Jan 29th was Kansas Day and let me tell you, as a proudly born and raised Kansan, I was only too happy to post about it on social media and not be low key for once.
I don't like Missouri really. I mean, CoMo is okay, but for the most part I just roll my eyes at everything here. Mold and pollen allergies are worse here, though dust and goldenrod are slightly better. The landscape is dull. It gets uncomfortably hot without a breeze and ridiculously cold. We got 17inches of snow the other weekend. I wanna go back to Uganda!!
People in Missouri can't drive worth a cow fart. No really, I looked it up. The death rate for road traffic accidents in Missouri vs. Kansas, Missouri was over double. DOUBLE! Kansas is right next door. And we take our tests with the grumpy lady from the DMV. Missourians take their driving test with a highway patrolman! How do they end up driving worse??
People smoke here. A. Lot. I hate it. My nose finds it offensive. My lungs are repulsed by it. My asthma nearly chokes and dies on it.
The only really good thing that I can get behind is their hate of KU. As a born and raised K-Stater I fully endorse a good honest dislike for all things related to Jayhawks. As they say, "My enemy's enemy is my friend."
And in a few non-Missouri related confessions:
I get unnaturally paranoid about telling people about my husband in relation to my son. If I say "my husband" it sounds like he isn't D's dad, but if I say "his Dad" it sounds like I have nothing to do with the guy! I know this paranoia is just a residual effect of being a single mom for that long year and a half, but still... Is there a good compromise besides saying both and sounding like you are confused or redundant?
My kid has become increasingly aggressive at preschool and I don't really know how to handle it. Part of me wants to pull him out immediately and keep him with me so I can preserve my sweet little boy!
I drove across town with a giant art piece on top of my rather small car last night. Not the brightest move. I didn't realize it was sprinkling until I had already walked out of the building. Thankfully I had a spare old blanket in the car to wrap the piece in. Then with the help of some spare rope to tie it down and an improvised elastic cord from the trunk to try and keep the blanket in place we set off. I had to stop probably 3 times to readjust the thing and couldn't go more than 30mph for fear it would fly off the top of my car. I made it home, but I really need to start thinking more before I do these crazy things!
In other news, the new art looks great hanging in my husband's den!
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
Monday, November 26, 2018
90 Day Fiance (Part 2)
Well life in Kansas was awkward for a while. I waited until after my brother's wedding to tell my parents about the pregnancy and our engagement.
I think what I stressed to them the most (and then to the rest of the family as I told them by turns) in those moments is that I was not making a rash decision to get married to Moses just because we were pregnant, but that when we did get married it would be a well thought out and prayed over occurrence. I'm not sure they were completely convinced.
I made the difficult decision to not stay in Kansas, but to move to Missouri with my older brother's family. We will both be forever grateful for the love and generosity they showed to me and the baby in those next few months.
Whether from pregnancy hormones or from exhaustion or just from the stress of the whole situation, I found myself crying to sleep at least once a week from the time I came back to the US. We tried to talk to each other as much as possible, to hide from the other one how bad things were, and to keep one another encouraged. It worked sometimes, and sometimes the entire conversation would just disintegrate into "I miss you"s back and forth.
It was a long 7 months carrying that little guy alone on this side of the ocean while his dad struggled to make ends meet in Uganda. I found a job, but could only work a few days a week or I would lose my health insurance that I needed to be able to deliver the baby. Carefully I rationed out what I would need to purchase for the baby. A lot of things were purchased second-hand, hand-me-downs that were generously shared, and loving friends and family showered us with gifts for Baby D (as he was affectionately called).
Moses and I had settled on a name, and then a middle name for D, but we kept it a secret until after he was delivered.
After a good after dinner walk one night in early May I went to get up from sitting and felt a pop and then liquid streaming down my legs. Little man was getting ready to make his arrival!
Moses and his mom went to the church and prayed all night for us as my labor wore on. My sister-in-law sent him constant updates on how things were going... but the long and short of it is that they weren't... going... anywhere. Water broke at 8pm; Mom, sister in law, and I went to bed around 930-10 thinking we'll have to go in sometime later. Around 1 am my mom came out and found me sitting on the couch timing contractions. They were about 3min apart at that point and she was like, "Oh my! Let's get you to the hospital!" I calmly walked upstairs and woke up my sister-in-law to go with us. But by the time we got to the hospital they slowed down to 4-5min apart and I wasn't dilated hardly at all. By 6pm the next night I still was not dilated, and starting to run a fever from exhaustion, so they opted for a C-section thinking it might be infection related. When they tried to give me pit it spiked late decels in D's heart rate as well, which I could very easily read on their in room monitor. (never underestimate a nurse to keep nursing, even on herself, even when slightly loopy on a epidural) They turned the monitor so that I "couldn't see it" but I already was asking for different intervention and told them to stop the pitocin. So off to surgery we went.
