there's been no shortage of non-magical moments in jakarta.
like, you know how esmé is perfect? not so when she's hungry or mad tired. this happens a lot here, especially after a full day of school, hours of play and swim afterwards, and oh yes an entirely different life. and i only recognize this much much too late when i catch her glaring at me with folded arms, origami-ed in an incorrect twist, but almost. and then the hissper.
this was the worst day. ever. why did i get stuck in this family? tell me. because it's the worst family. ever. and this place. it's the worst place. ever.
ugh. can somebody get this monkey a banana?
the first week here, we had to take a lot of taxis, the girlies three and me. it was...unsafe. no language, no seat belts, esmé on my lap like it was the late seventies.
after one epic fail of an afternoon of back-to-school shopping in malls overflowing with Louis Vuitton and Christian Louboutin, we hailed a cab home. bagless. scrunched up in the back. preparing ourselves as best we could for the probably hour long drive through traffic to our house one mile away.
at one point, i coughed. loudly and twice. and then repeated that loveliness again.
the look grae gave me made me cough again. WHY? would you HACK? on ME? she hisspered.
for the record? she knows me. she has known me her entire life. she knows i have never once not ever hacked on anything or anyone. it has never in the history of happenings happened.
through gritted teeth, i hisspered back. i am trying to wake up the cabbie.
things here aren't perfect. they're just kind of perfect to me.
all images found here.