Camping Indoors

With the questionable water, the tricky outlets (if they work at all), constantly needing to use extension chords, and the perpetual infiltration of some sort of insect, the regular loss of electricity and wifi, and every transportation need essentially requiring the mad negotiation and coordination skills of running a small country; it is no wonder that I’m a little over my experience here in Haiti.

This country has so much beauty to offer. And yet, we are on an extended camping trip indoors just a short jog away from the capital…the heart of all things broken here.

Daily life is a balance.  We have our basic necessities covered. We are sheltered, we are fed, and we are safe. But I long for the real comforts of my real home. I don’t have to shower with my shoes on at home. I can open my mouth in the hot hot hot shower. Oh how I miss hot water. All of our showers are cold. Not cool. Cold. And I’m terrified of the shower curtain (I actually have one), as well as the rug on the floor. No one could pay me to touch that rug. And the towels…the towels are an abrasive former towel-like object that more resemble and feel like a cloth version of sandpaper. At least I’m getting my exfoliation done.

I don’t have to worry that a variety of unidentifiable insect will consume my food or explore my toothpaste at home.  I keep our home away from home tidy, but the difference between this home and the one I long to return to, is that despite the size of our tiny dwelling, the maintenance of our little place in Haiti is much more laborious and frustrating. Everything is constantly dusty and gross here. Random things become sticky…even when there’s no explanation for how or why they became so. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t know how or why something happens here. Naïveté is bliss. There is so much debris from burned trash in the air all the time that it settles and even indoors we find a thick layer of dust on everything daily. 

I feel like we eat Haiti MRE’s. Our food is regimented. I have absolutely eaten my life’s allotment of rice, spaghetti, mac n cheese, pizza, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Eating here is like being on a ferris wheel of carbo hydrates. The carb rotation, as I know it to be, can be so frustrating at times. I love food. I love variety. And I’m ready for a nice platter of change. I miss things like salad, and veggies. Just basic veggies. If I could pour salad dressing on a farm right now and chow down I would be in a new form of Heaven!! It would be bliss. I miss bruschetta so much that I have actually dreamed that I was able to order it on Amazon and have it shipped. Clearly my dreamscapes have my priorities squarely in check!

And cheese. Glorious cheese. Someone I know who lives here in Haiti has always requested cheese. And I never quite understood why. And then a friend arrived and brought me a hunk of Wisconsin cheddar cheese and my love affair with cheese was instantly rekindled. Omg I’ve never loved cheese so much!!! I became an inflammation balloon ready to scream out in agony because I practically ate half a block of cheese on two pieces of amazing toast with salted butter four days in a row; but it was totally worth it. I am not prepared to blame the spasms on the cheese, but will rather happily blame the disease I have likely caused by the Mexican antibiotics that cured everything that ailed me as a kid, and will gladly devour cheese again if it is given to me. That cheese unexpectedly temporarily soothed my emotional ailments. I felt happiness as deeply as my soul and I ate enough cheese to fill me from “tet” (head) hair follicles to toes. THANK YOU for the cheese.

Obtaining food is a process. For instance, a ride to the grocery store will cost me at least $30. I have a selection of stores, though. I can go to Delmas 2000, which has been designed to be a “one stop” shop location and contains a “TJ Maxx” like store, a store I’ve come to referring to as “China Town”, another we call “Sears”, and the grocery store. Delmas 2000 is also conveniently located across the street from a restaurant that we really like called Kokoye. Nanda, the owner, and her husband have done a really good job with Kokoye. The food is great and the prices are decent, which is really hard to come by here. Being inside Kokoye is like entering a portal to another city. There is air conditioning. It’s clean. And it helps push the reset button that we need pressed periodically.  We can get groceries, lunch and dinner to go all in one errand. Typically, I do this about once a week or so, as we try to minimize our outings for safety reasons. There are a couple of other stores we shop at as well, Star 2000 and Delimart both have a decent selection of items. So it really depends on what I need, but I can typically find anything I’m looking for (within reason).  Except veggies that I am craving, and the ingredients to make the bruschetta my soul needs.

