Friendship

Every parent wants to imagine that his or her children are going to grow up and still be close friends.  We imagine our children supporting each other through the hard times; working together when we are aging and frail; our daughters going on shopping trips together; the older ones passing their parenting knowledge along as their nieces and nephews come along.  Some siblings stay close, others drift apart; some buckle down and support each other when the going gets tough, and some hide their weaknesses from their siblings at all costs.  What makes the difference?  We have our ideas, but in the end, we never really know.

So I don't know what the future holds, but this is what I see: I look into my living room, and I see the three best friends that childhood could imagine.  If you asked about their friends, they would each name someone from their respective classes, and then maybe a couple other kids in the same breath.  At this age, "friendship" means "we had fun playing together yesterday."  What they have with each other, is something more real than they can even understand.

Of course, friendship IS having fun playing together.  Which is the first part of it.... how can any outside friendship match the hours and hours and hours Hibiscus, Sunflower and Buttercup spend engaged together?  They wake up in the morning and tumble into each other's beds; by the time we come along to try to goad them into ridiculous concepts like "putting clothes on," they are already deep in their fantasy world of the morning.  If the day is pleasantly unscheduled, they will glide through a few hours of intense play negotiation until we manage to herd them all in the direction of breakfast, and they tumble straight from their toast into their own world.  Lately, there have been a lot of forts in the living room.  If left alone, they will continue to play for the entire day.  The forts turn into reading books; then there is a pack of dogs who need to go to the vet; toy trucks are zooming around for some urgent reason; baby dolls are comforted, wrapped, and fed snacks.  They are interrupted by the occasional negotiation gone awry, which involves some screaming and hurt feelings; and, like a very small herd of buffalo, migrate from the living room to the bedroom, and then right out the door to the yard.  When I serve lunch or snack, it is immediately co-opted into their imagination -- Sunflower holds the round cracker above his head, and suddenly they are all in a cathedral serving communion, intoning something serious.  The cheese comes in very handy, because the girls are dogs and Sunflower is trying to train them, so the snack is distributed in bits, hand to mouth.

If they day is unscheduled, they can fill it with play.  But if there are other things going on, they still discover all these moments to squeeze in their games, imagination, contests, and ideas.  Daddy and I are not at all amused when bedtime involves running up and down the halls, feats of strength, making up new songs, hiding and popping out, and millions of other high-jinx -- but there is no doubt that the kids are having fun!

Some families, probably the ones with outgoing mothers, are always going to play dates and on multi-family adventures and all kinds of activities.  We do things a couple times a week, but I've never been able to manage an active social life, and doubt I ever will.  Therefore, the sheer amount of hours that the three of them spend playing together will never be equaled by more distant play mates!


Then there's the support that they offer each other.  When it comes to sibling bonding and making lasting friendships, it's hard to imagine anything more powerful than three book-loving children, only one of whom can decipher the actual words.  Sunflower is constantly engaged to "read me this one" or "read me that," and they all huddle together, heads close, all potential arguments forgotten as they are lost in the picture book.  I am quite sure that this arrangement means that the girls have had more books read to them than a busy parent could ever manage, and that early-reader Sunflower has had more inspiration to extend himself and read massive amounts of books... even when he wanted to give up or at first thought the words were too hard.

Besides enjoying having a reader in their midst, they appreciate taking care of themselves and helping each other.  Children of this age feel really good when they are able to be self-sufficient, and the next best thing is keeping the sufficiency within the children.  When they are turning into horses to pull their covered wagon up and down the hallways, they all are relieved that Hibiscus can tie the knots to connect everyone together, and that she's big enough to actually move the "wagon;" that's much better than having to bring a grown-up into the play!  And when they want something read, written, spelled, or figured out, it feels much more reasonable to get Sunflower to do it.  By combining their skills, their group is much stronger, which clearly gives them all a deep satisfaction.  Buttercup doesn't have many strengths she can contribute just yet, but it's perfectly clear that most games are more fun with a third party.  What fun is being the mom and dad if you don't have a baby (or a dog) to play with?


Then there is the sense of justice that they extend to each other.  Now, we must start by acknowledging that they are all in the black-and-white stage of childhood that appreciates justice and rules much more than mercy and individual circumstances.  So, at bedtime when Hibiscus breaks several family policies and then isn't ready when the timer goes off, the younger children are happy to get into bed with me and smug that they have finished their jobs and get to listen to books.  "Shall I shut the door?" asks Sunflower.  "Yes, she is TOO LOUD," Buttercup complains about her tantruming sister.  Mercy and pity is not in evidence in the literal early childhood stage!

But when Sunflower has earned a privilege that is more nebulous, he may gloat for just a moment.  (Especially when Hibiscus has been particularly obnoxious lately, which was probably why he earned something she didn't.)  But then he starts to worry.  And finally he decides to share what he has with her -- "maybe I can be the leader, but she can come along too."  Or "what about Hibiscus? I'll make an extra one for her."

And when Hibiscus enjoys one of the privileges that age grants her, like going to a birthday party, she doesn't forget her siblings.  At a party a couple weeks ago, the other girls scolded her for picking up multiples of the same item from the pinata, but she braved her peers' scorn in order to bring home the same prizes she got for her brother and sister.

As for Buttercup, there is little she can actually do to help out her faster, stronger, and wiser siblings, but she honors them with unfettered adoration.  Which is a pretty powerful gift.


Buttercup is also reaching the point where she is a genuine part of the play process.  Last fall, Buttercup was always the baby of the family, to be hauled around, or the patient with a busy doctor and nurse surrounding her.  She still isn't the leader of their play, and she probably never will be, but now she is acting under her own agency -- she's a dog busily learning tricks, and her voice is heard saying "let's pee-tend I'm da one doin' dat" and "let's play dat I'm da dog now, okay?"  And she does and she is.  She is contributing her own personality, which enriches the game for everyone.  The children do not say this in so many words, but it is clear that everyone appreciates it.


So are the children best friends?  They wouldn't say they are, because they also make each other so intensely mad.

When Hibiscus is frustrated with the world, she is defiant to me, and goads Sunflower.  She especially goads Sunflower when being defiant to me isn't getting her anywhere interesting, which is always.  And she's very good at it -- perhaps he's exceptionally teaseable or trustworthy, but she can pretty much always make him crying mad, which is a good enough reward for her.  It's more likely that big sisters can always make their little brothers and sisters crying mad; it's just Nature's gift to big sisters!

Hibiscus is also excellent at telling her brother and sister what to do in exactly the way that frustrates them the most; the kind of advice they don't want to hear from a parent, but gently phrased they would understand that maybe the parent was right.  From Hibiscus it is never anything less than a grave insult, resulting in times when Buttercup screams "sto-AAAAAH-p, Hibiscus you not da PEEE-rent!" when Hibiscus even tries to speak to her.

And Buttercup is always being awkward and touching someone who doesn't want to be touched, or saying something when it stopped being funny any more, or copying when it's annoying or appreciative.  And Sunflower is not always graceful about defending his personal space, or using his words before he starts screaming.  He is busily capitalizing Nature's Gift to middle children, which is always presenting himself as the injured party in the eyes of the parents.  In short, they all drive each other crazy at times.


Because the friendship is so easy and always-present, and being mad is so very maddening, the negative feelings probably play a large role in how they think of each other.  They will compare their relationship with each to their relationships with their friends, and one day they will each say to themselves, "I'm so glad I have x friends, because we never shout at each other and x is always so friendly and supportive."  And then will start the age when they love to be with their friends, and they roll their eyes at the thought of their family and look forward to moving out and moving in with these wonderful people who are always supportive and never yell.

And then one day, they will move into a house with their best friends, or even find the very best of the friends and marry that person.  They will be so happy, because now they have found something so much better than their family of origin, who teased and yelled too quickly and touched when touching wasn't wanted.  Those siblings scolded them when their feelings were hurt, and always knew when they were trying to tell white lies and get away with something, and laughed at them when their outfit looked silly that day.  And those siblings yelled at them when the sibling was having a bad day, and acted grumpy, and they looked messy and were occasionally rude at the dinner table.  Unlike the wonderful friends, who never tease and never act like they have hurt feelings, and accept what you tell to them, and always appreciate your outfit.  And these much-improved friends always act polite, even when they're having a hard day, and having dinner together is a constant joy.

So they move in together.  And then the next step in this story is clear to anyone who has gone through adulthood, but blissfully concealed from the optimistic teen and young adult: the boundaries gradually come down, and everyday life settles in.  When the friends are comfortable with each other, they take out their bad days on each other; and when they're frustrated with each, angry feelings burst out instead of being put on an internal shelf.  Dinners are half-hearted or messy or something there's nothing to say to each other.  Compliments fade away, and the occasional sigh or rolled eyes sneaks in.  Some of those friendships weather the difficulties of being truly open and honest with each other, and some of them unravel.


But at that point, I think that grown-up child will look back.  And he or she will look on those hours and years of playing and talking and being joyful with his or her siblings.  And suddenly, all the frustrations and ugly edges of one's brothers and sisters seem a lot less important, because one realizes that everyone has ugly edges inside.  Instead, the grown-up child remembers how the siblings didn't let him look stupid in public; or shielded her from outside anger.  Or simply, they remember the hours and years of pure, simple joy in being together; the joy of escaping into a fantasy world, accompanied by people who truly and completely understand and accept you.

