What Really Matters...

My Facebook post this morning and the beginning of our 4th of July in Colombia:

It is 5am in Bogotá and in the apartment above us they are drumming, stomping on the floor, singing, cheering...there is a full-on party that just got started up there! Welcome to "football" day in Colombia. While all my American friends are celebrating our Independence Day, we will be immersed in soccer mayhem: Colombia vs. Brazil for the World Cup! 
Unable to sleep through the ruckus, I practice yoga in the living room and watch the sun rise over the city. A black cat lazily strolls along the rooftops of the apartment complex across from ours and bird songs add another layer to the symphony of celebration songs drifting down from upstairs. This day lifts my heart.
At home, in the US, my family will gather for a picnic, games and fireworks. Laughter, love and pride will color the hours and courageous, lion-hearted men like my grandfather, my poppa, my Uncle Tom, my brother in law Rick, my father in law Dick, and the generations of defenders before these will be honored and revered for their heroism. When the food has been eaten and the memories made, the tired but happy adults and sun kissed, bright eyed, popsicle faced kids will carry lawn chairs and blankets to grassy spots where the sky is vast and open.
"And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave?"
Oh, yes, my fellow Americans, it surely does! Our flag still waves, 238 years later, despite wars and strife, discord, and loss. Our flag still symbolizes all that we fight for, believe in and build our daily lives around: freedom, stability, and opportunity. Today, I will be there, in spirit if not in body, with my husband, my son, my family and friends...in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

We had a quiet, family day today. Our only adventure was a mile and a half walk to "Lavasport Lavandería," the nearest laundromat, to do our trio's two weeks worth of laundry. Yes, we have been here for almost two weeks now. It has gone so fast! Our hotel has a laundry service, but they charge per item and it is quite expensive: $6,000 pesos (roughly $3.00) a shirt, $7, 500 pesos for pants, and so on. You can imagine how fast laundry for two adults and a baby would add up! Being budget conscious, we decided to make a day of it and pack up our laundry in the stroller, strap Eli into the Baby Bjorn, and walk to the laundromat which is on Calle 116, a busy street full of fun restaurants and shops.

Packed for our trip to the laundromat!

On our way, we passed all sorts of familiar favorites: Burger King, McDonalds, Domino's Pizza, Papa John's, and even Hooters! These American fast food chains were peppered in amongst small local storefronts, as well as Colombian big box stores such as Pepe Ganga. The streets were busy today, with everyone bustling about and trying to get their business taken care of before the big game. Jamie and I took it all in and he commented on the juxtaposition of a people who are so polite and courteous when it comes to greeting and talking to each other (everyone greets each other formally, using usted rather than tu) yet are so rude (at least from our perspective) when it comes to driving! We feel perfectly safe walking amongst the crowds in Bogotá; people are friendly and helpful. Many look you in the eye, smile, and greet you with a "buenos días" as they pass. However, when it comes to crossing a street, we fear for our lives! The drivers here are fast and furious. Horns blare constantly, no one uses a turn signal, and motorcycles zoom in between automobiles, creating their own lanes of traffic, occasionally driving on the sidewalk to get around a car! And to think we used to complain about the "Tonawanda roll" through stop signs...Bogotá is definitely in a whole different league when it comes to disregard for traffic laws!

We did manage to arrive to Lavasport safely, only to find out that they had no electricity! The clerk, who only spoke Spanish explained that we could come back tomorrow to do our own laundry or we could leave it with them and pay for their laundry service. If we opted for the service, it would be done Monday, but it would cost twice as much as doing it ourselves. We looked at our heaping bag of laundry, precariously balanced on the stroller and thought about the half hour walk we had just made. Jamie and I talked quietly; we were leaning toward just leaving it there and paying the extra. Meanwhile, the clerk also spoke softly in Spanish to two of her colleagues. Then, she came back to us and said that we could wait upstairs, in their lounge area, for about an hour and by then the electricity would be back on.

We both agreed that we had nothing better to do, so I took Eli upstairs and played with him while Jamie walked up the street to the Colombian coffee chain Juan Valdez and got us both caramel lattés and some fresh bread to snack on. Fortunately, while he was gone, the electricity came back on! The place was very quiet, so we were able to secure three washers for ourselves and get everything going at once. We took turns holding Eli and letting him climb all over us, while we waited. It was a nice, clean place, with WiFi, too, and our three loads of laundry, washed and dried, only cost us $46, 000 pesos or $23.00. We were very pleased, as that $23.00 would have laundered less than four shirts at the hotel! We both felt it was well worth the small inconvenience.

Playing with Eli at Lavasport

On the way back home, we stopped off at Mimo's ice cream shoppe to help settle a long running debate between some of our FANA friends (Zgaljardics, Krulls and Blasers). Having had chocolate ice cream twice now at Crépes and Waffles, we had been tasked by Brian Krull to compare it to Mimo's chocolate ice cream and provide a tie breaker in the great debate over which business makes a better product. And the winner is...by unanimous Holden decision....Crépes! :)

Shortly after our ice cream stop, Eli began to have a melt down in his carrier. The poor little guy had been fed and diapered at the laundromat, but he was now 1/2 hour past his nap time and running out of patience with us. Jamie ended up taking the stroller of clothes from me and I carried him in my arms, thrashing and crying for the last quarter mile of the trip. Many a Colombian woman gave me that look..."This blonde girl has no idea how to properly handle that child!" But, there were several others who smiled, knowingly, and nodded their heads in condolence for the unavoidable, occasional baby tantrum. He was just exhausted and fighting it. He would stop mid-cry and actually close his eyes to start to sleep, then jerk himself awake and start pushing me away while screaming. Then, he'd be crawling up onto my shoulder and burying his head in my neck for a few seconds before thrashing again. He was acting like a little wild animal that I had picked up and tried to make a pet! Or, perhaps, he was just acting like a tired 9 month old! He slept for two hours when we got home and Jamie and I were able to eat some lunch and start watching the soccer match between Brazil and Colombia.

