Summer of Quarantine and Travel: VA to MO to CO to UZ

When arriving to a new country, the excitement of taking in new sights, sounds, and smells usually make up for the hassles of flying, jet lag, and bewilderment of navigating unfamiliar expectations. Exploring neighborhoods and wandering through grocery stores are among my favorite activities for not only finding calm and gaining independence, but also to help with the activation energy that is needed to overcome an eleven hour time difference. Instead, we were sequestered inside the walls of our new home (a wonderful home to be sure) for a strict fourteen days, relying on grocery delivery services, our shitty grasp of Russian language, and the good will of Mark’s work sponsor to be our connection to the outside world. 

We knew our arrival to Uzbekistan would be super isolating but it was still a surprisingly hard adjustment. It didn’t help that one of our computers crapped out and the internet went down after the first day. Jet lagging exhaustion came in waves and it took all I could muster not to pass out on the couch, so I took running the stairs or pacing the hot tiles of our inner courtyard. Nothing seemed doable in the fog of nausea and there were only so many movies, games, and reading material we could stomach and rewatch for the tenth time. Every afternoon we’d take a strict, one hour nap. Getting up afterwards was brutal and for rest of the day we all looked like we had raging cases of pink eye. We’d pick at dinner and crawl into bed, hopeful that this time, we’d get to sleep an extra hour… five. Only to have our bodies bing us awake at 2:30am, 4:00am, and 4:40am like some sort of effed up clockwork.

We are lucky. We have our own beds and space in which to reacclimatize to Tashkent’s timezone and quarantine. I was told the repatriated citizens who were on the the charter plane with us from NY would be required to do the same at a state run facility. I keep this in mind when I get a case of the whines. 

Getting here at all took a lot of heavy lifting by the embassy crew. I am humbled by the travel team who waited hours long lines to add us to the long waitlist. I am grateful for the team who prepared our home, left us food and drink, and delivered our weary bodies to the doorstep. Boredom and jet lag are a small price to pay for us being able to move our lives forward after months of waiting, cancellations, and the annoyingly all-too-common anxiety of not knowing what’s what with life these days.

Speaking of gratefulness, I would be remiss not to mention all the joy and valuable family time we got to spend in Missouri and Colorado. Mark finished his training at the end of June which meant our lease was up in Virginia and we had all of July and possibly all of August to take home leave. At the time, we couldn’t find any airlines flying pets so we opted to rent a car for our travel. Aside from Margo vomiting into the wind while we were driving on the highway causing apple-pastry scented spray-back throughout the car, the drive was unremarkable. It took us many wipes, towels, and attempts to clean it up. Even the dog needed a bath. 

It took us 15 hours in one go to get to Missouri where we spent our days road biking, canoeing, and boating. Mark often complained that cycling in Missouri meant never finding a rhythm because of all the short and steep hills, but I loved it. I did well with the short bursts of energy needed to climb and descend. Deets all but lived in Grandpa’s garage woodworking, and Margo was her Grandmother’s wee sidekick, making cookies and swimming in their hot tub. We blew up fireworks, watched Hamilton, and ate blackberries from their backyard.

In Colorado, we enjoyed our first ever family reunion with my parents and my brother’s family. It was such a special experience introducing the cousins while we hiked until our knees gave out and grilled all the meats. Road biking CO-style brought back brutal memories of Mark effortlessly prancing up long-ass climbs while I heaved for every breath in the saddle. Visiting my home state made us remember how much we loved living there. Mark and I decided that Salida would be our backup retirement location, should the Slovenian mountains not pan out. 

I use the memories and hugs, photos and mementoes, and laughs and tears we collected during this time to carry me through the sadness of moving away from the U.S. I wasn’t ready to leave, especially under the circumstances that no one knows what’s going to happen next. It was a gift to spend the summer with my MO & CO family, and not just because they willingly accommodated 4 people, 1 dog, 1 kennel, 8 bags, and all the miscellaneous crap/essentials we thought with us. It was also a gift to know that regardless of what happens or where we go, we will always have more than one place to hang our hats and hearts. 

Photography Diversion

To balance out free time spent playing Soccer Manager and Civilization, Mark created an account with Guru Shots, a site that calls itself "The World's Greatest Photography Game." In a nutshell, signup is free and players submit their best photos and votes are cast. Tinderesque, you swipe right for photos you like, swipe left for the ones you don't. Some contests last for days, others for only a few hours. 

The winning mechanism is a bit more complicated than winning the most votes. Players also have to put in the work, voting through stacks of photos, sometimes hundreds worth, in a wide array of categories to move up the ranks. Challenges change daily and like any good video game, it requires attention, strategy, and constant updating. The lazy ones can literally buy votes for level boosting, but you still have to depend on entering even semi-decent photos. Overall, the site advocates photographers of all sorts of talent to experiment with curating photos and it creates a like-minded, world-wide community. Mark likes it because it forces him to scour through his vast collection, edit, and also to reminisce. 

This morning's category was "Match the Cover" (https://gurushots.com/challenge/match-the-cover9/rank/gurus-top-pick) allowing only 8 hours of voting. The photo in question is displayed below. There's nothing like that in the burbs of Arlington, so David put together LEGO windows and walls, Mark photographed and uploaded it. The photo ended up earning an All Star ranking and placed 400-something in the competition. Not too bad for a few hours work and a few hours killed. 