And all of a sudden, those brothers and sisters start looking an awful lot like true friends.

Poison Control

Today I got to call poison control.  Luckily, the number was right on the toothpaste tube.

Buttercup is in this awful phase where she gets really really tired and grumpy, but half the time she can't (won't?) nap.  She has been so unpleasant for the last day and a half (since she hit nap time yesterday, and didn't take one) that as soon as she started laying on the table ("more snack please now!") and rubbing her eyes, I put her up on my back.  I really thought she would fall asleep.  She didn't.  I kept her there for an hour and a half anyways, hoping that at least getting some rest for her body would help her find some mental equilibrium.

I finally put her down after everyone was home from school, and they were playing in the bedroom.  I poked my head in a couple of times, and it seemed like a normal, happy game of "we're on an airplane."

Then the older two came out, and we were working on something.  I cannot even remember what it was, but it was something that they needed.  And at first I was thinking "good thing Buttercup isn't in the middle of this, because she would want to do it but just get in the way, and I'm glad that I can explain it at bigger-kid level."  Then I started noticing in the back of my head that it had been quiet on the Buttercup-front for a little bit too long.

I found her in the bathroom, standing on the stool with the water running in the sink.  So far, no surprise; I've caught her making a big, happy mess with pouring water in and around the bathroom sink before.  But what has she got in her hand?  A toothbrush.  In fact, to be specific, her brother's toothbrush.  And what is she doing with it?  Rubbing it on the bar of soap.  Yum!

As I took that away from her, I noticed the tube of toothpaste lying next to the sink.  It's Tom's of Maine kid toothpaste, and it has a flip-up top, but the whole top was kind of loosely screwed on in a suspicious manner.

Buttercup told me, "I go-ed sou-sou.  By MY seff.  And I washed. MY hands!  See, I washing dem." (That emphasis and stop at "my" is her usual phrasing.)
"And you brushed your teeth?" I suggested.
"Yes, an I buss.  MY teef!"

This was obviously a fairly incomplete description of the situation.

I tried to get her to describe if she ate the toothpaste straight out of the tube or put it on her toothbrush (or Emerson's toothbrush, as the case may be) over and over.  She just said yes to both, which might have mean she did both, or she might have just felt agreeable.  She was in a pretty good mood, as she was not only having fun but feeling virtuous for completing all these chores without assistance. When I used gestures, she made it perfectly clear that she thought sucking straight from the tube was a great idea, and yes she would have some more now!

Meanwhile, I was testing the tube to see how much was left.  It was still more than half full, I guessed, but it had been a new tube very recently.  The directions on the back said "call poison control if more than the usual amount used for brushing is swallowed," along with a description of the tiny amount that is supposed to be used for brushing.  Pea-sized, I think; I actually use more like a lentil.  I figured that somewhere around half a tube was more than pea-sized.  I didn't really think she was in grave danger, but I figured that I ought to call the number.  If, of course, I could manage to fight off all the children running around my legs and demanding my immediate attention.  And crying, because someone needed a nap, and instead, had had her beautiful soap-scrubber and water attraction removed.

Did you know Tom's of Maine has it's own, personal, poison control number?  Apparently it does, and that is who I reached.  There were a few preliminary questions about names and ages and so forth.

And that is when Hibiscus got the idea that I was "calling the police on Buttercup!"  At first she was frightened, but I told her I wasn't and to go away, and she kind of believed me but by then thought it was a really exciting idea, so she got all whispery and told her younger siblings about her new theory.

By the time I got off the phone, they were all waiting on tenterhooks for the police car to show up and take Buttercup away.  I explained -- perhaps without a good deal of patience left -- that I didn't call the police, and police don't arrest 3-year-olds anyways, but if you eat toothpaste it can make you very, very sick, so don't anyone do that again.

The poison control woman said that it wasn't that much, and at most Buttercup would have an upset stomach.  But I'm sure that if Hibiscus got the idea in her head to eat toothpaste, she would be much more efficient at it, and probably go through about four tubes in the time it usually takes her to pee.  So I wanted to make it very clear that this was a very bad idea, because generally they are all passionate about trying out each other's bad ideas.  As though, "if it was enough fun to make it worth trying for so-and-so, then I better try it too..."  So I sensed a toothpaste-eating explosion on my hands if not dealt with sternly!

Hibiscus quickly made the switch from police to "am-BOO-lance," and started looking out the window for one of those.  Buttercup started to cry.  Hibiscus danced in circles around her, saying "you're going to get SHOTS, you're going to have to get so many SHO-OTS!!" which quickly turned the crying into downright hysteria.

I picked up Buttercup and said that no one is getting any shots, and an ambulance isn't coming, and Buttercup isn't very sick right now, but no one was EVER to eat ANY toothpaste again.  I don't know about Hibiscus, who was probably enjoying creating drama more than actually believing it all herself, but I think the juxtaposition of "eating toothpaste" and "lots of shots" scared the younger two off of playing with the toothpaste for life!

I said that there were no doctors and no shots today, but Buttercup was supposed to drink a glass of milk.


Buttercup drank that milk with a dedication and singularity of purpose that was admirable to see.

Re-entry: Contemplating Richness

We narrowly escaped our rabid apartment manager and left Uganda two weeks ago today.  This is our eleventh day at home.  So far, we have had four days to look around us, three days of normal routine, and this is the fifth day of snow-and-ice storm.  The school days calmed down a little bit, as the more intense kids had somewhere to go and something to think about (and were just plain out of the house for a while!), but other than that, most of that has been pure chaos, all the time.  Everyone has more big feelings than they know how to deal with, apparently!  But around yesterday, I started seeing a return to their normal rhythm and interaction with each other.  And somewhere around then, by the time the kids were all in bed, Mark and I had enough energy to actually talk and connect and enjoy being together.  Although as other parents will recognize, we mostly talked about our kids!

Mark said that he had worried about how the girls would fit into our lives here, but it hadn't been a problem, and they already seemed to belong.  I was glad to hear that, because we have all had a long time to get used to each other, but Mark has had a long time of quiet and potential concentration.  Life with the monkey troupe is pretty much exactly the opposite of that, so I am glad that it feels like a positive change to him.



He also said that our family is so much richer.

I agree so deeply.  I have spent so much of my time and energy and emotion on all the day-to-day details in the last months, from extraordinary things like trying to figure out how to get passports and deal with strange beaurocracy, to ordinary small-child life like managing tooth brushing and mopping up endless spills of water.  That's what my thought train has been about, and that's what I've been writing about, but under it all is a feeling about us all, about who "we" are now.  It's hard to find the time and words to describe what our family, the family-ness of it, is now.  "Rich" is exactly the right word.

All three children have such vivid personalities, and they are all so different from each other.  Our family is rich in Hibiscus's passion and energy, Emerson's planning and ideas, and Buttercup's empathy and concentration.

Our home is so full of feelings, as the little children grapple with their emotions.  Sometimes this means we are guiding through some difficult times, and the light in their little faces and bodies as we help them come through the difficult times shines more brightly than the sun after an ice storm. Other times, the intensity of their excitement ricochets off the walls, and travels through our family like the warmth of fire.  Our family is rich is joy and sorrow, pain and success, longing and fulfillment.

Children naturally soak up everything they can figure out and learn.  Three different children of three different ages and three different sets of curiosities are fascinating to watch through the day. Sometimes they approach life in different ways, and Emerson drives cars up and down ramps, while Hibiscus snuggles with dolls, and Buttercup moves play kitchen items back and forth.  Other times they tackle the same project with different goals and energy, like watching the different ways they approached making class Valentines.  They all love to read books, and we answer questions or hear the stories that resonate in their own hearts and minds, or overhear the lessons they explain to each other over the pages of the book in another room.  The light in a pair of eyes when the child figures out something new or feels successful lights up the house like little suns playing hide-and-seek.  Our family is rich in curiosity, exploration, and new ideas.

Three young minds are always coming to interesting conclusions and unexpected correlations.  I just heard Emerson describing a lego picture as "that's where Satan piles up the dead bodies" -- in a children's book.  Last night Hibiscus prayed for her teachers that "dear Lord forgive all their sins, for they know not what they do," which is a creative juxtaposition of prayers.  At dinner, Buttercup randomly popped out that she was thankful for the "miracle" of flying in the sky that got her to America and Daddy, which was not what we expected out of her lisping little mouth.  Getting to hear three sets of untraditional ideas every day keeps our minds more fresh than endless pots of green tea.  Our family is rich in laughter and thinking of things in new ways.

And other kinds of laughter as well!  Three children bring out the joy and silliness in each other.  They can get re-ignite each other over and over with any emotion, and sometimes they end up collapsing on the floor in mutual, joyful hysteria.  Our family is rich in children's laughter.

Of course, they also ignite each other's frustration, and follow each other into sadness, worry, or fear.  The inner and emotional life of children is deep and powerful, just like it is for all humans.  But we are together, and we can help each other wrestle with the "yucky" parts.  We parents cannot solve all their problems, but it is always a miracle when our loving arms can provide some solace and shelter.  Our family is rich in healing.

