Meet the Family, Part 2 of 3 (or 4 or 5 or 9)

When I wrote the first post in this series, I thought I would only be writing about my eight girls in Grace Purple.  However, keep in mind that the Purple apartment is on the first floor of Grace, and my room is in the Yellow apartment on the third floor.  

When Jenny, Yellow’s foster mom, left at the beginning of December, I kinda took over them, too. Initially, it was just making sure they didn’t fight or get on the ayah’s nerves too much, but it’s evolved since then. Now, I pretty much divide my time and energy between the apartments.  This is a conversation I had with Honor, one of Jenny’s girls a few weeks ago:

“Marla, are just your girls your children?”

“What do you mean, Honor?”

“Are we your children, too?”

“Do you want to be my children, Honor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.  Then you are my children, too.”

The ayahs have been working with Grace Purple on calling me “Marla Mummy” instead of “Marlakka,” which means big sister.  I love it, but I don’t require it—although the ayahs often scold Angel if she calls me sister!  So I started calling my girls “[Name]-Kuthuru” or daughter.  

Walking with me to get chapatti and curry the other night, Honor got onto me for saying something was for “my girls.”  I had to explain that it’s easier to separate the apartments by “my” and “Jenny’s” girls, even though Jenny is gone, and even though I love them just as much.  She paused and then thought this seemed reasonable enough, but didn’t necessarily like it.  

I asked her, “Honor, do you want me to call you Honor-chelli (little sister), or Honor-Kuthuru?”

She thought about it, and then said “Honor Kuthuru.” 

Something so simple as being called “mine,” being called “my daughter,” means so much to this girl.  I am honored that she loves me and can see my heart for her even through all the stressful moments and crazed instances where I deserve her asking, “What’s your prrrroblem?!”  But it also saddens me that she has such a need to belong, such a desire to be someone’s.  She shouldn’t have to feel that way at her age. But right now, I’m glad I can be here, glad I can let her belong to me.

The next girl I’ll talk about is Phoebe, who just amazes me.  Phoebe is a brilliant girl who happens to be completely blind.  It doesn’t stop her from doing much of anything though, thankfully!  She never ceases to impress me:  last summer, she learned how to type all her letters, AND how to write the entire alphabet.  She now writes her name in second grade-ish scribble, but does it without any help AND in a straight horizontal line.  She styles my hair in braids, translates rules and punishments to the little kids for me, and can navigate the building better than anyone else! Phoebe is starting to use her creative juices and type stories when I have her practice on my laptop, and it’s always a treat to see what she comes up with—or know when she needs to backspace.  Most recently, she received a bicycle (per her request) for Christmas.  She can't see, but the training wheels allow me to run alongside her and steer.  Sometimes I have to full on sprint to keep up! In short, I love watching this girl tackle new ground and can't wait to see what her future holds! 

A Letter from a Former Grinch

Dear friends and family,

When it comes to "traditional" and commercialized Christmas in Missouri, I'm a lot of a grinch:  I groan when I have to hear Christmas music EVERYWHERE for 45 days or more, and I am purely disgusted at the holiday aisles' arrival in September.  I have never seen "It's a Wonderful Life," although my mother tried to force our family to watch it at one point.  (Thankfully the library's version was a little too well worn.)
I will do nearly anything to escape being stuck in the back of a cold minivan after the Christmas eve service, when our family drives through all of Lebanon to look at all three well-lit houses.  I have only ever owned one Christmas CD, although making fun of Aaron Neville's "Silent Night" does provide me with great joy.  And I find singing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus to be a little overkill, tradition-wise--when it's just my parents and me sitting around the plastic tree with "reindeer" ornaments I made in preschool.
I am happy for and maybe even slightly jealous of everyone who feels otherwise; but to me, the amount of "Christmas" spewed on me from Thanksgiving week til New Year's is only slightly more appealing than vomit.  Even on Christmas morning, hearing Luke's account of the birth of Christ (for the 20th time since December 1st) has either 1- my sister and I playing the "how much can you quote" game as Dad reads it, or 2- me giggling hysterically at the narrator's accent when Dad Youtube's the verses.