The Challenge

The Match

The creation

The Competition

Mom-Margo Interview

Margo and I decided to interview each other for one of her writing assignments for whatever counts as school these days. While she asked me questions about childhood pleasures (like, what was my favorite book? What was it like when I lost my first tooth?) she shared her stance on living the quarantine life and came up with useful advice to give her past and future self. 

Mom: For this interview, what title would you like to give yourself?

Margo: Please call me Margo Amelia Schlink Sparkle Unicorn. Yes. You can call me that.

Mom: Can I shorten that to MASSU?

Massu: (laughs) Sure!

Mom: Since we've been living quarantine life, what has been your favorite thing to do?

Massu: I love getting to spend time with my family.

Mom: What was your favorite thing to do prior to this?

Massu: I loved playing on the playgrounds and having water fights without being worried about catching coronavirus. I miss being able to hug people. 

Mom: Let's talk about things you don't miss doing. Is there anything you can't do now, and you are glad because of it?

Massu: I don't exactly miss that people tell me that I can't do things. Like, when we used to pick up packages from the front desk, the lady would tell me it was too heavy and wouldn't let me bring it back to our apartment.

Mom: What are you most excited to do for the rest of this year?

Massu: I can't wait to get into our new house and moving to Uzbekistan and seeing my grandparents. I also can't wait to make new friends. 

Mom: Is there anything you'd like to tell your younger self, like any advice you would like to pass on?

Massu: Don't let other kids take you over!

Mom: What would you like to tell your future self?

Massu: I would remind myself that I always love my mommy and daddy and David.

Mom: You have accomplished a lot of activities with home school. What are you most proud of?

Massu: Oh, learning my multiplication facts. 

Mom: Which one is your favorite?

Massu: My favorites are 11x11 and 12x12 because you were so surprised that I knew them in a snap!

Mom: That's definitely true, I was shocked! My favorite has always been 8x4 and I have no idea why.

Mom: What have been some of your favorite books to read and why?

Massu: I love the Hank Zipzer books because they are so funny. I also love I Am Jazz. My grandma sent it to me. I like it because it shows that you should be whoever you want to be.

Cutting Some Slack

Day 57 

I've started this posting about 5,000 different times, and of those 4,999 attempts, different emotions have gotten in the way. One moment I am fine, resigned to the status we are in. I make peace with the waiting and unknown. In other moments, I am hopeless, mad, hysterical, anxious, sad, or embarrassed, though usually all of the above. Or I feel nothing at all. Worst of all, I know I am not the only one with these ups and downs. The fact that "we are all in this together" gives me no comfort. Instead, I feel even more angry and helpless on behalf of every single individual's suffering, whether you are a friend, stranger, neighbor, or family member. It sucks and I hate it. 

The world has a palpably negative vibration and enduring it is exhausting. Processing feelings is exhausting and for a while I was pretty good at avoiding it. One day, I looked into a mirror and saw nothing but a sour, dark eyed hag with a pinched, butthole-mouth looking back. My emotional poker face fools no one. But, now I write to hold myself accountable to my feelings. Every day I work to maintain a separation of self-worth from the brittle ups and downs of the unknown. I remind myself they are not one and the same.

Some days are productive and positive. Some days are only meh and blah, while others are sorrowful. These woes don't even include the news which packs such an unjust and emotional punch, that it makes it hard to sleep at night. I feel like I don't have the right to write (rejoice or complain) about anything in my life because others have it so badly. But I realized I can and should take care of my own soul and still do my part to make things right. So, I write.

The reality is, of course I am fine, and will continue to be fine. Our short term plans are like everyone else's: stay at home, continue with school and training, and keep our fingers crossed and our faces masked. My kids are fabulous and brave. They seem to be handling the seclusion from friends and stress of having me be their teacher quite well. I have gotten to know their strengths and weaknesses as writers, readers, and mathematicians, as they have gotten to know my displeasure of understanding poetry and discerning fractions from decimals. Margo taught me Common Core however, which to my surprise, actually isn't that bad. 

Mark is my rock. He's my planner, doer, and positiver. When I am tossing and turning, and grinding my teeth through the night, he stays up thinking alternative game plans for our future should prior plans not work out. He is endlessly encouraging and when I am berating myself, he lifts me up. Sometimes I ask him why he loves me. He tells me that I don't need to know why (although he would give me a rundown if I asked), but that I need to simply accept that he does. 

Self care: when I am not teaching the kids, I doodle and sketch, and collect CEUs, continuing education credits, to maintain my nursing license. I am required to complete 24 credits every two years, and right now I have about 80. I have a nursing job waiting for me in Uzbekistan so with luck, I will get to put the knowledge to use this fall. Or maybe I don't want to- because it would mean I'd be dealing with STDs and fungus infections and diarrhea and of course corona virus, none of which I would wish anyone to have. I have really missed patient care.   

Long term wise, things get more complicated when Mark completes his training in June. We were told to plan as usual, which is to go on Home Leave (government mandated vacation) and onward to our post at some point. Ideally it would be July, but due to well... life, no one knows the when or how. We have friends and colleagues waiting to return to the States upon completion of their tours and others waiting to move abroad. Some families are waiting here to go back to their previous lives overseas. The entire system is navigating blind and making adjustments along the way, all the while with manpower scattered around the world holding their breaths like we are. In short: it is complicated, so we wait and fake embrace the icy cold-warmth of the unknowing and settle into whatever counts as patience these days.  

