Movie Night

Packing children into our living room each Friday and Saturday night is somewhat akin to the circus clowns who cram into Volkswagen bugs.  The prevailing philosophy is there’s always room for one more—or ten.

The children look forward to movie night, and they often request their favorite movie Home Alone, which many of them refer to simply as, Kevin.  (If you don’t know who Kevin is, it’s time to dust off your old VHS copy of Home Alone and re-watch it.)

After watching Home Alone for about 17 weekends in a row, Sherwood and I decided it was time to invest in some additional films.  Topping off their new favorites are any of the Three

Stooges shows, George of the Jungle—with real Swahili words, and Cool Runnings. 

I find watching movies with the kids to be much like watching Mr. Bean with my brother as a child.  My brother and his friend would roll around on the floor in front of the TV in uncontrollable laughter, and my dad and I would laugh right along with them.  The difference?  They were laughing at Mr. Bean.  We were laughing at (with?) them.  While the children, and admittedly, my husband, laugh hilariously as the Stooges clamor theatrically across the screen, I can’t suppress my own laughter at the uproarious peals of delight emitting from them.

Watching a movie in a room jam-packed with children, the temperature raised to an uncomfortable level due to body heat, isn't the most comfortable way to watch TV, but it certainly makes the Three Stooges a lot funnier. 

Donkey Days or Kenyan Traffic Jam

I’m really just a big-city girl at heart.  My husband, who grew up in Camden, NJ might disagree.  Before I first took him to Oakwood, the town where I grew up, I told him it was a suburb of Atlanta—after his first visit, he was quick to point out that if Oakwood was a suburb of anything, than it was a suburb of Gainesville but certainly not Atlanta.  I guess after moving to Atlanta and   gaining some perspective, I’d have to agree. 

 Regardless of where I grew up, I love the activity and hustle-and-bustle of the city.  I love live theater and a variety of restaurants.  I enjoyed being able to step out my front door and walk to the library, the community center, the pizza place, and Dairy Queen.  Even so, I remember as a little girl being enchanted with the quaint lifestyle Laura Ingles Wilder described in her “Little House” books. 

My favorite book in the series was On the Banks of Plumb Creek.  Wilder described the isolation, the outhouses, the unvaried diet, and the life of a pioneer family with such sweet nostalgia I thought that was the type of environment for which I was made.  I have since realized that even though I love eating fresh foods straight from our garden, it’s the variety of diet and energetic, constantly moving atmosphere of the city that I crave.

I remember days, especially Fridays, that I would sit in my car in bumper-to-bumper traffic for an hour to travel from the school where I worked to my home, a mere 15 miles away.  The certainty of traffic is one thing I don’t miss about the city.  All these thoughts flashed through my mind when Sherwood and I were stuck in a rural Kenyan traffic jam.  

We were riding on the slick mud of our rural road snugly situated in the deep ruts from which one dare not emerge, even in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, when the road is in such dire condition. 

As we traveled along, we came upon a donkey, sans owner, charcoal in sacks strapped to its back, making its way down the middle of the road.  We couldn't risk leaving the safety of our furrow to pass the determined beast, so we traveled behind it for several minutes.  Eventually, the donkey put on his right directional signal (I kid you not, he rotated his right ear with great aplomb) and promptly moved over to the right hand side of the road on the outside of the groove.  Once we passed him, he moved right back to his original path in the middle of the road. 

Even though there’s a lot to miss about city life, I must admit I’ve never been as amused in Atlanta traffic jams as I was the day we were stuck behind the donkey.

Joy in the Journey

The kids love piling into the truck for a ride.  They’re not concerned about the destination; their joy is in the journey.  People in our village don’t ride in cars much.  Motorcycles are the most common means of transport, public vans and cars come next, but private vehicles are a rare treat.

The little people’s infatuation with the truck isn't limited to going for rides.  They’re perfectly  content to sit in the parked car for as long as we’ll allow it.  They don’t want the radio on.  They don’t even necessarily want the windows down.  They just want to sit in the car.

When we return from a trip, the kids often remain in the backseat, and they can sit there, quietly, for over an hour—without wiggling.  It’s amazing.  We eventually have to go out to the truck and tell the kids it’s time to get out.  We’ve never actually tested how long they’ll stay in there, but this is undoubtedly one of the best babysitting tools we’ve found yet!