Category: Other Page 127 of 181

Thanksgiving kind of feels lonely when you are not in America.

True, it’s sweaty here and there are no leaves falling off of trees.  In fact, I discovered yesterday that the reason my turkey baster is perpetually sticky is because the rubber is disintegrating in the humidity.  But we do always manage to track down a turkey….we can make mashed potatoes and stuffing and green bean casserole and even sweet potatoes with the marshmallows on top.  And last night Daddy and the kids cut up my yellow pumpkin into a jack-o-lantern and slept with it in their room…here’s hoping it will still make great pie!

But anyway.  There’s still something missing, and it’s not just the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins.  Because that’s big, of course.   It’s just….It kind of feels like, living here, we are just pretending.  In America everyone drops everything on the fourth Thursday in November…everyone has the same menu, the same parade on their television sets, the same cranberry sauce out of a can. 

But here, well, today is just a normal day.  Everyone goes on with life as normal; rush hour, work, school.  We go on a treasure hunt for Thanksgiving foods instead of having them prominently displayed in the grocery store.  And we do our best, we re-create all the memories….but you can’t keep the kids up too late…school tomorrow.  Or, in our case, we celebrate on Saturday.  It kind of feels forced. 

It’s funny; this is my 14th Thanksgiving outside of America, and these things never bothered me that much before.  Maybe it’s because now I have kids.  Maybe it’s because on the last 4th Thursday in November, we were gathered around our parents’ tables. 

Of course, I still am reflecting on the multitude of what I have to be thankful for, and I am most definitely looking forward to Saturday.  I am not looking to feel sorry for myself; I am not asking for sympathy.  I love my Savior, and I love this life He has given me. 

And now I need to go cook up that Jack-o-Lantern.

Just an ordinary Monday.

Kids up, breakfast made, Gil’s lunch assembled, Bible time with the kids.  Walked to school to pick up the car, told Grace, “Be ready for school by the time I get back!”  Out the door at 9 am. 

Drove the mile to Grace’s school, she got out, came to my window, and promptly burst into inconsolable tears.  Taken aback at the behavior of my normally sunny, outgoing, I-love-school daughter, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to go to school!!!!”

Why not?

“I want to go home!!!!”

Firm Mommy.  Pried her fingers off the car, deposited her in the arms of one her teachers, and drove off with the vision of my daughter’s screeching face, outstretched arms in my rear-view mirror.

Horrible Mommy.  And my mind races.  Why didn’t she want to go to school?  Are they mistreating her?  Did something terrible happen that she didn’t tell me?  Mega guilt.

Next stop:  gas station.  Only and always full service in this country.  I asked for 40,000 shillings.  “Oops,” the attendant says to me, “I accidentally put in 46,000.”  Well.  Good thing I had the cash, since that’s the only method of payment. 

Drove for five minutes and realized the gas gauge was barely budging over a quarter of a tank.  For $30 worth of gas.  Irritated.

Stopped by the appliance store.  Since the weather has heated up, our fridge no longer can keep up and everything is spoiling, and no one has been able to fix it.  So we need a new refrigerator.  “We no longer sell refrigerators,” the clerk tells me.  “Now we only have air conditioners.”  I day dream for a minute about that air conditioner that is the size of a walk-in closet.  Maybe we could just make our whole house the temperature of a refrigerator.  Would that work?

Got to the grocery store.  I have recently fallen in love with weekly meal planning; it makes life so much less stressful.  That is, except when I can never find the things on my list.  Lasagna on the list for tonight; it’s Bible study night and I need something that will feed 8 people and can be adapted for our token vegetarian. 

No lasagna noodles.  I sigh and buy manicotti instead.  No fresh milk.  I debate for a while; do I want to buy boxed milk for the ricotta cheese, even though it’s twice the price of fresh milk and probably not even really milk?  (I mean, how can real milk sit on a shelf for months and not go bad?)  I sigh again and dump four boxes in the cart.

On the way home I stop at two other smaller shops.  But apparently all of Dar es Salaam is out of lasagna noodles and fresh milk. 

I go back to the gas station.  I put on my angry face and show the attendant my gas gauge.  “Is something wrong with the machine?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she shrugs. 

She pulls out the hose and puts another 15,000 shillings worth of gas in my car.  “Now check your gauge,” she asks me.  “Is that enough?”  The ludicrousy of this exercise does not escape me.  “I guess so,” I say.

Guilty Mommy is still present, so I decide to pick up Grace early from school.  I pull in and she is playing outside with her friends.  “Why are you here, Mommy?”

“Because you were upset.  Because you didn’t want to come to school today.”

“Oh.”  Long stare.

“Why didn’t you want to come to school?”

“Because I didn’t think it would be fun.  But it is.”

Sigh again.  “Do you want me to come back after lunch like usual?”

“Yes, please.”

(She and I will be “discussing” it this afternoon.)

Came home, gave Josiah hot dogs and mango for lunch, and now he is singing in his bedroom instead of sleeping.