Mathematically, three children provide at least seven different relationships, of being alone or together in different combinations, and each combination brings out different facets of each child.  I never, ever tire of watching those relationships.  I never tire of observing the different ideas they come up with in play, or the way they inspire each other to creativity.  I never tire of seeing the gentleness and protective nature of my children flare up to help the younger ones, or the inspiration for trying harder to keep up with the older ones.  Even when they disagree or fight, they are gradually learning to solve their own problems and accept other people's opinions and needs, and they are finding every day that the love for each other is much deeper than their frustration -- or as they would put it themselves, that their siblings are "really good play-ers."  I never tire of watching their interactions grow and change.  Our family is rich in friendships, and ever-growing relationships.

And the love.  I can't even begin to describe the love.  I tell Emerson that love is like the Nile river pouring out of Lake Victoria, unimaginably deep and wide and infinite.  And that's just the love pouring through one person, so now our family is five deep rivers of love, each going five different ways.  Every day is special as each relationship deepens or is rediscovered with their Daddy, and his special kind of love and laughter brings out new facets of their personalities, and new kinds of love in their hearts.  Meanwhile, our love expressed as snuggles puts them to sleep, helps them out of tears, gives them strength to go to school, makes them feel beautiful, rewards them for hard work, soothes the owies, and teaches them that they love books.  The feelings behind those snuggles are the fuel that powers our days, and gives each child the strength to grow.  Buttercup's face lights up when I reach for her, as she puts her arms around my neck and says "here is my mama!"  Emerson's project isn't complete until he brings it to me to admire, and I give words to his confidence.  Hibiscus quietly glows from inside as she leans into my body and absorbs praise and confidence from my words of thanks.  Just contemplating the depth and power of each of my children's love for me brings tears to my eyes, and all the thinking in the world can hardly begin to contemplate my love for these three little beautiful souls in my care.


Our family is so rich in love.  We are so rich.

Remembering Ndere

On Sunday, we went to the Ndere Dance Troupe yet again.  I have decided that it's too complicated of an outing to do with the children by myself, so we seem to have gotten to the point that whenever we have guests or get to know someone, we try and go back to Ndere.  This time we went with our American friends who are adopting Sorrel.  It is a wonderful performance, and each time it has been a little bit different.  Sometimes I wonder if it is worthwhile to go yet again, since it's an expensive and late evening out, but then I realize that if an African dance troupe came to Portland we would pay a great deal more for the tickets and probably drive up and stay in a hotel as well.  So we go back to Ndere.  The children absolutely love it, and children learn through repetition, so I think they are understanding it and making it their own in a deeper way each time we return.

This time, I was thinking back to all the other times we have gone, and how our family has grown and changed over the months.

✬ The first time we went was when Daddy was visiting in August.  We were still transitioning into being a family, and the older children were in such a state of chaos we decided we couldn't trust them for an evening out with other people.  We didn't want someone running away or laying on the ground and screaming for half an hour straight, both of which were common at the time.  So we just brought Buttercup, because we also felt like she was in a state of bonding that it wasn't okay to leave her behind.  However, the other children screamed absolutely bloody murder when we left, and we had to literally tear them off of us.  Being alone with Buttercup was kind of like being on a date!  She sat on my lap and in the wrap most of the evening, and we were delighted when she perked up and quietly tried to clap her hands.  She ate off our plates, which was her favorite thing.

When they invited the children to dance at the end, I walked down with her still in the wrap.  She did not want to get down, and watched everything with fascinated eyes, but in no way was willing or able to participate.  I would worry that she would be trampled by the other children if she were down on the ground, anyways, as she was quite unstable on her feet at that point.

✬ We brought all three children the next time, in October with my parents.  The concerns about Hibiscus laying on the floor screaming had faded away, but we were very glad to have an even number of adults to children.  We got there early and the children played on the jumping castle before the show.  It wasn't very well inflated, and we were a little worried that Buttercup was going to get squashed, but she was delighted to be with the big kids so we didn't tear her away.  The jumping made Hibiscus all sweaty, which drove her crazy, and she was suddenly itching and crying and hysterical.  Gramma helped wash her off in the bathroom sink to calm the crying, while I helped the other children potty.  It was an example of how even something like taking the children to the bathroom could suddenly turn into a situation that one adult couldn't manage!

The children loved the show and were fascinated.  I actually don't remember what they did during the almost four hours of dancing, except that it was really good to have dinner as a distraction.  They were interested, but didn't really know what to do with themselves while they were watching.  Dinner is one of the reasons I can't manage this event by myself, because they open the buffet an hour or so after the show starts, and someone has to go up and fill a plate and bring it back.  Someone who does not have three children along!  My father brought us all plates, and first of all Hibiscus started eating off a shared plate, and then he got another serving and she devoured that one, and then he invited her to try his fish and she dived into that plateful as well.  And when she finally had to go to the bathroom with Gramma, we quickly signaled the waiter to take everything away, because she would never relinquish any food voluntarily.

Buttercup spent some time in the wrap, but also wanted to run around.  All that running gave her an asthma attack, because she still wasn't very strong yet.  After a while, she was running up and down the terraced steps to keep busy, and suddenly we looked around and she wasn't there any more.  We fanned out and looked desperately in every direction, but didn't find her.  We all had time to get scared before she wandered back, after exploring under other people's tables, apparently, and she thought the whole thing was a great joke.  Then the older kids started to run around like crazy, and we thought they were done for the evening.  We actually had everything packed up and were in the hallway, but Hibiscus and Emerson got all teary and begged to stay for the rest of the performance and promised to be good.  They actually cared so much about the dancing that they managed to control themselves, and we were so proud of them for making it all the way through the rest of the performance.

When the children were invited up to dance, Buttercup and Emerson walked to the stage immediately and simply, because they were told to.  Hibiscus hid under the table.  There weren't many children at that performance, so it was an intimate little dance lesson.  Both children diligently followed the instructions, and Buttercup looked so tiny and adorable.  When the children were invited back again, Buttercup kept jumping around happily in the middle of the stage area.  I suggested to Emerson that he help remind her to come back, and he went out to her and very gently took her by the arm and brought her back to the table.  The emcee commented on what a little gentleman Emerson was; I don't think he knew that he was taking care of his little sister.

✬ The third time was in the middle of November, with "Mr Slinky," the director of our adoption agency in America.  (Hibiscus couldn't figure out how to deal with the consonants in his name, but she had learned the word "slinky" because we had one, so that is what he became!)  This time the children entered with confidence and remembered how to stay near our table.  By the second half of the program, they all were up and dancing along with most of the performance.  I reminded the older children to not go far from us, and they didn't.  I reminded them to keep an eye on Buttercup and not let her wander either, and they did.  She had one burst of run-around energy, and her siblings quickly caught her and returned her to the correct dancing arena.  Hibiscus tied her jacket around her waist to imitate the dancers' costumes, and then all the children danced like that.  They were so proud to tell Mr Slinky about their favorite dances and look forward to what happened next.  Buttercup and I shared a plate of food, and Hibiscus and Emerson shared another one.  There was no fighting or drama over the food.

This time, they expected the dancing, and had had a great deal of conversation about whether they were going to go up.  But that night they didn't include the children's dance, which was a great disappointment.  The whole audience is invited up to dance at the end, and they all went.  Buttercup was in my wrap, and I had to stay with Emerson because he was feeling kind of shy.  The crowd that intimidated Emerson made Hibiscus feel invisible and safe, and she danced with abandon and grace.

✬ We went again this weekend, with the family who is adopting Sorrel.  Like Mr Slinky, they were helpful as an extra adult presence, but they weren't really involved in helping with the details of my children.  It didn't even come up, because we don't need it any more.  We aren't having any crisis in the bathroom which one mother's hands can't take care of.  In fact, I even left some of the children at the table while I took others to the bathroom, and I think Hibiscus might have even gone by herself, and no one thought twice about it.  It is helpful to have the moral support, be able to get the dinner, and have someone to talk with Hibiscus.  She loved helping out with Sorrel, and they also let her take some pictures with their tablet camera, both of which duties she took enthusiastically and seriously.  Until she got into looking at all the other pictures and videos on the tablet; her focus is still fairly short-lived!  We shared two plates of dinner like the last time, but I needed to get Buttercup an extra dessert plate to put her portion on to.  She's a big girl now, and wants a plate of her own.  Hibiscus stopped eating when she was full, and although she kept nibbling, she didn't protest when the waiter came to clear the plates.

After eating, the children immediately stood up to dance along with the performers.  Emerson was even trying some of the hip-shaking moves, but whenever I glanced his way he became embarrassed and stopped.  Hibiscus was also more self-conscious than she had been before, until the very end, but Buttercup danced enthusiastically the whole time.  She is actually learning some of the moves.  She didn't spent any time at all in the wrap.  I didn't even remind anyone about staying close, because they all know not to run away.

When the children were invited up, Buttercup was practically on the stage already, and went bounding forward.  Emerson started to go, but then started to feel shy, so I encouraged him.  Hibiscus looked like she wanted to go, but she clung to me and refused.  She wailed at me to not drag her out, which I never would have done, but I could tell she was almost moving.  By then Emerson had gotten worried and started to come back, and then Buttercup was confused about why her brother and sister weren't coming and so she had started back to me as well.  (So different from when she stayed on stage after all the other children; now she was noticing the difference between what everyone else was doing and her own family was doing!)  So I kind of took Emerson's hand and went back out before he could leave the stage entirely, and Hibiscus stayed clinging to me, so we all made it out.  I didn't like going up on stage for these kinds of dances when I was a child, and I didn't like being the only adult out there.... but the things we put up with for our children!  I joined the circle and participated with all the calm enthusiasm I could muster.  I think Emerson still felt self-conscious and shy, but he made it through, and I hope he was proud of that; I really wouldn't want to push a child to go out there if it wasn't making them happy.  Buttercup danced enthusiastically and with the confidence of knowing the routine.  As soon as she got going, Hibiscus was as happy as a clam and so proud to show off everything she could do!


