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.
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.
