"Swing like monkey"

Raksha Bandan

It is time for me to start posting in the present.  So here are some pictures of our morning;

Ella made us french toast and Grace is giving her review.

Isabel's favorite question, "had a bite?" is hard to resist.

And a self portrait as I sit in front of the computer at the breakfast table.

Today is "Raksha Bandan" or "Brother Sister Day".  Preety and Prianka came calling for Cael with a "raki" (friendship bracelet) for each wrist and a sweet treat.  Girls bestowing gifts will send any boy into hiding, until the gifts include sugar.

let the children laugh and play

Every home in the valley is filled with families.  ‘Stuffed’ I should say.  Several generations, a couple couples, and many, many children.  There are no quiet houses with elderly retired couples counting out their last days pruning roses and playing bridge.  There are no creepy single guys to follow with a wary eye through parted curtains.  No childless couples, no lonely divorcees, and certainly no bachelor pads. 

Despite the differences in our language, our skin color, religion, economic status, or any other of the vast divides that seem impossible to bridge, every new person we meet, from the taxi driver, to the farmer, to the mule skinner, they all have children in their lives.  The difference is extraordinary.  Imagine being able to take for granted that every person you run across is at ease with kids.  You no longer feel the need to apologize for them when the act up at the grocery store.  Your waiter doesn’t cringe at the sight of you.  People are kind, helpful, and generally thrilled to see them.

throwing voices

In the house above the hill from us there lives a little girl whose distress call bears an uncanny resemblance to Isabel’s.  “Mommy” is the same in English or Hindi, so I often find myself jumping to my feet and wondering how Isabel got so far away so quickly when I was sure she was tucked safely in bed.  The house down the hill from us has a little boy who laughs just like Cael.  This is less startling but still rather perplexing when my ears are tuned to just these frequencies. 

 

Lychee Bob

Dad, spitting out machine gun fire obscenities, chases a crow who has carried off a baby parrot. Grace observes, "he's so tenderhearted and angry!"  

Dad takes the baby parrot under his wing (so to speak), feeding him lychee and banana.  For lack of a better name we call him Lychee Bob.  Dad carries Bob around on his shoulder and saves him from numerous subsequent attacks involving dogs, small children, more birds, and even the wind.  I think Lychee Bob is one cracker short of a Polly, but Dad is smitten.  After a few days Bob makes his final escape.  May all his feathers be with him.

our home

the swimming hole

The heat takes me down.  Far.  The kids are miserable, needy, clingy, and I am a complete wreck.  The only thing that keeps me alive in the afternoon is promise of our swimming hole. And oh, what a beautiful spot!  For a few weeks, Dad and Ella added rocks every day, slowing the flow of the river enough to make a lovely, lazy lagoon of cool, clear water.  There is plenty of shade in the afternoon and I am in heaven.  The kids throw rocks, Osso chases rocks, Ella catches frogs, Dad lays out on a large flat warm rock, and I soak my over-heated body and finally regain my sense of self. 

 

new words

We boil the milk that Badl brings every morning (pronounced “bottle”), because, as Grace puts it, “it’s a little too close to the cow.”  Milk is called “dude”, so I call Badl the Dude dude. 

When a neighbor stops by asking for “barf”, I point the direction to the nearest bush.  After an exchange of confused looks and repeated hand gestures, we discover that “barf” is ice.  Ahhhah!

escape cabin fever

The seven of us pile into Dad’s car.  Car seats are sorely missed.  McLeod Ganj is crowded; people, animals, cars, motorcycles, busses, tourists…  all rubbing elbows on narrow crooked streets.  Often we have less than an inch on either side of our oversized car as we try to pass through.  The kids and I melt down quickly.

a storm, a death, lightning

Cowboy is found. Dad buries him with tears and flowers.  Ella is devastated.  Nothing can replace the loss of a pet.  

the light of day

The kids and I wake up obscenely early and begin to explore our new surroundings.  The landscape is terraced and peppered with big beautiful boulders.  We follow random paths, making our way to the ridge overlooking a river.  Cael asks, “this is our new home, Mom?”  “Yes, honey, this is our new home.  Are you happy?”  “Oh my happy, Mom!  My like my new home!”  Heartwarming after a night of desperate cries of homesickness.

off and running... well, walking slowly, and then back to pick something up that I dropped

3 adults, 2 kids, 10 50.5 pound bags, 4 carry-ons, 2 car seats, 2 cars, 2 planes, 3 airports, 1 chartered bus, 41 hours. 

Our biggest initial stress is getting the bags checked in; each one is carefully weighed and measured with very little room for error.  And navigating every few feet is a challenge.  Grace and I are both on edge with butterfly stress.  Having all that baggage is like having, um, baggage. 

The kids are pretty wiped out by the time we make it to our plane.  Isabel wants to sit next to her brother like a big girl, rejecting the car seat, and like an idiot I listen.  On the plane from London, however, lessons have been learned and things go much more smoothly.  It seems as though I am constantly learning this lesson; do not take your orders from a two year old. 

