My Kids

Panini strikes again!

The World Cup is over, and our Panini World Cup Sticker Album still lacks seven stickers…out of nearly 650 stickers, we are missing only seven…This was our first introduction to the world of Panini, which is a much larger world than I figured…and it keeps growing, and is turning into a monster!

The latest craze in Argentina is Gogo’s. They come three in a pack with two stickers for the album. Of course, the album is sold separately. All, as you can guess, made by Panini.

What are Gogos? Little bits of colorful plastic in many shapes, all the same size – just small enough to really hurt your foot when you step on them, just strong enough not to break! – with personalities and characteristics. The album tells you their abilities at speed, stability, and bouncing. And it also gives you ideas for seven different games. Besides all the colors under the sun, they also come in glow-in-the-dark, and florescent colors.

My boy is addicted to Gogos. We worked out a deal; when he reads in Spanish for 10 minutes each day, he gets one Gogo. He currently has 21, and every day he asks to read Spanish when he gets up in the morning. As I sit here typing, he is playing a bowling-type game with a friend of his. They are laughing and enjoying themselves tremendously.

To me it’s worth $3 a week to see his enjoyment, the interaction (in Spanish!) with his friends, his excitement when he opens a new pack and chooses which one he wants to add to his collection for that day.

Motivation: Death

Today we got word that a fellow worker passed away last night due to a heart attack. He and his family had left years ago, but my husband has been in contact with him throughout the years, and had just talked to him last week.

Yesterday he and his wife had packed up a moving van and today they were headed out to a new state, a new job, a new life. What does his wife do now? Where does she go? How does she start life over again?

How does one deal with the death of a loved one? What would happen in our case, if either of us were to die? I’m almost more in a quandary of what would happen if I were to die. Death is tragic, and those left behind have to pick up the pieces, continue on, learn to cover the bases that the one who moved on was covering. Children have to adjust to living under the rule of one grieving parent, their world shaken and life as they knew it, stability and routine, abruptly interrupted.  Spouses must be under tremendous stress to continue on, be a source of strength for the children, and, if they weren’t the primary bread winner, jump into the professional world overnight.

Can you imagine going to bed, saying, “today begins a new chapter of our lives,” filled with excitement and anticipation of something new, something great and thrilling, only to awaken to a whole new chapter, one never anticipated, one that very much resembles a nightmare, only worse, because it’s one where you cannot wake up? There’s no “do over”, no rewinding the tape, no wishes to restore life as it was.

What would I do if I knew my days were numbered (well, they are, but what if the number was down to double digits?), what would I do differently? Today I called for a doctor’s appointment to see my cardiologist. I also want to improve my eating and exercising habits, knowing that those will go a long way to helping my cholesterol. Unfortunately the desire to make changes won’t last – yet I want it to. I want to make permanent changes in my life, yet my determination fades over time. I wish it wouldn’t, but how do I make it last? What is  my motivation to eat healthy, to exercise? Is knowing that I'm risking death enough to get me motivated?

Random Weirdness

I'm quickly becoming a futbol fan...but I have a lot to learn!



At the beginning of the game between Independiente (CAI) and Boca yesterday, the CAI fans threw hamburger rolls on the field in front of Boca’s keeper. The game was delayed ten minutes while facility staff picked up all the rolls – yet even as they were picking them up, fan continued to throw rolls on the field. Later in the game, another round of rolls rained down while the keeper complained. Strange. I asked our neighbor what it meant, and he didn’t know, but said that it was significant. He suggested reading online news.

Turns out it’s pretty offensive, but since this isn’t my culture, I don’t feel it. These rolls are representing a racist attack on the fans of Boca, those who are Bolivians and Paraguayans. I guess there were songs sung and signs displayed that were equally offensive and racist. I know that Argentines are very discriminatory towards people from these two countries (among all the other countries that touch the borders), I’ve seen the discrimination, heard the venom and hatred in their voices, their irrational slander and put downs. Yet I can’t feel the hatred, thank God.

