Hibiscus's Five-finger Prayer

I tried a new prayer with the older children tonight, to try and help them become more involved in their prayer time.  Emerson wasn't sure of what to say, so we talked together but I said the words.  Hibiscus dived right into the prayer and said it all on her own.  I wasn't sure that she would understand the abstract concepts, but she figured them out in such a meaningful way.

We held up our hands with all five fingers.

The thumb is for the people closest to you.

Hibiscus started with our next-door neighbors, and with a suggestion of family members, went through an impressively wide list of family, given that she has yet to meet most of them

The index finger is for your teachers.

Hibiscus was upset that she couldn't remember her teachers' names.  I gave the names of her classroom teachers, but I didn't know all the others yet.  I suggested that if she thought about them, God would know who she means.

The middle finger is for the leaders and powerful people.

Hibiscus wasn't sure where to start with this.  We had talked earlier that day about the judge, whose ruling we all needed to follow about where Hibiscus was going to live now, so she prayed for the judge.  Then she added "the pilots who fly the plane, because they work very hard.  And the people who serve us food on the plane, because they work very hard too."

The ring finger is for the people who are weak.

"Like old people?" she asked.  I said weak like that, or people who don't have power.  She jumped right in: "God, please bless my Bbunga family.  And please bless all the people around there, um, I don't know their names, all the people like that.  All the poor people.  And help them know what to do, and know all the things they can do, and how to do it."

(I thought it was interesting that she already instinctually knew that poverty is related to a lack of knowledge and understanding about what to do and how to change the situation; at least the type of poverty that she had lived.)

The pinky finger is for ourselves.

"God, please bless me.  And help me not to run into the streets.  And help me to not do things that make my mama mad at me."


Goodnight.

Santa

My husband and I decided that we wouldn't make a big deal out of Santa, and apparently we have succeeded.  I am not initiating anything for Christmas, and none of the children seem to know or remember that Santa might potentially do anything tonight.  They are excited to see pictures of the jolly old elf in various decorations, and were really intrigued by a life-size Santa doll at the grocery store, but they haven't mentioned any expectations for him.  I doubt the girls have ever really properly encountered the American Santa mythology, but Emerson apparently doesn't remember or care either.  So we have gone to bed on Christmas Eve with not the slightest mention of stockings or cookies.

However, during bedtime prayers and blessings, Hibiscus and I did have a Santa discussion.  And, my friends, I will be blunt with you: I did not maintain the magic.  Or even try and create magic.

Our family decision was that we wouldn't pretend that Santa was a literal personage, and our tradition at home included "being" Santa as well as "getting" Santa, but we also haven't specifically disabused the Santa notion.  Children can enjoy the joyous fantasy if they want to, was our idea.  So when Emerson has heard about Santa at school and come home and asked me questions, I've basically done the "what do you think?" or "oh really," and he continues with his story.  I don't know if he has thought Santa was a literal person or not.  I also don't know what the African children discuss at school and what the local Santa traditions are, other than swallowing the American ones whole-sale, which seems quite likely given the pine trees and fake snow all over the place.

Tonight Hibiscus asked me point-blank if Santa was real.  I asked what she thought and she was confused, and asked me again.  And I said no, he wasn't.  He is a storybook character, like Jay Jay that we read about tonight, or Madeline.  This made sense to her and she nodded, but then her expression clouded as she remember other stories about meeting Santa.  I told her that some people like to dress up like Santa as a fun game, which confused her.  She said "if I meet Santa, I'm going to say 'hi, Santa.'" I told her that was okay, and it was fun to play the game and everyone pretends together that the person is Santa, and they say "hi Santa."

Then, to clarify, I said it was like she could dress up as Cinderella and people could call her "Cinderella" all day, and she got REALLY excited about that!  Apparently she really likes the idea of dress-up, and it had never occurred to her that she could be someone else all day.  So then we talked in great detail about the logistics of dressing up like Cinderella, and how she could be Cinderella like someone else could be Santa.


So, if your children play with mine, I'm awfully sorry if Hibiscus is pretty blunt about Santa's dress-up and story-book self, because she's pretty blunt about everything.  And if you love the beauty and generosity of the Santa myth, I'm sorry that Hibiscus never got to experience it.