There is a fast food chain here that has been compared to McDonald’s. While I’m not hip on McD’s with the exception of their french fries, I have to say that Epi’Dor doesn’t hit that spot for me. The kids LOVE it. And what I’ve come to find comfort in, is that their favorite meal at Epi’Dor is this incredible chicken that knocks their socks off. They talked about it for well over a year before we had the opportunity to go there, and when we finally did I was hoping that I could recognize flavoring or seasonings used so that I could make at least a measly attempt at recreating their favorite dish. To my delight, their delicacy is none other than rotisserie chicken. That’s right. Good old, plain and simple, rod and twist rotisserie chicken. AWESOME. There is another fast food place Muncheez, I’ve heard a lot about around here, but I’ve never been. We have been invited to lunch with another ex-pat family and I can’t help but laugh when I think that a restaurant here may have been named by some high college student. You just can’t make this stuff up.

When we are not eating out (which is 95% of the time), I make a lot of one pot meals. We only have one working outlet in our kitchen, and our refrigerator is plugged into one of the sockets. So that only leaves one socket available for us to cook. I have an electric griddle/casserole dish that I can make just about anything in. I can bake, fry, boil, and grill in it. So I have to get creative sometimes and try to do as little prep as possible to create a whole meal in one pot. Like I said, indoor camping. Without the ash cakes. Periodically, a large lizard will perch itself on the lid of my griddle. I have told the boys that he/she wants to help cook and that we should fashion a chef hat for it and call it Ratatoulle. Mainly because I haven’t come up with a clever lizardesque chef name. I’m all ears if anyone has a name for my cooking compadre!

With all this carb eating, I was initially very happy to maintain the size 6 I arrived in Haiti at. Hot sweaty yoga without the yoga was working so well!  I called it the croissant diet. And I’ve enjoyed the salted butter and bread diet so much that I’m no longer feeling like a size 6. Crap. I don’t sweat as much now that I’ve acclimated to the heat, and I fear that I’m getting fat again. This sucks. I’ve definitely lost muscle definition and feel like I’m getting jiggly again. I’m dreading the scale at home. But I know that I did the hard work and ate the right foods to get back into shape. And I’ll do it again. I just really want to do it again NOW.

There are things that I will miss when we go home. I have learned that I love kenips (little round fruit that grows on trees in bushels here), and Haitian almonds. I also love Haitian Coke because it’s made with sugar cane syrup, and it’s fantastic. The upside down label also makes me chuckle. Haitian potato chips are also seriously fantastic. They’re basically a kettle chip. Although the boys continually argue that they are not made of potato. Neither are Pringles. Because potatoes are gross. Ok what ever, boys. We eat a lot of Bongu cheese too. Bongu is like Laughing Cow, only it is made in Egypt of sugar cane milk and shipped to Haiti for packaging. It has the same consistency and is used the same way laughing cow would be; but apparently Laughing Cow will not be an acceptable replacement for Bongu. So shoot me now.  We eat American apples. And they are about $1 a piece. But it’s worth it. There are a lot of food and beverage options that are shipped into the country. I sprang for a carrot juice for the boys at Epi’Dor one day, and to our dismay, when Parker opened his juice, a tiny cockroach was taking a swim. PITCHED that one! I won’t miss cockroaches.  I won’t miss tarantulas. I won’t miss ants. I won’t miss gunshots. I won’t miss the mosquitos. There’s so much I won’t miss.  Enough of this indoor camping without the hiking trail. I’m ready for some cold weather (I can not believe that I really am), a fruit and veggie diet, and my elliptical machine. It’s time to blow this salted butter and Haitian Coke POP STAND and go home!!!

It's obvious that I miss food. And it really is such a huge part of daily living here. Trying to figure out what to eat. Water is another huge issue. We can't consume what flows from the tap. And we use about 5 gal of water daily. I can either pay for water, or we can haul it from a Culligan container at the reception desk of the hotel every day. So that's what we do. I have a reinforced bag and we use recycled milk bottles fulfill our daily water needs. We wash dishes and cook all of our food with bottled water. I have a container in the refrigerator that we keep filtered water in to drink and for making juice. I can't even explain how nice it will be to return home to brush our teeth, wash our hands, wash our dishes, cook our food, and shower in clean water without the risk of illness. In addition to "Haitian Happiness", which is a well known and greatly dreaded GI response to filthy water consumption here, I am also highly prone to staph infections here. And in an awesome way, I typically get them on my face. I currently have one and am using a topical antibiotic to treat it. I think I've had four in the past six months. But this one is by far the worst, and I will likely have to get on an oral antibiotic for it as it has spread really badly in the last three days. Unfortunately, I don't have very many choices here. And I have to bathe. So I run the risk of it continuing to spread. SELAVI as they say. DEGAJE. All meaning, "It is what it is."