So that's our six months of family time, via the excellent Ndere Dance Troupe!

Daily Life During the Endless Christmas Break

I haven't written much since we've gotten back from Kenya.  Obviously, some of our days have been very busy with errands.  Would you like to hear how our other days go?

The kids still wake up at their usual time, especially bright-and-early-Buttercup.  They've generally been going downstairs and playing on their own for a while and letting me sleep in, which is a nice treat, since it seems like on the other days I have to get up super-early to get everyone to our morning appointments.  They go and play on the iPad mostly, I think, which is not my ideal parenting choice, but it works right now.  They are obviously not completely absorbed in the screen-time, though, because the living room is always a mess by the time I come down!

After breakfast, they play and play and play.  I do some useful and some not-so-important things on-line, and attempt to work through some little household chores, which never seems to make much of an impact on the state of the house.  I try to wash the dishes, but so far my record is two days in a row.  (I had a chance to break it today and get the third day, but I am writing this instead. Oops.)  We don't have many dishes, which means if I don't wash them every day, then I just have to pick things out of the dirty side, and wash them in the other side, and set the table with them.  This actually works perfectly well, and the pile of dishes never gets any bigger!  Or I try to move forward with the puzzle that is getting laundry done.  Or clean the bathroom where the kitty poops. Or sweep and mop the floors.  I get the kitchen done regularly, but the other floors are harder because I have to get the toys off of them first, which never seems to happen.

The kids play all kinds of things inside, and they play all kinds of things outside.  There are lots of things that are difficult for these children, but they are excellent and first-class play-ers.  We have hardly even gotten out many of their toys, because they keep so busy (and so messy) with the simple ones that they have.  They have legos, cardboard blocks, a set of clip-together blocks, crayons, some trucks, and a big bag of stacking/sorting/color cups, and about one doll each; that's really about it.  And then the endless supplies of pillows, water bottles, scarves and wraps, baskets, carseats, hats, laundry, patio chairs, and other household items.  The amount of creativity, exclusivity, thoughtfulness, busyness, and general mess and mayhem that they can create out of these materials is absolutely spectacular.

When we get hungry, I make some lunch, and I have been trying to feed them lots of fruit and not too many carbs, to compensate for our errand-day food.  Then after lunch, the older kids are supposed to have quiet time, and Buttercup takes a nap on my back.  (Once this week she told me she was going to have her nap in bed, on her pillow.  I had an internal sigh of "oh, is she growing up," we read a book together... and she sat up and jumped and giggled and threw pillows.  And went back up on my back, where she fell right to sleep.)  Emerson spends Quiet Time in the living room, and Hibiscus in her room.  This is back from the days when we only had two rooms, so in order to keep them from getting all tangled up in playing together, it was the only option.  It isn't quite as reasonable any more, since there are multiple rooms in this house, and, for instance, they could each go into a/their bedroom.  But when the ball is rolling, it rolls.  Emerson is used to spending Quiet Time in the living room, so I don't fight it.

Quiet Time is a relief for Emerson, and very difficult for Hibiscus.  Emerson loves to play together, but he also loves to stop and concentrate.  Hibiscus thinks being alone is a form of torture, and tries to think of any possible excuse for getting out of it.  Lately, this has involved spending all her time at the window, looking for people to watch and then talk to, and she starts having yelling conversations out her bedroom window.  Which is not Quiet, and it is not alone-time either, which are the twin points of Quiet Time.  I told her she could be social after quiet time, and right now she needed to shut the window and just play something.  Yesterday she had come down yet again to tell me something or show me something or ask me something, and started whining about going back upstairs again.  I empathized with her, "it's really hard for you to spend time by yourself, isn't it?"  She made big puppy-dog-eyes and agreed violently.  She obviously thought this was the preliminary to "I can see you don't like it, so you don't have to do it any more."  Unfortunately, that sentence does not exist in our house.  I said something more along the lines of, "it's important to learn to be by yourself and do things on your own.  Since it's so hard for you, that's why I'm helping you practice, a little bit each day, until your being-alone muscles get strong and it's not so hard."  Cue renewed meltdown.

We have returned to this conversation a couple times since, with me pointing out that she will learn to be by herself.  Her description has become more clear, and "hard" is not adequate.  "Being-alone time is BAD," she tells me.  "It is BAD to be alone, it is yucky yucky, and you are a bad mama to make me be alone and I feel YUCKY and BAD."  Well, that makes the side of righteousness stand out pretty clearly, doesn't it!

I am not giving up.  I consider the possibility that it might be the prejudice of my inner introvert, but I simply think that everyone needs to be comfortable both being with people, and being by themselves.  In Africa that is not a value, and it is possible that you could survive in this culture never being by yourself.  But at the same time, a lot of the social issues that I hear about are direct peer-pressure ones, and to resist peer pressure, you have to be able to walk away from your peers.  If you think being by yourself is just plain YUCKY and BAD, I doubt that you would be able to stand up to your values in the face of being alone.  And in America, people indeed do things independently.  Even if it's just writing a term paper or something, sometimes you need to be on your own.  And eventually, most middle-class young people end up leaving their friends and families and starting off life on their own.  I think spending an hour a day playing by yourself gives you the capability of choosing that as a young adult, instead of just being afraid of being alone.

At any rate, all the rest of us need our alone time, and even more specifically, our non-Hibiscus time.  Even when the kids have been playing happily together, you can see a wave of relaxation wash over the younger kids when, by mid-afternoon, Hibiscus has entirely left the room.  And most of the time, by mid-afternoon, the play is not so happy.

After Quiet Time, I've been trying to get us out for a walk in our neighborhood.  And we have some incredibly simple dinner, because I never feel like doing more, but also because after playing and Quiet-ing and walking, there isn't time left in the day for much cooking.  We were practically making grilled cheese sandwiches an entire food group, before we finished that block of cheese, and now I'm worried about running out so I'm trying to not open the last couple small packets.  Sometimes we get more exotic, meals like rice and hot dogs and carrot sticks.  I have not successfully made "food and soup" in weeks.  Hibiscus complains that she misses the soup (meaning ingredients mixed together), but oh well.

And then we get ready for bed, with all that drama.  And those are our days.  They are not spectacularly constructive, or social, or much of anything.  But they are not too unpleasant, and each one gets us closer to school-and-routine starting... and eventually, maybe, possibly, to the day that we will eventually go home.

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.

Hibiscus Drives Us All Crazy

It's the middle of the afternoon, and I said we could have more birthday cake and presents if the kids could clear the table off.  No one started on that project, which seems like actual work, but Hibiscus found a piece of mostly-unused construction paper and made a birthday hat for Buttercup.  First of all she taped it into a cone shape, and when she put it on Buttercup's head the little girl started glowing with her unaccustomed special-ness.  Then she wanted to add a chin band, and Emerson helped her find materials and they all started singing "Happy Birthday" variations happily as they worked on the hat, while Buttercup fairly danced with pride.  Suddenly, Hibiscus decided it "wasn't good" and she ripped it apart and crumpled up the pieces, while the other children watched in shock and disappointment, and Buttercup's joyful little face melted away.

That's our Hibiscus!

Then she spent a while arguing, because I had already said I wasn't giving them any more paper or art supplies until the current mess had been cleaned up, but Hibiscus apparently felt that because she had made the mess even bigger while making all the other children upset, that she deserved an exception to the rule.  Which she didn't get, so she sulked.

Then she started cleaning one thing up, which is generally how it goes.  She wants to be helpful, but as soon as she starts she gets distracted or sees something new to get out.  In this case, she put some cheese from snack in the fridge, as I asked.  For some reason, Emerson was also near the fridge, and he pushed it shut, which Hibiscus thought was too rough, and she started scolding him.  One of our frequent scripts in this house is "who does Hibiscus need to worry about?" and the answer in "Hibiscus."  (In other words, stop bossing your brother and sister around!!!)  Hibiscus ignored me, and opened the fridge again and started fussing around with all the little bottles on the side, putting them in "perfect" order while telling Emerson how bad he was for messing them up.  I agreed that Emerson could have shut the door more gently, but thought there was no reason to stand there rearranging everything in the fridge meanwhile, so I told Hibiscus to get out of the fridge and Emerson to shut the door gently.  Twice.  Maybe three times.  Hibiscus said "I just doing this" and continued to adjust the bottles and then grabbed the door away from Emerson to shut it herself.  That falls under our Just One More criteria for a Sit, so she got one.  And she tried to sneak out of it when I wasn't looking, so she got a longer Sit.

Earlier today, I decided I would do just one little project that would make me feel better, so I had cleared off the couch.  It is the largest horizontal space in our main room, and it was totally heaped up with stuff.  Besides, then I could sit on the couch and do some work on the ipad while being kind of relaxed and drinking a cup of tea.  First of all I got mad at Emerson for climbing right on the newly-folded clothes I was arranging, and then the kids kept passing and dropping the extra parts from their projects on the nice clear couch.  After addressing each incident, I finally told the kids all to look at me, and to not put anything more on the couch today.  Period.