That was incredibly hard... not having Moses there with me for that. I've never had surgery before or since and it was scary, though I tried very hard not to show it since my Mom was in the OR with me. My sister-in-law was given the job of accompanying Baby D wherever he went. And I wanted no discussion on that topic. I knew they weren't going to come and ask my permission to start anything on him since I'd be coming out of surgery and Moses not being there with him, I put my sister-in-law's Mama Bear skills to work making sure my little one was gonna be safe and cared for.
The post-surgery nurse had compassion on me and took me down to the NICU to visit D before going to my floor (even though she really wasn't supposed to). The torturous amount of time that it took for them to accept my leaving the floor to go and see him was just that... torturous. They hooked up a live facetime feed for me for a little while, but then the battery died on the ipad. And I was done anyway. I wanted D to know that his Mama, the only person he really knew in the world, had not abandoned him to a unit of alarms and strange lights, lack of body warmth, missing my heartbeat, hungry, and confused by this whole big world that he had suddenly been yanked into. Hang sleep and recovery from major surgery, there was an infant that needed me!
Holding and cradling him to my chest was the absolute best feeling I have ever felt in the whole wide world.
It still is, to this day. Though he has grown a lot and Moses does come in a pretty close second on the cuddling front. ;)
I think what I stressed to them the most (and then to the rest of the family as I told them by turns) in those moments is that I was not making a rash decision to get married to Moses just because we were pregnant, but that when we did get married it would be a well thought out and prayed over occurrence. I'm not sure they were completely convinced.
I made the difficult decision to not stay in Kansas, but to move to Missouri with my older brother's family. We will both be forever grateful for the love and generosity they showed to me and the baby in those next few months.
Whether from pregnancy hormones or from exhaustion or just from the stress of the whole situation, I found myself crying to sleep at least once a week from the time I came back to the US. We tried to talk to each other as much as possible, to hide from the other one how bad things were, and to keep one another encouraged. It worked sometimes, and sometimes the entire conversation would just disintegrate into "I miss you"s back and forth.
It was a long 7 months carrying that little guy alone on this side of the ocean while his dad struggled to make ends meet in Uganda. I found a job, but could only work a few days a week or I would lose my health insurance that I needed to be able to deliver the baby. Carefully I rationed out what I would need to purchase for the baby. A lot of things were purchased second-hand, hand-me-downs that were generously shared, and loving friends and family showered us with gifts for Baby D (as he was affectionately called).
Moses and I had settled on a name, and then a middle name for D, but we kept it a secret until after he was delivered.
After a good after dinner walk one night in early May I went to get up from sitting and felt a pop and then liquid streaming down my legs. Little man was getting ready to make his arrival!
Moses and his mom went to the church and prayed all night for us as my labor wore on. My sister-in-law sent him constant updates on how things were going... but the long and short of it is that they weren't... going... anywhere. Water broke at 8pm; Mom, sister in law, and I went to bed around 930-10 thinking we'll have to go in sometime later. Around 1 am my mom came out and found me sitting on the couch timing contractions. They were about 3min apart at that point and she was like, "Oh my! Let's get you to the hospital!" I calmly walked upstairs and woke up my sister-in-law to go with us. But by the time we got to the hospital they slowed down to 4-5min apart and I wasn't dilated hardly at all. By 6pm the next night I still was not dilated, and starting to run a fever from exhaustion, so they opted for a C-section thinking it might be infection related. When they tried to give me pit it spiked late decels in D's heart rate as well, which I could very easily read on their in room monitor. (never underestimate a nurse to keep nursing, even on herself, even when slightly loopy on a epidural) They turned the monitor so that I "couldn't see it" but I already was asking for different intervention and told them to stop the pitocin. So off to surgery we went.
That was incredibly hard... not having Moses there with me for that. I've never had surgery before or since and it was scary, though I tried very hard not to show it since my Mom was in the OR with me. My sister-in-law was given the job of accompanying Baby D wherever he went. And I wanted no discussion on that topic. I knew they weren't going to come and ask my permission to start anything on him since I'd be coming out of surgery and Moses not being there with him, I put my sister-in-law's Mama Bear skills to work making sure my little one was gonna be safe and cared for.
