As I mentioned, my brother visited us for a week. Life was low-key and simple while he was here.

*He and the kids cooked up some snails and crabs legs. The kids ate
the crab legs and he ate the snails (though part way through he
announced they tasted of “pond bottom” and quit).

*He played lots of 10 Days in the USA with the kids.

*We went to Cobán for church and afterwards paused in our trek across town to watch a soccer game.

*My brother was about as fascinated by the market as I am and took to making trips to town and coming back with random food.

*He visited the kids’ school with me and went with my husband to Bezaleel.

*He borrowed a neighbor’s guitar and sat out on the porch strummin’ and a-hummin’ while the children fell asleep.

*He
got to experience riding in very full buses. (In the above photo, you’re looking at five of us.) Once we counted 28 people
in a 12 passenger van. It always cracks me up when the ayudantes (bus
assistants) tell us to make more room for people because there is
supposed to be four in a row, or five (or six or eleven or whatever),
and we just look at them blankly because, hello, we can not shrink our
leg bones, thank you very much.

*He wanted a picture of himself with a gun-wielding guard, so I (and
the guards) obliged. We agree that it was the most excitement those
guards had all day and probably all week.
 
*The only touristy thing we did was on Saturday when we went to a reserve and hiked up to the top of the forest to see out over Cobán and Chamelco (sort of).

I want to start getting to know this area a little better. There are so many incredible things to see in Guatemala and the best place to start is right where we are. However, because simple day trips with six people can end up being quite pricey, and because it’s much easier to stay at home than to try to navigate the aforementioned stuffed buses, I often don’t even bother. But a friend mentioned this forest reserve to me. She said things like “close by” and “easy to get to” and “cheap,” so we slapped sunblock on everyone, filled water bottles, and set out.

Despite the fact that we chose the absolute worst time to visit a reserve—between 12 and 2 pm when all the animals and birds are snoozing their way through the shimmering heat of day—and despite the fact that the guide sprinted instead of walked, and despite the fact that a couple of my kids have no endurance for long, uphill, speed walks in the woods whatsoever, it was a splendid little foray. We got to do stuff like power walk through lush woods and see out over the whole of Cobán and glimpse a Toucan and examine an ant hill and see the most incredible camping spot ever—a perfectly level area shaded by two huge stands of bamboo and with a thick ground cover consisting of dried bamboo leaves. The reserve has gardens and pineapple plants and rhubarb (which I wanted to steal) and a swimming pool and velvety soft boxer dogs. We can go back any time to picnic, swim, and hike, the owner said. We just might take him up on it.

I have so many things to write about that I made a list. But the list is so long that it daunts me. So I’m skipping out entirely and doing a new, off-the-top-of-my-head list.

1. The other day my brother asked my younger son this question: if you could see either Jesus or Obama, who would you choose?

“Jesus,” my younger son promptly replied.

Just as I was getting ready to ask why, he yelled, “No! Wait! Obama! Because if I see Jesus, that means I’m dead!”

2. You know what I can’t get here? Real vanilla. There are cheap vanilla flavorings, flavorings that are way cheaper than our cheap vanilla extracts in the states. Like, fifty cents for a big ol’ bottle of brown stuff that stains my fingers like tobacco juice. Not that I’ve ever stained my fingers with tobacco juice…

Actually, I have found real vanilla extract. It was in the fancy grocery store in Coban. Silly me bought one little (super expensive) bottle because I made the assumption (which, in situations such as these, I always pronounce ass-sue-nump-shun) that because the store was selling it, therefore the store carried it. WRONG.

This is a new concept to me. In the States, if a store carries an item, it will be there so money-wielding patrons can purchase it. And if, by chance, they are out, then a near identical item can be found in the surrounding shelves, just with a different brand. And if, for some odd reason, the other four variations of the same item are also not there, then I can ask a store worker to rummage in the back of the store. And if that doesn’t work, then I can ask the store to special order it for me, or at least give me a rain check. And if that’s not good enough, I can always hop in my van and drive to one of the other six large grocery stores in my town and look there.

I’m just a wee-bit dismayed.

Also, I have yet to find a steady source of bread flour.