First of all, I decided she's kind of too old anyways.  Learning about Santa when you are almost 7, and having your first proper Santa-Christmas when you're almost 8... that's the age when many faithful and well-convinced children are having doubts.  Secondly, she suddenly asked about Santa when I was in the part of the prayer about God protecting our house and keeping everything from getting in at night, because she's been really worried about things sneaking into our house at night.  This context made me feel like Santa might be kind of sinister in her mind, creeping into houses in the middle of the night.  Currently in her poor little mind, things getting into the house in the middle of the night is the height of evil; let's keep Santa locked up in a story book!

But most importantly, her life has already been confusion.  There is logistical confusion about basic concepts like "mother" and "home" and "love" and "obey."  There is fantastical confusion when adults tell her about monsters that will grab her for bad behavior.  There is spiritual confusion that many of the adults around her have taken things like monsters and witchcraft seriously in their own minds.  And there is religious confusion, about... well, everything religious, apparently!  In my mind, the last thing she needed was to wonder about a vague story like Santa Claus.  Let's keep it simple: Santa Claus is a character in a book or for dress-up.  I didn't even bring St Nicolas (the real one) into the picture, although in general I mean to.  He's not for today.


Meanwhile, I had thought that maybe I would wrap a gift or two for the children to wake up and see.  But it's been a long day, and I'm tired, and I won't.  I picked up some crafts and wrapping paper today, but I think I'll have them clean up the living room before I give them anything more than what we have.  And Santa can be busy sneaking into other people's houses, and just plain leave us alone!

Trouble with Words

Buttercup and the "well, some word that sounds like that!"

Prayer and blessings time:

Mama: Is there something you want to tell God about our day?

Buttercup nods vigorously.

Mama: What do you want to tell God about our day?

Buttercup: Balla. Day.

Mama: About our day, yes?

Buttercup: Batta.  Daya. (nod nod nod)

Mama: About our day?

Buttercup, obviously meaning something more: Balla.  Aya.

Mama, on new tack of just talking about the day: We talked with Auntie Becca this morning, didn't we ---

Buttercup (nod nodnodnodnodnodnodnod): Auntie. Becca! (nod nod) Auntie. Becca!  

Mama: Oh, you were saying Auntie Becca!

Buttercup (nod nod): Auntie.  Becca!

Mama: You remember talking with Auntie Becca.

Buttercup: 'membah.  Auntie Becca. (nod nod)  T-P. (nod nod) Daddy.

Mama: We talked with Auntie Becca.  On the..... iPad?  Like Daddy?

Buttercup (nodnodnodnodnod)

Mama: Was that fun?

Buttercup: Yes! Fun!  Auntie Becca! Fun!

*********

Discussion with Emerson on the way home from school

Emerson (cautiously): So, Mama, if you talk bad, like if you're mean, if you're not nice, like to your older brother, or your older sister, that's really bad, right?

Mama (wondering where on earth this is going): Yes, that's not good.

Emerson: And then you have to go.... and then you get.... you get.... sales?

Mama: I'm not sure what you mean.  You get sold when you're mean to your older brother or sister?

Emerson: Yeah, you are.... do you get put..... sell?

Mama: Sell?  Like are you sold?

Emerson: I think there's a lake.  And it's made of fire?

Mama: Go to ...... hell?  

Emerson: Yes!  Hell, that's it!  Do you go to hell?

Mama, !!!!!!!!!!: I think it's a little more complicated than that.

**********

Words I would be very happy to never hear again:

from Hibiscus: Me NO for do DAT!!

from Buttercup: Me no likey dat one.

from Emerson: (totally random)

For instance:

Mama: Emerson, please come put your bowl in the sink.

Emerson: (long pause) So Mama, did you know, I'm gonna make the bucket really big, so it can pick up lots of dirt, so it can make a big hole, and then it will be really big, and then---

***********

And I remembered my one for Hibiscus!  On the theological and prayer-time theme....

Prayer and blessings time, and for some reason we were discussing being like Jesus, which frankly we don't do very often, because the girls don't know much about Jesus and Hibiscus's English has only recently been getting to theoretical-thinking kind of levels.  "Theoretical," as in, you can not in this instant grab it and squash it around in your hand.  They went to church before the orphanage, and Hibiscus has a few vague stories floating around in her head, and Buttercup can sing a song about Jesus.

So I said something about like Jesus, and when he died he was --

Hibiscus shot up into a sitting position, her jaw dropped open and her eyes wide with shock: "What??!!  Jesus DIED??!! OH NO!!!!"