There isn’t a people group on earth that doesn’t hate another people group. When I see it in my own culture, I cringe, knowing exactly what is being implied, or said, or demonstrated. I know the insulting words, phrases and gestures that I wouldn’t want my children learning, let alone using. I’ve learned some that are used here in Argentina, but they don’t carry the same feelings for me because this is not my passport culture. My children will learn them here, and will hopefully be offended by them, not use them, and will always choose to show love rather than hatred.

Onto other weirdness…

Wednesday is Census Day.  That means that the country closes down for the day. No business is to open until 5pm, and only then if the census taker has been by. Everyone is to stay in their homes, waiting for the census taker to come by.

These census takers are school teachers, which means that there will be no school on Thursday, so as to give these said teachers a day of rest after counting their fellow countrymen.

We were here for the census in 2001, I remember a young gal stopping by and asking us questions – having to repeat them twice so we could understand them – and it didn’t seem that big a deal. But when you start to consider what it means for all business to be closed for the day – does that really truly mean everyone stays home from work? What about the television stations – no one reports the news? Are all radio stations reverting to muzak for the day? What about the guards in the booths on every corner – will they be there to guard us? Are all buses, taxis, trains, subways shut down for the day? Will no one be at the utility companies to make sure everyone still has electricity, water, gas? How about farmers – are they not to take care of their crops and animals that day? Will all politicians stay at home, waiting to give their information? Does the president sit at her kitchen table, waiting for the doorbell to ring? What about all the rich families that have house help – how will they survive the day without having their meals cooked, floors washed, beds made? And I’m sure there are many other jobs that I’m not thinking of now…wait, what about all the thieves, robbers, and crooks – hasn’t it occurred to them to pose as a census taker in order to get into some of these homes? Or will they take the day off, and sit around waiting for their census taker to stop by?

It is absolutely incredulous that they take a count in this way…even more incredulous is the Argentine who looked at my North American friend with shock on her face and said, “What? This isn’t how you take a census in your country? How else would you do it??” Pulll-lllease!!!!

Memory Lane

When living in Colorado, I stuck a photo memory card in our computer, and it didn’t fit; it was too small, hence stuck permanently…until this past week. It finally came out, who knows how or why now. But we got the photos burned on a cd and the pics were a pleasant walk down memory lane.

Bug was in kindergarten with his favorite teacher of all time. We have pics of the winter party in the classrooms of each kid. Have the kids ever changed in three years! I also took photos of all the kids in the lunchroom, where I worked – it was fun to see their faces again!

But the best pic of all? Pike’s Peak, of course!

Friends

Recently I had three conversations with three different women in my life, in which they all mentioned, “I talked too much.” I’ve been hearing that a lot lately, more and more frequently. Very different from several years ago, when I never heard anyone say that. So have I become a listener?

The first is quickly becoming a good friend, which I need. Slowly but surely my friends are leaving, moving back to their countries of origin, leaving me looking for new camaraderie. She and I were at Starbucks, (yes, I finally broke down and entered the Starbucks down the block from my house!) enjoying a cup of coffee together. When she apologized at the end for dominating the conversation and then followed it up with an email, I became perplexed. Reflecting on our time together, I cannot honestly say that she talked more than I did, or if she did, it didn’t bother me nor did it seem obvious. We were just two friends out sharing about our lives, ministries, frustrations, hopes for the future. Both of us are in uncertain times, and I hope that we have more time together than we expect. I am very thankful that God has brought her in my life!

Another friend called me from the US and shared her frustrations over what she is going through right now. Overly exhausted from current ministry, she is on a well deserved break, but knows that in a week, she’s back in the thick of it, which will carry her until close to Christmas. Her future is unsure, and she and her husband are awaiting news that they expected to hear a month ago. I could hear her pain in her voice, the anxiety that her heart carries around. I was glad to be an ear for her. When she wrote me the next day, apologizing for being so negative and talking too much, I quickly wrote her back, assuring her that she wasn’t over talkative, that she needed to vent and that I will be praying for her. Sometimes we all just need to get something off our chests.