Forest Bathing 

Yellow Smock, Blue Dress, Black Suit

I have a deep appreciation for my husband's sense of humor and patience. Today he let me dress him up in tights and fashion his likeness to a knight from the Middle Ages for the Getty Art Challenge where art lovers recreate famous pieces of art using only what we have on hand. Mark was modeled after Jacques de Lalaing, a guy who was good with a sword and lance in the Middle Ages. Apparently, Jacques regularly fought and won in tournaments and was considered be quite chivalrous during a time where it was normal to stab people with poleaxes and call it a day.

The kids were also enthusiastic participants for this weekend craft project. Margo dressed up as the Getty's "Young Woman with a Fan," a pastel painting done by an Italian artist who was a high roller for royalty portraitures. The girl's eyes caught my attention and reminded me of Margo's uncanny ability to look into my soul- for better or worse. 

Finding David's likeness was bit more challenging so I had to expand my search beyond the Getty's online collection. I won't lie. It felt very creepy to google "famous art with boys" because I wasn't sure what foxhole I would find, but it ended up being super fitting. I found a piece that would show his creative side and his smoldering side. David could legitimately be a model. He posed in "Hat Storm" by Yann Faucon, a French artist who creates barren, yet oddly full collages as his expressive medium.

Tomorrow brings us Monday- another day full of worksheets, writing, teaching (attempts at), Russian, and daydreaming about what we will do next weekend... inside.

Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing

Young Woman with a Fan

Hat Storm

Situational Associations

During Ms. Prester's Advanced Algebra class my junior year in high school, an announcement came overhead: there had been shooting at Columbine High School. Ms. Prester remained seated on her metal teaching stool and calmly applied another layer of Cetaphil to her hands. She always kept a bottle of it on her desk.  A number of students stood up in a panic but she insisted none of us were going anywhere until fifth period was finished. 

Known as a stern and unbendable teacher, everyone begrudgingly slid back into their seats. As she rotated back to the blackboard and picking up where she left off, my mind tried to process the seriousness of what would ultimately become (at the time) the deadliest school shooting in history. I had a realization. What I thought had been a weird habit of coating her hands in soap, the same one I used at home to wash away oily teen angst, was actually lotion. The association of Cetaphil and guns now are permanently fused in my brain.

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings of my sophomore year of college, I started with anatomy class at 7:30am sharp. Forty-four minutes prior, I watched two planes crash into one of the Twin Towers on my 12" TV that had a built in VCR while in my basement apartment. I tried to wake my roommate but to no avail. She was too sleepy and wasn't having it. Not knowing what else to do, I went to class. My professor was an old codger who insisted that the invention of lotion was nothing more than a pharmaceutical money making scheme. He also wore a lab coat at all times, even in the lecture hall that held several hundred students. Despite the devastating national news he insisted class should continue.  Lotion, guns, and airplane crashes are linked in memory bank of terrible events.

This time it's not lotion, but rather hand-sanitizer imprinting my personal experience of our current viral calamity. Of course, I've been following the spread and have had countless "what if" conversations turn into "if then" conversations. I have seen our grocery store empty and restock and empty again in unpredictable waves. But for me, it all got real a few weeks ago when I was at a park with my daughter and saw a mom lose her mind over her kid dropping his turkey sandwich onto the ground. Like any normal kid, he just picked it up and kept on eating. Appalled, she whisked it from his hands and slathered so much Purell on him it was dripping all over the place. She hissed "Well now you're going to catch the coronavirus because of what you just did!" He was no older than two. 

The smell of the hand-sanitizer was as intense as her stress level as she threw away the rest of his lunch and hauled him away crying. As the flowery-alcoholic smell wafted in my direction, I received THE email: Arlington Public Schools announced its official closure due to coronavirus. From here on out, my small, self-centered life would get a whole lot smaller.

I faced a lot of indecision about whether I should or should not write about what this new, smaller life of mine has been like. I reasoned, who would want to hear about my routine when the most exciting part of my day is choosing which direction to walk the dog every morning- clockwise or counterclockwise? But then I received emails from a friends in different places sharing how the virus has changed their lives, and I read them with great interest. So maybe sharing my own monotony might be interesting to others? 

Life at home has become monotonous but surprisingly, also incredibly busy. I quit taking Russian and took over our kids' schooling. Mark continues his lessons on Skype with his two classmates and instructor for five hours a day. Since I have control over so little right now, I keep a schedule for the kids as we churn through assignments that school sends every morning. They are lifesavers to help pass the day which is a cycle of forty-five minutes of class time followed by a 15 minute break. We do school from 7:45am-2:30pm. They get story time with Grandma and Grandpa to break up the day full of worksheets and writing taskts.

On our breaks, I feel like a sadistic Simon Says, but the kids have taken a liking to my shouting out drill exercises. We are the daily weirdos doing bear crawls, push ups, and zombie walks on the sidewalk. Though they will last only a day or two more, seeing the blooming cherry blossom and magnolia trees has made our walks feel extra special. 

I work out for about 40 minutes every day after school, using Nike Training Club (free at the moment), online yoga, and my current old favorite YouTube channel for women over forty, Fitness With PJ. She's sassy and super knowledgable. Plus I like that she curses. Because let's face it: working out sucks. We live on the first floor which means everyone can see in. There is a particular attention deprived child who, on her daily constitutionals loves to hang onto the window sill and watch my un-glorious grunt show. I have now resorted to closing all the blinds which makes the living room even more claustrophobic.