The post-surgery nurse had compassion on me and took me down to the NICU to visit D before going to my floor (even though she really wasn't supposed to). The torturous amount of time that it took for them to accept my leaving the floor to go and see him was just that... torturous. They hooked up a live facetime feed for me for a little while, but then the battery died on the ipad. And I was done anyway. I wanted D to know that his Mama, the only person he really knew in the world, had not abandoned him to a unit of alarms and strange lights, lack of body warmth, missing my heartbeat, hungry, and confused by this whole big world that he had suddenly been yanked into. Hang sleep and recovery from major surgery, there was an infant that needed me!
Holding and cradling him to my chest was the absolute best feeling I have ever felt in the whole wide world.
It still is, to this day. Though he has grown a lot and Moses does come in a pretty close second on the cuddling front. ;)
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
90 Day Fiance (Part 1)
Someone asked me the other day if our experience was like "90 Day Fiance" the TV show. I wasn't sure how to answer, mostly cause I had never seen the show. I mean, yes, we did have 90 days on a K-1 visa, but not sure how much else was accurate.
So, to better understand in case I got asked that question again, hubby and I decided to watch the show (and because we don't always agree on shows but we kinda like reality/documentary types...)
I couldn't help thinking throughout the whole season (we got through Season 1 already) that I kinda wished we could tell our story like that. It was so easy to see the similarities and GLARING differences in the stories.
So for lack of a better intro than that, this is part of our "90 Day Fiance" story:
I had been in love with Uganda since I first traveled there back in 2008, but frankly I wasn't thinking about any other kind of love when I walked into The Sound Cup in Garden City Mall, Kampala, Uganda in early 2015. I had been volunteering with a hospital in the Kampala suburbs and was redesigning charts for them. The Sound Cup had relatively fast wifi and good coffee, so I was fixing to get some work done.
Apparently he took one look and was sold. Moses was working as a waiter in the little cafe. When I arrived he made sure that the other waiters knew that was HIS table and then promptly forgot my order as soon as he took it. This necessitated several extra trips back to my table to make sure that he had actually gotten my order right. He saw my lips moving, but he didn't hear a word I said.
He fell in love at first sight, but I took my time. Through a little careful finagling he finally convinced me to go on a date with him, and then to start hanging out regularly. Long walks, shared meals, dancing, live music, movie nights, and talking late into the night. He made life so fun and was so easy to talk to. I found myself falling a little more every time we were together.
Things went fast. In August we found out we were pregnant. Two weeks later Moses lost his job. Another week later we found out that the hospital I had been working at was not going to help me renew my visa like I had thought they would. I was already scheduled to come back to the US for my brother's wedding so we made plans for me to travel now and hopefully come back in a year's time. It was hard to say goodbye, especially not really knowing how everything would go, or really even how our relationship would weather the separation.
In the meantime, Moses and I tried to soak up what little time and energy life had given us. We went to the hospital for a sonogram and took a close and precious first look at our little baby, affectionately called "Blueberry" at that point. I was convinced it was a girl and Moses firmly believed it was a boy. This is one disagreement I'm glad he won.
We took many long walks up to the market after work to get the baby's favorite snack: popcorn. We looked up baby names together. We squeezed drops out of every day going to live music and music festivals together. We planned days out, just the two of us to go to the movies or swimming/picnicking. And we tried hard to not talk about the fact that we wouldn't be together too much longer.
In October Moses escorted me to the airport with the clothes and belongings that I might need in the next year. He was to pack up and move the rest of my things out of my apartment by the end of the month. He would keep them in his apartment and store them until I could come back. He was so quiet in the back of the car in the wee hours of the morning as we sped towards Entebbe airport. I didn't really know what to say to him either.
When we reached the gate all I could hope for was a quick goodbye without a lot of gushing. Instead he got down on one knee and asked me to make him the happiest man in the world. Let's just say that waterworks were definitely in the picture (I can blame it on pregnancy hormones right?)
The whole plane ride I sat in a state of shock and looked at this strange new shiny thing on my finger. I couldn't help but feel like my whole entire world was changing and strangely enough, for someone who had sold all her household goods to move internationally, I feel so scared that I was sick to my stomach. (And that, I cannot blame on pregnancy hormones.)
It takes a tremendous amount of courage to open your heart to another person and commit to spending the rest of your life with them. And I was scared because I was at the airport not knowing when I'd be back or even see him again, pregnant with his baby, and needed to catch my plane. I didn't even feel like I was able to say "no", even had I wanted to. It would have been so cruel to him for me to say "no" with no time to talk about it, and then just get on a plane and leave.
But by the same measure, we had no time to talk about what my "yes" meant either. We didn't have a good plan of how to even see each other again, let alone raise our child together. To top it off... I had a massive UTI setting in.