In addition to the culinary cutie I have visit my kitchen fairly regularly, I've also recently been seeing more tarantulas. This is not what I signed up for. And it seriously makes me want to set the whole apartment on fire and run home screaming. But I have to "big girl it up" a bit and seek the pests and find them. If I can't remove them without the risk of being bitten, then they must die. Unfortunately, today I found one in my closet, and it got away from me. So now every hair on my body is on end. And I'm not sure that I'll be able to muster up a mind over matter trick for myself to sleep well tonight. It's already bad enough that every time I feel like a small piece of hair is touching my forehead, I realize that it is an ant. I'm so over the ants. They infiltrate my whole apartment. They're truly awful. I have at least four kinds of ants, too. Red ones. And they bite! Flying ones. And they bite too! And huge black ones that lead the way for the smaller black ones. Several times we have left our apartment and come back to find hundreds of them in a group on our floor. It's as if they know we've returned, so they all retreat to the walls. It's crazy. We also have termites. They leave a visible tunnel of sawdust on the wall. So we always know where they are. They are white with a brown stained pincher on the tip of their heads. And they bite too! I've had to keep everything in bags because they will eat through cardboard. Then there are several kinds of kitchen bug that have invaded my sealed pastas and rices. I had to pitch my whole container of powdered butter because what ever Haitian "weebles" are, they LOVE powdered butter. 

We lose power several times a day. It's the norm. We wait a few minutes, and without fail the generators kick on and we again have our needs met. The only time this is truly awful is when you're in the shower. So you hope that you've got soap in your hand or something useful as you'll be standing in the pitch dark in a cold shower, unable to see a single thing. So you might as well give something a little extra scrub for a few minutes and hope that something isn't hiding behind the dreaded shower curtain waiting to attack you in the dark. I've spent a few nights standing in the shower stall praying that my own personal arachnophobia hell doesn't come true. Then I'd definitely wind up touching the shower curtain because I'd have to jump out of the shower, possibly Kung Fu style. And then I'd definitely step on the rug. I'd probably blow out my flip flop. I'd open my mouth to scream, which means the horrible Haitian water would definitely get in my mouth. And then as I'm lying in bed with a horrid case of Haitian Happiness, I'd be terrified that the vengeance of the brothers and sisters, and mothers, and fathers, and cousins, and children, and God-Father's of the tarantula that I killed in my kitchen will be exacted on me in my weakest moment. And there's no clicking your heels three times, and saying, "There's no place like home!" to get me out of that one. Yeah...that's a true fear of mine. It could happen. Just like that. But then the lights usually come back on, and I take a survey of everything and find that it's still just me standing in the cold shower doing a little rub a dub dub, and my evening continues normally.

Normally. DAMN. None of this should be normal. It's time to go home. I think I’ve had enough indoor camping to last a lifetime. Yep! DEFINITELY TIME TO GO HOME!

words for my children

we are under the same moon

and under the same bright stars

when you wake in the morn

and when you lay down at night

know this in your little hearts

that one day all will be right

we didn’t start life together

but our paths have crossed for good

my arms will give you shelter

And my heart will give you food

you have grown a bit for now

but you’ll grow in love still more

i’ll cross oceans to come see you

and together we’ll stand on the shore

there are days and tears and promises

that will be kept to make you whole

please offer me your forgiveness

together we’ll be forever more

no our road it is not easy

there are hills and mountains high

but the breeze will blow so sweetly

as together we will climb

always know that i love you

i will never leave you behind

and when i tell you goodbye

know i’m coming back in time

your face is burned in my mind

even when i try to sleep

i toss in my evenings

for i wonder when you weep

there’s an aching in my soul

without you in my arms

how i long for our days

when i can start to fix the harms

you are my sweet little boys

and my darling little girls

our time is just beginning

but the beauty will unfurl

THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE

2014. Morning one of the new year. I had just kissed the boys goodnight after welcoming them to the year they would finally go home, and we were waking already. As tired as I was, after a few blinks and a radical adjustment to the light of Haiti pouring into the windows, I woke up to the sound of children laughing. Playing. Singing. This is the sound of Hope House.