Christmas Extravaganza Beginnings

If I don't write now, while my 8 girls are sleeping and 6 of the 12 upstairs girls are mesmerized by Om Shanti Om (the other six fell asleep in extremely awkward  positions during it), I'll never write about what's been going on.  So, here are my scatterbrained thoughts: 

Lately, I have children not going to school because of local strikes & Christmas program preparations, a room nearly stuffed full of Christmas gifts (and laundry, if I'm being honest) and a thousand things running through my head. 

Sarah Rose, the music teacher and English/Telugu translator that lives upstairs with me, went to Chennai with me Tuesday to meet some really cool guys who brought Christmas from America to India.  We were absolutely blown away by both their generosity and hospitality. AND it was fantastic to be around men who are actually taller than me ;)  --Okay, and now the four year old fell from her awkward position off the couch, woke up, and is sleeping on my lap. Let's see if I can type while not knocking her in the face with my elbow....  I digress--  So, as soon as we arrived to the Chennai train station, I got a huge smile and remembered how much I loved being in Indian cities.  It's weird, I know, but something about the crowds and noise and having everything everywhere is just fantastic, and makes me feel at home.  The pungent fishy smell on the platform, not so much--but the rest just made me so dang happy.  We had a South Indian lunch, talked a bunch (Dr. Seuss-alert), and watched a Bollywood movie.  Ahhh, Hindi.  I forgot how I missed that, too.  There was a crazy, gaudy 2-3 story Christmas tree and scenery, which led to the first time in a decade that I felt really glad to see.  (Kendra & Hicham, I think we only pretended to be excited about that Charlie-Brown-esque tree in the Meknes mall!) 

Sarah Rose and I got the gifts from our Santa Clauses, and boarded the non a/c train back to Ongole, where we would reach around midnight.  I am planning a train ride to/from Delhi at some point, so wanted to check out the non a/c cars, just in case I decide to go against my friends' recommendations and travel cheaper. Well, when it was time for us to de-board, there was either a VERY large lizard or a small rat running across the aisles, I decided I will officially stick to A/C after all.  You see, rats are the one thing that can terrify me.  Even if someone (Barkha!) just says "OH! Rat!" to petrify me. 

I'm so getting off topic here... Uh, so I spent 18 hours separating and dividing and organizing gifts (and assembling the LEGO cars for the little boys) yesterday.  It shouldn't take so long, but remember I'm dealing with 80ish kids, and I'm trying my best not to show favorites by giving all the cutest things to certain kids. 

The kids are all practicing their dances for the "semi-Christmas" function.  Which means the public one, I guess the "real" Christmas function happens at home on the 25th... As time goes on with so much busy-ness and less interaction with Americans, I am increasingly more Indian.  I said "ground floor" today in an email.  My thoughts sound like "Office going," and "lunch finished" in Indian broken English.  And while waiting with the kids for their ride to school, I totally walked down the street in my bare feet to get dosa.  It's frightening. 

I am going to try to keep you all updated on the Christmas happenings, but as a lot of people have asked for videos of the kids getting gift, I am putting them on Youtube.  I'm just gonna give you the first 2 links, but other videos I post will be in the same playlist, so if you wanna see, just keep checking it out: http://youtu.be/kcixqsHvkUc  http://youtu.be/ua4FEhNTccI Keep in mind life is crazy here, and that I have no videography skills.

Meet the Family, Part 1 of 3

I realized I sometimes tend to write random pieces of info about my girls, forgetting that you really don't know much about them.  So, here is my attempt at brevity in introducing them, while still letting you see who they are (as I see them).

1. The baby, Angel.  She is 3 1/2 and adorable with her black ringlets and big brown eyes.  Her smile and giggles will light up the room, and it's often due to some mischievous act.  She is extremely cuddly--but it takes a long time for her to become attached enough to do this. If music is on, Angel is beebopping (spelling?) her way around somewhere!  Her curiosity and eagerness to see new things leads to her tiny self dragging me down the stairs and street, if I tell her to get her shoes because we're going for a walk.  Lately, she's also become quite the Telugu chatterbox, reminding me that I need to learn some more vocabulary.