Even up in the apartment you could hear the noise and cheering on the streets as the game began. Horns honking, screaming, singing, etc. When Colombia sadly lost, it was sudden silence for about three hours until the "after party" began! Currently, from our window we can hear the buzz of a large crowd shouting, cheering and singing. There is a "ranchero" band (much like the Mexican mariachi bands) playing and an amplified announcer frequently speaks and solicits cheers or singing from the crowd. I'm not sure where the masses are gathered, but it sounds like thousands of people! If we weren't new parents, living with little Eli, it would be fun to wander out into the festivities. But, I'm so glad we are here, safe and sound, in our little apartment with Eli sleeping peacefully in his crib.

Eli spent some quality time, after his nap, hanging out with us on our King size bed as we watched the game. He ate dinner like it was his last meal: chicken, soup and broccoli, too! We think he's going through a growth spurt as his records stated he was a "not so good eater," but now he is devouring his food and has developed an adorable little round belly we love to rub and kiss! After Eli's dinner, he had a little music time with mama. I put my Music Together songs into a shuffled playlist and we sat on the floor together for about a half hour just singing, chanting, rocking, and bouncing. When the song "Playing in the Kitchen" came on, I decided to pull out some plastic tupperware to bang on. Eli was so fascinated by the shapes and depths of the various containers and lids and he entertained himself by putting the smaller pieces inside the larger ones and then dumping them and watching them scatter across the floor. Jamie and I ate some pizza while Eli scooted himself around the living room's wood floor, pushing around the tupperware and chasing it as it slid. Watching him, I realized that he's having trouble crawling on the wood floor because his little knees slide out from under him when he tries to move them. So, I moved him into our carpeted bedroom for the end of the night and we worked on crawling from mama to his new kitchen toys. He's getting very close to a proper crawl and becoming so strong! He keeps putting his little feet underneath him, instead of his knees, and pushing his body up into a downward dog posture! He must be watching my yoga routine...Too cute!

Crawl Postion!

Pushups!

Plank Position!

Downward Dog!

We got a little Skype time in with "Uncle" Mark, my cousin, right before we put Eli down for the night. It was so nice to share a little of my Eli time with Mark, who is also a daddy to my 15 month old niece, Avery. I missed my family today, so Mark's call was an unexpected treat.

My mom and I had a chance to catch up tonight, after Eli was sleeping. She is being so strong and brave as she navigates this new territory- parenting her parents. It breaks my heart to hear her tired voice struggle to stay positive as she shares the details of my grandparents' move out of the only home they've ever owned and into a nursing home. It is hard for me to really grasp their quick descent into the "elderly." I saw them the weekend before we left for Colombia and my 88 year old grandpa had driven them to and from my mom's house, a forty minute trip from their own home, as he always has. He did complain to me that his knee was bothering him a bit from mowing his sizable yard, which he always did himself, and the steep bank at the back of the lot. My grandma, although showing her age in the past few months, sat and talked with me about Eli and Colombia for a long while, holding my hand and smiling.

I remember, vividly, standing at the top of the staircase in the kitchen, watching them go down the steps to leave through the driveway level door. In the past year or two, I've become more concerned about them using that rather steep staircase and I always held my breath as my grandma clutched the railing and made her way down. Grandpa has always been fearless and he didn't hesitate for stairs, hills or any other challenge that presented itself. He was proud of his health and his strength- so uncommon for a man his age. On some level, I think I knew that it could be the last time I watched them complete this common action. Their coming and going from my childhood home has been a bi-weekly ritual for as long as I've been alive. They came to visit, to tell us stories of their week, to check in on my mom, to pull weeds in the garden, drop off some of Grandma's sewing, or just to see their grandchildren and then, later, their great-grandchildren. They have always been there, always been an integral part of our small, tight-knit family. But, as I watched them leave the house, this past Father's Day, I paused for a minute at the top of the stairs and thanked God for their presence in my life, for their health, and for all the time I've had with them. I also said a little prayer that they would be there when I returned from Bogotá, to hold my son and share in my long-awaited joy.

Tonight, I whisper that prayer again, tears falling freely, as I listen to my mother speak. This time I add another prayer of gratitude for the incredible woman my grandparents raised- the mother who shaped me and taught me everything I know about nurturing a child and the daughter who now cares for her parents and gently, patiently and valiantly guides them into their final chapter.

It is a story of love, no matter how you look at it. We can get caught up in the fear of death, the sorrow of loss and the inconvenience of illness, but none of that negates the miracle of a life lived- especially one lived well. My grandparents love each other. When Grandma visits Grandpa in the hospital, he tells her how pretty she looks and clears a spot for her to sit next to him. They hold hands throughout the whole visit, and when she leaves they put their heads together tightly and whisper sweet words. They are living and loving, at the end of their lives, better than some of us ever do.
Their legacy is the Love they taught their children, which spilled into the lives of their grandchildren, as well. It is the same Love I am able to share with Jamie and now with my own son, Elias.

The song I chose for my father and daughter dance at our wedding was that Celine Dion hit, Because You Loved Me. The refrain echoes through my thoughts as I write all of this. "I'm everything I am, because you loved me."

Grandma and Grandpa- We, all of us, are who we are and have what we have, because you loved us.
I believe this.

Although my son is adopted, he will inherit my grandparents' love like a family gene that is passed down from generation to generation. Because that is the power of Love. It has no boundaries, no limits and no end. It is really all that matters, truth be told. The rest will die away, but Love...
Love will remain.

Grandma and Grandpa, at my cousin Maria's wedding, October 2013