I wake to hear the shower running. It's about 7 o'clock, I know, because it is just getting light outside. The streetlights automatically switch off around 6:45 every day of the year here. Living close to the equator gives new meaning to the phrase "regular as clockwork." I realize I slept hard though I went to bed late; I talked with my daughter in Chicago till about 12:30 am and then read news online for a while. I find it hard to go to bed when I am the only one still up. It's so rare that the house is quiet; I want to enjoy it a little longer, even though I know I'll regret it in the morning.
I lie in bed for another 15 minutes, wondering what the fragments of dream I remember signify, then get up and wander into the schoolroom to check email. There's always something in my box every morning, even if it's only a devotional or news update I subscribe to since the workday in North America is just finishing as we are waking. I read the headlines, then spend nearly an hour writing to two friends: I owe replies to about a dozen more from the last couple of weeks, but I can't afford any more time this morning. I do check out a favorite online clothing store to see what's on sale. .. my husband is going back to the US for business sometime in the next month and I'm hoping to order a few things for him to pick up and bring back. I can buy some clothes here, but I get tired of buying XXXL - which is my size in Malaysia. My husband stops in to kiss me goodbye before he leaves for work.
As I minimize the page to come back to later I hear my seven year old - she always wakes up sniffly. She is padding around the landing outside the schoolroom clutching Ted, her wellworn bear. Her waistlength hair is always matted and wild in the morning - she just has hair that wants to grow in dreadlocks, and probably would if we let it go a week or two without brushing. Her eyes are sleepy and heavy-lidded. She's always the first child up, no matter how late she went to bed.
We walk down the wide staircase, 8 steps to the first landing, 3 to the next, then another 8 into the living room. Bins of Christmas decorations still stand by the window; there's one leftover strand of blinking lights still flashing on top of the stereo cabinet. One of the chairs is piled with laundry someone removed from the dryer last night and just dumped in a heap. Cards and letters I've been trying to get in the mail for three days litter the dining room sideboard and a plastic bin overflowing with craft supplies sits directly in front of the front door, just waiting to be tripped over. Another day of homeschooling has begun - well, actually it's just more of the last day. That day appears to be unfinished.
I start the coffee - noting that I badly need to mop the kitchen floor. While the coffee is brewing I fold the laundry on the dining room table, sort the books and magazines piled on the coffee table and put on a worship music CD. Ivy has disappeared upstairs and reappears with her t-shirt full of Littlest Pet Shop figures - she just calls them "Littlest Pet Shops." She drops them on the floor and pulls out a tiny jar of Vicks VapoRub which she cherishes. She's still sniffling. I ask her if she needs some Benadryl, but she prefers the Vicks which she rubs on her chest, and immediately stops sniffling. I don't know how it could work that fast.
She settles on the floor to play with her Littlest Pet Shops, I pour a cup of coffee and begin sweeping the huge, marble living room floor. The piano teacher is coming today and I need to sweep and mop before she gets here or she will notice the floor is not clean. She is the one who told me that it is not enough to vacuum the floor and then mop; only sweeping will work, and she's right.
Laura and Claire have arrived downstairs by now - it's about 8:45. Laura shuts off the CD so she can practice the piano; Ivy is talking soto vocce the entire time, narrating Littlest Pet Shop events. They were performing the worship music, but now she moves to the craft box to construct a few aliens out of styrofoam balls and feathers, then she wanders upstairs again singing some orchestral sounding music with lots of drums.
9 AM - Claire is sitting on a blue painted stool at the kitchen island drinking coffee and eating an apple. She's reading Walden for her AP English class. Ivy comes back and wants breakfast. I offer her Strawberry Instant Oatmeal which she says is OK until I empty the packet into the bowl. She peers into the bowl and announces that's not strawberry; it's not pink. I assure her it will turn pink, and it does, assuring me it must, indeed, be a healthy breakfast.
I pick up a few last books before mopping - The Indian in the Cupboard, which Mary read in one day, On Beauty and Being Just which I ordered when I felt ambitious enough to read some philosophy, and Fig Pudding, our current read aloud. I fill my bucket with water and Floor Master cleaner, a milky pink liquid whose label proclaims it to be a cleaner, disinfectant, mosquito and cockroach repellent and much more. Malaysians love multi-talented products. It's not enough to clean floors well; a product must do more. Juice comes with aloe vera bits floating in it; milk comes in different varieties with additives appropriate to every age group, floor cleaners must also repel insects.
I spend the next hour mopping the floor and clearing the downstairs bathroom drain. Ivy got a clever little gift of "real snow" for Christmas - made of those super absorbent particles that disposable diapers are filled with. You just add water and it fluffs up to beautiful snow - sort of how Pampers fluff up in the swimming pool. Unfortunately Ivy did not read the caution on the original package that says not to put it down the drain since it will puff up in the pipes. She confesses in a mournful, "it's all my fault" tone. Fortunately the drain cleaner works almost instantly. I am glad I don't have to try to explain that problem to a Malaysian plumber.
The piano teacher is here. I leave her singing and playing some song about "I wish I were a teabag" with Ivy and come upstairs to type this, and to provide moral support for my 10 year old while she does her long division. She knows how to do it; she just always wants me in the room when she does it. I don't know why, but I'm flattered that she still needs me.
