Schlink Update: VA Burb Living

Earlier this morning I read an email my sweet sister Nettie sent. She was inquiring about our general well being seeing as how DC-NOVA-MD shut down yesterday due to Winter Storm Janice (how long have the weather-folk been naming storms, by the way?) It was reassuring to know my family back in CO continue to think of us, let alone think well of us after 3 weeks of intense, toddler and Beasty filled visitations. Perhaps we are a pretty cool family then.

At any rate Nettie, we are coming along just fine, though at a quicker pace than I anticipated. The children started school less than two weeks ago and despite initial days of tears and clinginess, I am doing much better now. I still throw fits every now and then, but Margo and Deets handle my outbursts with grace and understanding. I'm told Margo eats the most food out of anyone in the toddler group, and particularly loves Nilla wafers. Deets sings all the time and loves to build pretend guns, which is a huge surprise considering he used go to great lengths to keep anyone from carrying a tune, and Montessori school doesn't exactly support that sort of play. Overall I think he is very happy with his surroundings.

My time at home has been a menagerie of writing, studying, doing yoga and reacquainting myself with DC. It's not exciting but Portuguese for me starts next month and I suspect I will yearn for more down time very soon. Mark goes to school, rules the grill and has kept our social calendar packed with friends and beer drinking. With hopes of zoning the kids out yesterday, we invited our friends over for popcorn and a movie. Instead, it was the dads who were enchanted by the Disney movie Tangled.  The men were swept away by Flynn Rider and his rowdy bar crew while the children raged around the apartment, rockin' out to their own world of imagination. At the end of the day, Falls Church collected about 6" of snow and witch's tit cold temperatures.

Coming back to a two hour delayed reality this morning, I was faced with getting my children to school without freezing off any major body parts. This is where I have a newfound appreciation for my mom who took us skiing growing up: long underwear, snow pants, boots, jackets, hats, gloves... UGH. How she managed to get us dressed, geared up and ready for the day in any timely manner is beyond me. It took me a full thirty minutes to get everyone into place and squashed into the stroller with extra blankets for the 1 mile walk to school. By the time I finished, my tomato face glistened with sweat and snot which immediately froze once I stepped outside. The only one happy about any of this was Jim.

Our morning pile of wears. Mark is lucky.
He only had to dress himself. But what a good job he did!

Undeterred, I shoved our stroller through inches of untouched, un-shoveled snow. Deets laughed with each jarring bounce; the Beast merely silent because she no longer had a voice nor will to protest her outing. I slid along with Jim dragging us both up and down the hills. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at school and I began to reverse the process. Making an effort to undress them quickly, I instead clogged up the school's hallway. Annoyed parents tried to step around my dog crowding the entrance, the snow-chunked stroller, and my messenger bag that spewed out lunch boxes, shoes, pants, boots, you name it. It humored no one. Except maybe myself, but that was because the harder I tried to undress them efficiently, the more I floundered in my already sweaty, now itchy long johns.

Of course as all fun things come to an end, I walked back out into the bright blue skies and lung searing cold. In an instant could feel the wind seep under the layers and chill my nether regions. Jim and I dashed for home. My normally snow-loving dog only made it halfway home when he flat out refused to walk any further. Civil disobedience at its best, Jim laid down on the snow unable to lift another paw. Not sure of what else to do, I bent over to pick up my 60 pound dog and stuck him in the stroller. As if I ordered the weather forecast, he just stared at me with his "Are you joking?! Thanks for nothing" look. Jim realized though that he had two options as I began to move: 1. get jacked around in a stroller, or 2. walk home as intended. I'm not sure if he gave me the finger on the way but he did jump down and kept his end of the deal.

After coughing up what feels like a black lung and warming up my now hive riddled body (cold weather hives are the weirdest thing I tell you! I'm emailing you a pic shortly) I thought I might take the time to tell you Dear Nettie, that while we are all doing well, we all love and miss the snot out of both of you.

Whosagoodboy?
Jim, unimpressed.