I recently saw an idea that I’m implementing for this year. I am planning to write one thing each day that I am thankful for. And today I am thankful that I started the year in the company of beautiful people who have given themselves to Haiti and her people. And because of this family, I woke to the beautiful sound of happy children. They are happy. They are loved. They are living. Not just existing. They are living and thriving because they are being cared for properly and responsibly.  They live in a home. They play with toys. They receive love and continual interaction. They play house, and they play kitchen, and they count, and they run, and they swing. They even stage their own big wheel Indy 500 around the play yard. THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE.

Every orphanage is a temporary solution for a horrific injustice a child is caught in the middle of. It’s not their choice. Their reality is the that of cause and effect. Their time spent in this limbo should be designed to not only meet their needs, but to keep them happy and allow them to thrive spiritually, mentally, healthily, socially and lovingly.

I’ve only begun to scratch the surface here in Haiti. But from what I’ve seen thus far, I have been horrified by the living conditions of most of the children I’ve met. I wouldn’t keep an animal in the room my boys lived in. I might store a rake or a shovel. A lawn mower and a can of gasoline would be fine too. But never children. From what I’ve seen, due to the vast need for care, orphanages take in many more children than they can support responsibly. And the burden on the system drives the demand for more donations, and more funding that is simply not always available. The demand also weakens the already struggling infrastructure and rapidly diminishes the delivery of accurate and responsibly timed adoption processing.

Due to the inherent struggles of catering to the needs of over one hundred children, our kids experienced little more than their basic needs being met. In the many days that I’ve spent at our orphanage, I rarely saw games being played, artwork being done, songs being sung by the children, outdoor play including toys or equipment other than a sparsely used playground apparatus. I rarely saw toys at all. Even soft and plush toys, or sensory toys for the children who aren’t mobile.  It was explained to me that the 180 dolls I made and brought to Haiti on our first trip were “loved to death” within a month to two of bringing them. It was later further explained to me that the children ripped them apart, threw them on the roof, and well…destroyed them. Why? They were so pleased with the gifts; and I felt so fulfilled knowing that they could all choose from the large bags when we offered them two a piece.  As I made my way around the orphanage I was startled by the conditions my sweet little boy called home. And in those moments I was so happy that I was bringing joy. I was giving them a possession. They had no personal items, other than possibly their toothbrushes. But these dolls were theirs. They got to choose them and keep them. That was the plan anyway. They had something of their own. To play with. To love. To hold. To hug. To cry into. To laugh with. Theirs. Why did they destroy them? Because the nannies were outnumbered at least 6 to 1. There was no one to stop the madness of their fighting and jealousies over who had which doll. There was nowhere to keep the treasures that I had given them. And like much of the other donations brought to our orphanage, they were eventually destroyed, thrown away, hidden, or possibly given to other people.

In addition to dolls I brought, I’ve delivered ride on toys, Little Tikes building sets, Barbies, Legos, foam blocks, musical instruments, sensory toys, laptops and learning programs, shoes and clothing, food, baby baths, portable cribs, bouncy seats, Bumbo seats, blankets, school supplies, art supplies, medical supplies, toiletries, formula, diapers, wipes, medications, storage containers, utensils and cups, and gifts for children from their parents. And though I’ve seen some of the items that I’ve brought used, the vast majority disappeared. I have found that our financial donations seem to evaporate as well. To be fair – the laptops are being used by the director of the orphanages family. Just to clear up where those disappeared to. Instead of being used by the kids in the school as planned…well, they’re being used by kids. His kids. His daughters wear my daughter’s hand me down’s. The clothing that doesn’t require zipping, buttoning, clasping, or tying. The perfect orphanage clothing that will require little mending to be comfortable. But I guess those donations were considered too nice to be worn by the children who run and play among the cement and dirt and rocks. Those clothes were saved for the children who live in a home.  With their loving parents. Kids who go to school. Who play with toys. Who must have needed this clothing much more than the children at our orphanage who wear clothing that is torn and falls off of them. Surely there is an explanation for everything, right?

I am tired of the waste. Our children’s lives. Our time. Our money. Our efforts. Our donations. Our patience. I’m tired of wasting it all. I have seen so much waste. The time wasted alone is catastrophic and overwhelming to think about. I have seen wasted efforts. I have seen the clothing and shoes I brought for my son on the staff. I have been asked to buy new shoes for my children knowing that the last pairs of new shoes I brought were never used for my children. I've been told that the $300 we pay per month for our children is not enough. I've been told that what we have brought is not enough. I have been told that the items I have donated that I’ve witnessed elsewhere were bound to be destroyed by the children at our orphanage so they were taken elsewhere to be used by others. But that I needed to bring more.