Yes, he died a long time ago, a very very long time ago, but he didn't stay dead...  It's a little hard to grasp the miracle of the resurrection if you haven't figured out that the figure in question died in the first place!

Then Emerson started going into the little-kid version of the Easter story, complete with all kinds of random details, probably including what he wore to the Easter service.  Hibiscus remembered the bit about the nails in his hands, and she could re-tell that part.  But she had no idea that the crucifixion story involved actual death, she thought it was about a really big owie!

Mama Manages to be a Big Girl, plus Monday Post Script

These last couple weeks have been the perfect storm of little things, designed to take a tired, frazzled mother and wear her down to the very end.  I have not managed to hold out.  When I came here, I put the whole trip in God's hands and could find that inner peace again, even when things got difficult.  I guess I am finding that works better for large problems than small ones!  It just seems like it is one thing after another, each perfectly manageable on their own, but each taking some of my energy, and ending up requiring more energy than I possibly can summon.  

There was Hibiscus's fall, and then I got a cold, and then Emerson got sick and his asthma flared up in the middle of the night and he was home from school.  And my fall.  And I didn't really get better, and Emerson didn't really got better, and Buttercup got sick, and Hibiscus got really grumpy about cleaning her wound every day.

And I kept having trouble with my internet, which after spending a day chasing down answers on the phone, it became obvious that someone random was using my internet data -- as in, ALL my internet data, and I had to keep buying more.  I had to go to the store downtown to reset my account, but I'll have to go to their main office to resolve the whole issue.

And Buttercup woke in the night with croup, and in the morning looking bleary, and I cancelled everything for a couple days to avoid spreading the croup.

And a package finally arrived with some practical hot-weather wraps that I ordered from Europe a month ago, but the post office decided that since there were THREE wraps then obviously I am a business selling wraps, and they charged taxes accordingly.  Apparently they don't want anyone doing business in this country, because the taxes are about 60% of the total cost of the wraps, which is really really way too high.  So I'll need to get the paper from Miss B (who owns the PO box) and go downtown to the post office and argue with them.  The whole thing is preposterous, because everyone laughs at me with my long European style wraps instead of the short, normal, African ones, and anyone no one here could afford to pay those prices, especially with 60% VAT, never mind adding on profit if I actually were a business!

And I've continued to be sick, and Buttercup has continued to be sick, and Emerson is only very slowly getting better, and Hibiscus is trying really hard to be sick too.  She was taking antibiotics for her wound when we all got sick, and I am guessing that helped push it away for her.  So we've all been to the doctor this week, and then I went back the next day for more tests, which ends up taking most of the day.  I don't have anything they can figure out, but I have a couple minor, recurring infections popping back up; ones I know how to treat, but are an extra annoyance.

With three kind of sick children, it is pretty much guaranteed that someone will have trouble falling asleep, and someone will wake up in the middle of the night coughing or peeing or crying, and someone different will be feeling perfectly fine and bounce out of bed at 6 am.  

Just in case I happened to take a moment to remember that we are actually here for the purpose of legally adopting two children, it turns out that there is bad news in that direction too.  Our case is filed, but there are no judges hearing cases.  So it's sitting there, doing nothing, and all our time dealing with tropical rainy-season illnesses is not actively getting us any closer to actually leaving the tropics.

Speaking of the rainy season, it's still hot on most days, but it also has a period of an hour or so when it pours cats and dogs, usually sideways.  About 22.5 hours a day, this doesn't matter, but there is one hour when I have to walk to pick the kids up from school and walk home again.  That's always an interesting gamble.  Also, it seems like on most days we either have power out for most of the day, or the water is out.  The last two days have been neither: two days ago, our gas tank for the stove ran out, and yesterday, the water came out brown.  Gotta keep things exciting.

(And lest I seem too impatient with these country-wide problems, our whole apartment building has back-up power, except for our little apartment.)

AND, there are even a couple of disasters which I don't want to write about publicly!  Imagine that!  One of those has totally taken over our day today.

Did I mention that I'm kind of sick?  And one of the problems is my tummy feeling off, so I haven't been eating that much.  Which isn't a big problem when you're sick for a day or two, but after two weeks, I think not eating much is contributing to my lack of energy.  Our cleaning lady even said "you used to be fat, but now every day you are getting smaller and smaller."  (Which I find highly amusing on several counts, actually!)