And you have never experienced UTIs until you have experienced a pregnancy UTI... during a 48 hour international plane trek... through countries you've never flown through... running to the bathroom every 5 seconds but still feeling like you are constantly about to have an accident... while the airline attendant is telling you that you need to pay an additional fee for your checked bag because British airlines is stingier than any other airline and only allows one checked bag for international travel.
In my very least exasperated voice I informed her that she could have free reign of the $10 that was on my card, but I had no other currency and had no way to get any. (By that point I was in South Africa.) If she insisted in removing one of my bags then to please be kind enough to let me tell her which one to remove or to let me repack things into my carry on bag. (At this point I realized that it was already loaded on the plane and she had no intention of giving someone the task of finding and removing it from said plane. A task that was probably nearly impossible seeing as it was a double decker Boeing 747.) After several unsuccessful attempts on her part to make me "cough up" the extra cash, she did print my boarding passes with a ominous, "I'm probably going to get in a lot of trouble for doing this."
Unfortunately, but this point it was too late. I made it into the stall, but that was all the farther I got before what we most fear to happen during a UTI, did indeed happen. Stupidly, I had packed only shirts to change into during my flight, not pants, so the only other thing I had in my carry on was my bridesmaid dress for my brother's wedding. On it went and I stepped off the plane in Kansas, much to my brother and sister-in-law's surprise, all ready for the big event that wasn't for another week.
Finally safely back in Kansas I had to deal with an even bigger issue. Telling my family and friends that I was not only engaged (to a man that they had never met), but also pregnant.
So, to better understand in case I got asked that question again, hubby and I decided to watch the show (and because we don't always agree on shows but we kinda like reality/documentary types...)
I couldn't help thinking throughout the whole season (we got through Season 1 already) that I kinda wished we could tell our story like that. It was so easy to see the similarities and GLARING differences in the stories.
So for lack of a better intro than that, this is part of our "90 Day Fiance" story:
I had been in love with Uganda since I first traveled there back in 2008, but frankly I wasn't thinking about any other kind of love when I walked into The Sound Cup in Garden City Mall, Kampala, Uganda in early 2015. I had been volunteering with a hospital in the Kampala suburbs and was redesigning charts for them. The Sound Cup had relatively fast wifi and good coffee, so I was fixing to get some work done.
Apparently he took one look and was sold. Moses was working as a waiter in the little cafe. When I arrived he made sure that the other waiters knew that was HIS table and then promptly forgot my order as soon as he took it. This necessitated several extra trips back to my table to make sure that he had actually gotten my order right. He saw my lips moving, but he didn't hear a word I said.
Things went fast. In August we found out we were pregnant. Two weeks later Moses lost his job. Another week later we found out that the hospital I had been working at was not going to help me renew my visa like I had thought they would. I was already scheduled to come back to the US for my brother's wedding so we made plans for me to travel now and hopefully come back in a year's time. It was hard to say goodbye, especially not really knowing how everything would go, or really even how our relationship would weather the separation.
In the meantime, Moses and I tried to soak up what little time and energy life had given us. We went to the hospital for a sonogram and took a close and precious first look at our little baby, affectionately called "Blueberry" at that point. I was convinced it was a girl and Moses firmly believed it was a boy. This is one disagreement I'm glad he won.
We took many long walks up to the market after work to get the baby's favorite snack: popcorn. We looked up baby names together. We squeezed drops out of every day going to live music and music festivals together. We planned days out, just the two of us to go to the movies or swimming/picnicking. And we tried hard to not talk about the fact that we wouldn't be together too much longer.
In October Moses escorted me to the airport with the clothes and belongings that I might need in the next year. He was to pack up and move the rest of my things out of my apartment by the end of the month. He would keep them in his apartment and store them until I could come back. He was so quiet in the back of the car in the wee hours of the morning as we sped towards Entebbe airport. I didn't really know what to say to him either.
When we reached the gate all I could hope for was a quick goodbye without a lot of gushing. Instead he got down on one knee and asked me to make him the happiest man in the world. Let's just say that waterworks were definitely in the picture (I can blame it on pregnancy hormones right?)
The whole plane ride I sat in a state of shock and looked at this strange new shiny thing on my finger. I couldn't help but feel like my whole entire world was changing and strangely enough, for someone who had sold all her household goods to move internationally, I feel so scared that I was sick to my stomach. (And that, I cannot blame on pregnancy hormones.)
It takes a tremendous amount of courage to open your heart to another person and commit to spending the rest of your life with them. And I was scared because I was at the airport not knowing when I'd be back or even see him again, pregnant with his baby, and needed to catch my plane. I didn't even feel like I was able to say "no", even had I wanted to. It would have been so cruel to him for me to say "no" with no time to talk about it, and then just get on a plane and leave.