2. Heidi.  Heidi is a little mama at age 4, and she will scold you with the pouty face, wagging finger, and a gentle slap (tap) if you do something she doesn't want.  On some kids, it would be annoying, but on her, it's the cutest thing you've ever seen, and it wins over pretty much everyone--especially as she giggles endlessly afterwards.  She loves to play with my hair, and tries to do hers as well, so we both have a lot of tangles quite frequently!  Heidi often plays alone, but when she decides to play with someone, it's a blast.

Although a  year older, Heidi has been with Angel since the time they were in the government orphanage.  They are sisters in the deepest sense of the word!  Haha, if one has something (be it a piece of paper or an actual toy or a section of my hair), the other one demands it within 3 seconds.  They sleep together, eat next to each other, go to playschool together, get in trouble together, and help each other carry their dresses to the laundry basket.  I guess Indian girls "have" to walk to the bathroom together, too, and these girls have that concept down to a tee! If these pictures and descriptions aren't enough to make you think that they're adorable, they get free fruit and cookies from random shopkeepers anytime we go for a walk--they're just that cute.

Apologies for not a fantastic individual picture of Heidi--she's not a smiler for the camera, and if she's doing something, it's always with Angel! :)

When Momma Ain't Happy...

You know the rest of the phrase.

This afternoon, I noticed I've been a bit snappy with the girls--wanting to hide in my room for longer than normal and disregard the constant knocking and shouting of "Sistaaaaar! Maaarlaaaaa, Open please!" 
Why was I so irritated? Had the girls been more disobedient than normal? Was the staff not doing what they were supposed to be doing?

No, the morning was really good, actually.  I mean, the driver showed up late and all kids were 30 minutes late to school--whatever.  That's normal by now.  The girls who don't go to school were amazingly cooperative in sharing their computer for games.  (The hope is to familiarize them with computers for potential job opportunities down the road.)  Then I gave bike riding lessons to 2 kiddos, whose foster mom gave them their own bicycles for Christmas.  The lessons were good, but also really intriguing.  Whereas most "poor" kids in Ongole have their first bike ride at 2 months old (being cradled by their mom on the back, while the dad pedals) these kids probably had their first bicycle rides only a few months ago.  They struggle with the balance thing, even with training wheels; they don't understand how to pedal when I remove my hands from their feet; the concept of steering alone is a huge challenge for them.  So, today, we had steering lessons. It was both fun and funny; it was a good morning.

So what was it with me? Why, when I answered the door to the knocking and "Sistaaar!", did I have to take a deep breath and give the child/teenager a hug and remind them (and myself) that I loved them before I listened to what they had to say? 

I decided to just sit in my room, pray, breathe, and think about what was wrong with me. And then I knew.  For the first time since age 6, I am homesick. I'm guessing that watching most of the volunteers go home for the holidays has something to do with it, as does the stress of attempting to fill another foster mom's shoes.  But I suppose being away for 6 months could be the reason in itself.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Bureau

Day 2 of Living with My Kiddos:

I think I've mentioned that I usually look in a mirror once a week or so, and otherwise, I use my webcam.  (Not entirely reliable when you are looking at bug bites on your face, but it works for the most part). Well, it doesn't take much imagination to think that kids in orphanages get even less time looking at themselves.  There was no mirror in our apartment, until today. 

See, I've spent most of the money donated for my children's Christmas on both them and their other "siblings" who live in other apartments and don't have foster mothers.  There are toys galore that we purchased from the local toy shop.  There is a shipment from my online shopping spree headed this way.  And there are loads of toys and girly things currently being packed in suitcases to come with my friends from India.  

I'm so grateful that you all have blessed my children in such ways.  And I am SO excited to see the glee of the children who currently do not have foster mamas here to dote on them.  They normally miss out on "fun" and pampering.  This year, Christmas day is gonna be PHENOMENAL!!!

