What a whirlwind

December 30th, 2010 (morning):

It’s 6am and currently I’m sitting in Rita’s office, dog curled up on my lap, rain pitter-pattering nicely on the roof, Matchbox Twenty playing softly, and I’m looking back at the past six and a half months and all I can say is: Wow.

It’s been a whirlwind last six and a half months. (And my apologies for not documenting more of it in recent months – I’ll try to get back into it.) But just to catch you up –

In the past six months I have been more blissful and more frustrated than at any other point in my life. I’ve experienced the highest of highs, the lowest of lows, and a happy medium of the two. I’ve been to the clinic, on safari, to Cape Town and back. I’ve seen monkeys, giraffes, emus, lions, baboons, rhinos, and lots and lots of goats. I’ve become surrogate mother to a homeless puppy. I’ve watched 28 volunteers come and go – changed forever by the 39 children living here. I’ve taken ridiculous things out of tiny mouths: beads, thorns, toy car wheels, erasers, and packing peanuts to name a few. I’ve had to pretend I know what I’m doing. I’ve learned a few key phrases in Xhosa and Afrikaans to whip out when necessary (or if nothing else, for a good laugh at my abominable pronunciation). I’ve given approximately a bajillion hugs and kisses and received far more. I’ve met people I’ll never forget. I’ve been angry at the school system. I’ve waited by the phone willing for it to ring when I miss my friends and family just a little too much. I’ve read Anansi’s Magic Stick no less than 20 times to the young boys house. I’ve read books purely for enjoyment. I’ve started my ACE essays around 100 times (and still have yet to finish). I’ve relished late night trips to the BP (the only thing in town that stays open until 9pm). I’ve eaten sour milk and fat cakes. I’ve gotten to see my family. I’ve spent my first Christmas away from home. I’ve cursed the post office. I’ve started reading parenting books. I’ve gotten closer to God. Then I’ve gotten further away, only to come closer again. I’ve kicked myself over things I said. Then things I didn’t say. I’ve lost my cool. I’ve surprised myself. I’ve gone to bed at 8pm (something I haven’t done in years) and volunteered to get up at 5:45am. I’ve listened to the most angelic singing you can imagine. I’ve explained where meat comes from. I’ve come to love the way a child’s face lights up when you tell them you’re proud of them. I’ve teased and been teased like mad. I’ve been asked why I smell or why my legs are hairy. I’ve chased goats from our property and killed spiders the size of a tablespoon. I’ve lied outside to watch the stars. I’ve written countless e-mails and letters just to say hello (some I’ve sent and many I’ve failed to send). I’ve felt like I’m saving the world and felt like I’m not the right person for this job (at all). I’ve made children smile and I’ve made them cry. I’ve wiped snot from noses with my bare hands and watched a kid throw up in the hallway. I’ve watched seasons 2-4 of How I Met Your Mother at least three times. I’ve helped children start learning to read, to knit, to box, to set goals, to write in journals. I’ve wondered how parents do it. I’ve thanked the Lord for my parents. I’ve cried from the sheer beauty of a moment. I’ve sat on Bob’s porch to watch the sun rise. I’ve wanted to build a rondavel at home. I’ve been licked on the mouth…by a child (to which I could only laugh and say “please don’t do that again”). I’ve listened to a song on repeat for five hours straight. I’ve had a child refuse hugs and kisses for five months straight, only to nearly bring me to tears when he demanded one several nights in a row. I’ve consumed more chocolate in a day than I thought possible. I’ve taken three steps forward, two steps back. I’ve learned to enjoy beets, and cabbage, and even butternut. I’ve lived next to a poverty I’d never known before. I’ve written “I love you” and “I miss you” for children to copy more times than I can count. I’ve played soccer without shoes. I still have yet to change a dirty diaper (though I’ve changed many clean ones after bath time). I’ve relied on music and my journal for survival. I’ve given up very little and gained very much.

So while I’ve been awful at keeping up with this blog, know that you have just read the bulk of my time here in the short paragraph above. Life here at Open Arms is about the little things. It’s about a nine year-old knowing his sight words three days in a row and feeling all warm inside because of it. It’s about watching children open their presents on Christmas day and not caring that there’s nothing for me to open. It’s about wiping tears and laughing as much as possible. (Or trying not to laugh when a kid does something naughty but that’s just too funny!) Life here is about enjoying a car ride, the countryside, the children’s movies and music. Life here is about sometimes going to bed frustrated and exhausted but getting up in the morning ready for a new day full of new challenges. Every day is an adventure and I could fill twenty pages each day with all the little things that make me want to laugh, cry, smile, or punch my pillow.

I’ve given up very little and gained very much. Love thee Open Arms.