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard people quote the bible and refer to orphans in Haiti as “the least of these”.  My children and their friends are the least of nothing. They are humans. They deserve love and compassion. They deserve a proper and ethical and responsible and legal process. They have a family. And they deserve to come home. And while they’re STUCK, they deserve to be treated like humans. How do we expect children to behave like appropriate and honorable and trusting and loving humans when they are treated like animals or worse? They deserve better. They shouldn’t be corralled and treated like a meal ticket with a number. They shouldn't be caged by being tied into a crib to limit their play time because there aren't enough people to watch over them. They shouldn't be tied down when they're sick because the staff is so limited that they can't keep an eye on a child hooked up to an I.V. I hope that my daughter doesn't remember being tied down, because sadly, she is so use to it that I have gotten photos of her smiling while all four of her limbs are tied to the sides of a crib. Smiling. Because this is normal and she is coping.

What I know now is that my instincts were dead on from day one. IT SHOULD NOT BE DONE THIS WAY. IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS. IT SHOULD NEVER BE LIKE THIS. OUR CHILDREN DESERVE BETTER.

I’ve seen HOW IT SHOULD BE DONE. It’s obtainable, reasonable, and possible to properly, ethically, responsibly, and lovingly run an orphanage where children live happily, without abuse, with comfort, with toys, with education, with love, with faith, with promise, and with hope.

It’s called HOPE HOUSE. Hope House is the orphanage for The Haiti Foundation Against Poverty. That may be a recognizable name, because they’ve earned their reputation for doing an amazing job with several different programs here in Haiti. They have a school as well as a clinic, to name a few of their projects. And their orphanage is considered a pillar and example of how things should be done here in Haiti. It is small and very new, but in the year since they opened their doors to adoptions, they have sent 1/3 of the children they love – HOME. Of the children who entered IBESR (Haitian social services) last year when V should have been submitted, every single one of them went home in November 2012. Children submitted in that time frame from our orphanage are still in Haiti waiting for documents that should have been obtained months ago. The Hope House children are with their loving families. They have been delivered from their home here in Haiti to their forever families in the states. Even with this being their first crack at adoptions; still getting their feet wet in the process, and still establishing their street cred here in Haiti, they have accomplished getting more children home in their first year than our orphanage sent home in the span of January 2010 and November of 2012. That’s quite an accomplishment. How? How have they been able to do this? Because they do not seek their bread and butter from running their orphanage. They run their orphanage compassionately and responsibly with the sole goal of uniting the children with their forever families. They seek no delays. They properly deal with all complications. They are honest. They are punctual. And they are committed to ensuring that the children have true advocacy. There is no time buffered in their process. They work diligently for the children and their families. But while they are housing the children, and beyond, these children are their family. Considering that for the first two three years that my youngest son lived in our orphanage the director didn’t know his name, I would guess that five years from now our director may know little about my boys other than the fact that he found their mom to be a colossal pain in his ass. But the loving family at Hope House will not only be acutely aware of the uniqueness of every single child they housed, but they will know and love every single one of their families and continue to remain an active part of their lives.

THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD BE.

Hope House is not the only place in Haiti doing adoptions responsibly, professionally, legally, ethically, and lovingly; but they have my respect and I am loving them for doing it the right way! Please read about the amazing ways they spread love and give Haiti hope!

http://haitipoverty.org

http://haitipoverty.org/Projects.aspx

If you have bought a “Hearts for Haiti” painting from me then you now know where your money has been sent. The campaign will continue once I return home and can get back to painting. Thank you for your participation. If you’re interested in purchasing a custom Heart painting to benefit the children of Hope House and The Haiti Foundation Against Poverty, please feel free to send me a message and I’ll be in touch.

Heart paintings (better photos) can be seen on FB:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/wildrootcreations/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wild-Root-Creations/120354501379572

Or you can view really outdated (and poor) photos of heart paintings on my website, which is in dire need of a serious facelift here:

http://www.wildrootcreations.com/index2.php#/gallery1/5/

Thank you to Hope House for providing me a refreshing view of the amazing work you do here in Haiti. Thank you for loving Haiti and her people. Thank you for setting the example of HOW IT SHOULD BE.