It could be worse. We are healthy, if perhaps bored and overly frustrated with having no idea what will happen next. Mark has a job that keeps us housed and fed and that alone helps me swallow my humble pie. This week, I ran into an acquaintance who worked at the school's extended day program which got cancelled when everything else did. Luckily she has a second job to help pay the bills, because that's what it takes to survive these days. Plus she's a single mom who has to leave her child at home. Even more eye opening, she lives twenty miles away (where rent is more affordable) and relies on public transportation. However, Metro shut down several metro stops and cancelled many bus routes leaving people virtually stranded, unable to get to the jobs they so desperately need. Ironically, the few routes that were operating, the buses were packed like sardines- everyone was taking their chances of exposure. I saw her at 6pm as she making her way to her 11pm shift at a nursing home, experimenting with safer routes to limit exposure to not just for her family, but the residents too. She's a legitimate hero.

If I ever complain about how hard this is, please punch me in the face.  

Fresh air.

Vocabulary development. 

Medical training.

Listening to the story of White Fang.

Still here. Still studying Russian. Still a nurse. Still writing - sort of.

The Russian language motto: say what you know how to say, not say what you want to say. Memorize, repeat. As an amateur writer and professional feeler of feelings, and one who loves to indulge in the dramatics every now and then, the motto is painful. It makes me feel indignant and stupid. But, it is essential. Russian requires paying attention to all endings of words (especially adjectives and nouns) because they determine the structure of a sentence and its meaning. I could give examples, but after two glasses of wine, I can only say that remembering which ending goes where, becomes a difficult task especially when shooting the shit. Unless you are a case-ending nerd with no life, it's really hard to reproduce on the fly. 

Anyway.

My point is, I have been diligent, sticking to memorizing rules and set sentences to get me through the beautiful pit of Russian language. It really is a cool language to study and I am blown away by its sophistication. I want to be one of those people who can string together coherent, intricate words and I study like it's going out of fashion. Then I open my mouth and it feels like I never cracked open even one of the 25 text books I have amassed so far. The process is humbling and annoying and I am trying to enjoy it as much as possible.

I study and make tiny chips into the Russian granite, leaving no time for other diversions, such as writing blogs, stories, or anecdotes. I miss using my true voice. 

Rewind to December 2019: my friend Remy (and though he doesn't know it, mentor,) wrote me an email asking if I was planning to submit a story to Doek! his online literary magazine published in Namibia. It is his baby. Through Remy's insistence and overwhelming vision, he put together a first edition, and just TODAY, a second edition of stories written by a menagerie of personalities and talents mostly based out of Namibia. There's fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and photography. When I lived in Windhoek, I was part of the first tranche of aspiring writers. We met a few times a month, usually over wine to share and critique pieces of ourselves like that of a cheese platter. 

I moved away, but my heart never did. God - I loved living in Namibia. The writing group was one reason why. In the group, I didn't write about travel much like I do here. Instead, I revisited rusty memories from my nursing career and I forced myself to reveal parts of my life I was horribly proud of, fabulously ashamed of, and a few other emotions in between. 

I was part of Remy's first publication of Doek! where I wrote about a tough nursing decision I had to make (read here, it involves Vicodin) and now the second publication about dealing with my own realization of what real nursing care meant to me (which you can read here, it involves a butt hole - not mine). 

Perhaps more interestingly than my typical notion for bald forthrightness and slapstick humor, are the stories my fellow writers have to share. Their stories and poems gave me the feels of loss and vulnerability, wonder, hope, and creepiness. I highly suggest reading them. The photography of course is bold- they are stories told by a couple of photographers that showcase corners of Namibia that you would never know or see as a tourist. They are... awesome and unique, for lack of better words. Check out Shawn's Dry Dock series here. It totally "gets" what Walvis Bay is all about.

I am so proud of the group and I am proud to be part of it. Please check out the stories and share. Also, Remy successfully wrote and published a book, The Eternal Audience of One, which is something I have never done. Buy it and read it. 

I will keep writing here and elsewhere. For now, I return to obsessing about a different kind of writing - the kind of writing I fantasize about to knowing its Russianic curves, deepness, and punch lines. But probably never will, because the language is so damn hard! Спассиба.

Light reading.

WDK -> IAD -> the burbs of VA

For the past couple of months I've been trying to figure out how I could best close out the last three years of my life in Namibia. It would be rude not to do so, considering how much Namibia meant to me and my family. The stars, the camping, the game drives, the dry weather, the friends we made, it all feels like they were wild dreams and imaginary narratives. 

But I know that it was real when I'm in my Arlington kitchen, avoiding dinner plans and I'm suddenly struck with the urge to call up my friends for impromptu cheap dinner dates and I remember they are thousands of miles away. Dinner gatherings with friends in Virginia, though special, require a lot more planning, patience, and money. Braaing will never be the same. Now it's all about the efficiency of propane and sharing a grill with hundreds of other residents in our building.

When I walk through the National Zoo I notice that the cheetah exhibit is a neglected, lonely spectacle instead of a rare and exhilarating treat. The elephants are not as exotic and I feel like no one appreciates the Griffon vultures or the Damaraland mole rats quite like I do.

There were some good things about closing out our Namibian chapter. Schooling in Windhoek ended up pretty messy with the international school and their unreliable stash of teachers. Some teachers were fine, only a few were good, and the remainders were wild cards with inconsistent teaching skills and bad attitudes. Unable to see any improvement from the school over the past few years was disheartening. I won't miss it.

The kids are in a public school system for the first time, and so far I have been very impressed and more so, relieved. From what I can tell, each elementary school has its own speciality focus such as Montessori, STEAM, foreign language immersion, NASA, global citizenship, expeditionary learning, etc. My kids love their teachers, they've made friends, and I know what they are expected to learn this year. They have an actual curriculum with Standards of Learning testing that evaluates each student's progress on a spectrum. The only thing I would change are the PTA meetings which suck the life blood out of me. The passion is real folks, over electronic flyer distribution versus paper. 