But by the same measure, we had no time to talk about what my "yes" meant either. We didn't have a good plan of how to even see each other again, let alone raise our child together. To top it off... I had a massive UTI setting in.
And you have never experienced UTIs until you have experienced a pregnancy UTI... during a 48 hour international plane trek... through countries you've never flown through... running to the bathroom every 5 seconds but still feeling like you are constantly about to have an accident... while the airline attendant is telling you that you need to pay an additional fee for your checked bag because British airlines is stingier than any other airline and only allows one checked bag for international travel.
In my very least exasperated voice I informed her that she could have free reign of the $10 that was on my card, but I had no other currency and had no way to get any. (By that point I was in South Africa.) If she insisted in removing one of my bags then to please be kind enough to let me tell her which one to remove or to let me repack things into my carry on bag. (At this point I realized that it was already loaded on the plane and she had no intention of giving someone the task of finding and removing it from said plane. A task that was probably nearly impossible seeing as it was a double decker Boeing 747.) After several unsuccessful attempts on her part to make me "cough up" the extra cash, she did print my boarding passes with a ominous, "I'm probably going to get in a lot of trouble for doing this."
Unfortunately, but this point it was too late. I made it into the stall, but that was all the farther I got before what we most fear to happen during a UTI, did indeed happen. Stupidly, I had packed only shirts to change into during my flight, not pants, so the only other thing I had in my carry on was my bridesmaid dress for my brother's wedding. On it went and I stepped off the plane in Kansas, much to my brother and sister-in-law's surprise, all ready for the big event that wasn't for another week.
Finally safely back in Kansas I had to deal with an even bigger issue. Telling my family and friends that I was not only engaged (to a man that they had never met), but also pregnant.
Wednesday, October 10, 2018
What in the World, Church??
Something that has really irritated me lately... and probably it shouldn't to the extent that it has, but this is the interwebs and basically ranting is a thing... is nativity scenes.
Our immediate family is biracial. I don't make a big deal about it, because honestly... despite what people try to tell you... its not a big deal. Its just something about us individually. I have blue eyes (gray, hazel, depends on the day actually) and my husband's eyes are black. I have a astigmatism in my right eye and I am overweight. He has amazing pec muscles 😉 and his glasses are fake! We are just different.
That much being said... I was really hoping to find a nativity set for our Christmas as a family that showed multiple races all coming together around the baby Jesus! Cause how sweet and authentic would that be, right?
URGH.
So, if you are lucky, you can find nativities where the wisemen are African, Asian, etc... but then the rest of everybody has this pasty Caucasian skin. Eww.
Honestly, probably prior to getting really involved in Uganda this never really occured to me as a problem. I mean I had heard people joke about "Black Jesus" but I thought that was just a joke. I hadn't really stopped to realize it was an attempt to make the stereotypical depiction of Christ more relevant and relate-able to marginalized people. Dang. #softlyhangsheadinshame Then I realized that most artwork pictures him with blue eyes and soft straight brown hair. Which, I am sorry, but what Middle Eastern man do you know that has blue eyes and soft straight brown hair? Like really, Christian America, really??
Okay, so that is my rant.
All this to say... if you have any good leads on wooden nativities, teddy bear nativities, or anything else that might be racial neutral and not cost a fortune... Let me know!
I'll just be over here cutting out nativity silhouettes... in a nice, neutral grey. 😒
Our immediate family is biracial. I don't make a big deal about it, because honestly... despite what people try to tell you... its not a big deal. Its just something about us individually. I have blue eyes (gray, hazel, depends on the day actually) and my husband's eyes are black. I have a astigmatism in my right eye and I am overweight. He has amazing pec muscles 😉 and his glasses are fake! We are just different.
That much being said... I was really hoping to find a nativity set for our Christmas as a family that showed multiple races all coming together around the baby Jesus! Cause how sweet and authentic would that be, right?
URGH.
So, if you are lucky, you can find nativities where the wisemen are African, Asian, etc... but then the rest of everybody has this pasty Caucasian skin. Eww.
Honestly, probably prior to getting really involved in Uganda this never really occured to me as a problem. I mean I had heard people joke about "Black Jesus" but I thought that was just a joke. I hadn't really stopped to realize it was an attempt to make the stereotypical depiction of Christ more relevant and relate-able to marginalized people. Dang. #softlyhangsheadinshame Then I realized that most artwork pictures him with blue eyes and soft straight brown hair. Which, I am sorry, but what Middle Eastern man do you know that has blue eyes and soft straight brown hair? Like really, Christian America, really??