--**--Insert break to know I just started to yell at a child who smashed her doll into my laptop because I thought she was her little sister who does such things frequently.  Turns out it wasn't the little sister, but Phoebe, who is blind and had no idea I was sitting here, much less with my laptop. (Whoops!) Ohhhh the life of working and living with children with disabilities....--**--

Okay, so back to where I was:  Christmas in Ongole is going to be unbelievably awesome this year.  But, when you have all these toys and curious kids who have never seen so many toys in their lives, much less been able to touch and play with all of them, you do what I did:  You use some of that Christmas money to buy a bureau that has a lock so that nail polish and glitter doesn't mysteriously appear on every school uniform.  But I wanted even the bureau to be special for the girls.  I went to the market and wasn't too impressed with any in particular, but then I saw a large metal cabinet on the side of the road on my way home the other day.  I've seen this thousands of times by now, but have never actually stopped to realize it was a bureau shop and not a shop for tools or whatever I thought were in the bureaus.  But, voila! After returning with my Telugu-speaking ayah for bargaining purposes, we now have a bureau that is pretty and purple and has a full length mirror. 

Since they came home from school this afternoon, I have caught 5 of my 8 girls standing in front of that mirror when they thought no one else is looking.  (This is a very high statistic when 2 of the 8 are completely blind lol).  They make bug-eyed faces at their reflection, they move their shoulders up and down, they puff out their cheeks.  They are not yet to the point where they make every facial expression imaginable (like teenagers do when they get their first camera).  They simply open their eyes wide, squint, open eyes, squint, puff cheeks, smile, wrinkle nose, giggle, etc.  It has been adorable to watch from the doorway, and it is even cuter when they know they've been caught. They are discovering themselves.

They do this through music, too.  I keep music on in our apartment whenever I'm around.  Rap, Mozart, rock, pop, mariachi, opera, country, Bollywood, salsa, traditional Afghan tunes, poorly recorded Arabic worship music--basically anything that has ever been inserted into my laptop has now been played for my girls.  And they LOVE it. 

After a few months of me poorly performing my Punjabi dance moves and making kids dizzy by spinning them in circles while songs play, all girls are becoming more open and showing their love for music.  Stephanie, who shows very little initiation in anything, now requests to "sing a song, sister!" every time I sit near her.  Naomi has changed from the kid who giggles at my antics from her spot in the corner to the one who starts the dance party.  Jeanette has transformed from having me wave her arms to the beat to jumping around as soon as a good beat comes on.  It's fantastic to watch them all grow and continue to discover who they are.

Especially Paula.  This twelve year old is kind of hard for me to reach--she can communicate, she behaves well, etc. so it's not that.  She just is so independent and doesn't seem to "need" me or want affection ever.  Again, twelve year old girl.  :)  She will sit in front of the computer for hours, even though I have the screen turn off after a minute of inactivity.  She also loves looking at her reflection in the black screen, and from her kneeling position on the ground head-bops and shimmies and bounces her way through every song.  We have to beg her to come eat when it's time for dinner! 

Tonight, I got a special treat.  We had been listening to music through dinner, through the fingernail painting, and I was just sitting on the floor with her.  She asked me for a hug, which I gave.  But she didn't let go.  THEN I realized she was trying to change the songs on the laptop while I was facing the other way.  After laughing about that, she continued to hug me as we talked about music she did and didn't like.  I played the "fast songs" she wanted to hear, most willingly.  And then, I moved from our awkward, back-breaking position to pulling her in my lap.  If you know anything about pre-teenagers with spastic cerebral palsy, this wasn't the most comfortable position--but yet it was. We stayed that way for a good hour, her head against my shoulder, arms around me; my arms around her, my legs providing trunk support so she wouldn't just slide off my lap.

It was beautiful, and I'm glad that while she is discovering who she is, I get to be there to watch.

My 12 step program (Warning: It’s a Long, Personal One)

You know, after I wrote the title, I don’t know what all 12 steps are.  But I know the first one, and that’s all that matters really.

I need help.  I need prayers, the best kind of spiritual help. 