I miss my car, the open spaces, and the spirit of Namibian adventure. Perhaps more so, because we are car light and bike heavy. From now until hopefully May of next year, Mark and I are all about learning Russian language, where we commute every day using Capital Bike Share. The bikes are fire engine red, bulky, and very heavy. I ride like Pee Wee Herman and I am not sad about it.

Classes started about four weeks ago and it has taken over my life. Five hours of class per day, one hour of lab time, and for the normal people, there's about two hours of homework, to make up a typical 8-hour workday. If I am left unsupervised, I could spend another two or three hours studying (or drowning) so I depend on a tight schedule that doesn't allow for me to get any more psychotic than I already am. Russian makes relaxing over the weekends either super easy or super hard and I haven't found the space in between. I am either thinking, obsessing, and agonizing over vocabulary and cases. Or, I am beyond that stage and totally stupid. The other day, I couldn't remember how to use Google Maps or even what the number 5 was. IN ENGLISH.

Undoubtedly, the next few months will be full on slog but I am certain the Russian will come in handy. Like any State Department language course, I might not be able to ask for things in a grocery store, but I will for sure be able to talk about politics in Russian. It's a skill that everyone needs these days.

Old life.

New life.

DC. Credit: Mark

Lubber Run Park
 Arlington, VA

View of Rosslyn Metro and Georgetown U Cathedral
 from the 7th floor where my enjoy my language "hobby."

Travel Tips for your Toddler

Whew! After a sleepless night and early morning departure from Colorado back to Virginia, I peeled a sweaty Margo off my back and unceremoniously dumped her into her crib for a much needed nap. One beer and two pieces of cake later, I am feeling much cooler and much better. I made it. Even though I am used to traveling with my kids via whatever form of transportation, the feeling of tenuous edginess never goes away. So when one of my girlfriends asked me about my traveling "secrets" with a toddler, I instantly started stress-sweating just thinking about it- even in the safety of my home. I also laughed because in order to answer this question with any sense of accuracy would require extensive statistics and pie charts based on variables such as: weather, horoscope forecasts, moon and tide positions, previous two weeks sleep patterns, and/or whether mommy had enough to drink the night before.

At any rate, I gave it some thought and decided to share how I got through this last trip to Colorado with Margo, who will turn two in October. Here is a list of what was in my carry-on "one personal item" bag*:

1.  standard repertoire of hygiene products- diapers, wipes, butt-paste, poop bags. 
2.  child's water bottle
3.  mom's water bottle that she'd rather backwash drink from anyway
4.  2-3 new books and learn-along-tablet for throwing on floor or over the seat**
5. giant assed blankie
6. iPhone with Blue's Clues (she gave it a good 10 minutes!)
7. post-it notes, pen, bobby pins
8. dental floss
9. small bottle hand lotion and/or lip balm
10. toy truck for her to throw across the aisle**
11. bazillion snack packs- crackers, yogurt raisins, Clif bar, cereal poofs, fruit snacks that she may or may not have eaten, chewed & spit, crushed, thrown, or force-fed on other people.
12. mom's wallet to extract all forms of ID and credit cards

*some people bring extra clothes in case of blowouts, I threw caution to the wind and elected to not bring seconds. I also flew Frontier which meant I would have to pay extra for a "carry-on."

**completely useless 

Making short order of her Post-its.

Winners of this trip? Numbers definitely 6, 7 and 8. That girl loves to make messes, and guess what? Post-its and floss are super easy to clean up. I'm no expert, but I say if your kid has the attention span for shows, go with it. Travel is out of your routine anyway, and it's not going to ruin their precious minds. Same goes for food- some eat, some don't and it can change every time. Margo coveted the cereal poofs today, but last week went to town on the fruit snacks.

 Let me add a quick note about mom's needs- dressing for comfort and style: I tend to favor a familiar shirt/top that hides sweat, snot, or food and jeans/pants with pockets. First, make sure your tank top isn't so old that the button pops loose with every move thus creating a strip-tease and necessitating the use of available dental floss to tie it shut. Second, make sure your shirt isn't so stretchable that whenever your monster toddler climbs over you, they don't succeed stretching the shirt down to your belly button. At least I had the fortitude to wear a scarf and at least the other passengers pretended to ignore my clothing malfunctions. Third, if you forgo the belt due to security screening, make sure said 'pants with pockets' stay up, covering the entirety of your rump. No one wants to see that. But, I'm just speaking hypothetically. Yup.

Forced joint selfie with new light up princess bracelet. Not a big hit.
I'm not sure it even made it off the plane. 

All in all Margo did great minus a few verbal protests and attempts to vacate the premises. I think all toddlers have this amazing ability to liquefy their bones and slither through our parental clutches! I had her on my lap for the trip out, and thank God for my seat neighbor who entertained her a bit too (FYI: I always get an aisle seat if I can help it) by distracting her when my tricks failed.  Other people's lotions, iPads and tolerance of getting kicked by tiny feet repeatedly always helps too.  As for the way back, we lucked out big time by having an extra seat for her to sit in. I gotta tell you, it makes all the difference! Our row-mate hid in his window seat pretending to sleep and ignoring Margo's outdoor-voice commands for the 3.5 hour flight. 