Okay, so that is my rant.
All this to say... if you have any good leads on wooden nativities, teddy bear nativities, or anything else that might be racial neutral and not cost a fortune... Let me know!
I'll just be over here cutting out nativity silhouettes... in a nice, neutral grey. 😒
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
May God Uphold Thee
So as many of you may (or may not) be aware, the political situation in Uganda has not been positive of late.
Opposition leaders have been gaining popularity among the people and the current regime (which is older than me!) has been resorting to violence and intimidation in attempts to suppress the growing dissatisfaction of its citizens.
Needless to say, I do not condone violence on the part of the current regime, or on the part of the opposition. I do however understand that desperate times often seem to call for desperate measures as we are often told by the old adage. The current situation I believe is making both parties feel pressure to promote increasingly bold and potentially violent shows of strength.
How I wish for my country that things could be different. How I wish that we could trust the results of the allegedly democratic elections process. (One that hasn't been proven to be flawed in execution and riddled with bribes and vote fixing.) How I genuinely wish we could work together to promote the health, well-being, and growth of this beautiful land.
Because there are days that I remember, not so very long ago... when I fell in love with my country, Uganda. All the days seemed bright, the vegetation was brilliant green, the sun and rain fell with equal intensity on us all, and we smiled at strangers without knowing their background or political party. We laughed and danced together at kwanjulas, we hired bodabodas without fearing robbery, we had a chapatti guy who made the best rolexes around, we walked along busy streets bound together by the red dust on our legs. I deeply long for my country to go back to that.
But perhaps I am asking for too much. Maybe I am asking for my own innocence back. Maybe its not my country that has changed so very much after all... I mean the president is the same (though the constitution has been changed), and the struggle after all remains the same. Poverty is still rampant, even in my own family. Masaka road is still dangerous as hell. Potholes still litter pavement. Thieves seem to multiply every day, from the city streets to high government offices. Bribes seem normal to a Ugandan's thinking. Every day a child goes without food. Another father hides in a bottle of waragi instead of facing that he can't provide for his family. Another mother heartbreakingly decides between her children which one to send to school because the shillings won't cover all their fees. Another young girl prostitutes herself to a "sugar daddy" for a chance at a "better life". Another parishioner is convinced to believe they need to give their last shilling to help "build God's kingdom" not realizing that they are building their "preacher's" million dollar mansion.
We see it all and we feel helpless. Its times like these that we know all we can do is cry out to God. We are powerless, but He is all powerful. And after all, its through the lenses of His love that I first saw and felt the love for Uganda growing up in my heart. He has loved these children of His much longer and much harder than I ever have. He has gathered up every tear of every person affected by the violence that has littered these streets and it is His to repay for every wrong done against His children.
So, from our hearts to yours: Uganda, may God uphold thee.
Opposition leaders have been gaining popularity among the people and the current regime (which is older than me!) has been resorting to violence and intimidation in attempts to suppress the growing dissatisfaction of its citizens.
Needless to say, I do not condone violence on the part of the current regime, or on the part of the opposition. I do however understand that desperate times often seem to call for desperate measures as we are often told by the old adage. The current situation I believe is making both parties feel pressure to promote increasingly bold and potentially violent shows of strength.
How I wish for my country that things could be different. How I wish that we could trust the results of the allegedly democratic elections process. (One that hasn't been proven to be flawed in execution and riddled with bribes and vote fixing.) How I genuinely wish we could work together to promote the health, well-being, and growth of this beautiful land.
Because there are days that I remember, not so very long ago... when I fell in love with my country, Uganda. All the days seemed bright, the vegetation was brilliant green, the sun and rain fell with equal intensity on us all, and we smiled at strangers without knowing their background or political party. We laughed and danced together at kwanjulas, we hired bodabodas without fearing robbery, we had a chapatti guy who made the best rolexes around, we walked along busy streets bound together by the red dust on our legs. I deeply long for my country to go back to that.
But perhaps I am asking for too much. Maybe I am asking for my own innocence back. Maybe its not my country that has changed so very much after all... I mean the president is the same (though the constitution has been changed), and the struggle after all remains the same. Poverty is still rampant, even in my own family. Masaka road is still dangerous as hell. Potholes still litter pavement. Thieves seem to multiply every day, from the city streets to high government offices. Bribes seem normal to a Ugandan's thinking. Every day a child goes without food. Another father hides in a bottle of waragi instead of facing that he can't provide for his family. Another mother heartbreakingly decides between her children which one to send to school because the shillings won't cover all their fees. Another young girl prostitutes herself to a "sugar daddy" for a chance at a "better life". Another parishioner is convinced to believe they need to give their last shilling to help "build God's kingdom" not realizing that they are building their "preacher's" million dollar mansion.