Proof that there is a Santa Clause: A Boy and His Sword

Leading up to Christmas, Parker and Djedly watched a few holiday movies. And each time there was an opportunity for Djedly to talk about Santa, Parker would squint his eyes, and lift his top lip and push his nose up and scowl and say, “there is no Santa. He not real.” And in my head I would smack him. But in reality, I would reply and tell him that it saddened me that he had lost his magic. Well…he never had it, likely. Here in Haiti, magic is very different concept than most of us are use to. Magic can be evil. It is not a miraculous, twinkly, incredible concept. So this took some explaining. And when I had a quick moment alone with Parker I explained to him that we believe in keeping the magic alive for the children in our home. I told him that he could choose not to believe in the magic of Christmas, but if he did want to participate that he might just be surprised that Santa listens and watches and knows what the perfect gifts to give special kids who believe in the magic and let the soft, warm jolly glow of the season fill their hearts. Yes, he knows that Santa is a figment. I’m not trying to pull a fast one on a 13 year old. But I wanted him to have a sense of wonderment and participate in the Christmas spirit as well as the secret. So he agreed not to tell Djedly and Leo what we had discussed. And from that day forward, he was not so negative and critical about Christmas.

In fact, by the time J and the kids arrived, Parker was delighted to see the pieces of our Christmas tree come together. And he was inquisitive and excited to see all the ornaments ($1 store – HOLLA) spread out across our table. He helped Djedly and Leo put hooks on each one of them. And then J and I sat back and watched four of our five children decorate our tree. They were together. Making the magic happen. The soft glow of Christmas filled the room, and the warmth of our hearts came along with it. That feeling had been achieved. Yes, we were forced by circumstance to recreate our advent on a tropical island. Yes it is far from the snow globe of a white Christmas we all hoped to have. There was no amazing Christmas Eve dinner. No last minute screaming at kids to keep their nice clothes clean before piling into the car to slide around in the slush on the way to J’s church where we would snore through the service. Sorry J but I think we would all have more fun if we attend the black church. Plus you would look fantastic in a shiny purple suit with a matching hat with a peacock feather. Just sayin’. Love you. Mean it. But yeah…

What we did have was almost everybody. Almost. We didn’t have a toddler running like a daredevil toward the tree in tackle mode. But we had time. And we had grace. And we had fun. We played Christmas carols and watched the kids put several ornaments in a clump on one side of the tree. We reminisced that we had fulfilled J’s lifelong desire to have the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree, because we definitely had a very good version of it. We watched and we smiled. And we were happy. We had the closest thing to what we really wanted and needed that we could possibly have. We finally had the boys with us for Christmas. We have hoped and wished and cried and screamed and prayed and longed for the year that we would finally see them tumble down the stairs and stare in wonderment at packages delivered secretly while they slumbered. And while there were no footed jammies and crème brulee French toast baking while the packages were vigorously torn apart, we had a small and happy present exchange. We got to watch as they cautiously ripped open their packages and examined the contents with fresh eyes. They had never had a Christmas like this. And we were able to give them their first. There are so few firsts that we will have with them. That’s the breaks with adopting older children who you may never see a baby photo of. You have no idea when they started to walk. You will never have a hand stamp from kindergarten. Or when they lost their first tooth. You will never know what their first word was. But this was their first Christmas. A real Christmas. With a tree. And reindeer. And lights. And packages. And ornaments.  And us.

My favorite moment of the morning came when Parker started to open his Santa gifts. He slowly opened the package. I could see Britt and Leo sitting on either side of him looking like they were about to rupture; urging him to fiercely rip it open and reveal the surprise inside. Instead, he thoughtfully opened it, expecting to be disappointed by the contents. I could see the look of glaze plastered across his face. Until he opened the box. And his eyes immediately shot up to me. He looked back down and as his smile emerged, which he was clearly trying to force back, he had a knowing look on his face. A look that said, “holy shiz I got EXACTLY what I wanted.” And then J handed him another package. A long and slender wrapped gift. And the smile could no longer be contained. It was the perfect finishing touch to the super pack of Ninja accoutrements he had already received. A sword. He now had all possible Ninja issuance. Stars, weird Asian shoes, belts, daggers, a hood, a kimono and pants, and a sword with a sheath and strap.

There is no way to tell whether he will ever again have a Christmas moment as surprisingly fulfilling as this; but I will always cherish knowing that we were able to give him his first. He felt everything that Christmas is about.  And now he is in full- blown Ninja glory Heaven.

Thank you Santa.