Before I begin explaining why, I’m going to forewarn you that I’m going to lay it out plainly. And my sarcastic nature is not saying that things will be said lightly—it’s just my way of writing.  (Pre-publishing edit:  actually, it turns out the sarcasm was at a minimum, but I did write metaphorically for what may be the first time ever). It’s not going to be easy to write all this, but sometimes knowing specifics on what to pray helps the pray-ers.

I’ve had acquaintances and friends comment and praise me on what I’m doing:  “leaving it all behind” to come to India and give my year (or more?) and love to orphans with disabilities.  I’ve had people compare me to Katie Davis from Kisses from Katie, and while I’m honored that you even say my name in the same sentence as her, I internally laugh and roll my eyes.  You see, I am not anywhere near her caliber in faith.  

You see, coming wasn’t a challenge.  Yeah, maybe making a salary back home would be nice, but India is the place I feel most at home.  I love my new country, my new culture, my new people. Yes, coming meant leaving things and people in America, but when you feel led to go and be somewhere, you just do it. My “gut” (i.e. Holy Spirit) made it pretty clear this was what I was to do.

 And, as for Katie Davis, my faith is weak and nowhere in comparison to hers.  I’m not idolizing her and saying she’s perfect, but I’m saying my relationship with God is severely lacking, and has been off and on for way too long. 

Which is where you—my people back home, my friends in Korea and other countries, my friends here in India—come in.  

“My name is Marla Rose, I am spiritually weak, I have been for awhile, and I need help.”

I need prayers, and I need it to be known where I’ve been, so that I am accountable, but also so that you can see how God has worked to bring me to this point.  So, here’s my story:

I was in an on-again/off-again, unofficial-but-emotionally-official relationship for over two years.  And yes, I’m aware that most of you did not know that.  Which was on purpose.  Because 1) the guy was Indian, and fairly traditionally Indian at that. Traditionally, Indians don’t really date (publicly), so it had to be “on the DL” primarily for his family’s sake.  And 2) Because he is Hindu, and, well, let’s just say I knew better; I knew my friends mostly didn’t approve, I knew my family didn’t approve, I knew God (rightfully) wanted more of me for Him, etc. But I loved this man and desperately wanted to spend the rest of our lives together—all-inclusive of culturally confused trilingual children, so pursued the relationship anyways.  

He will read this post, and it hurts me in that I know it will not be a “happy walk down memory lane” for him.  But he knows that my faith and belief in God’s will is why we are not together.  It’s not a new conversation topic between us, which is why I have decided to write about it here.

You know that Jonah feeling, where your gut tells you one thing, but you—for whatever reason—decide to sail the other direction? Bingo. That was me for two years.  God would keep sending waves in the forms of conversations with friends, loving words of wisdom, irate discussions with my family, and scriptural convictions that would toss me overboard, giving me opportunities to swim back towards Him.  Sometimes, I’d immediately turn a cold shoulder and climb up the ladder back into the boat to continue my planned journey.  Other times, I’d repent and swim back towards the shore.  I’d hang out on that shore sometimes only for a day, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months.  My time with the Lord in these times would be wonderful, and peace-invoking, tear-filled, and good.  But then I’d listen to my heart, which loved one more than the One, and I’d return to the sea and my little sailboat, which I believed (or moreso, hoped and wanted to believe) could withstand anything.

When you’re on that sailboat, it’s pretty hard to keep your relationship with God strong.  If you stay on that sailboat long enough, you learn which waves are most likely to rock your boat, and you learn how to navigate through them. . . . unfortunately. You learn how to brace yourself so that the waves which once made you turn green and require a set of floaties no longer affect your balance at all.

God finally got tired of sending those waves that I’d ignore, and so He sent me a doozy of a wave, and a whale:  He sent me to India.  If you are reading this and you don’t believe in Christ, you probably won’t understand this as you are thinking:   Marla has always had a heart for orphans, and she’s been in love with India. So why wouldn’t she have come right now?  Well, I can list a hundred reasons why “now” is completely impractical. Consequently, I really believe that I would not be here, at this particular time, had that relationship not needed to be cut out of my life.  My ladka and I mutually and tearfully and sorrowfully made the decision to truly end things this spring once I decided I was come to India NOW, and God blessed us with a 12.5 hour time difference to make that a tad bit easier.