We see it all and we feel helpless. Its times like these that we know all we can do is cry out to God. We are powerless, but He is all powerful. And after all, its through the lenses of His love that I first saw and felt the love for Uganda growing up in my heart. He has loved these children of His much longer and much harder than I ever have. He has gathered up every tear of every person affected by the violence that has littered these streets and it is His to repay for every wrong done against His children.
So, from our hearts to yours: Uganda, may God uphold thee.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Coloring
(please ignore the iron in the background, and don't worry, it is not hot)
We may have an artist on our hands. Little buddy absolutely loves coloring with crayons or markers or pens. Pretty much anything he can get his hands on.
Thankfully we have not graduated to the "everything is a canvas" stage where our walls and floors are in danger.
I tried to avert this by making sure that I got him coloring books and an entire art book devoted to his scribblings. This has provided him endless delight and Mama a few sane moments for house cleaning as once he is in the booster chair, he can't get down by himself! (I know, smart, right?)
Also, ironically, some of his Mama's art is hanging above him as he is coloring away. Hmm... you never know, we may have an artist!
Working Mom
I am a working mom.
Some days I love this and some days I hate this.
Mostly I love it when I really get to do my job well. Those few and far between days when I catch something early in a medical case, or a patient thanks me for care or for not making them hurt when I do a lab draw. Every once in a while talking down an anxious patient or having someone say your are their favorite nurse. Those times when you feel like you are most proficient at your job. And the days that you come home energized instead of drained. Those days are nice too.
Mostly I hate it because I feel like I don't get to spend enough time devoted just to my little buddy. I feel guilty when his speech development is behind, that maybe I am not talking to him enough. I feel like a complete and total pile of refuse when he chooses his dad over me to comfort him when he wakes up after sleeping on his arm and putting it to sleep (and I shouldn't feel like that, but I do). And any time I try to get things done around the house and he comes and grabs my hand to pull on my finger and take me where he wants me to hang out with him I feel like the worst mom in the world.
There are usually piles of dishes on the counter. The floor doesn't get swept or vacuumed nearly as often as it should. There are generally toys littered in unexpected places all over our tiny apartment and PLEASE don't check under the couch, cause who knows what's under there!
Also, its ridiculously hard to make friends with other moms. The ones who have time to be friends with me are SAHMs and honestly, I just don't have that much in common with them usually. I can't go anywhere during the day. I don't have time to pinterest make cupcakes or arrange crafts or run to playdates for my kid. And the other working moms don't have time to be friends with me either.
I literally am doing really good if I get all my bills payed on time, balance the accounts, get groceries for the week, keep the house mostly picked up, and manage to get a semi-decent amount of sleep at night. (showers should probably be there somewhere on that list too, right? Meh, that's why they created deodorant...) This doesn't even count all the other things that I need to do: call such and such business about card that didn't work, talk to insurance about changes, file paperwork for visas/name changes/taxes/etc (it varies), work with my son on his language skills, make nutritious meals, make lunches for everyone for the next day, exercise, organize the house, general house cleaning, those dang dishes that need washed every stinkin' day, and so many more things that come up...
I have been trying (unsuccessfully) to lose weight ever since my son was born. Its almost 2 years now. I had a breakdown about it the other day and when I started listing everything that I have to get done in a week, it made me sound like I needed to be freaking Wonder Woman! I'm not saying that to be proud, in the moment it was completely overwhelming (especially when you are failing at it).
Let me just stop here and say that my husband (and I do thank God for him pretty much daily) is a huge help. But there are some things that I just need to do myself to make sure that they are done. Yes, yes, I need to stop micro-managing everything but there are some things only I can organize in a way that makes sense. Or I can not find things for 3 weeks because my husband organized it and doesn't know what it is that he organized so he doesn't know where he put it... which is always fun too!
All this to say, if you are a working mom and feel overwhelmed by all of this... I hear you.
You are not failing.
This is undoubtedly one of the hardest places to be in life and you are doing everything in your power to make it work. Its like doing 2 jobs in 1, and can I just say that being a full time mom is already super time/energy consuming. You are plus 40 hours a week. Wonder Woman ain't got nothin' on you.
You go girl!
And as my gracious and wise husband told me, there are seasons for everything. Maybe it isn't my season to be able to concentrate on losing weight right now. I can do what I can, but there will be a season coming up where that is going to be more workable and then we will tackle it together. (I know, he's a keeper). We are both responsible for this little buddy, for our house, for the bills, etc and we have to get it all done together. Sometimes there isn't enough time in the day for everything you need to do and sometimes there just isn't enough energy.
