Kicks & Giggles

“Do it for the kicks and giggles,” is an expression that I’ve had in my thoughts more and more. And more and more it’s taken on new meaning in the context of Familia Feliz: a place with both kicks and giggles.

Kicks

The thing that kicks me the hardest is disciplining kids. It hurts my heart (and it hurts my brain to come up with the Spanish).

When I don’t really know what happened but two of my girls are upset, I ask them individually, “¿Que quieres?” (“What do you want?”) “No se,” is the inevitable answer from both parties. “Ok, then we’ll all go clean together,” and I work with them until I ask, “¿Terminaste?” (“Are you done?”) and “Necesitamos hablar con T. Abi?” (“Do we need to talk with T. Abi?”). So far it’s pretty foolproof for not having enough Spanish!

Being told “no” after I say to do something is a big no-no for me. Nirza is generally the sweetest little peach, but sometimes her attitude flairs up (“¡No quielo!”) and we get to deal with a little tantrum post-forcing-her-hand. Unlike how people here taunt crying kids and say, “Mas alta, Nirza,” (“Louder, Nirza!”), I try to ask why she’s crying. (I have yet to get a reply however lol.)

Defiantly blank stares. My number-one pet peeve. And kids in my class and house have mastered them. Counting down from five or ten means absolutely nothing to any group of little rebels!

Crystal runs away from my classroom when I’m the only teacher there, ignores me or skirts away with a smirk when I say to come, won’t obey me when I say to sit, jerks away when I try to touch her, and refuses to accept my help or explanations on assignments, going to T. María directly after I work with her. T. María had to make an announcement to the class, which helped some: “¡T. Kati es igual a mi!” (“Teacher Katie is equal to me!”)

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up Alejandro and carried him to his seat in my classroom. Then I tell him to move over in his chair so I can share it and wait out his five minutes of pouting. I’m not one who enjoys dragging kids anywhere, but I’m just grateful they aren’t any bigger than they are! And I’m grateful this chico will do most anything “para mi.”

Other SMs periodically have to physically hold down some little boys for half an hour as they have anger fits, raging, crying, kicking, biting, fighting. Kicking is an actual reality in Los Leones.

And I hate refusing to give the kids something when they ask, be it excessive craft supplies, a trip to the river, or food. I do find a bit of humor, however, in telling them, “Mi boca no toca tu boca,” when they want to drink from my water bottle.

Giggles

I love giggles!

Alejandro raised Carlo’s speaker high above his head and ran full throttle in a circle around the nearest palm tree. With Carlo controlling the music volume from the phone in his pocket, he convinced the little boy that the higher he held the speaker, the louder the music would play. Alejandro proceeded to squat *music quiets* then jump up *volume increases* until we were giggling along with his delighted laughter.

“Come, Nirza,” (“Eat, Nirza”) the eight other girls mothered the baby, per usual. “Eat or the cow will come after you!” This threat is hilarious because I realized that Nirza is terrified of cows after a previous run-in last year. “!Vaca! ¡MOO!” my girls repeated and I was practically rolling with laughter. Now we understand why she will randomly talk about vacas in conversation!

Baking soda pancakes, anyone? The first breakfast I made here was before I knew what any ingredient names were in Spanish or what the packages for said ingredients looked like here. I asked T. Abi about the most important ingredient for pancakes (obviously flour, right?) and she pulled out a little packet called “hornear” from the cupboard and said, “¡Panqueque!” After dumping the entire pack into a bowl and adding water on Monday morning, I realized it was not pancake mix (duh) but straight baking powder. I had no idea where the flour was or what the word for flour was (“harina,” btw), so I added ingredients that I saw to the bowl: bananas, oatmeal, cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar. Then I proceeded to fry my banana-oat-muffin-batter pancakes. “Que son?” my girls asked, and couldn’t stop laughing when I told them, “Un tipo de panqueque.”

“Usted tiene un bebé de comida,” Milenca patted my stomach one night as I stood next to her hammock talking. I burst out laughing, as no one has informed me that I have a food baby before! She loves to make me smile by telling me I’m a “brilliant star from Heaven,” but this comment made me giggle.

It was late at night and I needed a shower after swimming in a moldy pool earlier on our day off. I snuck around and got all my bottles, silently froze in the cold water, and regretted my decision to be clean as I squealed and shook a cockroach out of the towel I was drying off with. With a shudder, I scrambled to my room semi-quietly. I then crunched a fat millipede under my foot, squealing again. So much for not waking anyone up!

“Y Señor, gracias por el pecado de no ser pescado…” (“Thank You, Lord, that sin isn’t fish”) Nicol prayed seriously, in reference to her previous word mix-up (calling “fish” “sin”), and we all sat around the table choking back giggles until she finished an extensive blessing on the food. Most nights, however, Nicol is fighting sleep while at the table for worship. She will close her eyes contemplatively and then jolt awake and belt out, at the top of her tone-deaf lungs, the words of the song we’re currently singing, only to doze off again after the chorus.

POOF! The propane oven burst to life after I successfully lit it. I kinda laughed, a bit shaken. Then I smelled burnt hair and stopped laughing until after one girl gave me scissors for a lopsided haircut. I had successfully burned the front of my hair on both sides and shortened my eyelashes significantly. Holding a handful of hair, I laughed again (and smelled it for the next twenty-four hours)! I vowed not to light that thing again for awhile.

There is no shortage of laughter with the other SMs, either! Elizabeth is our resident photoshopper who decided it was only right that Lisiane be in all our former group photos! Not five minutes after this realization, she had whipped out an album of Lisi-included pictures, which had us more than giggling.

Emilianne is a fantastic cook, I’ll start to her credit. However, we also cook up laughter in this kitchen! Our favorite giggle meal was one Sunday when we had made alfredo sauce and dumped one of the only two bags of pasta we had into boiling water. As I shook the second bag into the pot, we both gasped in horror as we realized that bag was full of little black weevils! Instead of tossing the entire lunch — as we had no more pasta to cook — we proceeded to spoon out bugs as it boiled and serve it, ignoring occasional black specks. Doing dishes afterward we just laughed hysterically and let the gags set in.

Monday night all the SMs were in Las Flores, the girls’ house. We spotted a big tarantula on the wall and concurred that its presence was not necessary or valued, but most of us also hold a healthy fear of arañas. As I’ve carried a couple baby ones, I went after it with the little cup Emilianne handed me. After we all jumped around, wielding cardboard shields and screaming enough to attract kids outside, the tarantula did go in the cup, only to scamper out over my hand and between my legs, which promptly revealed breakdancing skills I didn’t know I possessed! Finally our guest was escorted out the door, but not without much laughter.

Nobody

So many moments with these kids, whether kicking or giggling, have reminded me that I’m not here on my own or for myself.

“I’m just a nobody

trying to tell everybody

all about Somebody

who saved my soul.

Ever since You rescued me

You’ve given me a song to sing.

I’m living for the world to see

nobody but Jesus”

("Nobody," Matthew West).

Love from kicks and giggles,