I have proof

Someone inherited a habit from her Daddy's family of sticking her tongue out while concentrating.

Her Grandma, Great-Aunt, Aunt, and Cousin all do it.

I tried to find proof of other family concentrating, but this is what I could find:

Cousin Isabelle painting
(A few years ago)

(UPDATE! I found proof that the girls' grandma does it!)

And here's proof that it happens all the time:

While bike-riding

While playing in dirt 

While gluing 

While snacking

While playing baseball

While puzzling

Happy 20 months to my hijita!

It's incredible to imagine that Hazel is almost the same age Ellie was when Hazel was born. 

Hazel-a few hours old
Ellie-20 1/2 months old

Mardis Gras, Guatemalan-style

Living in Latin America means learning a lot about the Catholic religion, as it is the predominant religion. There are many traditions and Catholic holidays that shut down stores and streets and offices.

Last week was the beginning of Lent. In the States the types of people who participate in sacrificing or giving up something for Lent vary. Many are from the Catholic tradition. Others might be Protestant or not affiliated with any denomination or church. I didn’t grow up practicing Lent or having an awareness of it, but I’ve come to appreciate the idea of making an effort to give up something to grow spiritually or otherwise. Some people use Lent as a way to lose weight (cut out sugar, desserts, etc.), which I’ve been guilty of, and not the intended purpose. Others use it as a way to create space for family, away from Facebook or social media. Traditionally, in the Catholic church, and here in Guatemala, most people will refrain from eating meat during the week as their Lenten sacrifice. Regardless, I think it's a good practice in self-discipline.

The festivities here in Guatemala began last week on Monday. At school, the girls decorated cascarones. These are egg shells that have been very carefully emptied and cleaned, and then are painted and filled with confetti-type paper and sealed shut with tissue paper. When these are thrown on the ground, they explode into a cloud of color and confetti. 

I thought these were unique to Guatemala, but from what I've read they are also very popular in Mexico. They originated when the Spanish came to Latin America in the time of Christopher Columbus.

Fat Tuesday is known as Dia del Carnaval in Latin America. Every country has its own version of traditions. Here, it’s a day where kids have a party, dress up in costumes (like on Halloween) and throw the cascarones. There are often parades in the main city centers. The idea with Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, or Carnaval, is to celebrate and do all the crazy, wild things that will be abstained from during the lenten season. Breaking these is part of those festivities.

I didn't know exactly how much to dress up the girls, but Ellie decided she wanted 5 ponytails for school. It wasn't until I took the girls to school that I realized just how dressed up her friends and teachers were for this special occasion. Another cultural tradition that I learned about a little too late. At least I know for next year. 

Hazel's teacher loves to do her hair. For this special occasion she made her hair into a braided heart. 

Our elderly neighbor in our first apartment spent all year making cascarones to sell on the streets during these holidays. There would be trays of empty, white, carefully cracked egg shells lining the wall in the garage and she would spend her free time painting and filling them, all year long. As soon as the festivities are over, she stars collecting them and getting ready for the next year. 

She gave the girls a bag of them, which we had been saving, so when they each brought one egg from school we decided to throw them as intended. 

We went up to the second floor patio of our neighbor's house, and threw them below. 

The week between Palm Sunday and Easter is known as Semana Santa (Holy Week) and from what I hear, it's a time of lots of people and celebrations and parades. We look forward to experiencing it this year, as last year we arrived to Guatemala just a few weeks too late. 

Happy Lent!

Ebb and Flow

It was a typical afternoon. I was working on the computer, checking email and reading some Spanish documents for work. Hazel was taking a nap after school and Ellie was watching her Friday afternoon show.

We have a stack of photo books I made over the last couple years on the coffee table next to our couch. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Ellie grab the top one. It's a little book I made of Ellie and her best little buddy in Fresno, Abi. We gave a copy to Abi before we moved.

Ellie was looking through the book, as she does occasionally. I walked over to the couch and saw her touching Abi's face, studying her. These pictures are already more than a year old. I don't want to think about how much she may have already forgotten. There's always been a blurry line for me between remembering with fondness and hanging on too hard.

Mommy. I want to go see Abi. Right now. It's been a lot of days since I saw her. I looked at my little one's face, so serious and solemn and sad. She remembers some things, at least. My heart snapped in two. There's nothing more heartbreaking than seeing your three-year old sad and confused. I wiped my misty eyes, tears shed for her and maybe my own missing friendships.

Fresno friends

We've been living in Guatemala for almost 11 months. We have our routines. We're accustomed to life here. It's our new normal. But making friends is hard anywhere, and especially hard here, between the job we have and the language barrier and not knowing where to connect with people. It may be the most difficult part of living here.

