You know the comparison lists people make of pros and cons? Usually we weigh one against the other to help make a decision. Every so often I am sizing up the upbringing of our children looking at the pros and cons. At this moment one of the pros in their extraordinary lives I can see is their colorful friendships. The following pics were taken at the field day on the step bleachers at our school. How beautiful the mix of skin, heritages and languages; just to name a few of the differences giving my kids a step up in life.

My oldest daughter turned thirteen today. I am truly happy. Thankful list follows…

1. She wants to hang with me today getting manicures, making jewelry, and shopping
2. She still plays with all her siblings
3. She dreams humongous
4. She sings at church, even though the other singers are over ten years older than her
5. She talks to me everyday about everything
6. She considers deeply about friendship
7. She rarely complains about sharing a room with her younger sisters
8. She prays and reads God’s word
9. She has creativity bursting from every fiber of her being
10. She has a captivating beauty that shines from the inside out
11. She writes stories galore
12. She likes hip-hop dancing and old school rap music
13. She’s my Raimy Baby forever and always

A self portrait by Raimy with her youngest brother

Guest post by: Raimy O. Washington

Surely all of you reading must have made a mistake or two in your past. I have made the most mistakes in cooking; it is a bit hard for me. When I was going to bake carrot cake muffins I measured the right amounts and then mixed for the right amount of time. I put the batter in the tray, each one a little bit more than half way full. As I put it in the oven I was sure everything would come together, a few minutes later I found that things really did come together LITERALLY! It was overflowing and it was dripping down the sides in the oven. I didn’t know what to do so I pulled the pan out to clean up the mess. I told Timothy to go get Mama for help. Mama walked into the room as I finished cleaning up and she giggled so Timothy and I did too. She told me it would be ok and she started to pour some of the extra batter into the trash so we could have the right amount this time. I felt a little down but then Mama told me that she had problems in cooking when she was a kid too. She told me a story about her baking cookies with cinnamon. It made me feel a little better but when I checked on the muffins I was worried they would turn out wrong. A few minutes later I checked on them and they still looked a little funny but Mama put them in bowls and they looked super cute. That day I learned two things: one, mama is always there to help me; and two, how much batter to put in for muffins.

Timothy enjoying some of the scraps

super cute bowls

carrot cake breakfast bowls

Photos and true story by: Raimy O. Washington

Now on with the crunchy, munchy, mixed-up life I lead…

• Pomegranate season has begun! For the the next four to six weeks my fingers will be tainted purple. Yum!
• Third week of the 2011 school year started yesterday.
• Due to strikes in the city two days of school were canceled last week.
• The city is also gearing up for the yearly week long festival called ‘Carnaval’.
• After Carnaval comes the birthday of my eldest. We will be parents of a teenager!
• After that momentous occasion our interns will have their baby.
• I’ve got babies and birthdays on the brain since the 27th of this month marks 9 months since we brought Kaitlynn home. Need to journal my thoughts about the significance of that date.
• Do you read the blog we do for the orphanage? Three times a week we have stories going up about The House of Dreams. Here’s the link: http://houseofdreamsorphanage.wordpress.com/
• Last night I taught a group of people how to eat sushi.
• I keep replaying in my mind a sentence that my husband said to me yesterday that made me feel so very loved.

Now on with the crunchy, munchy, mixed up life I lead…

• Some piles and clutter around the house don’t bother me at all.
• My favorite stuff to seeing lying around: Sharpies, Molskines, kids creations, and books.
• Kaitlynn’s first birthday with us was yesterday. She is “fweeeee” years old now. (link to a few fun pics)
• Raimy, my oldest daughter, comes running with my friend and me three mornings a week. Feels good to have arrived at this phase of motherhood.
• We are in the final stages of negotiations for owning our first piece of land ever. We are buying a school with a huge plot of land as a future site for the orphanage. Throughout the day I pause at the wonder of it all.
• Contemplating the acquisition of an electronic reader such as a Nook, a Sony Reader, a Kindle or (in-a-world-of-pink-unicorns-and-fairy-princesses) an iPad.
• I wish they had chosen a different name than iPad.
• Christmas season in Cochabamba means: water balloons in the streets, imported people from the Potosi region, lots of tank-tops and umbrellas, and sweating Santas in a snow free land.
• Any other Bones fans out there? Wow, this last episode “The Doctor in the Photo” gave me chills.
• This morning my 4 year old son tells me that Spiderman is Peter. Then we went on to have an interesting conversation about the ‘real names’ of various heroes. He then asked me what the villain’s ‘real names’ are. This age when they start forming coherent sentences to express opinions and ideas thrills me.