Some people swear by strollers, and I am one of them. I know they are bulky and a pain in the ass to take apart, but if the kid(s) need to decompress and chill out, it's a great option. This trip I forwent a stroller and used a baby carrier to confine Margo during the luggage retrieval and walk from Metro. As the sweat ran from my head to my crack on the trek home,  for a split second I considered taking a taxi. But as you all know I am a cheapskate and find value in walking on my own two feet.  I made it home, thankful that I won't have to deal with the hardships of traveling for... oh crap... one week. And I get to do it all over again.  Stay tuned!

Post Exam Torrential

Man!  I was really hoping the content of my post-exam blog would be different than what I've put to the screen. But it isn't. Actually, I can't tell if I am more disappointed with that or the fact that I didn't get the grade I wanted! The good news is, I didn't fail because I didn't need to take the exam in the first place and I still received a score indicating my ability to understand a foreign language. Nevertheless, I wanted to brag about how "I Want To Break Free" was blasting overhead as I exited the building with notes and articles blazing behind my path. I even fantasized about my pithy FB post with tons of congratulatory comments. Instead, I simply left the FSI premises in a mess of tears and shock, completely avoiding FB-land. Now I have "Let It Go" as my go-to song. I might start carrying a boom box around just to play it.

The exam was tough and hats off to those diplomats who subject themselves to the game every few years. For weeks I took heart to some sound exam advice a fellow blogger wrote about and transformed my entire perspective into staying calm, keeping it simple, and focusing on what I knew. (She's good stuff.  Check out Travel Orders).  For me, the calming mantras and game plan worked- until it didn't.  As I've been telling myself: you win some, you lose some and after a tearful weekend, I am ready to move on.  I finished 24 very full weeks of studying Portuguese and after a disappointing exam performance, I am forced to go back and remember why I signed up for language in the first place: to learn and love the language. I certainly can do that now, and quite well in my opinion. According to Mark, I also speak better than he does. So no regrets. 

Work it girl: over 800 sheets of paper, countless flash cards,
five workbooks, five notebooks, texts, magazines...
great catharsis in throwing out all my hard work.

As a side note, I would like to point out a good resource for Foreign Service families: the Employee Consultation Services are the real deal who might actually offer some great perspective on battles we face every day. I noticed early on my anxiety about a dumb exam was infiltrating other parts of my life. So I made the call which was the hardest part, but I was connected to a counselor at FSI who treaded the waters with me. Now that I broached the surface of therapy, I have a mountain of other histories to tackle, but it was nice to have a third party perspective when we get this tunnel vision. And it was free, just for future reference: call them at 703-812-2257 or email: MEDECS@state.gov.

I'm glad it's over. I'm glad I did it. Will I do it again? I will let you know. Do I have any advice? Not a bit. But the great news is in between planning for our Brazil departure, I can get back into my old hijinks again, so stay tuned for more stories and commentary.  

How Do You Make 4 Year Old Pee in A Cup?

You know what's not fun? When you take your four year old son to the doctor for his health check up and they request a urine sample. So, being rather experienced with my personal history of asking people to pee on demand when I worked in a urology department, I don't think much at first-until we walk into the bathroom. I realize there is NO WAY my son would be able to hold two things at once (thank you to my dutiful husband who taught Deets how to point "things" in the right direction).  This, in addition to the explicit directions of: wiping himself with a cold antiseptic towelette, peeing into the toilet first, then catching some urine midstream for a "clean catch." Sure. Thanks lady-nurse.

I ask Deets whether he wants to stand up or sit down. He tries standing first, but then can't pee and switches his strategy. He sits and here I am, squatting close to the toilet with one arm hovering dangerously close to both exit holes, cup poised and ready. It occurs to me at this point, I just might get peed on or worse, because we all know what weird things doctor offices do to us. He takes what feels like for-ev-er to decide that he can't pee. Isn't it amazing the boundaries we share and cross sometimes? That's true love.

I got kicked out of the room for his hearing exam,
 because I was bothering him with my incessant photo taking.
Well played, Deets.

This may sound weird, but it was the first time in a looooooong time that I thought about the various difficulties some of my patients faced when they paid a visit to the urology office: peeing too much, peeing too little, peeing sideways, peeing weird colors... there was always something fascinating to learn working there. It made me think about how what seems like a simple task could turn into a huge obstacle for many people, and at that moment I felt the stress my patients must have felt. It was enough to make ME pee; and miss my job a little bit.

Anyway the doctor continued on with her lengthy health exam: measuring vital signs, vision and hearing tests followed by a scolding for his calcium intake, praise for his nap and reading times, and four vaccinations. My poor kid screamed like a teapot, but recovered well enough to eat two suckers and head off to summer school. It was the moment we arrived there that his bladder practically exploded; performance anxiety in its truest form!

Margo had her health check up last week and it doesn't take much to see how they are two totally different people: Deets at 25% for height and weight, with Margo at 90% & 75%.  Deets only outweighs his sister (younger by 2 years) by 4 pounds! Ah- the list of differences can go on...

Next week is my check up, only mention-worthy because we are in full swing of medical clearances before we head to Brazil. I wonder what fun things I will get to do all in the name of renewing a birth control prescription. Any guesses?! All I can say is, it's not fun.