So, this would be a good time for the kids to be well-behaved, or at least... kind of tired and lethargic or something.  Right?  Not reality, I'm sure you will be surprised to hear.

Buttercup is busy exploring her toddlerhood, which appears to involve a lot of screaming and defiance.  There's suddenly been a rash of getting things removed, as she's warned to not throw toys and then looks at me and throws the toy, or to not play with her food and carefully drops lumps of it on the floor.  The most noticeable development, however, is the screaming.  Not any words, just high-pitched and loud whenever she doesn't get what she wants.  Such as after the thrown toy and smooshed food are removed.  Or when she plays with knives or cell phones, or has to divide treats with her brother and sister, or has to leave the sand box at their school.  Or when she thinks it's time for a chapati, but the neighbors have not finished making chapatis yet.  SCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAMMMMM!!!!

I'm glad she's coming out of her shell, and I just rejoice to see an actual personality emerging from the shell-shocked, passive child I met this June.  But can't she manage to be a "good girl" by Ugandan standards for just a few more weeks?

Emerson is doing okay.  He's a lot less explosive and emotional than he has been for most of his 4-year-old year, which I genuinely appreciate.  Maybe it's being sick, but he's still going from "can I have this please?" to "noOOOOOooooo I WAAAAAaaaaant it nooooOOOOOWWWW!!!" in about 1.2 seconds flat.  And baths!  If he would just get in the bath when he needs to get in the bath, and consent to having his hair washed when it's dirty, my life (that is, my bedtime routine!) would get so much easier!  This is one of those struggles that I have a little bit of trouble seeing the point of, given that when the debate is Emerson vs. Mama in Whether It Is Actually Bathtime, the score is currently at Mama: 1003 vs Emerson: 0.  Um, can we just do it and get on with life now?

And Hibiscus.  My dear Hibiscus.  

On Monday after school she was just plain rude.  Also, it was somewhere around there that we came up with a new Family Policy, which is Teeth Will Be Brushed in Order From Youngest To Oldest, No More Arguing.  Which of course meant that Hibiscus had to spend the week dashing to get ready and sit on the toilet and call "I'm ready, mommy!" to try and circumvent the new rule.  The next night we added another layer to the rule, which was And Baths Will Happen From Oldest To Youngest, In Opposite Order Of Teeth Brushing.  You would think that might make her happy, but she sulked about that one too, and kept trying to insist that it was actually Emerson's turn.  (Buttercup doesn't take baths at night, she takes them when I do when the kids are in school, although if I leave her and turn my back, she will just climb right in to whatever bath is available.)

On Tuesday after school, she was rude, and after various warnings and short Sits, she hit me, so she had to go into the bedroom for a 10 minute Sit in her bed.  After quite a struggle, she decided she would stay in the bedroom, but she would spend her time on MY bed, not hers.  I was trying to make dinner and deal with other meltdowns, so I didn't want to physically force her into her bed as long as she wasn't bothering anyone, but I told her she couldn't come out until she had spent 10 minutes in the correct place.  So naturally, she sat in my bed and the bathroom until it was time to put dinner on the table.  I reminded her every few minutes that she would miss dinner if she didn't get her Sit finished, so she finally started it during dinner-time routine, and needless to say, didn't get to sit down with everyone and sing the blessing, and was very upset.  And Emerson had to clear and set the table by himself.

Now I will just take this opportunity to say, I don't really CARE which bed she spends her Sit in.  I hate nitpicking and fighting battles like this.  She was quiet and content, and that was what was important to me.  But my instinct is that in order to keep us all in order, I have to be absolutely clear and inflexible.  When she gets destructive to herself and other people, she has to calm down in her bed.  That's reasonable.  She doesn't get to change around some of my directions in order to suit herself; little children don't need that much power in this family.

Again, I could be wrong.  Some parenting philosophies suggest that by giving children choice in the things that don't matter to you, they'll be more willing to follow your directions in other things.  So maybe by saying "choose your quiet time calm-down spot," she would stay there.  But my feeling is just that Hibiscus and Emerson are Absolutely Black and White kinds of children.  If they get to choose where to have the calm-down time, next they'll be figuring out what else they get to be in control of.  The point is, once they have demonstrated being totally out of control, like hitting people, they don't get any more choices.  I make them, and my decision is one's own personal bed.  Actually, she has a little bit of choice, because I say they can read in bed, so she can pick any of the books on the bedside table, or play with dolls or something quietly in bed, but not go across the room to pick out more things.  That's what I consider an appropriate child-level decision at that point. 