Espresso Machine and Schlinks Reunited

Bidding the movers adieu, I glanced around the apartment and wondered what I was smoking when I organized our air shipment back in November, bound from Romania to Virginia. Aside from cherished kitchen gadgets, car seats and bicycle parts, I realized the rest of what I packed was total overkill: once loved t-shirts full of holes, 25 pairs of socks and a mess of maxi pads. Why I got them in the first place is beyond me, I don’t even use them! But there they were, scattered among giant Tom & Jerry bandaids and a five pound bag of lavender scented epsom salts. And four different colors of cosmetic blush. Seriously, that was what I packed! Huh.

I resolved to unpack my children’s boxes, only to find they had enough clothes and shoes to outfit the Duggar family. I didn’t even bother to take the lids off for fear of a little girl shoe and bathing suit explosion. Mark didn’t pack any clothes at all. He was trying to be considerate of going over the weight allowance and limited his stash to packing his bicycle, trailer and tools, soon to be our only form of transportation. I am starting to worry I will regret our decision to leave the car in storage, especially as I watch the rain pour down in cozy VA. Ah well. You win some and lose some.

SPD->ATL->DCA

The countdown began during the Missouri vs. Oklahoma State Cotton Bowl Championships when my mother-in-law thrusted the pending forecast in my face: the Polar Vortex would likely change our travel plans. With home leave coming to an end in Springfield, we still needed to conquer 2 flights before landing in Virginia for language training. United Airlines, true to their low-level standards, they cancelled our flight and kept Mark on hold for several hours before getting disconnected due to phone-line overload. They stopped taking phone calls altogether. In the end it was Delta that took us under their wing and tentatively booked us for the following afternoon.

Waiting. And waiting some more.

Mark sure knows how to play his cards right. After getting our family on the standby list for an already four hour delayed flight, Mark predictably started chatting up fellow travelers. He spoke openly about our last two months of transit, his job, and his obvious adoration of his children. It just so happened that the couple he spoke with were Platinum Elite members with Delta who promptly walked up to the desk and requested we take their place in the standby list. It if weren’t for their generosity, we’d have missed the flight, but the best part was everyone ended up getting on the plane when Mark geniously suggested we give up Margo’s seat and put her in my lap. She howled like a banshee for most of the trip, but it was worth it. I think.

Landing in Atlanta, all other flights were delayed so it seemed we might actually make our connecting flight! Until we sat on the runway for 2 hours. The airlines were reinforcing an 8 hour work limit for all employees which meant no one could move. Seeing the terminal from our tiny windows was a little bit cruel, especially when we lurched forward, only to circle back and wait. I felt the blood slowly stagnate in my ass, feeling the loss of circulation creep down my legs as I stared at Margo who finally passed out in my lap. I didn’t dare move.

Thanks to record cold temperatures, the world’s largest airport could not function properly: the madness continued in the terminal with massive cancellations, leaving people confused, cold and stranded. Luckily we re booked the last leg of our journey for the following day but were left to our own devices to procure a hotel. Delta apparently gave away all their vouchers. 250 bucks and 8 hours later, all four of us rallied from downtown Atlanta back to the airport.

Deets literally begging for a nap.

Finally boarding onto the DC bound plane, we thought for sure people would be champing at the bit get going. Like slugs in molasses on a cold Tuesday morning, the passengers painstakingly took their seats but I particularly enjoyed the 82 year old woman in my row. She made cat noises at a gentleman who blatantly ignored the already stressed out flight crew as he repeatedly shoved his over sized carry-on into the overhead compartment. “Amatueur,” she said. When commenting about the cold she quipped: “These people think they know what cold is?! Ha! In Wichita, these temperatures are downright balmy. They need to buck up and deal with it.” Since my own best friend lives in Williston, ND with routine temperatures of -20 F, I’m inclined to agree with her. But I couldn’t stop my own teeth from chattering as I longed for warmer days.

Margo NOT screaming!

