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.