The first month I was gone, I read Kisses from Katie, and it was quite good. But guess what part really hit me? Not the discussion of deaths of loved ones or the poverty she encountered.  Not the description of Mommyhood to a thousand kids at age 19.  No, but I do admit to bawling through 90% of the chapter where she discusses ending her relationship to be overseas with her children, to follow God’s will. Different circumstances, different ways on how it came about, but still—it struck close to home.

So in short, I am 4 months beyond that ugly month of crying myself to sleep, and I feel as though my 

heart has healed—so much.  And more quickly than I’d ever had expected.  Praise God for that.  And he is doing well, too, which I am even more grateful for.  I am grateful for those of you who were aware of our story, who did pray all along (even if it was praying that the waves would capsize our boat), and who continue to pray and love us both unconditionally. 

But I'm asking for some additional prayers right now.  I am not the type to express such personal needs to more than a close few, much less on a blog for any and all to see, but I know I am in need right now, so here I am:   It’s now been over five months of being off that sailboat, but I still haven’t quite made it to shore.  I want to make it to shore.  I want the desire for daily communication and closeness to my Lord, but I just don’t have it right now. Some days I am almost near enough that my feet graze the sandy ocean bottoms, but then something within me decides to tread water instead of take the steps toward land. I know what to do, but allow myself to get stuck there.  I want to want it. I want to need it. 

I know my blog has been filled with requests lately: requests for a toy drive, request for wheelchair funds, etc.  But today, tomorrow, this week, will you please pray that I will be filled with a desire like no other to spend time with my Lord? That I will abide in Him and His beauty and His glory and His grace?  That I will get to know Him personally, more and more with each day? That I will turn my focus from serving his little ones to serving and glorifying and worshiping Him?

Thanks.

 

Big News!

I have a big announcement: 

I'm getting married!  Haha, no.  But everyone else on my facebook wall is. I digress:

I’m pregnant!  Haha, no.  NO. NO.  Nononononono!  (And hopefully never, but that’s another post.)  Lol, but I AM going to be a mom!!!

A whole bunch of circumstances have come recently about, and I am going to move from my penthouse to Grace Home with my 8 girls to officially be a foster mama!  I am so excited about it, and it’s been really cool to see and learn how God has obviously orchestrated the whole thing. As He tends to do. :)

For those of you who are slightly concerned about introverted me who needs some of her personal space, I will still have my own room two floors above them, but I’m mainly going to use that as my closet/stuff space and a “Momma-needs-a-break-or-somebody’s-gonna-get-hurt-reeeal-baad” room.  (I hope you read that in Russell Peters’ Indian accent.) 

But I want to spend as much “living” time with my kiddos as possible—I want to be there nightly for bedtime cuddles, and to help direct the craziness when they get home from school.  I want to be the consistent person that they’ve never had—consistency to help them continue to come out of their shells, help them grow spiritually and progress academically. Consistency to build a lasting trust, to let them know they are loved unconditionally.  And yes, consistency to tackle those challenging things like potty-training that don’t get much follow up from busy ayahs. 

And, since they all go to school, I can do my motherly duties in the evenings and hold dance parties each night while still being an OT during the day.  Cool stuff :)

THANKFULLY, you have all already made this job much easier on me!  Mom has sent me pictures of the items you all have donated for my kids’ Christmas, I’ve received some CRAZY Paypal donations, and Mom is depositing the checks for me. I get a ridiculous smile each time I get an update about any of it.  AND not only is Paula’s wheelchair paid for (Woohoo!!!!) but those 8 kids are going to have an ABUNDANCE of toys!  We are going to have puzzles and games to play, art projects to complete, books to read, and much, much more!  My girls are really good at entertaining themselves with nothing, but now they’re going to be able to grow and learn SO MUCH by having toys and educational items to interact with. 