I don’t know how Mark did it, but the children slept the whole way. Finally, we landed in DC and proceeded to baggage claim to pick up most of our suitcases. In the end, Mark’s clothes didn’t make it out of Atlanta which is half funny since our Romania-Virginia air shipment did not contain but a single pair of pants of Mark’s. It might be my fault since I panicked about going overweight when we moved out of our house in Romania, he packed the majority of his clothes in the boxes that would arrive in Brazil (Nov 2014). Subsequently, he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past three days. Good thing he has a wife who’s already experienced that and could offer up fashion tips.

SPFD Discovery Center

We thought the kids would enjoy an afternoon exploring a space that wasn’t a Schlink household. After one too many occasions of Margo desecrating the Christmas tree, scaling the brick fireplace, and attempts to conquer the stairs, I figured a room filled with scientific toys was a safer place. We took them to the Discovery Center in Springfield, which contains over 50,000 square feet of scientific exploration. The center offers hands on learning such as playing with blocks, water, or magnets, brushing giant dentures or putting together skeletons. They have imagination-powered activities like home grown puppet shows and play-news desks to teach communication and the pleasures of airway media transmission. It was a heyday for everyone involved.

After checking out what I considered exciting activities involving wind tunnels, electricity, airplanes, and fossils, Deets and Margo decided on their favorite exhibit: playing “house.” Of course they did. In a familiar habit, I watched Deets gather up all the dishes from the miniature house and stack them into the sink. He shook his head, saying things like “this house is a mess.” (I’m not sure where he gets that.) Margo grabbed anything resembling food and stuffed it into her mouth, including a fake sacrum and bottles of glitter. Both of them were pretty pleased with themselves.

Pure Admiration: Pee and All

I had a friend growing up where every time I got to see her my heart would palpitate with delight, my stomach would lurch with excitement. In fact I would get so excited to see her, that sometimes I’d even pee my pants. She’d see me shake with unbreathable laughter and say something just funny enough that I’d completely lose all bladder control. Both of our moms were divorced and worked full time jobs so it was a rare but joyful occasion that we’d get to hang out. But when we did, our families went all out: trips to zoos and parks, camping and ski trips, and even the occasional concerts and theater performances.

That’s Erin in her cutie-pie visor. I’m just picking my nose. As usual.

I loved how she put up with my bullish, awkward self. Usually I was the culprit and getting us into trouble: breaking window panes, bathing pet hamsters, picking locks with toothpicks, chasing boys… but she loved me anyway. I loved her imagination and passion, particularly when it came to music and dancing. We’d create songs and dances, convinced everyone thought we were as amazing as WE thought we were. Above all I loved how she could make me laugh and I wanted us to be friends forever. And ever and ever.

I emulated everything about her; I pretended my short and curly rat’s nest hair was as long and beautiful as hers. I was even jealous when her hair got sucked up into the mini vaccuum while cleaning up the car after a co-family ski trip, “Why can’t MY hair get sucked up?” I’d secretly whine. I would torpedo down terrifying ski slopes to keep up with the girl in the hotpink get up; I sprained many body parts trying to do gymnastics like she could and I would try to mimic her hip sense of style and attitude well into high school. Through all the changes we suffer through as children and adolescents, she always remained the same person. I loved her for that.

My Erin: always unconditional. Please enjoy the silverback in the background.

When college rolled around, I accepted the fact I would not be seeing her often. While she applied to the University of Colorado that required decent SAT/ACT scores and college essays, I applied to a school requiring a single page application. Go Pokes! Through the flurry of sorority living, she met Sarah who would forever change the course of Erin’s life. It was through Sarah, who would introduce Erin to her first and ultimate love. They were both 19. He grew up with Sarah in Hawaii and attended school in California. Friends and family wondered how a long distance, young love could possibly survive. But it did. On his own, he picked up his life, moved to Colorado and made his way through junior college, then university, intertwining his dreams with hers.