When I told Hibiscus she could come out of her Sit, she went straight over to the windowsill where Buttercup's birthday presents were sitting and picked up her most exciting new game.  I warned her that she better not be playing with her sister's new game without permission, and she said she wasn't.  Then she brought the toy bag over to the couch, and I said she had better not be putting anything on the couch, and she said she wasn't.  Buttercup was watching her lovely toy and her bossy sister with increasing worry.  Hibiscus then proceeded to take the toy that she wasn't playing with and dump the entire thing out on the couch that she wasn't putting things on.        


This is all in about the span of twenty minutes or so, but she is like this ALL.  DAY.  LONG.  She is constantly taking things from her brother and sister, which she is likely to break or just drop randomly in a different place.  She tells them what to do, and grabs things from Buttercup to do it for her and goads Emerson into getting upset, and then "reports" him for using his angry voice.  She ordinarily has a very good relationship with both siblings, although of course they have their little altercations, and they actually have a great deal of patience with her explosiveness.  One morning they were getting ready for school, Emerson and Hibiscus bumped into each other, and Hibiscus rounded on Emerson and screamed "DON'T BUMP ME LIKE DAT!!! DAT'S MY OWIE!!!"  I would have reprimanded her that it was an accident on both sides, and there was no call to scream, but luckily I am a little slow on getting between them.  Emerson turned and immediately apologized and asked to see her owie, and Hibiscus showed him her leg in that special aggrieved manner that young children reserve for small pains, and Emerson knelt down and admired it and sympathized, and then they both went on with their day quite calmly.

Buttercup is even more accustomed to being pushed around and adores every chance to be with her beloved sister, which is a little bit of a problem in itself and I am glad that she is gradually learning to stand up for herself.  Now in the last few weeks, Hibiscus is back to her early behavior in our house, when every time Buttercup says something she repeats it to the rest of the family, and every time Daddy or I address Buttercup, she answers quickly and loudly.  If we ask Buttercup to do something and she doesn't immediately jump into action -- which is pretty much always, because she is either going through a toddler-refusal, or just because she thinks things over carefully before beginning -- Hibiscus repeats it for her in Luganda, ordering her to do the thing in rapid-fire succession which simply confuses Buttercup, and then grabs the things out of her hands and starts to do it for her.

Or then there are times like this:  The morning after her birthday party, Buttercup wanted to look at her new book.  She sat in the middle of the floor to pore over it, and Hibiscus said "you want me to read it to you" and sat down next to her and took the book out of her hands.  Buttercup acquiesced because she likes spending time with her big sister.  But then a minute later I looked over, and Hibiscus is holding the book over Buttercup's head while Buttercup is reaching for it and starting to screech and sob.  Hibiscus saw me ready to interfere and protested "but she WANTS me to hold the book for her, Mama, she is wantin' me to do like dis!!"  Ah, no, my darling, I really think this is a misinterpretation of the situation!   Buttercup is becoming very capable of expressing her feelings about things -- not to mention understanding spoken English -- and yet Hibiscus will announce to the rest of us how Buttercup is feeling.  Which, coincidentally, always seems to be that Buttercup wants what Hibiscus wants, even at Buttercup's own expense.


But that's not the only thing she announces.  She tells me when my phone is ringing, or has the text-message sound.  If I don't come running immediately, she keeps telling me over and over, imitating the text-message sound.  She tells us when a Skype call is ringing.  She tells us when fire engines go by.  In fact, she informs everyone of every sound all day long, which I suppose could make her an excellent assistant if we were all deaf, but as it is she just makes us WISH we were deaf.

One day I asked her if she saw anything poking out of the side of my head, and that they were called ears, and since they were still in their usual place she might assume I could hear things on my own.  I tried to make a joke out of it, but I might have been too irritated to fully succeed.

But that's not all she says.  At the best of times, she is a talkative child, and there's nothing wrong with that.  As Daddy says, she gets a lot of practice in spoken English!  But when she's stressed or tired or excited or generally out of her precarious internal balance, she talks all the time.  And I do mean ALL the time.  One night I started counting to myself, mostly to give myself something to do other than run and scream, and I think the longest she ever went without talking was about three seconds -- and that was the exception.  Most of the time it is more like one or maybe two seconds; just long enough to hear what the next person might be talking about, so then she can tell them what they meant to say, or what she would say on the topic, or that they are wrong, or just because she was in the process of swallowing and was physically incapable of speech for a moment.  Only a moment, though, as she keeps talking through most of the eating process, even when no one can actually understand her because she is also shoveling food in at top speed.

I am a talkative person, as everyone knows.  My son has been a chatterbox since he could string words together, and does indeed have excellent speech for his age with all that practice, so I am used to talkative children.  And I'm the kind of person who doesn't mind some overlap in conversation, and with my good friends we will both be very talkative and sometimes be both talking at once, while also listening and one or the other pauses for a moment and then rejoins the story at an ebb in the other's conversation.  So, "talkative," I can handle.  I have experience.  You will have to trust me that Hibiscus is another category altogether.

So all through dinner, we have either a monologue or, if someone else gets a word in edgewise, she changes course and tells them what they meant to be saying.  We try to discuss conversation rules, but after a while it kind of puts everyone else in an exhausted coma, and no one else can think of anything to say anyways.  Then we get up from dinner, and she narrates what she is doing as she cleans up and gets ready for bed, along with telling everyone else what they should be doing, and of course every major or minor injury to body or soul she feels along the way... which are prolific, since she also is in her manic and awkward stage of the day.  Eventually we get to books.  As in, I read books out loud, and the children listen to them.  Except it goes something like this:

"Hedgie the hedgehog climbed --"
"Oooh, he is climbing, look he climb!!"
"--up to the hayloft ---"
"Mama mama mama, what a hayloft? What is dat one?"
"It's the top of the barn, see, right here.  -- the next morn ---"
"Look, dis one a bird!  Dere a bird in da sky here!"
"-ing to get a ---"
"One, two, tree, FIVE birds, YOU count Buttercup, one, two, no, you doing it WRONG I count da birds---"


I have my masters degree in education.  I know how valuable reading books is to young children, and that a significant part of the value is that it inspires conversations between adults and children.  The children get to explore and learn new vocabulary, and have practice talking about characters and counting objects and so forth, all with lots of interaction with their loving adult.  The conversation is an important part of the reading process.

Nevertheless, this is not what they meant.



I know in my head, that if it's been a hard couple weeks for all of us, it's probably been worst for Hibiscus.  She has by far the least internal regulation (even included Buttercup), so the move with all its change of routine has been the most difficult for her.  She has loved our guests, but they have come with more changes of routine and new personalities to figure out.  In the court room, she is the only one trying to balance complex relationships with both sides of people, and she's picking up all the emotions and understanding none of the logic.  She and Buttercup are more deeply disturbed by loving people having to leave (especially Daddy, but also Diane and it re-awakens how upset she is about Gramma and Bubba being gone), because they have more experience with loving adults leaving than loving adults coming back again.  So I understand.  It's enough to throw anyone off kilter, let alone a little girl who doesn't have much balance to begin with.

But lately, I've been pausing for a while at night to adjust her blankets and say a little prayer over her.  Because it's been easiest to love her when she's asleep.

Our Afternoon

For the first part of our walk home, Hibiscus and Emerson were quick-marching in a little row, one behind the other, chanting "poom-bah! poom-bah! poom-bah!"  They swerved into each driveway and alley we passed, pretending that they were going to leave me and go down that way, and then swerved back again, one right behind the other.  When we walked along a stone gutter, they marched straight down the middle of the water.  I love watching how connected they are and how joyful their play can be.

Of course, an hour later at home, they couldn't stop sniping at each other.  Lately, Hibiscus has been being unbearably bossy, and also somehow is always holding someone else's toy/food/craft/random bit of fluff that "she didn't kno-ooow" was theirs; and Emerson has started screeching and whining whenever he doesn't get his way; and they both are using pinches and pushes and shoulder butts.  I am trying really hard to not get involved in their little arguments -- until they draw blood, which actually happened yesterday.  Hibiscus pushed Emerson down on a stone ledge, I think because he wanted to help bring in laundry and she didn't want him touching something-or-other, and he got a big scrape on his back.  Once genuine hurt is inflicted, I do take sides, on the no-drawing-blood side (which always happens to be on one -- no, two, since there are three children -- directions).  Whatever happens beforehand doesn't matter; they need to learn to stop themselves before getting that rough.  Ahem.  She needs to stop her self.

So today, they were just bickering, and they wouldn't stop, so I separated them.  Emerson stayed in the living room and Hibiscus in the bedroom, because that's where they each do their "quiet time" (eg. not exactly nap time).  I explained that it wasn't a punishment, I was just giving them some alone time.  Hibiscus howled like a banshee.  Apparently the only thing worse than being around her brother was being away from her brother!

In the late afternoon, our probation officer came and visited.  We have been playing phone tag for a couple weeks now, and I thought as long as I had a chance to see him I would ask his opinion about this new crisis.  He was very thoughtful, and pretty much his advice concurred with the other advice I have gotten.  Then I told him we had decided to apply for guardianship, and oh by the way our court date is Tuesday, and can he please come?  He said he would be there, and is there anything else he can do to help out?  I never would have imagined hearing those words a few months ago!

