You've Only Got One Mother

Look at that attitude!

A few months back, I had recently returned from my mission, and (happy to have her go-to babysitter back) my mom decided it was a good time to head off to Oregon to visit her parents for a week. While she was gone I was to (in addition to my already busy work schedule) play mom for my 10-year old sister. And so I made the quick transition from Sister Bauss to Mama Bauss.

At first, things went smoothly enough. For the first two minutes that is. I’d force myself to wake up every morning. I’d struggle to make her a lunch amidst complains of “I don’t like Cheez-its” and “yogurt is gross” and “but I had a PB&J sandwich yesterday!” Then there was the dramatics of getting her to get showered and dressed—who knew a 5^th grader could be so picky with outfits! She was putting Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada to shame!

Curry

Growing up, my Mom loved to make Indian food. As a young child I never thought much of it because we were never like the family that had lasagna on Monday, hot dogs Tuesday, or any sort of set meal schedule (except perhaps the fair amount of times Dad ordered pizza on Fridays...)

Truthfully, I hated that we weren't that family.

I wanted dinner at six every night, with a familiar menu and something that looked like it came from the cover of a Martha Stewart cookbook. I wanted my mom to serve me something more comfortable than the food of the Indians. I also made the opposite mistake Columbus did. When Mom made her Indian food I thought she meant American Indian.

And then one day something changed.

I can't give you the exact day, but I know that my parents had just returned from an exotic vacation. They came home with pictures of fish I had never seen before and these tiny little trucks. From that day forward I turned my mind toward other cultures, reading books about history more often than books about wizards. I'm not sure what it was about those tiny trucks, or maybe it was my Mom's travel fever, but my eyes were opened, if only partway, to what this big world had to offer.

And now I know where Mom's curry came from.

A World Away

Wednesday, March 8, 2012. I'll never forget the day I arrived at the bottom of the planet. Well, not technically, but the Strait of Magellan is nearly there. Punta Arenas, Chile was my first area when I served a mission. I remember the excitement I felt being one of 20 missionaries so far away from the mission home. I knew Chile was a hike from California, but I never truly felt the distance until I saw the moon through my skylight the first night there. It took 20 hours across four flights to get from the MTC to Punta Arenas.

Every day I found myself in awe that I was living there. On P-days, visits to the Strait were the norm; some missionaries even grew indifferent towards being there. I however, never got over the fact that  I was where some of the world's most famous explorers had once been. It was inspiring to think they saw the land as unfamiliar territory, not knowing who or what awaited them. I can't imagine exploring a new land without having any preconception of one's surroundings.

Sure, I'd never been to Chile before, but I understood where it was in the world, what countries it bordered, and what TripAdvisor recommended. Those explorers knew none of that. They just sailed and sailed and sailed some more. That kind of courage gave me the strength I needed to be able to live so far away from my family and country. If they could do it, then so could I.

I too found Punta Arenas to be a strange and unfamiliar land when I saw it from my airplane window, but when I left four months later, it took a piece of my heart that I hope it will keep forever. Hasta ver, Punta Arenas.