JEANS

By: Raimy O. Washington

Mary Lu Kate had a hard nut to crack
She tried to let go but still carried the pack
She never had the right jeans to wear
Even if she looked here or even there

She looked at those, she looked at these
My Oh My, Jeez Louise
There wasn’t one pair without a stain
And all her searching was in vain

She found some for shorties and some for tall
She couldn’t find any of her’s at all
She found her sister’s, she found her bro’s
She found her mom’s, but who’s are those?

She found black jeans, brown ones too
She found purple and sky blue
But when she thought she found one right
It was too lose or too tight

Until night came; it was too late
Poor, poor Mary Lu Kate

—————————————————————-

Bio: at twelve years old Raimy O. Washington spends her free time drawing, writing, and singing. As the eldest of five her brothers and sisters are her greatest admirers, next to her mama and papa. Her big dreams put a sparkle in her eye and make her a fun girl to know.

Usually we have Wednesday Without Words here at ‘the @’. However, yesterday I came upon this irresistibly beautiful, autobiographical acrostic. So today is a wonderfully Wordy Wednesday. She’s twelve and confident enough to write this impromptu unprompted description of herself. That is gold! Love you, Raimy!

The magnificent first born sits in the passenger side and asks, “Mama, am I turning into a teenager?”

“Yes,” the mother says grasping the steering wheel a bit tighter knowing that the grasp on her daughter just loosened a tad bit.

A dozen years spent stretching up to eye level with the mama. The mama who is grateful that the two can still see eye to eye most of the time. The eyes of the younger dance with anticipation of all that is life. The eyes of the older soak in the innocence and treasure of girlish promise.

The two were returning from a rite of passage, a ride of passage, if you will. The first trip to the movies with a sweet friend at her side paid for with babysitting money preceded by a drop off, followed by a pick up. Giggling rides to and fro as they chatter of fingernail polish and kids in school. This dear one who as a toddler clenched my hand while walking cautiously over crunchy fall leaves now with that same hand waves and blows me a kiss to adventure on her own. The turning of the season in life as she turns her back and lightly skips away.

This mother finds her heart happy. Humbled to be allowed to peek in at this beautiful turning. Thank you, daughter, for growing gracefully. I love you, Raimy!

[This post is dedicated to my mother on her birthday, who shares the day with said 12 year-old's half birthday, who has faithfully celebrated  my own turnings with empowering trust and encouragement.]

When my youngest boy, Tyler, was an infant we used taxis to get around. Some taxi drivers are chatty. One afternoon I ducked into the cab of one such chatty driver with my baby boy on my lap. The man began with the usual questions of where I am from, how long we have been here, etc. Then he asked about my boy. Is he your son? Yes. Was he born here? Yes. Then the oddest thing happened. The opinion expressed with beaming pride had me scraping my jaw off the floor mat of the back seat of his car.

“Ah! So he is Bolivian! How good that he is improving the Bolivian race!” he nodded his head and looked once more at the light skin of my son through the crooked rear-view mirror. Personally I find that saddening.

In related news some years back Miss Bolivia commented, “It is wrong to assume that all Bolivians are short, poor Indians. In the tropical region I am from we are all tall, white and speak English.” She was ridiculed in the press and many shameful articles were published denouncing the racism that runs rampant in Bolivia. It never ceases to amaze me that in a nation with the land mass the size of Texas and the population comparable to that of New York City there is so much hatred between people groups. The Cambas have words to say about the Collas. Those of the Altiplano criticize those living in the Amazonian region. The light the dark. The European and the Native. Those who purely speak Castellano and those who speak a more ancient tongue. Not to mention the five major political parties ranging from Socialist to Autonomous. The divides run deep and dark, as I am sure they do in most lands.

I digress.

Recently the issue of race was raised on my cousin Lynde’s blog: A Wordy Girl Mom ‘The R Word”. She and her husband are as caucasian as they come. Last year they were blessed to bring home a beautiful, vibrant daughter from Haiti. Their daughter is in Kindergarten this year. Amongst the multitude of adjustments to be made there have been some discussions that have arisen about race. Lynde addressed a few ways that they are teaching their girl about race. I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to talk about race in our family.

Here is one of the comments I left over there on her blog that got me to thinking about doing a dedicated post:

… I wonder why race is such a huge issue in the States, the supposed Melting Pot. Ever since my kids could be aware of stuff like that we have lived in Bolivia. This morning after reading your post I thought to myself, “Oh, I have never even fielded this race business with my kids. I wonder if they have been hurt or something by someone.” So I went immediately one by one and asked them if anyone had ever brought up the fact that they are a different color from their papa, that their mama and papa are different colors, etc. Nope. Not one. Raimy is 12, and the most sensitive, yet no one had ever brought that up with her. Maybe we are just generally “odd” in Bolivian eyes and so the race stuff gets lumped in with all the other stuff that sets us apart. I am very curious if when we come to the States [for a visit] in January if the race stuff will come up.