Signed,
A Real Vanilla-Less Baker (who is actually surviving just fine)

3. I read this post first thing this morning and it made me very, very happy. Practically gleeful.

4. I read this article (the tip-off link came from the aforementioned blog) a few days ago, then emailed the link to some family and friends, then made my brother and husband read it, and then read it out loud to the children (while my brother and husband listened) because it is fascinating.

5. This is my husband, a.k.a. The Mama’s Minutia Blog Filter, giving me “The Look.”

(Except usually “The Look” doesn’t include a smile.)

Because I tend to say whatever pops into my mind, and because he’s routinely horrified at the things that come out of my mouth, he proofs almost every one of my posts before I hit publish.

Usually, he just grunts his approval or mumbles something vague and entirely not pride-inducing, such as, It’s fine, and then I shriek, That’s all? Come on! It’s A-MAY-ZUH-ZING! and then he rolls his eyes and says, Sure, whatever, and then I kick him out of my desk chair so I can sulk in peace. So when he reads a post and then says, Um…, I pay attention and you all reap the benefits.

(Psst! Notice the gray hair. Gray hair on men is extremely sexy, me thinks. Can I get an amen?)

6. Right now my husband—oh husband of the graying temples—is on a bus on his way back from Guatemala City. He and my brother left our house this morning at 3:15 so my brother could catch his 11:30 flight back to the big bad states. They got to the airport at 9 am, and my husband, after doing a bit of poking around town, caught the noon bus back. He’ll be home in time for supper. The reason I’m writing this is so that you know that if, by chance, you should decide to come visit us, you can make it from your front door to our front door in one single solitary day which means, obviously, we’re practically neighbors!

It’s been a hard day. Tantrums (not mine) (mostly) before six a.m. are a sure-fire indicator that it’s going to be a no good, very bad day. And it was, for a good while, and then off and on for a bunch more hours. The cycle went something like this: blow up, work it through, simmer…and then do it all over again, yay! And while all that was going on, there were meals to fix, eat, and clean up after, buses and taxis to ride, groceries to purchase, and church to attend. It was not easy, pretty, or nice.

Mid afternoon, things mellowed out a little. There was a peppy little breeze dancing down the porch. My older daughter pulled one of the mouse-eaten chairs out there for her rest time (there was no way on earth those girls could’ve co-existed in their hot little bedroom for 30 seconds, let alone a whole hour), but then she got busy with other things and I plunked myself down in the chair to read a magazine while sipping an iced coffee in an old jelly jar (brand: Anna Belly; flavor: strawberry) .

From the party house down yonder came the lilting sounds of a marimba band. When they played Ya Queremos Pastel (We Want Cake), I joined in, much to my family’s annoyance. From a slightly different direction, there came the sound of a long-winded church service—the PLUNK-plunk-PLUNK-plunk-plunk-PLUNK of the bass and the nasal shrill of the lead singer into the mic.

(Note to self: we have got to find a couple of hammocks and hang them up that porch. It’s the place to be on a sweltering, evil-mooded Sunday.)

Anyway, my older daughter got it into her head to build a little house in the dirt along the edge of the porch.

One thing led to another, and soon I was weaving dry leaves for a roof (or a floor mat) and she was soaking leaves for some thatch.

My youngest son got out his cars and made a road.

Flowers were collected and replanted, holes were dug, steps built.

I just happened to click over to my friend’s blog, and, wouldn’t you know, she had just done a post on Fairy Houses! I showed the kids and the plot thickened.

After a bit, my older son, husband, and visiting brother left to go “help” the neighbors harvest snails. (Or fish.) (Or something aquatic.) I set my younger daughter up at the computer to tool around the American Doll website. My younger son stuffed a rag with a banana and jocote (a fruit I haven’t told you about yet), tied it to the end of a headless broom, and trekked on down to the ponds. Her computer time up, my younger daughter soon followed.

I ate a mango and snapped photos and typed this post, and still, my older daughter is hard at work, creating. Her creative calm helps me settle. Her total absorption is a balm for my wrung-out self. So, despite it being a (mostly) perfectly horrible day, the afternoon, I’m relieved to say, is shaping up to be pretty near perfect.

I am not, however, placing any bets on the evening…

After writing this, my daughter came in to my room and demanded I go take some more pictures.

Her project was complete: flowers everywhere, lit votives, and a cross to top it all off with.

Can you tell that my children attend a Catholic school and it’s Holy Week?