These waves of nostalgia and reminders of what we left behind ebb and flow like the waves of the ocean. Some days the waves of memories are soft and warm and almost comforting, slipping in out of my mind as I go about my day. I smile, thinking of friends and memories and am thankful for experiences we've had.

Other days the waves hit hard, crashing down like the stormy, dark waves along the rocky Oregon coast. They hurt. They're cold and sad and lonely. I find myself in a dark place, even for a brief moment, thinking what if and about all the things we "gave up."

A favorite place: Twin Rocks
Rockaway Beach, Oregon

Thankfully, those moments are less and less. I'm an adult. I can handle them. I understand the decisions we've made and the benefits of living here. But, it comes full circle when your preschooler wants to go see her friend and doesn't understand why we can't just drive over to her house like we used to.

And so it went that Ellie and I had a brief moment in the midst of our daily normal of missing our friends and family and what we left up North.

And then we're back to our current routine, our Guatemalan phase of life.

Big E Little e

Today I read an account of a 17 year-old girl who is part of a literacy program MCC supports in the northern part of Guatemala.

Illiteracy rates there are the highest in the country. Most people don't pass 6th grade, usually dropping out to work or help at home. The poverty rates are so high that most people spend their days trying to meet their primary needs. Learning to read and write are not necessary to survive and therefore are not a priority.

That's right. If you can read my words right now, you are privileged in a way you may have never thought about before. You can read and write. You probably didn't wake up today focused on where you would find water or food to feed your family.

My three-year old is learning to read and write. We practice her letters and numbers and sounding out words and rhymes. I forget at times that this is an opportunity I too easily take for granted. She's three and she can write her name. She's years ahead of so many in poverty.

The girl in the story I read today had to quit school when she was 11 because her father died and she had to help her mom with household chores. She works the fields, sews traditional dresses to sell, and works with her mom at home.

When a literacy program came to the area, she enrolled without her mom knowing. Her mom wasn't happy at first, but when she discovered that the simple tools like paper and pens were provided, she realized it was a good opportunity. She wants her child to have a better life than what she has had.

This 17 year-old just finished 6th grade. She's now more educated than the majority of her neighbors, friends, and family. She hopes to be a teacher someday.

I was inspired by this story and so many like it. MCC supports adult literacy programs in the area and every time I hear a story from a literacy student I remember how basic a privilege it is to be able to read and write.

How am I using my own ability to read and write to make a difference in the lives of others?

What They Didn't Tell Me On My Wedding Day

I recently met an engaged couple who will live thousands of miles apart until their wedding day. They explained how it will be difficult when they get married, but they assured me that if they didn't think they could handle it, they wouldn't be getting married.

That's when I realized that everyone thinks this as a new couple, that we're invincible.We think, Of course we can handle it. Sure, it's going to be hard. But we did our pre-marriage counseling. We dated a long time. We weathered painful situations and emerged stronger because of them. We communicate well. We won't make the mistakes of our friends and families. We're good. We're the exception. We're special.  

As a young engaged couple, several people warned us about the difficulty of marriage.

Marriage is hard, they'd say. It takes a lot of work.

I believed them on some level, as much as I could. Kind of. The problem is that no one knows what it actually means. It's vague and unhelpful. It's more of a threat or a warning than helpful advice. 

I remember the first time I thought, Wow, this marriage thing IS hard, just like they said. We were about 6 months into our marriage. I don't recall the details of the argument, but I remember exactly where we were sitting and how I felt when that first feeling of doubt and panic washed over me.

After 9 years of marriage, I remember my just-turned-22-year-old self on my wedding day. I was confident. I was happy. I felt ready. Only, I wish someone had been bluntly honest with me about a few things.

I wish someone had told me that no couple is invincible or untouchable. Human beings are susceptible to loneliness, depression, anger, miscommunication, assumptions, misunderstandings, and irrational thoughts. I suppose someone may have said this to me in some form. If they did, it felt inapplicable to me.

It's dangerous to believe you're immune to problems. The number of friends and family members who have experienced painful divorces tells me this is true. We all think somehow our situation will be the exception. Therein lies the danger.

Marriage IS hard, but not because a couple will fight over who washes the dishes, or how to wash the dishes, or when to wash the dishes. Arguments are expected and normal and can be healthy. Those are the comical honeymoon stage arguments that we laugh about later. 

I wish someone had told me it's hard because no one can predict the unexpected pain, the losses, the mistakes, the impatient rash words. No one can predict how simple decisions can turn into life-altering events. 

People erroneously think big life changes will help "fix" relationship problems: having a baby, moving, buying a house, getting a new job. These don't fix problems, they create a new lens with which to amplify already existing problems.