I wanted a calm conversation, so I tempted the children with playing iPad in the other room.  They were easily bribed!  However, they still kept popping in to ask questions and ask me to fix things, and of course "Buttercup touched my game! she is disTURBing me!"  Still, we managed to have a pretty reasonable conversation.  And Hibiscus told me in the evening that she is in a happy mood, because today she got to play iPad!

By the time he left, we were late for dinner and had no way of cooking anyways.  Our cooking gas ran out at breakfast, and then it turns out the hot water heater in the bathroom isn't turning on either. I managed to find cold things to eat for breakfast and lunch, which isn't as easy as it sounds because most "cupboard" items spoil so quickly here, almost everything goes in the fridge and needs heating back up again, or is totally dried and needs cooking.

So I gathered them up and we went into Ggaba to see what we could find.  So I ended up feeding my kids fried street food for dinner... I'll pretend it was a little adventure, instead of just a mama-fail.  Kind of like going to the fair or something.

So we ate chapatis and chips and kabobs and roasted bananas and popcorn and samosas.  In case you didn't know, samosas (often pronounced sambusa here, which amuses me) are triangles of dough folded around something and deep fried.  Because there is already dough, it is reasonable to contain meat or vegetables or something.  These samosas were filled with.... rice.  Yes, that would be carbs, with carbs, and a good side of pure fat, with a little bit of extra oil.  Welcome to Africa!

The kids loved everything.  Buttercup took on her food with her serious demeanor, although amazingly enough she applied herself most vigorously to the banana and kabob, which are kind of remotely healthy.  Emerson even deigned to eat a samosa, seeing that it had nothing healthy touching it.  And Hibiscus.... Hibiscus ate like a backhoe.  She plowed through her serving.  She inhaled my extra sausage.  She gobbled up seconds.  She asked Buttercup if she could have her uneaten kabob, as her chomping teeth simultaneously came flying towards the meat, and Buttercup screeched at her.  She absorbed thirds just by looking at them, and asked for more.  I suggested she sit quietly and listen to see if her body was full, and she screeched at me.  By then we were leaving the table, and she asked and finished the ends from my sausage, and finally got Buttercup's leftover kabob.  And then all the rest of us were in the next room, and the magnetic force of not-being-alone finally dragged her away from the table.

Cold baths.  They didn't have to wash hair.

Usual bedtime illogic, like Hibiscus jumping out of the bath and standing in the door to the bedroom, and ignoring me several times when I asked her to dry off and put on clothes, but then when Emerson came in she screeched "I don't want you be lookin' at my poochoo-poochoo!  You no be lookin' at my poochoo-poochoo!" as though he were some kind of pervert coming along for the view, and not merely entering his own bedroom.

Can you guess what poochoo-poochoo means?  I hear it about five hundred thousand times a day. Emerson and Hibiscus will just sit there and say "poochoo-poochoo" to each other and giggle hysterically.  Another one came home today, which is "bada-bada" and apparently is an uncouth way to refer to the rear side, behind the poochoo-poochoo, and is best delivered with a name, such as "bada-bada-Abudul-ah."  Then the other child says "ooh, you said bada-bada-Abudul-ah, I'm gonna report you!" and the first child accuses the second child of saying it in that sentence, and so forth.  They are incredibly fun names to say; much better than anything we've managed in English.

And we actually managed to calm down and read books.  Reading books is magical.  And the children told me about something that happened in school.  Esther couldn't read her book properly, even though she is seven years old and thus ought to be able to, so the teacher invited the children to take off her clothes so they could put a diaper on her like a baby.

I was just flabbergasted and horrified, and I told them so.  I think both children had accepted the teacher's logic and instructions at the time, because they are so used to listening to the teacher, but that this time they both felt deep inside like this wasn't very good.  Which is probably why I didn't hear about it until bedtime, because it felt so not-good to them.  Not to mention, Hibiscus is almost seven and can't read a blessed thing either, because no one has taught her how.  Good grief.  I can understand why Hibiscus complains that she doesn't like this teacher to lead her class, she prefers Uncle Derrick.

Luckily we still had prayers and blessings ahead of us to end the evening on a good note.  I even managed to convince Hibiscus to stop talking long enough to actually say the blessings!

I do love my little family.

Incident, Requiring Bath

Good grief!  Hibiscus started spinning around violently with a water bottle in a strap thingy, trying to hit the neighbor boy, but conked Buttercup in the head instead.  Which was a result one could have predicted a mile away.  Then Emerson was practicing roller skating and pooped in his pants.

I hear that parenting multiple children is easier when they are not all the same age, and not all toddlers.  Not that I would be able to tell, with my houseful of giant toddlers!
****
So now Emerson is in the bath, which was apparently painful because he has some scrapes on his back.  He was crying about it, and Buttercup in the main room was asking why he was crying, and I said he had owies.  Then we heard Emerson yell for Buttercup to "come here!"  I wondered if I had heard right, that he meant Buttercup and not me, but off she trotted while I peeled potatoes.  Next time I checked, he was happily bathing and talking with his little sister while she sat on the bucket-stool near the shower.

A few minutes later he called out that she was getting wet, and I called back that I didn't mind.  Now I can hear their happy conversation and the gentle sounds of water once again.  Now it sounds like Emerson is asking for help with something, and Buttercup is doing it.

I just love seeing their relationship develop.  I am so pleased to see that Emerson has found a hole in his life, that can only be filled by calling his little sister to come join him in the bathroom.
******
Hibiscus has been on a Sit on the couch this entire time.  I told her that I knew she wasn't trying to hurt her sister, but she really really needs to think about things before doing them at full speed to other people.  So she needed to sit and think, and no company (removing the little one).  She's been looking at coloring books calmly for a while now.  I just asked her if she was ready to get up, and she told me no.  Twice.  Then the other kids wanted to do coloring books too, and she told them to go 'way, she wasn't allowed to talk to them right now, she needed to be left alone.  I guess there are benefits to learning to sit quietly.
*****
Now I have just finished getting them both cleaned and dressed, and they're laying on the bed next to each other, looking at books.  I went to clear up from the bath, and Emerson even put the soap back in the soap dish!  Maybe he's managing to make it past toddlerhood, after all.

My Children Are Butterflies

On Sunday, the children spent all afternoon outside, playing on their own.  This was how their day wound up.  I was told to come look, and I took some pictures.  They went around and around and around the courtyard, sometimes together and sometimes veering away on their own.  Sometiwmes Buttercup followed, and sometimes she got stuck and came back to me.  When their wings got tangled, Hibiscus carefully and lovingly re-arranged them, so they could all fly together again.

  When I posted them for some friends, I was amazed at the strength of the response, and how this touched so many people, including many who said they had tears in their eyes.  The picture is captioned by someone who was able to sum up the beauty and the majesty of the moment.  The butterflies are their own description.

"That they are flying away from you with the very fabric you used to hold them close, give them love, and make them strong makes me cry. Sometimes children at play perfectly reflect the face of God if we have eyes to see..."

Our First Outing

I brought the girls home almost three months ago, so it seems a little funny to be talking about our FIRST outing.  But yesterday was the very first time that I went out beyond walking distance with all three children, and no one else.

We did a lot of outings during Daddy's visit, partly because we wanted to do things with him, and partly because we hadn't realized yet what a bad idea it was!  Actually, at the phase they were in then, it seemed like keeping them busy was a pretty good idea.  We had Hibiscus laying in the middle of a major street screaming and thrashing; another day she tried to escape me in the middle of downtown and I grabbed her and she howled and acted like I had broken her arm; another day Daddy was taking Buttercup potty while I waited with the other kids in a busy restaurant, and Emerson dived into the crowds to decide to go with Daddy without telling anyone or finding Daddy on the way.  By the time he left, my husband made me promise to not take the three kids out by myself, because I couldn't actually keep them all safe.  I was too tired to want to bother, anyways.

The first week, I did take them out a couple times, but in a hired car, and we invited the ten-year-old neighbor boy along too, since it was school break.  He wasn't exactly a strong disciplinary presence, but children naturally act better in front of a slightly older (and well-behaved) child, and he could help me carry things, and technically he could catch a run-away if necessary.  And he thought doing errands with our family was a better deal than sitting around the apartment with nothing to do whatsoever!

Since they started school, that's all they've done.  I've taken them to our local market a couple of times, but I haven't even done that very often.  I can do my errands with the wrap-able child during school hours, and they're pretty much too tired by the end of the day to do much more. 

By the time my parents arrived, everyone was in a very different place than they were two months before.  The girls had gotten used to our routine, trusted me, and could communicate successfully; Emerson had gotten used to the girls and didn't feel like he had to act out to get his share of attention.  I was hoping that when we went on outings with the grandparents, they would get practice in behaving well -- okay, behaving "kind of manageably" -- in public, while we still had extra hands in case disaster struck.  We could also practice basic family skills the girls had never had a chance to learn, like "we go into a different place but we still belong together, and we use the same general rules, and then we come home together and life goes on normally."  And "when we go out we're not going to leave you behind and disappear."  And we did have a number of outings, large and small, and they went amazingly smoothly.  I wish Daddy could see us now!

So this is our first weekend on our own for a while, and I thought that maybe we're coming far enough along that we could try going somewhere.  After all, one of these days we're going to have to leave the house and get on an airplane and not see anything or anyone familiar for 40 hours or so!  We might want to start smaller!  On Friday walking home from school we talked about what we might want to do.  Emerson voted for going back to the craft market (more toys!) and Hibiscus wanted to go "on the boat" again.  