Soon Ivy's lesson is done and she wants more breakfast, but first she draws a picture of the entire cast of Gilligan's Island. Ginger Grant is especially lifelike. I make her a peanut butter sandwich and she asks if she can eat it while she watches an episode of Gilligan. I should say, "No, not during schooltime," but instead I help her find the one with Wrongway Feldman and close the door so as not to disturb the piano lesson.
I go upstairs to the schoolroom again, to see if anyone needs help. Laura narrates her American History reading to me - a rather cursory rendition of the causes of the Civil War, then I sit down with Claire to talk about how her research on the cultural components of anorexia is coming. We talk about how to evaluate sources and whether she is finding enough material. I check my email (again) and delete a few messages. Philip is playing his electric guitar behind the closed door of his room in between algebra and world history reading.
Laura is now in her piano lesson and I go back to the kitchen to think about lunch - which makes me think about dinner, as well. I decide to bake bread for dinner and mix up the dough. Ivy wants to knead it, so I get her started. Just as she gets really messy, the piano teacher wants to talk to me. I decide not to wash the flour and crumbly bits of dough off my hands so I won't have to talk long. It works. No lessons next week because of Chinese New Year.
While the dough rests I make spaghetti for lunch; Ivy and Mary peel carrots and cut them into sticks. We all sit down to lunch together. I try to finish quickly so I can read a chapter or two aloud before the older kids get back to work. I coax Claire to stay for one chapter, Laura and Philip last for two. The little girls want to hear one more and I am happy to oblige. After lunch is cleared away I am surprised, as always, to see how late it is. I put the bread dough in the pans for the second rising.
Laura, Claire and I get ready to go to the exercise room in the clubhouse of our neighborhood. It's only three blocks away and we have a date with the treadmill several days a week. Just as we are tying our shoelaces on the doorstep (no shoes in the house here in Malaysia) the little girls decide they want to go to the pool, so we wait for them to don their bathing suits and find towels. By the time we leave the house it's 2:30, we don't get back till nearly 3:30. I shower and come downstairs to put the bread in the oven. Ivy and Mary Rose are having an apres- swim snack of apples with peanut butter, carrot sticks, leftover spaghetti, popcorn and yogurt smoothies - in other words, anything they can get their hands on. They sit at the dining room table while I lie on my back on the cool, smooth marble floor and read the final chapter of Fig Pudding to them. This is my favorite reading posture. After reading I try reviewing the children's Catechism with them, but we go about it in a rather half-hearted way today and don't stick with it for long.
It's now time to start dinner. Laura and Mary are looking for something to do, so they join me in the kitchen chopping onions, celery, potatoes and tomatoes for minestrone. Philip appears long enough to insist that the potatoes must be in cubes, not wedges, and takes over that job. We only need four potatoes, so he's not around for long. The girls decide to set a special table for dinner with a pretty tablecloth, candles and Kenny G on the stereo. While they do that I unload the dishwasher, move laundry to the dryer and start another load, sweep and mop the kitchen floor and take the bread out of the oven. I watch the neighbors Indonesian maid out the window as I cook . She is carefully sweeping up fallen leaves from their perfect lawn as she does around dinner time every day. She uses a short-handled straw broom and a dust pan on a long handle.
My husband walks in around 6:30 to cries of "Daddy's home!" and lots of hugs. These homecomings always seem like one of the perks of being away all day. Hardly anyone squeals when I walk in the room! We sit down to dinner around 7 - seven of us at seven o'clock. We don't take up the whole table which easily seats 12, and we still feel small and diminished, even though our two eldest children, "the Americans", have been away for six months.
After dinner Kevin takes over kitchen clean-up and I walk to the pool with Ivy and Mary Rose. They are meeting their friend, Esther. I take along a book, paper and pen, not sure if I will swim. It's hot tonight. The weather is changing from the cooler, overcast "monsoon" season to hotter, more humid days. There is less rain and more sun. Even the early morning and the late evening can be steamy. I end up reading my book in the whirlpool - though I don't read for long. A group of Chinese women linedancers is hosting a New Year party with loud, perky music blasting from the speakers. I head back to the other side of the pool for a better view. This is too good to miss.
Kevin arrives with coffee for us both, but he has missed most of the dancing - which I will describe in another post! We read and chat till about 9:30 when we call the little girls to go home. They get ready for bed, we all gather in the schoolroom for prayers, and then Mary and Ivy climb into bed for their Bible story. I am reading through an ancient copy of Hurlbut's Story of the Bible - the book my parents read my brothers and me when we were small. Tonight's story is about Elisha. The story is over and I kiss them goodnight; they remind me, as always, to send Daddy in to say goodnight and to turn on the hall light outside their room.
I remind the older kids not to stay up too late, and head to bed myself. "Oh Lord," I pray, "Establish the work of my hands." Nothing I've done today will have any lasting significance if God does not bless it. As I sift through the days events they seem pretty insignificant - like a few loaves and small fishes. Not much there to work with, it seems.
I remember another old King James admonition from a long-ago sermon, "Do not despise the day of small things." I remember the admonition of my Catholic friend to "offer it up" to God.
I remember that what is required of a servant is that he be found faithful - faithful in the small things. Then I don't remember anything else.