During the beautiful stages of coloring books and learning our colors when my three big ones were little I threw a question out there just to see how they would respond.

“What color are you?”

They looked at their arms for a while and then to each other. The corporate answer was finally, “We are skin color.” I told them that was great. Then I took it one step further, “What color is your papa?” They decided that he, too, was skin color just a little more brown than they are. “And me, what color am I?” They tell me I am skin color too, of course, but with a little more pink in it.

Since then we have had other talks not so much about race but about ethnicity. To fill you in, in case you did not know, my husband, DaRonn is African American. I am as white as all get out. Living in Bolivia has opened their eyes to the beautiful spectrum of humanity. To allow them to identify with their roots we let them play with some titles. Here is the way that they describe each member of our family.

Papa – African American

Mama – Caucasian American

Raimy, Timothy and Gabrielle – African Caucasian American

Tyler – African Caucasian Bolivian American

Kaitlynn – Bolivian American

I truly hope that this list does not offend anyone. We celebrate our African American roots. We enjoy the Caucasian influence in our lives. We revel in the tri-racial aspect that the Bolivian boy and girl bring to us. Then through it all we live in a hammock sway between the Northern hemisphere and the Southern hemisphere, knowing the rhythms, tastes, weather and speech of more than one place.

In the middle of it all I know in my heart that the culture rich existence we provide them will be to their benefit. Then the temporal worry wart whispers once in a while in me wondering if I am inflicting irreparable damage. Inevitably within minutes there come a reminder that it is ok in a hug around my neck, a Spanglish make-believe wafting to my ear, the feel of the brush in my hand as I style and shape hairs, or in the look in their eyes when they call me mama.

I think often about their futures. I wonder who they will choose to fill their hearts with. I imagine that the multi-cultural kaleidoscope will be one of my greatest treasures when I am old and wrinkly.

P.S. I didn’t plan on writing a 1,000 word post on this topic. Must’ve been important to me.

EDIT: Since this is my 700th post I am going to take the liberty to add some irresistable charts. You know how I love my charts!

Racial Ethnicity Demographic comparisons in the U.S. 2008

Racial Ethnicity Demographic comparisons in Bolivia 2002

This famous poem was writ by an unknown author:

Sugar and spice
and everything nice
that’s what little girls are made of

Sunshine and rainbows
and ribbons for hair bows
that’s what little girls are made of

Tea parties, laces
and baby doll faces
that’s what little girls are made of

My girls are not so little any more. The oldest Washington child is a tween venturing the uncharted waters of change on all fronts. The sister following her is a spunky nine year old, as of today. So, really, the only little girl in this family is the two year old baby who has snuggled in quite nicely as the youngest of our clan. Though age may say otherwise I still feel they are my little girls, forever and always.

All my children are so distinct in character, abilities and dreams. It is nothing short of mind blowing to sit and consider the wealth of humanity with whom I have the honor of abiding. On this the day we celebrate the birth of my Gabrielle I am pondering the young women we are raising.

Sugar and spice… our Raimy. She is indeed endued with persuasive deliberating skills making peace in the sibling spats giving her a sweetness I envy. The spice comes when her emotional affinity goes a bit hay wire and some consoling is the only thing to make it all right. Everything nice? Pretty darn close. This young lady is remarkably flavorful in her interaction with the world. Not yet a teenager she still hops back and forth between playthings and grown up things. I pray she never loses the confident innocence that graces her countenance.

Fernanda and Raimy, classmates

Sunshine and rainbows… our Gabrielle. Sparkly, shiny and upbeat is the girl whose personality is larger than life most of the time. I dare you to not smile at least once when you sit down to converse with my dear. She colors her black and white moral standard with a thirst for learning and a keen inclusion of people of all kinds. Challenging, thoughtful, penetrating is my valiant lady to be. Look out world!

Gabrielle surrounded by all her siblings

Tea parties, laces and baby doll faces… our Kaitlynn. She has been called by various people an old soul, a grandma in a little body, and a leader. Be not deceived by her tiny stature, there is a depth, a wisdom and a sharp intelligence in her. Social as all get out she can disarm the hardest of hearts with the myriad of expressions upon her baby doll face. As the third sister she is sponging up the love and gentle instruction her two generous roommates extend to her.

Kaitlynn

Lord, please help me to treasure the uniqueness of these three precious girls. Let them know for certain they are loved with an Eternal Love. May Truth be their Guide as they grow. Amen.