Then on Wednesday, the kids were playing outside and Emerson came running in, eyes wild, to tell me that Hibiscus had gone outside the gate.  Our apartment is completely walled in, and has a caretaker/guard 24 hours a day, so they are pretty safe playing outside even when I can't directly see them.  Luckily, Emerson is at that literal-minded, rule-enforcing kind of age, and he rushes to tell me whenever he sees anyone else breaking the rules (as does Hibiscus, for that matter).  I don't know how far up the road the guard would have let her travel, as he was there, but I snatched her up and put her in her bed until dinner.  I said going out the gate without permission was a No Second Chances kind of rule, and I updated our Family Policies to reflect that!

The other thing about sending her to bed until dinner?  She actually does really well there.  By the end of the school day, she's exhausted and manic, but she actually calms down and will read and sing to herself for long periods of time.  Having her audience of siblings removed takes away most of her desire for showing off, and I'm sure that choosing what to do with no outside pressure or imitation is very healthy for her.  I wish she would take that rest time without being forced, and thus becoming resentful towards me!

Thursday we did an errand after school, so it was a even-shorter afternoon, and she managed to not get into trouble.  I think.  Except for general rudeness.

It was somewhere around here that half the lights in our house just plain stopped working, whether or not the power is on, including the light by the dinner table and all the lights in the bedroom.  This means we have to put on pajamas and read books by candlelight, since the kids have also broken our one portable light.  Can you imagine how many arguments we can get into about the candles?

Friday..... you know, I started writing this on Saturday morning, when I actually remembered Friday evening, but now it's Monday and I have forgotten the specifics of the day.  It went something like this.... I thought about accepting the neighbors' invitation to dinner, but realized that it wouldn't be served until the time my children were usually falling asleep, and they just could not physically and emotionally manage that, so we would go eat lentil soup in our own house.  That was not a popular decision with the lilliputian crowd.  

Hibiscus was rude.  Buttercup screamed.  Emerson stormed.  Hibiscus had terrible table manners, and I had to keep threatening to take away her plate and she'd immediately reform until she thought I wasn't looking (or just plain forgot; "do not eat avocado with your feet" is a new concept around here).  Buttercup imitated the terrible table manners.  Hibiscus was more rude.  I had to take away both their plates.  Hibiscus was rude.  Buttercup screamed.  Emerson went on and on about how good he was being.  Hibiscus was rude.  Time for bed.  Hibiscus refused to do any of the normal things she was supposed to do.  Emerson wouldn't get in the bath, and then wouldn't wash his hair.  Buttercup screamed.  In the 45 seconds it takes me to wrap up Buttercup and put her out of mischeif-potential, the other kids got water all over the bathroom.  Hibiscus was rude.  Hibiscus was rude and uncooperative to the point I said I wasn't going to help her brush her teeth, she had to do it herself.  She wouldn't do anything.  I started reading books without her.  She sulked and finished up.

And I don't even remember what the last incident was.  She hasn't been screaming at me until she vomits at bedtime for quite a while, so it was something slightly different.  I think she kept picking up other books and "reading" them rather loudly while I was trying to read to the other children, or maybe she was singing, or maybe it was some other kind of noise.  But eventually I told her she was too loud and she had lost the privledge of being with everyone else and bothering them, and I picked her up by the elbows and put her on the stairs from the bedroom to the bathroom.  She started to scream, but I warned her that she was going into the other room if she did that.  I'm wondering how out-of-control her behavior actually is, because it turns out she can usually stop when the alternative is going in the other room!  So she sat on the stairs and sulked.

And I finished the last book and tucked the other children in and said their blessings.  I say each blessing individually, snuggled up next to their little bodies, and I thank God for the strengths of that child and praise them for the good I saw in them that day, talk about understanding the struggles they have had (Emerson usually wants to talk back and forth with me, but Hibiscus just lets me tell God about how hard I know her day must have been), and pray for the kind of person I want them to grow into -- a specific example of using their natural powers for good, like Hibiscus's determination; or balancing out what they need, like strength and confidence in her individuality for Buttercup; or an adult manifestation of childish virtues, like Emerson taking care of his little sister.  I also pray for myself and that God will help me be a good mother for that child, again using specifics from the day.  I hope the children hear the message that I know that I'm not perfect and I am working and praying to improve myself, even as a mother and an adult.  So, no matter how awful our day has been, I try to end on that loving, thankful, and forward-looking note.  Although I still have to do the children in a specific order!

