< ![CDATA[  It’s been a quiet week on the coast of Tunisia. A week of schooling, reading, knitting, and watching the Med change colors with the moods of the sky. This week boxes started to arrive. After weeks of biting our nails and hoping that the second address (that of our friends, the Dobsons, down the road) would be successful in netting the packages cast far across the ocean in our direction, the pink slips began to arrive and excitement mounted I headed for the post office to exchange them for boxes. Our friends must really love us to send such fabulous and thoughtful things at such exorbitant postage rates. The booty thus far: REAL chocolate chips (a thing not seen since we left in April!) Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (a 12 pack!) Jell-o Instant Pudding, the mother-load of Clif Bars, a boat-load of Propel drink powders and enough books to keep the kids busy for the rest of the winter. On a more practical note, we’ve also received two pair of shoes, new bike gloves, and some special Christmas surprises. Perhaps the most precious thing to emerge so far: A little family of pipe cleaner dolls with wooden beads for heads, carefully sewn into felt clothes and lovingly tucked into a handmade green sack for Hannah, made over many weeks by her sweet friend, Jillian Wood. It made my eyes tear up when she opened them. Hannah had the same doll kit when she was Jillian’s age and I KNOW how much hard work and love and pricked fingers went into that gift... so does Hannah. They will ride in a place of honor in her handlebar bag and be world travelers by the time Jillian sees them again. Ezra has been on a short leash this week. There has been much sitting in frustration on his part, and a fair amount of lamaze breathing on mine. We’re working on some character issues that have made him my constant side kick (because I can’t trust him to be anywhere else!) He has worked with me and walked back and forth to the post office with me all week long. These periods of incarceration that all of the children have weathered from time to time are always enlightening. There is nothing for getting to know your kid like practically duct taping his disobedient self to your leg for three or four days. What have I learned about Ezra this week, from his incessant chatter? The thing he’s most impressed with in Tunisia is the difference in sounds. He hears the bells on the horse carts before he can see them. He hears the one goat among the herd of bleating sheep that is mowing the area beneath the olive trees between here and the post office. He can tell the difference between Arabic and French and would like to learn Arabic... he is frustrated that I cannot teach him this. Upon reflection, I realized that it is the first thing he’s asked to learn that I cannot at least get him started on. He enjoys the music that permeates the city and the sung prayers that punctuate the day with regularity. On the way to pick up a pink slip from Mrs. Dobson: “Hey Mom, there’s the ‘mox’...” “You mean the mosque?” “Yeah, the mox. Is that where the guy does the singing?” “Yep. You see the speaker up there? That’s where the music comes out.” He cranes his neck way back and nearly falls off the curb. “Does he put his mouth up there and sing REAL loud?” “Something like that,” I chuckle. “I like the singing Mom, it puts me to sleep at bedtime.” I think about it and realize that evening prayers do seem to fall about bedtime for Ez most nights. “I don’t think you’d be a very good muslim. You’re not supposed to sleep through prayers.” He gets the joke, and laughs. “Mom!” He’s made me pay more attention to sounds. It may have been a quiet week here, but it is never truly quiet. At very least the constant sighing of waves on the sand colors the darkest part of the night. Dogs are always barking. Taxis beep incessantly, warning walkers that they are coming up behind and offering their services. Horse and donkey carts are never without bells. Loud, wailing music wobbles along the alleys from open store fronts. Men stand on their tables in the souq, shouting so loud that I can’t help but wince... which is a dead give away that I’m a foreigner. The sound-scape has changed as significantly as the landscape with our arrival in Africa. It is Friday night. We made hamburgers for dinner. I even found “real” ketchup and mustard to go on them. The kids are having a special popcorn and movie night with Daddy... who deserves it after working hard to get a bid into M.I.T. this afternoon. A bid that will hopefully lead to some work. Night has fallen. The sound of the ocean melts like butter over the sound of the popcorn cooking in the kitchen. Could it be that Tunisia is beginning to feel like home?]]>