Damaging words can't be part of the vocabulary. I know couples who toss around the ominous d-word (divorce) in arguments like a ping-pong ball. They might as well sign the papers now. That word can't exist. Half of all marriages end in divorce. It's too real a word within too close a reach to be used in any capacity. 

I wish someone had told me to focus on my own problems and not so much on my spouse. I once had a counselor tell me that the problem with popular marriage advice books is that they focus on spouses fulfilling each other's needs. Though there is validity in finding ways to love your spouse in a way they connect to, it's not the whole picture. If your marriage is not fulfilling, these books say, it's because your spouse isn't speaking to you in your "love language" or isn't filling your "love tank." The responsibility of your happiness, therefore, lies on your spouse. This is unfair and unrealistic for both, and can lead to looking to other people or things to replace what is lacking.

I wish someone had told me that "for better or for worse" could be worse before it gets better, but it can get better. There is hope in all this. Couples who have weathered unimaginable storms do survive. They can come out stronger, closer, and wiser. It requires hard work and commitment. It requires humility and grace. It requires waking up every morning with the firm choice to go forward together, letting go of yesterday. For better or for worse. In good times and in bad. By the grace of God.

Preschool Times

Another sign my baby is growing up:

Her first homework assignment.

Ok, actually, this is her second because yesterday I forgot to take a picture of her real first one because I forgot about doing it until breakfast. So, I'm hoping the mojo from her second homework ever will be what carries her through THE REST OF HER LIFE. Not to be dramatic.

Also, how cute is my youngest with her two babies?

Less is Still A Lot

We're in our new house. And we love it.

My friend and MCC country representative in Nicaragua wrote a blog post last summer, as her and her husband had just started in their roles and were looking for a place to live. It has stuck with me. Here's part of what she wrote:

And so in our work we interact with people who lead lives very different from our own. For the vast majority of people in Nicaragua and other lesser developed countries around the world, opportunities for education, just housing, and even access to basic food staples is incredibly limited.  Because we personally have not and will not ever struggle in the same way, as we enter this context, it feels like every decision counts.  People we work alongside get by with so little.  Can I really claim to need space for my kids to play?  Conflicts like this are always present.  It is often difficult to differentiate between needs and desires.  I second guess myself all the time.

And so it has been a challenge – figuring out our needs, navigating these dissonances that are here as long as we are.  How do we have a fulfilling family life?  How do we find contentment and joy (outside of work) while still living out our values?  I continue to pray for wisdom and humility as we do our best to meet our children’s needs, love and care for ourselves, and work alongside our neighbors for a more just world in Nicaragua.

This got me thinking about what we need versus what we want. Do we truly "need" a back yard with grass for the girls to play in? Do we "need" a guest room? Do we "need" a kitchen with counters or cupboards? Sometimes referred to as first world problems, some of these are issues that I'm privileged as a North American to even have the opportunity to consider.

We had been looking for houses and apartments to rent for a few weeks. It just happens that this is the same month when yearly budgets are due, as well as several other program planning type reports. It's a busy month, and not ideal for moving.

But, because we were looking for housing while simultaneously working on our budget, we were extra conscious of how much money we were willing to spend on a place to live. We've lived in some awkward yet expensive apartment in the States. We were deciding between two houses to rent, right next door to each other. The floor plans are similar, though one had a couple added bedrooms and a second story patio for about $120 more per month. It was a little nicer, a little bigger, and a little more expensive.

For many Americans $120 doesn't make a huge difference, especially when the rent is almost half of anything we've ever paid for in the US, but it was more than we needed. We didn't need more space. So we chose the smaller, slightly more outdated house.

And actually, we like this house better. We have a back patio and a separate back grassy area for the girls to play, which the other house didn't have. We are five minutes (without traffic, 20+ with traffic) from our office and the girls' school. It was less than what we thought we might have to pay to stay in the same area. We pounced on it the same day it was advertised in the classified section of the newspaper.

Another benefit is that we have a very sweet neighbor who we share a driveway with. She's an American missionary who has been here for 29 years primarily working with terminally ill and cancer children and their families as they pass away (a hospice-type service). She's already been a blessing to us. Yesterday Michael went on his first trip out of town without me and the girls. In our old house that wouldn't have been an issue but he took the truck and we can no longer walk to school and the office. I was debating either staying home or calling a taxi. Then last night I came down with something and felt pretty awful, and our kind neighbor offered to take the girls to school (along with one of our workers staying with us this week) so I could stay home and get some much needed rest. I slept all morning.

She obviously has a generous heart and lives with a few Guatemalans, two of which are deaf. Last night Ellie was out in the driveway playing soccer with all of them, and I found myself so thankful that we found such a great home where we can host well, have great neighbors, and can live freely knowing we made a good choice for our family in our commitment to live simply.