After everyone else was finished and had their turn, I invited Hibiscus to come back into bed.  She ignored me.  I did the last tucking in and smoothing down, and invited her again.  She still ignored me.

This is a long chapter, but do you remember the beginning?  About the internet pirates, and being unable to get my package, and being sick, and everyone else being sick, and not being able to sleep through the night, and the paperwork getting stalled out, and still being sick?

I was so tempted to say "goodnight, Hibiscus," and walk out of the room.  I stood there, almost doing it.

But I was a big girl.  I went over and took her hand, and she wouldn't look at me, but she stood up and walked with me, and lay back down in bed.  I tucked the blanket around her.  I snuggled up next to her, even though I was so frustrated I really just wanted to slap her.  I stroked her hair, even though she's been rejecting my caresses by telling me it hurts whenever I touch her hair.  And I said her blessing, and I thanked God for her life, and I thanked God for bringing her into our family.

**************

And that was what I planned to write when I started this post on Saturday morning.  And then Saturday got worse, it got way way worse, and it was all Hibiscus.  She did some things that went from "this is really annoying" into "this is affecting lives," that I'm going to protect her privacy by not writing about.  With some space to consider it, I know in my head that it's not out of the realm of normal for a child of her age and her background, and I can't expect her to behave better than her life so far has prepared her to behave.  I think that her overall actions have shown that she wants desperately to be in a loving parent-daughter relationship, she just doesn't know how to do it, or doesn't trust herself enough yet.  She also is learning and gradually changing her behavior, and I can tell she's listening to me.  And most of all, she's a little bitty girl!  She's only six years old.  She has so much time to grow and change.

But meanwhile, I'm all alone by myself.  I have no one to advise me.  No one to take the kids for an hour if I'm exhausted.  No chance to get an extra hour of sleep on Saturday morning.  When she's getting sassy to me, there's no one to invite her over for a game of Crazy 8's and get her thinking of something else; it just escalates.  And with three children, and school taking up most of the day (and all Hibiscus's energy), I don't even have a chance to play bonding games or do Wilburger's brushing technique or have conversations about her birth parents and why she is living with me.  I can keep them clean and fed and enrolled in school, and that's about it.  I feel like treading water is the most I can hope for, and meanwhile she's caught in the rip tide off by herself.

And this weekend, I had had it.  Some people read these posts and praise me for my patience or super-mom-ness.  I'm not that spectacular, I'm just a naturally calm person, who doesn't show much of my emotions, including being upset or angry.  But I finally reached the end of my rope.  This weekend, I actually yelled at the children.  Multiple times.  I don't think I have ever raised my voice beyond snippy and irritated with my family -- not because I'm a saint, but because I'm not a yeller.  Well, I did it.  And I was so mad at Hibiscus in a deep way, that everything she did irritated me and I blamed her for everything.  I just couldn't stop.  And it spilled over onto the other children... I got mad at Buttercup for wetting her pants and at Emerson for telling me about Hibiscus hitting him, which are stupid, stupid things to punish a child for!  I just wanted them all away from me! 

So I tried to not say anything at all.  They went outside to play after lunch, and I let them have cookies and I didn't make them come take a nap.  If they weren't bothering me and we weren't fighting, I didn't care.  But it didn't really help; I was just as irritated with them, and blaming with Hibiscus, when they came back in.

And once they were in bed, no one was even on Skype, so I couldn't have even have a conversation.  So I thought about wraps and what my favorite colors were.  And I didn't feel like I could ever come back to writing this, at least without changing the name, because I felt like I had lost any claim to rising above anything.

And now it's Monday, and I'm trying to start the week fresh.  I think I'm not very sick any more, and I'm going to hire a car and try and get a bunch of errands done tomorrow.  I was going to do a couple things today, but Buttercup was extra tired from missing her nap yesterday, which turned out to be just as well since it started to pour -- and I have a little chance to think.  The children are back in school, and Buttercup is snuggled on my back, sleeping in a soft woolie wrap.  And my parents are coming on Friday!  I've come back to try and write about the week, and that made me think about this awful weekend.