Saying Goodbye Sucks

For Independence Day, I learned what southwest Missourians consider macaroni salad: noodles, hard boiled egg, black olives, pickles, mustard, mayo, and a pinch of paprika for color. It was a food I'd never tried before. We had the good fortune to join another family for dinner tonight because Mark had to leave town for a family illness where ironically, he flew to southwest Missouri. The whole dining experience was priceless because the girls who made the macaroni salad used a family-created recipe and they eat it every Independence Day, along with something called "raspberry salad" (tart raspberry gelatin, raspberry fruit, marshmallows) and my favorite vegetable: pork ribs- dry rubbed and roasted. It's pretty hardcore, but there's nothing like a good dose of comfort food when the going gets a little sad.

Mark's grandmother has been ill for some time but very recently stopped eating and drinking, spending very few moments, if any, awake. Thankfully hospice has been managing her care at home which means the family can keep her company and allow for a peaceful transition. Not that any of this makes it any easier to deal with the death of a loved one, but... it's something, and from what I know about my grandmother-in-law, this is how she rolls.  I am relieved that Mark could make it back in time to say his goodbyes and also to be the amazing pillar of support that he is to all of us. 

Needless to say, life here has been more serious and somber than usual. I feel selfish even mentioning other other aspects of my life in the same blog post of a dying relative, especially since I try to keep my writings upbeat and oh hell- a little bit funny. Then I realized that since I've avoided writing anything going on in my life, I don't sort out my thoughts and feelings well. Effectively, I become a different and cantankerous person. For this I owe my husband a big fat apology.  It seems then- the sad, boring, and unfunny parts are just as important as the ones with levity and joy.

So let's catch up in less than 100 words: Portuguese continues to challenge me mentally and emotionally. Physically too- when I get up from my chair, it's as if I've been riding a mechanical bull. I have five weeks left, and I will drag myself to the finish if I have to. Mark passed his Portuguese exam and started on the management leg of training.  We seem to be eating a lot of chicken lately. Oh- and the kids are copacetic. I spend my evenings reading stories, building space shuttles, and chasing after a girl who thinks clothes are always optional.

As I sit at my computer, listening to the fireworks explode and smelling the sulfurous smoke drifting in,  I've resolved to reflect on these past few weeks and settle my anxieties about crap that really doesn't matter in the long run. It's a sad yet momentous Independence Day and I am glad Mark's grandmother can spend one last 4th of July with the people who matter to her most. What I can do in return for her, is to remind her great-grandchildren about how crazy she was about them, and share memories of their earliest years: Time spent running around her house in circles while I had a heart attack they might break something (they did- she didn't care one bit), playing hide-n-seek in the closets, and enjoying the toys and $2.00 bills she always sent them for birthdays and holidays. There's definitely comfort in that too. Sweet Fran, you will be missed. 

Fran and David L. Schlink
Schlink wedding (3.12.2010)

Favorite gift from Great Grandma: rabbit for stew.
(4.2.2012)

Three generations of solid Schlink lineage

Plus one more great grandchild for trouble.

Great Falls Park: Our 60 Minute Quickie

Maybe I am weird, but there's something quite calming and therapeutic about watching water crash violently over rocks and cliffs, merciless for anything in its way. It's especially weird because I don't generally like water or getting wet.  But perhaps it is because the violence puts me in my place, forcing me to check in with my mortality. I love the intimidation and beauty of it all. Last weekend we went to Great Falls Park for a quick escape from the sludge of suburban life. Like, really quick- it took only a 15 minute drive to get there. After hopping off Highway 66, we gaped at gigantic mansions and their fancy manicured lawns, wondering about the large number of "For Rent" signs, when we found ourselves completely surrounded by thick green forest in a matter of minutes. 

Not pictured: Mom stomping her feet, impatient to see the water. 

We arrived at Great Falls Park shortly after 9:00 am before the crowds rushed in about an hour later. Even at the entrance we could hear the water's roar, which made me extra excited, almost panicky to see what I was missing as if the water might run out before we got there. Now for those not exactly into hiking, there are four observation points of the river, all close to the parking lot. I think the excursion alone to see Great Falls is worth the trip, but the park also has a good amount of hiking trails and a visitor center with (probably) knowledgable park rangers. While swimming is strictly prohibited here, we did see kayakers hanging out at the base of the falls too.  Deets and Margo seemed impressed, but were probably more amused my frantic gestures, pointing out all the cool things I saw: "Look a bridge! Look at the birds! Ooh- check out the flood sign!" I might need to get out more.  Sadly, my oldest turned into a pumpkin quicker than I had hoped, leaving little time to explore the grounds more but at least my curiosity was sated. We left in the nick of time as hundreds of vehicles lined up down the road for entry. Go if you ever need a quickie. 

Overhead with circling vultures, probably picking out their choices of tourists.  

Looking for kayakers.

Feels even more violent in black and white. 

VW: Sold! Mazda 3: Bought

For those who had bets on how long we'd last without a car in the US, it's time to cash in! We made it six months. The beloved VW that was bound for Brazil took a dramatic turn to the US after Brazilian authorities decided diesel cars were un-importable. It came back here instead where it was promptly ticketed by the Falls Church parking enforcers, due to not having plates on the car. Mark decided this $50 dollar ticket was worth the fight and after three visits to City Hall, they dropped the issue. 

The adventure continued as he navigated the vehicular laws of Virginia, three trips to two DMVs and paying $850 dollars in registration/taxes the car was ready to sell.  Luckily, our TDI went to a friend within a few weeks who hopefully will enjoy it as much as we did. Of course, we ended up replacing the missing parts that went in our HHE and will show up in Brazil this fall: a spare tire, jack, floor mats, trunk cover for several hundred dollars more. Meh- what can you do?