Dad and Ella pick us up in the chartered 9-seat bus.  No seatbelts.  We strap the car-seats on the top with the luggage and settle in for a miserable ride with small children wriggling on every surface.  Again, a trip to the Department of Lessons Learned.  After a few torturous hours we tie those things down for some much needed sleep.

Our driver must be excited to be getting home, as the mountainous curves and heart breaking drop offs seem to inspire him to step on the gas.  Horse to barn syndrome. 

But after 41 hours of travel, our new home is a welcome oasis.

gone baby, gone!

My love has gone away... the kids and her are somewhere over northern Canada. I can see the tiny green line on FlightTracker, stretching from Seattle, a low parabolic arc to the United Kingdom. From there to India later still. Seems strange to go seperately, but a unique adventure in itself. My wife lamented about taking ten pounds out of one of the two bags I was assigned, thinking that may put some of the other bags over weight. She happily reported all of the bags came in 49.5 pounds upon check in! See, you worried for naught.

caffeinated butterflies

Ten bags.  49.5 pounds each.  The endless list has come to an end.  Oops, except that.  And that.  Up too late.  

in training

I am reminded of the poem;

"when I am an old woman I shall wear purple, 

with red hat that doesn't go and doesn't suit me..."

She goes on to talk about the cool things she will get to do when she gets old like learning to spit.  It ends with;

"But maybe I ought to practice a little now?"

I've been talking about how much I am going to enjoy letting the kids run wild outside, playing in the dirt and the mud puddles.  

So why not practice a little now?

rock star

how to get 5 kids to sit still for a picture? TV.

farm girl

morning song

Isabel and I enjoy our breakfast together while Cael sleeps in. Away from raised eyebrows and sideways glances we can use as much ketchup as we want on our scrambled eggs and as much butter as we like on our toast. Mother and daughter have bonded over condiments.

Isabel has taken to this whole talking thing with great gusto. She is so thrilled with herself and so delighted to communicate that often her sentences sound peppered with exclamation points. “More! Toast! Pleeeease!!!” and “More! Ka-cup! Big! Ka-cup! Please!!”

monkey sighting at the alexandria zoo

our life, deconstructed

48 days to go. I have been packing our life up one box at a time. It is surprising how exhausting this is. Every single thing I pick up represents a choice; keep, take, or toss. Some things are a given, but most fall into a gray area. And every item has a history that I relive as I wrap it up in newspaper, slip it into a box, categorize and label it. I think about who I was when I found each object, where I lived, what I wanted it for, how it fit into my life. And then I think about who I will be when I unpack it, will it have been silly to hold onto it, will I be thrilled to be reacquainted. I will miss my cool spice rack, my paintings, my piano, my history. A sharp stab of nostalgia hits my chest when I look around my lifeless house with empty walls and temporary furniture. And then it's gone. And in its place is an enormous sense of freedom.

two choices

Cael catches me with a piece of art that lives on his kitchen wall.
"PUT MY PICTURE BACK ON MY WALL RIGHT NOW MOM!!"
"Oh, honey, I am going to pack this away now. I am so sorry."
"Mom, you have TWO choices; put that back on the wall RIGHT NOW, OR YOU GO HAVE A TIME OUT!!!"
It was only later that I realised that I should have chosen the time out!

the daily hogan

For those of you just catching up, 'the daily hogan' was an email that I sent out to friends and family updating them with our little daily life moments. I have been neglecting my updates of late and need to get back in the habit. I wanted to start a blog instead, to be able to easily invite you to read about our shenanigans and share your comments and insights. I am now officially caught up with inputting the past daily hogans so everything will be in one place. I will still go back and add some more photos too, as this format makes it WAY easier to post photos then what I had to go through with the email. Happy reading!

the blank page

The first page is always the hardest. Words float and spin until they land awkwardly. Lonely letters shuffle over to the wall and fiddle nervously, hoping more letters will arrive soon to distract the finicky reader. Later the narrative has momentum, the party is in full swing- someone could easily spill their adverb or dangle a modifier and shrug it off with carefree laughter. Oh, to be one of many sentences rather than the fifth.

So yes, a blog begins. The Hogan clan is headed off to a new life and we thought we should try to share it with you as much as we can.

Enjoy!

quit jumping, Cael

ready for rain

sugar coma

b's b-day

The party is in full swing when Isabel wakes from her nap.  She is still a little dazed when she is presented with her kitchen cake.  Nothing a little sugar can't cure though.

the birthday cake

Judd and I have started our cake tradition for the kids; Judd bakes something fabulously tasty to eat, and I create something fantastically delightful to see.  We chatter on like a couple of school girls for weeks leading up to each birthday about what shape the next one will take.  This year for Isabel's birthday Judd whipped up a dense chocolate cake with raspberry cream cheese frosting, and I turned it into a kitchen, complete with fridge, stove and sink.  We learned about fondant (countertop) and how NOT to let it touch something moist.  But on the whole we were quite pleased!

port townsend

portland

cousins