What’s more:  you have helped bless many more of the kids who don’t have foster moms. Some of us volunteers are going to go on a shopping spree at the local toy store next week, and we are EXCITED!  While my girls don’t have so many toys right now, their apartment seems fuller and busier as they have their school uniforms, bags, books, etc. to take up some space.  But other kids don’t go to school, and their apartments are quite bare.  (As in, completely bare.)  Well, NO MORE!

So, would you please continue to help us make these other apartments a bit less bare?  I think the suitcases that will be heading this way are filling up quickly, so financial donations may be a little more….erm, manageable…at this point, in order to be here for Christmas.  But if some toys don’t make it for Christmas but come a couple months later, the kids won’t care at all—so do what you are able and feel led to do!

**Oh, and my goal was to get 3 wheelchairs paid for.  We've got one down, so let's tackle Jessie's chair next!  Jessie (pictured above) came to SCH only a month or so ago, is absolutely beautiful, and LOVES hugs.  Her chair will cost $1337, and we have a little less than half of that so far.  Thanks!!! :) 

The Real Me.

Today’s post will depict me in the most beautiful of ways.  It will describe exactly why Indian men stare at me and why my future husband (if he exists) will fall in love with me.  Furthermore, I should warn you: the things I am going to write may compel you to also have a romanticized view of me.  Okay, there!  I have warned you that your view of me may be changed in the most wonderful of ways.

Not.

No, actually this is a realistic post that I’m sure will make you chuckle, as well as cringe; may make you nod in understanding/agreement if you’ve ever been overseas non-resort-style; and will definitely make my mother say her famous line that she used when we were little, “Aunt Judy would never say that!”  (Aunt Judy, whether she knows it or not, is my mom’s definition of someone with ladylike, well-mannered, and gracious behaviors.)

So, should I post this? Maybe not.  But it is honesty in its purest form, and I want to be truthful with whoever reads this blog.  Here goes: 

I am disgusting.

I have fully accepted life in rural-ish India, and therefore, India has made me disgusting.  And, now, purely for your enjoyment  (and also so you know what life is really like for this Missouri girl working at an orphanage in rural-ish south India) my list of disgusting-ness:

1.)  Lice.  Not only do I have lice, but I’m at the point (as are most volunteers here) where I don’t even care.  I lice comb maybe once a week, and just don’t worry about the things that are [probably] crawling around in my hair, likely laying little white eggs.  Oh the joys.  See, I told you, you now have a romanticized version of my brownish curly locks.  Hah.  But don’t worry—if you live/visit India and I come to see you, I will ensure they are gone so that I don’t pass along my nastiness to you.

2.)  I’ve gone Indian.  What? You ask. I’ve gone Indian.  In the most “personal” way, shall we say? That’s right, folks: no TP.  Actually, I am a cheapo (which also meets a different definition of the term “gone Indian”), so I brought the two rolls I had in my apartment in Springfield, simply because I had already paid for them, so why not bring them?  It’s not that I can’t purchase it here in Ongole, it’s just that if 1.2 billion people and counting can use water in a bucket, so can I. 

3.)  Laundry.  So, I’m not exactly sure how clean my handwashed clothes are.  Somehow, when my energy is high when I first start my “load” (o.k. pile might be a more accurate word, as I can only fill my 2 gallon bucket with a few shirts at a time), those clothes get scrubbed a LOT more than those that get halfheartedly dipped in at the very end.  Then, thanks to the wind, at least a few items fall on the dusty rooftop when they’re out on the line to dry.  But that dust mostly wipes off, so it still counts as clean, right? 

4.)  I am “in touch” with my inner self.  So, when in Rome, one eats pasta and pizza and takes selfies at the Colosseum.  When in India, one suddenly gains a new perception and lightning-fast recognition of bodily functions.  At the first sign of whatever sensation, your instincts will tell you exactly what is going to happen:  is this spider bite really going to be bad, or is it just another spider bite?  Will you need to be near a restroom for the next few hours, or can you risk taking a bumpy auto ride to the office? Does this skin thing/abscess/whatever need a second opinion, or do you trust your gut and the search results on WebMD?