And I realized, that I wasn't quite as bad as I felt I was.  Maybe I wasn't always acting like a big girl, but at least a medium-sized one.  The children were actually fed and bathed and got their homework done, which is more than some families manage (as Hibiscus and Buttercup can attest with their lives).  I managed to stop talking instead of saying some of the mean things I wanted to say.  I didn't hit or spank or slap anyone.  

And I still said all three blessings every night.  I thanked God for each of these children.

Buttercup-isms

Buttercup-isms

Holding up counting bears and having me say colors while I eat breakfast.  I get up to get more tea.

B: Come here.  Come here, sweetie!

Mama is impressed at the pet name and comes over and picks up B and kisses her.

B: Puh-puh.  Puh-puh, Mama.

Mama: You're right, it's purple!

B: Puh-puh.

Mama: Smart girl!  It's purple.

B: Smart Mama!

**************

Bedtime blessings, I pray for the papers we need to bring Buttercup home to America with our family forever.  She is very calm and serious and asks about the papers (which I've discussed with Hibiscus many times around her) several times.  Then she goes on:

B: peh-pehs.

Mama: Yes, papers.

B: peh-pehs, 'biscus.

Mama: Yes, papers for Hibiscus too.

B: peh-pehs, Eh-son.

Mama: We already have the papers for Emerson.

B: Peh-pehs, 'biscus.

Mama: Yes, papers for Hibiscus.  And for Buttercup.

B: Peh-pehs, Eh-son.

Mama: And papers for Emerson.

B: 'Biscus, peh-pehs.

Mama: Yes, papers for Hibiscus.

B: Eh-son, peh-pehs.

Mama: Yes, papers for Emerson, and Hibiscus, and Buttercup.

B: 'Biscus... banana!

Mama: Yes, we can get Hibiscus a banana too!

B: (dissolves in laughter)

****************

In the Bath:

I put her in the basin while I get in the shower.  She stands up and makes a whiney sound and says "I want, I want, uh uh uh..."  This is an improvement over her usual upset behavior, which is simply to scream.  She can say many words and can almost always express what she needs to say, but she quickly devolves into plain screaming under even the slightest frustration -- which compounds the frustration, of course.  So "I want" is a little better, but still missing something important for me to actually help out!

Luckily she sees something that meets her requirements: a pair of little underwear, sitting on the floor.

First of all, she holds them over her eyes and dumps water on her head.  Just like Emerson, she doesn't fail to scream in anticipation, before pouring on her own head.  (Emerson truly hates the feel of water on his head and gets hysterical when it gets in his eyes, so washing his hair is always a battle and he is allowed to put a washcloth over his eyes.  It amuses me how both girls have totally picked up on this behavior and need washcloths, even though they actually enjoy having water on their heads.)

When I look down a minute later, she is sitting in the tub, solemnly scrubbing.  Just like Hibiscus, she doesn't fail to lift them high out of the water, although that might be because Hibiscus's long legs don't actually fit in the tub.

Next she is standing, vigorously splashing the panties up and down.  Just like I wash my wraps, she doesn't fail to use big gestures like she is working with big, heavy, wet cloth.

Then she is kneeling in the tub, reaching over to swish back and forth on the floor.  Just like the cleaning lady, she does not fail to then start in on the toilet.

What a versatile pair of undies!

************

Buttercup can kind of understand the way that pronouns change around, which is one of the reasons I she's closer to three than her official birth date suggests.  So for instance, if I say "is the bread for you?" she's likely to reply "for me."  But apparently under times of stress, this understanding distinigrates, because with the big kids around for the weekend, Buttercup seemed to spend an awful lot of it running around yelling:

"For youuuu!  For YOOOOUUUUUUU!!!!!"

Which means she wants something.  Exactly the same as yelling "mine!" except it's not!

****************

She came over to me, proudly wearing my sun hat.  "Hat" is a word she has had trouble remembering in English, and had always called it "enkofira."

B: Me wah   'appy!

Me: You are wearing a hat!

B: Me weah. Happy!

Me: You are wearing a hat, or you feel happy?

B: Me weah.  Hat!

Me: Yes, you are wearing a hat!

B: Me weah hat!

Me: You are wearing a hat.

B: Me weah hat.  Me fee-ah... happy!

Me: You are wearing a hat and you feel happy!

B: Me weah...... HAPPY!