Saturday morning the kids were playing happily, but rather chaotically, and I was tempted to skip the outing, or at least postpone it to the next day.  But then I got a call around 11 from the woman who has been helping us with the logistics of getting visa extensions.  I'd agreed to pick up the passports on Monday, but she wanted to meet me and give them to me today.  Could I be in Kabalagala, at our usual meeting place, by noon?  Um, no, there is no way I could be anywhere in an hour, but we agreed to aim for 12:30.  

When it was time to get ready to go, all the children were running around kind of wildly, but Hibiscus was being downright difficult.  She lay on the bed and sulked and wouldn't do anything I asked.  A lot of this routine is actually familiar from going to school and outings with grandparents, so there wasn't any reason to be so confused.  As I have said, my parenting discipline is based around routine, and the awareness that I can't force them to do something, but I can limit what else happens until they do it.  So I told her that I wanted to have a fun outing with all of my children, but if she wouldn't get ready, she could stay with our Kenyan neighbors. Which is safe, but not very entertaining.  She perked up and said she would bring iPad, and I said she would NOT.  Then she mostly sat around and wailed, and said she would stay in our apartment all by herself.  I also said she would NOT, my children do not ever stay by themselves.  

I think it is a testament that I do not ask too much for my children to do in chores, because although our routines (bedtime, dinner, getting out the door) CAN take an hour or so, if the kids suddenly decide there is a reason to hurry, they can get it all done in just a couple minutes.  So a couple bursts of industry got Hibiscus ready to go out, but then she started sulking and refusing to put on her shoes, insisting again that she was going to stay home alone.  I looked her right in the eye and said I would put her shoes in her pack and drag her out the gate if I had to, but she was going to go with us, and we would all have more fun if she decided to walk properly.

She put on her shoes and backpack and stomped along.  You must be careful to not mis-interpret this as any kind of compliance; it is based soley on performing enough tests to realize that I actually will drag her out and lock the door.  And also on enough tests to realize that it's not going to be very fun.  Speaking of which, I'm only about 120 pounds, so I think I'm not big enough to adopt any 11-year-olds!

(To put it another way, I couldn't make her put on her shoes, and I couldn't make her walk, and I didn't tell her I would; but I removed the option of being by herself.)

I think there was something more going on, emotionally, for her than just not feeling like going potty and re-filling her water bottle.  I think there was something that was making her upset and resistant to going out with us.  Maybe she knows that she is safe in our family and our family environment but felt like her security would ebb when we left our usual routine; maybe she remembered throwing screaming fits on the street and felt like she was going back to that territory.  I tried to give her the option to open up about something else ("are you scared something bad will happen when we go out?") but she didn't have anything to say, I think because she is not very much in touch with herself or her feelings.  That will be work we haven't started yet!

In a perfect world, maybe I wouldn't have two other wild kids running around, and we would have a flexible destination to get to.  But as it was, picking up our passports properly was not something I was willing to sacrifice for a conversation that wasn't going anywhere, so I drew the hard line, told her to get ready, and ignored her histrionics.  I figured that going out and finding out first-hand that nothing bad happened might be the best answer for her anyways.  This child is an experiential learner, to put it mildly!

As soon as we got out the gate, everything was fine.  There was plenty to do and see, and we were back in the normal routine of walking through the village.  Thanks to Gramma and Bubba's visit, we even had familiarity with getting into the minibus taxis.  This was a big issue for a while, because the little girl who previously didn't have enough money for food, let alone bus fare, had decided that she was WAY too fancy for public transportation, and insisted she wouldn't go anywhere unless we hired a private car.  She even knew that she had to share a seat with Emerson, and not to stick her head and belongings out the window.

We were running late, and we got a slow taxi.  Some of them just drive down the road and pick up and drop off passengers; some of them stop at every little junction and call out to everyone walking by to see if they want to get on, and drive partway down little streets to see if there were any potential passengers.  This was the most avaricious taxi I have encountered, because it was fishing for extra passengers even when all the seats were already full!  It is illegal here to carry more than the licensed number of passengers, and there are enough traffic checks that not only do most taxi conductors follow the rules, unless it's rush hour most passengers will refuse to get on a taxi without a proper available seat.  So it took a really long time to get from our end of the line, to Kabalagala near the city-end of the line.  

We got off and walked the short distance to the complex where we had arranged to meet.  This sounds small but is actually a big adventure.  The taxis will stop just about anywhere, not just at regular stops, so we were let off within a few yards of our destination, but there were no sidewalks or anything at this point, just a deep gutter and a grassy hill on the other side.  I needed to wrap Buttercup, which meant that both my hands would be occupied for a few moments.  I thought about letting her walk so I didn't have to stop, but Buttercup on the ground takes a lot of hands for longer than the time it takes to wrap her, so I wrapped her and then had enough hands for all the walking children.  They are getting so wise that no one dived into traffic while waiting!

Our contact had been waiting for us.  She handed me the passports, squeezed the children's cheeks and kissed mine, and drove off.  Now the fun can begin -- or something!

We had met at the pastry shop where I usually go with Buttercup on ATM-and-shopping days.  (In fact, this was the person who had introduced me to the pastry shop and the place to buy bread.)  I thought we could have a nice little treat for lunch, so we found a table OUTside, and the children paraded in to pick something out.  The children were allowed to get their toys out of their backpacks while we waited for our order to come out, which since it is just pastry it never takes very long, but little children can get into mischief very quickly!  

I always make the older children pack and carry their own packs, with water, entertainment, and anything else they might need.  I help remind them what to put in it, but then they are responsible for what they have -- or don't have.  Emerson had brought along the giant, hardback Madeline compilation, which he wanted to read out loud, but only to himself, which miffed Buttercup and made Hibiscus sulky.  Since Emerson had a giant hardback books, Hibiscus had to grab one too.  However, hers was even more complicated, and her reading skills are about at "cat."  (Literally.  She sounded out "cat" earlier that morning, which I think was her first totally independent word!)  She had this general idea that I was going to read it to her, which I wasn't, because with three children in a restaurant, Mama cannot focus her attention on any one thing like that!  She somehow convinced Emerson that he wanted to trade books, which went smoothly, but "cat" didn't help Hibiscus read Madeline either, and now Emerson couldn't read his book either.  He had the story that he really wanted to know, but it started with two pages of solid words with no pictures and he felt overwhelmed.  I told him I would help him if he started, and he actually read most of the first paragraph with me reading a couple words and cheerleading.  Independently, so I could keep one eye on the girls.  Once Hibiscus gets to this stage of reading ability she will be unstoppable, but Emerson is of a much more fearful character, and he's so worried about doing badly that it's very hard for him to start anything that looks difficult.  So I was very proud of him for starting in on the dense-looking text!  Meanwhile, Buttercup was climbing on and off her chair, asking for "hep me, Mama" to do one thing or another, and I was trying to convince Hibiscus to not swing off the balcony, or at least not let Buttercup follow her and just plain fall off the balcony.

Luckily our food came quickly.  I indulged the children and ordered a pot of hot chocolate for them to share, which they discovered they liked so much at Budongo Forest with Bubba!  Then we had the issue of sharing things.  I let each of the children pick out one or two items, but didn't order an even number, and divided everything into three or four portions.  There was a little bit of shock for someone, that she didn't get a portion of everyone else's food AND get to keep the whole amount of HER selection!

However, there was a little problem with the food.  Emerson started right in on his treats, although naturally he didn't want any of the quiche I had ordered.  Buttercup has also learned that we get yummy things here, and reached right for her favorites.  Hibiscus was excited in theory, but then realized something shocking: none of this was bread, or "food and soup." Thus, it was not edible.  Everything in the quiche was things that she likes, but they were mixed together differently, so she wouldn't eat it.  One or two of the other things eventually made it down, but mostly she nibbled and pushed her food around.  And drank the chocolate!

In the middle of the meal, she announced that she had to poop.  No, she announced that she "need go POOP right now, Mama, I need to POOP!  POO-OOOOOP!!!"  This is an example of behavior that's kind of cute, or at least forgivable, in a toddler, but restaurant diners really do not want to hear about from the elementary school crowd!  It is also an example of how one adult has a really difficult time on an outing -- or even one competent person at all; I let the 10-year-old stay at the table with some children while I took someone else to the bathroom.  After several escalating arguments about whether a bathroom trip could be postponed ("I don' wanna POOP IN MY UNDIES, Mama!"), I sighed sadly at my nice hot tea, convinced all the children to put their pastries down, gathered up the things I didn't feel safe leaving at the table, and we traipsed all the way across the courtyard to the building with the bathrooms in it.

The bathroom had two stalls in it.  I had needed to pee since before we even arrived, so I took Buttercup into the larger stall and told Hibiscus to use the other one, because I knew it would be a long time before anyone else would get a turn with a poop en route.  But she refused to be in a stall by herself, and Emerson refused to go in with her, preferring to follow us.  I told her that we could talk to each other the whole time and we were all together, but she just stood in her stall and whined.  Again, I know there are emotional issues of being alone going on here, but when you have three children with full bladders, what are you going to do?!  So we all went potty and wiped and washed our hands and looked in the bowl full of rose petals and experimented with the soap and dried our hands and made faces in the mirror, before I could reach a pause with the younger children.  Then we all stood in the main part of the bathroom with the door open, and watched Hibiscus poop.  