Sometimes I desperately need to just curl up on the couch with little buddy or hubby and not have to do anything but listen to music or read a book together. Sometimes we need to forget all the dishes and laundry that need done and just run off to the park together.
Don't ever let the list of things you need to get done get in the way of connecting with the people that you love the most. I can have the most pristine house, but if my son and husband don't feel loved by me, then none of it was worth it.
So if you come over to my house and its messier than it should be, I'll probably apologize to be polite, but really, I don't regret my choices for even a moment!
Proudly a Working Mom
Some days I love this and some days I hate this.
Mostly I love it when I really get to do my job well. Those few and far between days when I catch something early in a medical case, or a patient thanks me for care or for not making them hurt when I do a lab draw. Every once in a while talking down an anxious patient or having someone say your are their favorite nurse. Those times when you feel like you are most proficient at your job. And the days that you come home energized instead of drained. Those days are nice too.
Mostly I hate it because I feel like I don't get to spend enough time devoted just to my little buddy. I feel guilty when his speech development is behind, that maybe I am not talking to him enough. I feel like a complete and total pile of refuse when he chooses his dad over me to comfort him when he wakes up after sleeping on his arm and putting it to sleep (and I shouldn't feel like that, but I do). And any time I try to get things done around the house and he comes and grabs my hand to pull on my finger and take me where he wants me to hang out with him I feel like the worst mom in the world.
There are usually piles of dishes on the counter. The floor doesn't get swept or vacuumed nearly as often as it should. There are generally toys littered in unexpected places all over our tiny apartment and PLEASE don't check under the couch, cause who knows what's under there!
Also, its ridiculously hard to make friends with other moms. The ones who have time to be friends with me are SAHMs and honestly, I just don't have that much in common with them usually. I can't go anywhere during the day. I don't have time to pinterest make cupcakes or arrange crafts or run to playdates for my kid. And the other working moms don't have time to be friends with me either.
I literally am doing really good if I get all my bills payed on time, balance the accounts, get groceries for the week, keep the house mostly picked up, and manage to get a semi-decent amount of sleep at night. (showers should probably be there somewhere on that list too, right? Meh, that's why they created deodorant...) This doesn't even count all the other things that I need to do: call such and such business about card that didn't work, talk to insurance about changes, file paperwork for visas/name changes/taxes/etc (it varies), work with my son on his language skills, make nutritious meals, make lunches for everyone for the next day, exercise, organize the house, general house cleaning, those dang dishes that need washed every stinkin' day, and so many more things that come up...
I have been trying (unsuccessfully) to lose weight ever since my son was born. Its almost 2 years now. I had a breakdown about it the other day and when I started listing everything that I have to get done in a week, it made me sound like I needed to be freaking Wonder Woman! I'm not saying that to be proud, in the moment it was completely overwhelming (especially when you are failing at it).
Let me just stop here and say that my husband (and I do thank God for him pretty much daily) is a huge help. But there are some things that I just need to do myself to make sure that they are done. Yes, yes, I need to stop micro-managing everything but there are some things only I can organize in a way that makes sense. Or I can not find things for 3 weeks because my husband organized it and doesn't know what it is that he organized so he doesn't know where he put it... which is always fun too!
All this to say, if you are a working mom and feel overwhelmed by all of this... I hear you.
You are not failing.
This is undoubtedly one of the hardest places to be in life and you are doing everything in your power to make it work. Its like doing 2 jobs in 1, and can I just say that being a full time mom is already super time/energy consuming. You are plus 40 hours a week. Wonder Woman ain't got nothin' on you.
You go girl!
And as my gracious and wise husband told me, there are seasons for everything. Maybe it isn't my season to be able to concentrate on losing weight right now. I can do what I can, but there will be a season coming up where that is going to be more workable and then we will tackle it together. (I know, he's a keeper). We are both responsible for this little buddy, for our house, for the bills, etc and we have to get it all done together. Sometimes there isn't enough time in the day for everything you need to do and sometimes there just isn't enough energy.
Sometimes I desperately need to just curl up on the couch with little buddy or hubby and not have to do anything but listen to music or read a book together. Sometimes we need to forget all the dishes and laundry that need done and just run off to the park together.
Don't ever let the list of things you need to get done get in the way of connecting with the people that you love the most. I can have the most pristine house, but if my son and husband don't feel loved by me, then none of it was worth it.
So if you come over to my house and its messier than it should be, I'll probably apologize to be polite, but really, I don't regret my choices for even a moment!
Proudly a Working Mom
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