oh, man...

there's too much to tell you. i can't even begin. but let me try.

i've unpacked nearly eight thousand pounds of pretty and silliness we got delivered on a monday, and by a thursday somehow it all made perfect sense. the girlies three now describe our home as christmas, and i find them cozied up in a different spot every night. which is a gift to me, really. their happiness and contentedness.

for the record, there were eight italian plates and one flour canister and a few huge glass frames broken, but my disco ball arrived intact. so we're good.

at a dinner party the other night, someone complimented the placement of our dining room or the pictures on our wall or the embroidered floor pillows here and there, and pat's dark eyes sparked and that chandelier smile lillie kate inherited from him showed itself. she kills it turning our houses into homes, he said. and i thought to myself - as i moonwalked out of the room and out of the compliment - that here! here's a tangible skill! and phrew. 

i no longer panic about water and tsunamis and other nonsense. i panic about traffic. because if the girlies three are there and i am here, there is no way in hell i can get to them if there is traffic. which, in jakarta, is a given. there has always been and will always be traffic. i can't buy my way to them, i can't beg my way to them, i can't force my way to them no matter how hard i could ever try...and that. kills. me.

there are monkeys here dressed as baby dolls in jumpsuits and oakleys. as confusing as this may be to comprehend, it is just as difficult to unsee. same with people with missing parts - integral parts - who weave their way through the streets, asking for a few rupiah. i never carry cash, but i always yell at pat from the backseat to give them something! as if to order him to fix them! and he asks what do you want me to give them? in the same tone as kar, this is their life. there is nothing a few rupiah will do for them. 

as if i didn't know this already. but you just can't pass them by, can you?

it would be impossible to live here if you had a heart that breaks easily. so, you know...it's kind of impossible to live here. places like this - oh, man - they're the paper and the words and all those poems with the tragic endings.

the girlies three are growing up. and as difficult as this may be to comprehend, it is just as difficult to experience. i try to sit with them as often as i can, which keeps me away from this little space, but i know you understand. my choice is easy. and as long as they love telling me everything, i will soak up everything. i would drown in it if i could, and you know how hate getting my face wet.

okay, you. i have to go. there are three laptops blaring sia and ne-yo and eminem and dre (because lillie lives here) and i am chair dancing (because after a certain age, stop it) with you while pat creeps out grae with his best village people moves (see previous parenthetical). esmé and lillie are so in, though. it is nearly impossible to creep them out, which is why they are thriving here.

i kid. (i'm not.)

i'll catch you later. xoxo.

p.s. if you would like to hang with me daily, i'm on instagram. mackinink. most of my pictures are of esmé and monkeys and sometimes you can't even tell the difference. but still. we should follow each other and not lose touch.