She had been in the stall the whole time, but didn't pull her pants down until she had plenty of company.  One might note that if she managed to hold it that long within inches of the potty, she could have possibly done the same thing in the cafe while Mama got to drink her tea while it was hot!

Then we traipsed our troupe back across the parking lot to the cafe.  Hibiscus trailed behind, and then proudly showed me a pretty card that she had found.  I marched her back to put it back (my budding kleptomaniac!) and the other children managed to not fall in the fountain in the meanwhile.  Buttercup was on her own two feet, which meant that it was impossible to do anything quickly, and it seemed too difficult to make her walk back to the other building and back again.  Walking in new places is novel enough that she pretty much follows along with us, but as soon as it seems boring -- like going back and forth -- she would rather be the toddler who escapes to more interesting environs.  She was too shy to run off two months ago when Daddy was here, but she is my top escape artist now!

On the way back from returning the card, Hibiscus reached out to pick a flower, and I told her she wasn't allowed to pick the flowers, they were not ours, and this was her warning for an X if she picked another flower.  She protested that Emerson had a flower, which I hadn't seen, but I told him that he shouldn't pick any flowers either, and it was his warning for an X too.  Hibiscus promptly picked a flower.  The fact of Emerson's having a flower and her not having any was just unbearable to her!  But since I had already given her a warning, that meant she now had her X.  (Three X's mean a lost privilege.)  Emerson didn't, because he obeyed me once he heard the no-flowers verdict.  However, once we got back to our lunch table, he told me that he would take an X for his flower-picking, too, and now they both have an X.  Both my children are scrupulously dedicated to exact fairness and equality, kindergarten version!

We finished our lunch.  We packed up our things.  And we headed to our next adventure: the MIDDLE of the courtyard.  In the outdoor restaurant are, they have a small thatched structure with two tire swings hanging down in the middle, over a patch of sand.  This is about as close to a playground you get in Uganda!  One day we will surely have some wonderful playground adventures, because the kids were totally entertained for another hour or two.  They played on the tire swings, on their own swing, all together, and two at a time.  They played in the sand and covered their legs with giant mountains.  And then another batch of children came by and climbed the structure itself and hung from the beams inside the roof, and as soon as they left my children let out their inner monkey and started up the beams.  

Buttercup usually takes a nap and she didn't have one, so she was a little fussy.  Hibiscus was feeling sulky, so for a while she was on her own swing while the other two shared.  I was really proud of Emerson's developing big-brother-ness as he swung slowly and made sure she was properly seated before he swung around, even though it was interspersed with telling her she was too slow and to go away.  (I think that's pretty normal too!)  Then Hibiscus told Buttercup to come on to her swing with her, but it also shows how they are developing as a threesome, because although Buttercup visited her sister, she chose to leave her and go back to Emerson's because he was being more gentle and considerate.  It used to be that Buttercup would side with Hibiscus no matter what, and no matter how mean Hibiscus acted to her.  There were a couple funny-sad moments, like when Buttercup slipped into the middle of the tire and got afraid of the movement of the swing all around her.  But she was jumping up and down and screaming, and it was her jumping that kept spinning the swing around!

The monkeys going up the beams was quite telling.  Hibiscus was in the roof almost immediately.  Emerson tried to climb the pole, and it was too slippery for him to make much progress, and the act of slipping was scary to him, so instead of trying harder he kept losing whatever progress he had made.  Needless to say, little Buttercup did not get anywhere at all, but she kept ahold of the bottoms of the poles and trying to make the same gestures that her siblings did.  

Finally, after a lot of fruitless imitation, she discovered that she was just the right size to play a really fun game with the low horizontal support pole at the bottom, where she would put her tummy on it, flip forward, put her hands down and walk on her hands forward until her tummy and legs went over the pole and came off the other side.  She first did this onto the grass side, which was great fun, but then going the opposite direction she got a face full of sand, and cried.  Typical of this little girl's dedication, however, after she got wiped off, she went back and did the same thing over and over and over and OVER, until it was time to leave, and figured out how to keep her eyes out of the sand.  She can really find things that are challenging to her and play in her own way when she lets herself.  She still needs a lot more practice and confidence in her own ability to find joy, instead of of just imitating whatever any other child is doing, whether or not she can do or enjoy that activity.

Both the younger children wanted me to help them climb the beams.  I told them that I thought as high as they could climb was a safe height, but I eventually relented and let Emerson use my knee.  I said I wouldn't help give him a boost or anything, but if he could use one extra foothold to do the climbing himself, I'd let him have that.  He was still kind of worried, but after a couple tries he made it up into the roof beams.  I also stood near and kept my hand near him for the first couple ups and downs, but didn't actually help him.  He went up and down a bunch of times, while I helped less and less, and gradually gained confidence in himself.  I am proud of him, and I think this is an instance where having a sister with a different personality was a big help to him.  He wanted to get up into the beams like the other group of kids did, and (except for short arms) had the skills to get there, but his fears got in the way.  I think he would have given up on his own.  But with his sister perched up there calling to him, he really REALLY wanted to get up there, and started to believe he could.

Hibiscus wanted me to boost Buttercup up, too.  I explained, with great repetition, how I thought each child was safe at the level to which she could climb independently, and I was not going to lift Buttercup up if she couldn't climb on her own.  I think Hibiscus is starting to listen to me, because not only did she stop scolding me to make Buttercup stop crying by lifting her up, I even convinced her to not jump down and lift Buttercup herself.  (It's slow progress though; this morning she went in to the other room and gave Buttercup something I had told them explicitly she wasn't supposed to have.)  Both girls have trouble realizing that Buttercup is her own individual person, and Hibiscus has trouble realizing that everyone does not like and dislike the same things that she herself does.  So she splashes water into Emerson's face, which she likes but terrifies him, and puts blankets on Buttercup who is already hot.  The house-climbing example seemed to be a manageable one; maybe even Hibiscus could figure out that balancing ten feet in the air was not a good location for a clumsy two-year-old, or maybe she reasoned that she would have more fun if she didn't have to worry about her sister.  Which is a healthy development in their relationship as well; six-year-olds should feel free to challenge themselves in their play, and leave their baby sisters with their parents sometimes.

Meanwhile, Hibiscus also spent a fair amount of time wandering around the courtyard.  She looked in the flower pots, sat at all the chairs at the other tables, peered intently at what other people were eating and doing, and oversaw the gardener.  She was good about staying in the general courtyard, which had clearly defined edges.  But she found the decorative fountain nearby, and a couple times after playing in the sand she announced that she was "going to wash hands" as she went by.  The fountain was the type that was built to look like a small pond in the rocks, maybe 8 feet in diameter, edged with natural rocks, with a tall centerpiece that gently sprayed water.  At about her third visit, the other children got curious and followed her, and things immediately got a LOT more fun.  Emerson balanced around the outer edge, to where he could get his arms in the fountain part, and announced that he was "taking a shower," which is REALLY FUNNY to kindergarten-ish-aged kids, because when you are taking a shower you are NAKED and people can see your BUM!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!  This inspired Hibiscus to more wild feats as well, and then she noticed that her hair had sand in it, so she kneeled on the edge and vigorously splashed water on her head, the way African people bathe.

Another disadvantage of being a solo adult is that you cannot simultaneously remove three children from a decorative fountain which they think is a swimming pool.  They had never seen (or in Emerson's case couldn't remember) a decorative fountain, so they figured this must be either a bath or placed for their swimming pleasure.   And Hibiscus does not yet believe in anything that exists for purely enjoyment; she spent the first few weeks at our apartment trying to see what was edible on every single plant in the flower garden.

Luckily, this is Africa, where they are not so picky about things, and more importantly, it was late afternoon, when hardly anyone was around the restaurant anyways.  Because while I was trying to stop the older children from their high jinx, we turned around to find Buttercup all ready to dive all the way into the fountain.  She had been sitting on one of the rocks with her feet in the water, as she likes to do at the pool, and she had worked up the courage to splash all the way in.  I grabbed her just in time.  She was soaked up nearly to the waist, tennis shoes included!

Soon after it was time to pack up and go.  I told them five more minutes, and Hibiscus shouted "NO!  Six minutes!"  I agreed.  It's such a pleasant change to argue time with children who don't fully understand their numbers yet!

I got them to go by saying we would be like Llama Llama, who first does shopping and then a treat.  Saying "Llama Lllama, stop all this llama drama!" and then putting all their names in for Llama, got us all the way across the parking lot.  "Drama" is a very entertaining word, apparently.  However, we got through our (very, very short) shopping trip without any Llama Drama or Hibiscus Drama or Emerson Drama or Buttercup Drama or anything.  Not that Buttercup had much chance of drama, since her shoes were out of commission and being the wrap with no nap made her so sleepy she could hardly even wiggle, let alone put up a lively argument for all the things I should buy in the grocery store.  Although I forgot the hot chocolate, which I had actually intended to get for them!

We had apples on the mini-bus for our "treat," which got us all the way home.  Hibiscus is my only fast eater, and she is currently missing such a large number of teeth that it's a wonder she can make any progress on an apple at all!  

And that was our outing!  Except for the beginning, it was quite successful.  Although I don't think we'll be heading any time soon to any fancy restaurants, or in fact pretty much anywhere that people like to have general silence, or not hear about other people's bowel movement, or mind a gaggle of children in their decorative fountains.