you, ever.  Although apparently it's pretty good if you want to scream at people to not look at you.

At dinner time, here were just a few things out.  Emerson likes to take care of his own legos, and he was diligently working on that.  Hibiscus was supposed to pick up toys off the floor.  Have I mentioned that Emerson is usually slow and careful and deliberate (and distractible) and Hibiscus is at least as distractible, but quick in all her movement and efficient when she actually does something?

Suddenly, violent, terrible screaming.  Emerson is hovering over the floor, which is covered with bits of lego, which used to be the tow-truck and car.  Hibiscus is looking shocked and guilty.  I asked if Hibiscus had bumped into him at whirlwind speed and knocked him down with his completed, glorious legos set.  More crying.  It turns out it was worse: Hibiscus had decided to pick up the legos herself, despite my telling her at least twice to leave the legos alone, at least four times that she needed to clean the toys off the floor, and Emerson keeping up a pretty much constant chatter about how no one else was supposed to touch the legos.  While he was neatly gathering things together, Hibiscus took the most exciting piece on the table, thought she was clearing it, and apparently ran full-speed into disaster.

Then, not two minutes later, she added injury to insult.  For some reason she decided she needed to rearrange all the chairs at the table.  I have told her over and over not to carry chairs on her head, and she obeyed the letter of the law but not the spirit of picking up chairs and swinging them around in a small apartment.  Still at full-speed (albeit burdened) she knocked a chair leg right into Emerson's rib cage.  He was not a happy camper.



So that is my day, in which we made no discernible forward progress at all.  Although it is possible that the guardianship order took some more invisible steps, as did Emerson and Hibiscus's relationship.