Like Father, Like Son

Dad with Gramps
sometime in the 1980s
(Nana or Gramps, do you know when?)

Zach and me
February 2010

White flat-rate boxes all tied up in string...

these are a few of my favorite things!  Thanks, Mormor and Most Exalted Grandfather!

Zach

This is Zach.  He's my best friend in Bangladesh.  He lives across the hall and is 11 months older than I am.  I like playing with him because I learn all about the things older boys do.  Right now, he's really good at throwing balls, so I try to do the same thing.

We try to get our parents to hang out a lot, too, because then we get more time together.  Last weekend we took rickshaws and walked to a place called Wonderland.  I thought the best ride was the one on Dad's shoulders through the busy Gulshan 2 intersection.  Mom and Dad liked the one where they rode on mini train cars into a dragon's mouth and then came out of his tail.  It's tradition for people who have lived in Dhaka for a while to introduce new people like us to that ride, I guess.

Thanks for teaching me what big boys do, Zach!

An Update on Shumi

Shumi (left) holding what looks like a sucker, but is actually a broken piece of someone's discarded toy

I met Shumi in August, just a couple of weeks after moving to Dhaka.  We met when I shared some crackers with her while I was out grocery shopping with Mom and Dad.  She was running around the north entrance to our neighborhood, where there are train tracks flanked by cardboard and cloth shacks and cooking fires made from rubbish and tree clippings.   

Sometimes we walk around with biscuits or a shirt, or even a pair of shoes and hope we'll run into her, but it's hard to know when we'll see her.  Once, we sat in her hut and played games, but the next time we tried to visit, the huts had been torn down by the police.  Now they're back, but each time that the police kick all those people out, they come back with different color sheets and have to set up in a different place.  So, now I don't know where Shumi's house is.

Somehow, though, Shumi knows how to get around, and she often finds us when we are outside.  Last time I ran into her, she had a friend with her and we played for about half an hour.  She even went and picked me a guava from a tree, but I just thought it was a fun, green ball!    

I really like to see Shumi, but don't know if I should give her money or give her snacks or be asking her to come and sleep in the extra bed in my room.  She has a mom, so I probably can't do that.  One of the times I shared some money with her, she ran up to me about ten minutes later with tears on her face.  She tried to dry them off, but I asked about them and she said someone had taken the money she was holding.  

I so wish she had a home with an air conditioner and a stove and a bed like me.  Why doesn't every kid have those things?  Why doesn't she have a mom who makes sure she goes to school and a dad who says that if she needs a uniform for school, he'll make sure she gets it?  I'm guessing it's because their moms and dads didn't do those things.  I wish I knew how to help her.  

Family

Carlsons at a the Grace School Barn Dance in December
(No, there are no barns that I've seen in Dhaka, but we did have an official barn (line) dance caller telling us to swing our partners round and round!)

One reason I'm glad we're living in Dhaka is that Mom doesn't have to work and we don't have a TV or car or other things to keep my parents too busy.  This means I get to spend lots and lots of time with both of my parents, and that makes me really happy.  

Today, Dad was even off of school so we all went for a jog in the morning, I went to baby group with Mom while Dad did some lesson planning, we had lunch together, I had a great nap, some friends came over for cookies and coffee, and now I'm eating dinner and about to splash Dad a whole lot when he puts me in the bath.  Isn't it great just to have normal days together as a family?

Big Rickshaw

Sometimes, Mom likes to contextualize the stories she tells me.  I do love my books, but I don't really have a frame of reference for tractors.  So, although I hope to spend a few summers on a Minnesota farm, for now I'm just imagining what a big tractor looks and sounds like.  Rickshaws, on the other hand, I can feel and taste and hear as soon as we step out of our apartment building.  

Here's one of the stories she sometimes tells me that has been inspired by the book Big Tractor and its relatives.

Big Rickshaw

The Big Rickshaw drove out of the lot and into the streets of Dhaka.  The sun was just beginning to rise and Big Rickshaw had lots of work to do.

"Tink, tink" went its bell as it veered into traffic on a Kalachandpur alley. 

Down the street bumped the rickshaw, all the way to a Bashundara neighborhood.  It helped one family move to a new apartment.

"Click, clack" went the chain as it struggled to stay in its track under the heavy weight of a refrigerator.

Your flat-bed cousin already moved lots of the boxes and helped clean up the trash, Big Rickshaw!

After moving all that furniture, the Big Rickshaw had to stop to get some air in its tires.  Always riding on monsoon-worn streets causes a few leaks once in a while!

"Hiss!" went the air as it filled those tires back up.

It waited in line at the Gulshan 2 intersection to pick up passengers hurrying to and from work and errands.

The tractor brought some friends to a dinner appointment next.

"Whoosh, whoosh" went the tires as they spun along the pavement. 

After nap time, the Big Rickshaw rushed along the streets of Baridhara.

"Babu, babu!" yelled the passers by as they saw the Bowman on board.

And when everything was done, the Big Rickshaw peddaled back to Lane 5 in time for dinner.  What a good day's work, Big Rickshaw!

You'll share, right Mom?

In January it was "Happy 27th birthday to Mom!"  Dad gave her a fun new Sherpa Adventure Gear shirt that he sneakily bought in Nepal and she opened her present all the way from Arizona.  Hooray for box cheesecake!  I can't wait for my first bite.

Heritage and FuzziBunz

As I helped Mom put away my clean diapers the other day, she decided to teach me a little about my heritage.  We organized the diapers on the right to represent the Swedish flag.  On Mormor's side, everyone is from Sweden.  On Grandpa's side there is a bit of Norway mixed in, but I hear that's close to Sweden.  I think I need a good, long talk with Nana and Gramps to get their details again, but I know there's a whole lot of Scandinavia in my blood from them, too.

I think she had me do the diapers on the left just because we like Miss Esther, our Irish art teacher friend, so much.

A question for those with more than 10 months of internet experience:

Although I did start my blog early in life, (I think I was posting sometime in my first month) I am no expert.  For some reason over the last weeks, I have not been able to pull the blog up at my house.  "Connection Timeout," the mysterious Internet guru always tells me.  He (or she?) has suggested that I need to enable Cookies and JavaScript, which I think I've done.  (Doesn't "enable Cookies" mean eat as many of the crumbs you can get Mom and Dads' friends to give you by looking cute and hungry?)

Anyway, if anyone has any tips, that would be great.  For now, I had to dictate this to Mom over the phone so she could type it up on another computer while I'm playing at home with Dad.  Until I get some help, I don't know how I'll ever get more pictures on here!

Thank you, Jesus, for the Internet.

I love that I can skype so many people.  (Side note: Mom's been sharing some of her linguistics training with me.  Isn't it interesting how the generification process happens with language?  A few years ago "skype" was just the name someone thought of for their brilliant idea, and now it is how we say we want to "call" people on the internet and can be used as an adjective, noun or verb.  Cool, huh?  Maybe next time I'll tell you what she's taught me about mondegreens.)  

Anyway, I just wanted to share how thankful I am for the internet.  It's how I've kept up with so many family members and friends all the way from Dhaka.  Because of Skype, I get to meet Tristan Cornwell, play peek-a-boo with grandparents, stick my tongue out at aunts, crawl around with Oliver Pearce, and even eat meals with cousin Norah!