5.)  Other forms of hygiene.  Right now, I’m not really being an OT—I’m more of a “whatever-is-needed-because-we-are-super-short-staffed.”  So, I’m a nurse, a secretary, and an (sort of) ayah.  I wake up in the morning, brush my teeth with the Indian non-purified water, and go straight downstairs to do some G-tube feedings, of which some form of pureed vegetables/rice usually gets on my clothes. I then administer medications for kids in three apartments.  Some kiddos particularly adore watching me use my fingers, palm, wrist, and occasionally elbow to wipe up the 10 milliliters of pink seizure-preventing syrups and saliva that run out of both sides of their mouths while I try to catch it with the medicine cup.  And when I say they adore it, I mean it.  They giggle, and sometimes laugh hysterically, as though it’s a great joke.  I usually end up finding on my forearm some dried remnants that somehow didn’t get washed off a couple hours later.  Then, I walk through the dusty roads in my flip flops, probably stepping on 3 or 5 dirt-and-grass-covered water buffalo patties. . . .  which is better than when I walk home in those same flip flops at night—in pitch black darkness—when I step on 3 or 5 freshly wet water buffalo patties. 

6.)  To top it all off, yesterday I hit a new high of disgustingness hygiene-wise: as I was helping be an ayah, one of our new kiddos, Caroline, had an upset stomach.  She came from the government orphanage to SCH only two weeks ago, and is still the how-fast-can-I-shovel-this-food-in-my-mouth stage. Hence, the belly ache.  She had a wee bit of vomiting, which managed to land on me all three times.  Rather than doing the normal thing and changing clothes, I wiped/washed as much of it off my shirt as I could, and proceeded to hold her all night long, comforting her every 15 minutes or so when she’d wake up and cry again.  Judge me all you want, but it was that or possibly having to add an extra shirt or five to my handwashing laundry pile!

7.)  Nutrition—or lack of.  So, I’ve always been a breakfast eater. And I love North Indian breakfast.  Mmmm, aloo or spinach parathas with raita!  And I love some south Indian breakfasts—dosa, bonda, occasionally idli, etc.  But ootma covered in sugar and other such breakfasts make me want to gag, even when I’m “starving” after doing all the meds and such.  So, I often skip breakfast.  Or, I go to the closest neighborhood shop and buy some biscuits.  You are most likely asking, “Biscuits for breakfast? How is that bad?”  Well, friends, in British English-speaking India, biscuits=cookies, not Grand’s fluffy buttermilk biscuits.  So, yes, I had Oreos for breakfast the other day.  I mean, it’s not my fault I live on the edge of town away from the fruit stands and that the bakeries don’t open til 10! (Okay, it is my fault for never thinking of going to the fruit stands the day before and for not wanting to get dressed in non-medicine-covered, but knee-covering clothing to go to the fruit stands, when I could instead do some computer work on my cot in my T-shirt and shorts.  Try not to judge me, lol.) Also, working 12 hour days usually requires some form of caffeine or naps.  Most of the time, caffeine/sugar rules, and so a Coke or Maaza is added to my oh-so-nutritional diet. Needless to say, I should probably get out my running shoes and start using them again. 

8.)  My new perspective on ants.  Ants aren’t really that bad.  As long as they’re not in your sealed plastic bags of food, and as long as they are not the angry little biting ants that feel like fire, so what if they cohabitate with you? Yeah, they may occasionally eat through some of your clothing—but not if you provide an alternative food source (i.e. trash bag with crumbs inside).  Plus, they will carry away every single spider or enormous grasshopper you kill.  It’s like a personal cleaning service. (Side note, I am not the only volunteer here who uses said cleaning service).

Haha, so, that’s a quick summary of everything my mother would probably rather me not post.  I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you can continue to view me in a semi-normal light. Or don’t—whatever. 

Next time, I promise I’ll do my best to write something that is actually meaningful; but tonight, I’m running on about two hours sleep from last night with Caroline, and so have left you with this little highly spiritual post. Good night from India, folks!