My third friend is chatty by nature. She is the life of the party, very bubbly, and the very person needed to make sure that the conversation continues. We were in such a situation, and I was more than thankful that she was with me. Where I would’ve run out of conversation in ten minutes, she kept it going for the duration of our time together, and I didn’t have to strain to think of things to talk about, questions to ask. She knows she is chatty, and doesn’t make any apologies about it. Not only does she entertain us with stories from her own life, she also asks questions, includes people in the conversation who are naturally timid, shy, quiet. I enjoy spending time with her, and always reflect back on our times together as joyous.

Other friends are talkers as well; one in particular talks almost non-stop when we are together, sharing stories about how so-and-so poured out her life story to her, and I wonder, how? How, when she is such a chatty person herself, does anyone else have time to get in a word? I spend time with her because she wants to, not necessarily because I desire to. Another friend is not only a good talker, but a good listener and we talk to our hearts’ content, then pray together. She and I share some common situations and can identify with one another.

In each situation, I fall into different rolls, share different levels of who I am, express different parts of me. And when I need to vent, express joy, or just verbally vomit, I call a particular friend, who listens, empathizes, prays for me, offers advice, lifts me up, stands by me. She is the one that comes to mind when I read the verses in Proverbs about a true friend (17:17, 18:24, 27:9). And she is the one to whom I find myself saying, “Sorry I dominated our conversation.” Her response is always to reassure me that it is an honor to listen to me. An honor, wow.

Reflections on Losses

Five year old Lily is lying in an induced coma. She has Hemolytic-uremic syndrome, (HUS, for short), which is caused by E. coli poisoning. Of her three younger siblings, two are currently being hospitalized for the same disease, but thankfully they are not in such terrible condition. This American family arrived recently in Buenos Aires and has been involved with this for a couple of weeks now.
Today we got word that Lily has been declared clinically brain dead and will be taken off the respirator this morning. As I read the news, I was in shock. I realized that Lily was in critical condition, that even earlier this week she had a touch-and-go day, but word was that she was improving.
Less than 6 months ago an eight year old in our church was in the hospital for about 2 weeks, had dialysis, transfusions, and is doing better now. She will be susceptible to kidney problems for the rest of her life. Her mother was reflecting today on how everyone was telling her at the time that her daughter’s rapid recovery was nothing short of a miracle. Now, watching the horrors of this case, she believes it even more firmly.
The more I think about the situation, the loss, the family going through such trial, I am grieved more and more. It hasn’t been away from my thoughts for very long all day. All the questions, doubts, wondering why, hoping that God will use this for His glory, for some good, to justify why a little life had to be taken.
My oldest daughter is angry over it all. She left for school not wanting to talk about it, pretty ticked that Lily couldn’t be saved. I tried to communicate that God wants us to bring our questions, frustrations, anger to Him, that what He doesn’t want is for us to turn our backs on Him and stop talking to Him. She understands this, but says she would respond in silence, angry at God, if it were to happen in our family.
How do we deal with this? How do we help our children understand that bad things happen, horrible things, that we have no control over, and yet God is loving through it all? What if my children were to learn of the horrors that happen on a nightly basis to some little children around the world, some even living in our very neighborhood? Of the loss of innocence, of betrayal by loved family members? Of souls being traded for life-sustaining food? Of children being used in wars, or addicted to drugs to stave off hunger pains? We protect our children from so much of the evil of this world, and when they are confronted by something as innocent as the loss of a life due to illness, they are shocked. What would be the shock to learn about the monstrosities of real life in this fallen world? Is it right to continue to protect them, when do we begin to open the door to this world’s ugliness?
My oldest had to read a novel for school in which the little boy was horribly abused (physically) by his family members – twice almost lost his life, but for his sister who saved him. I have been totally against why she needs to read such stuff, what value is it adding to her life. But now I wonder, is it an opening, if even a little crack, into understanding that there are horrors in this world, and she will have either to get angry at every one or harden her heart to the pain.
Meanwhile, a mother and father have said good bye to their daughter for the last time, a grandmother struggles with keeping siblings in order while working through her own emotions of losing a granddaughter, two other children are fighting a deadly disease, and I can imagine that all the family wants to do is return to the US, have a “do over,” and forget that there even exists a city called Buenos Aires.