That said, the short week of car ownership was quite refreshing. Like awkward teens talking about the prom, Mark and I hid in bed one night and he asked if I kinda-sorta-maybe might be interested in buying a car for the summer. Already feeling like a mountain yeti, herding my children around in the bike trailer in pouring rain and raging spring winds, I was pretty thrilled with his acquiescence. So off to the Internet he went, searching for a new car and with two trips to the car dealership he ended up choosing a Mazda 3. I find this somewhat ironic considering the NYT chose it as a classic hipster purchase. (Mark denies any association with that label- says the man who rides a bamboo fixie with a messenger bag and sports one hell of a beard in the fall and winter...) 

At any rate, we got a car! I drove it to a newly found local beer garden today while reminiscing over 16 hour European road trips with two young children in our wagon. Wasn't it magical when we had to reverse of up a 15% grade incline on a cobble stoned road in Greece? Or how amazing was our VW when we crossed the Hungarian border with four tires on the brink of exploding? I know we will create new memories with this new car, but I think the VW will be hard to match. 

Giving it a test drive. 

Waxing and Waning of FSI Life

More than a few people in my life have shared their advice about managing stress during periods of change or difficulty. The more delicate folks said, "don't make any drastic decisions if you don't have to" while others sensibly suggested "don't do anything stupid." Well, we all know that is easier said than done. 

This past week was a little tougher than usual. Nothing significant happened other than dealing with the elation-depression cycle of seeing friends and family come and go. It's always the feeling of "didn't you just get here?" Class continued on at its usual warp speed but this week we learned the fourth out of God-knows-how-many-Portuguese-verb-tenses and I completed my first evaluation.  Not a super-mega fun time, but also no big deal. I did fine, yet oddly I found myself emotionally overwhelmed. Suddenly I couldn't engage in basic Portuguese or even English conversations; still no big deal-- logically I knew life would go on, but I started crying. I HATE crying. I am an ugly crier too. I get the type of swollen-face-blotch that takes days to go away and with the amount of tears and snot I shed, I also look dehydrated and listless. I will make a great zombie, come the day.

Ok then. I cried at school. I was stressed about small stuff, and even more stressed because I know there's an infinite amount of worse things in this world than stressing about my self centered feelings. So once more felt the urge to make a change; to do something drastic. When I don't feel like dealing with stress, usually the first thing I want to do is get a hair cut. To me, there's something satisfying about the sound of scissors cutting snippets of hair and watching it fall to the floor, and letting go of what little control I think I have. I've had many, many bad haircuts because of this, while knowing full well I shouldn't do anything drastic when stressed.

Did I get a hair cut? Not exactly. In the spirit of pending beach time, tropical weather and Brazilian beauty standards I felt the need to try something new. Knowing full well I could regret my decision, I marched (ok, skirted) into the salon for my first bikini wax. Can't say I felt too great about it as I stared wincingly at the ceiling, with visions of Steve Carrell seared into my brain- but I followed through. It's too soon to tell what my next move might be, but right now I'm thinking a traditional hair cut might be nice. Or maybe a pedicure.

Portuguese Class

To my surprise, the past few months of my life have involved extraordinary amounts of role playing, experimentation, and self study. I've been singing in public, developing intimate relationships with more people than my husband, and working on what I hope to be an improved worldly version of myself: After six weeks,  I'm ankle deep into a full body immersion of learning a foreign language. As many people already know, the Schlink's are bound for Recife, Brazil this fall and I've had the fortunate opportunity to take a full time, 24 week Portuguese class.

When I'm not trying to find my head from my ass, I am genuinely enjoying my time. I have about five hours of instruction per day, sprinkled with several hours of computer lab time.  My three classmates, all officers and all bound for Sao Paulo are remarkably tolerant of my bizarre sense of humor. I might even dare to say they like me. We spend a lot of time together stumbling through the language but what's cool, is how we bring different strengths to the table. One student has amazing comprehension, one has great accent and is very deliberate with speaking. The third has an intense dedication to learning and as for me- I am good at asking interesting questions and I can keep dialogue moving along.  Despite the obvious building of accents, sentence structures, and vocabulary skills, we act out plays, sing songs, play games and drink Brazilian cocktails sometimes. And, because we learn the language by talking about what we know, they know a lot about my family; and subsequently how boring my life has become since starting class.

Caprinhas: made with Cachaça, a distilled sugar cane juice,
açúcar e limão verde. It will knock your socks off.
Seriously. I don't have anymore socks.

In fact, one of the most "exciting" things in my life right now is when I record my voice while reading sentences in Portuguese. The lab is frequently stuffed with students practicing anything from Chinese to Amharic to Italian so it is essential to keep our voices low. We wear headsets that allow us to listen and speak our chosen language, so imagine ME whispering a grocery list into your ear with my husky Portuguese accent. Pretty disturbing isn't it? Every time I play back my recordings, I can't control myself; I feel like a 1-900 girl. Hopefully it will all be worth it in the end.

Making the decision to take a full time class wasn't one I made lightly. For weeks I agonized over education versus a triumphant return to nursing while back in the states. I missed being a financial contributor and wanted to dust off my scrub pants and feel like a real professional again. I missed playing with blood and guts, and taking care of patients. But after looking past the 8-10 month training period, Mark and I agreed language would better benefit my independence in Recife, and with luck I could get a job down there; maybe as a nurse, maybe not. We made our decision, designed a budget and a schedule to keep our lives somewhat in control and went for it. I don't regret it, though the student on the computer next to me might once he hears my grocery list in Portuguese.