For many of us, the year after college was rocky and terrifying. Erin struggled with finding a job. In between job hunts, she babysat and sold Mary Kay. At one point she and Dustin lived in her parent’s house to make ends meet. It would have been so easy to give up but Erin remained the ebullient individual I knew her for and eventually the pieces came together. After some enlightening career counseling, she began a career in PR that complemented her journalism degree. In describing this discovery Erin said she loved PR writing and it was “without the hellish hours and abysmal wages of a reporter.” Dustin soon graduated and the two of them didn’t just survive. They thrived. Marrying in 2007, the two of them are the type of couple everyone makes fun of but secretly wants to be. Their love is timeless and down to earth. They share a ridiculous closeness that most people only dream about. And they know the value of a good Bloody Mary on a Saturday morning.

The Dolins doin’ it up EXACTLY how they imagined it…

Nowadays we are all grown up with families of our own. Erin morphed her career into owning her own PR business with no intentions of ever updating her resume. She has found the independence and success she deserves working for herself. She and Dustin have a giant baby boy who is the perfect perfection of genes. He will no doubt compliment and continue a family lineage that this world desperately needs more of. While I am glad I fell into my own successful and happy mold, I still get overwhelmingly excited to see my childhood friend who always holds me in positive light no matter what the circumstances. Even in pee soaked pants.

Home Leave: 8,200 Feet

Jim's photobomb.

Today was the Ripley-Dillon-Schlink Christmas celebration. We grilled steak, drank beer, watched 007 movies, opened presents and took a family hike to ward off a family-wide food coma. It’s our tradition. Deets and Jim took charge completely ignoring the chafing wind and his dripping snot. Mark was sweet enough to bring his camera along. He’s been honing his craft (along with playing copious amounts of World Soccer Manager) to pass the time during home leave.

Grandpa Tom and Deets. 

Dillon, Ripley, Schlink, Schlink, Ripley, Schlink, Dillon.
Not pictured: Schlink

My beautiful seestor.

The happy couple.

The Romanian Departure

4:30am. The sound of the doorbell rang, jarring Mark and me into a fury of flying bed sheets, flying appendages, and flying curse words. We slept through the 3:45am alarm that was geniusly set to silent. Thankfully the embassy drivers assigned to haul our butts to the airport were kind enough to ring the doorbell and check on us. Ignoring our daughter's protests from her crib, Margo watched us race back and forth through the house throwing last minute items into a bag, waking up my other child (Deets) all the while trying to remain calm.  Luckily Mark had the foresight to load our 6 bags, Jim-dog's kennel, and the stroller into the garage the night before and we managed to get everyone dressed, out the door in 20 minutes and into the van for the airport.

We practically skidded into the airport terminal throwing bags, stroller, and kids to a halt just inside the sliding glass doors. Neither of us had the wherewithal to move out of the chill of the morning, so while Mark took charge of getting Jim squared away, I stood in the airport surrounded by our pile-o-Schlink  pretending that I meant to match the fuzz of unbrushed teeth with my unbrushed hair and ignoring the sideways glances of my family's disheveled state. 55 minutes later Mark re-surfaced from the depths of the check in lines mentioning Jim's kennel might not fit onto the plane. This would mean he and Deets would take a different route, while Margo and I would continue on, but we would not find out until our arrival at the gate.

However, one step at a time. We received our boarding passes and bee lined to security where we had to wait for a couple to drag two sweater-clad pups out of their kennels by the scruffs of their necks where they were undressed and redressed with the leisure of a Sunday afternoon. I glanced at my imaginary watch nervously (no time this morning for such luxuries). Not that our sh*t-show was any better: we needed to break down the stroller, unload the electronics, unload Jim, and unstrap Margo only to walk through the metal detector and put ourselves back together again. We made it through border control and sprinted to the gate. Ignoring the stink-eye of our fellow passengers we boarded successfully after confirmation Jim could come with us after all. Off to Frankfurt...

...and two hours later we touched down for a 4.5 hour layover, hopefully enough time to drink a beer and wear down the children on the airport playground. Up to this point Margo and Deets held their own, though the former certainly had her beasty moments. I can't say I blame her; uprooting her reality didn't exactly help. The minutes ticked by to boarding time and we were off again. Thank goodness Deets is such a great traveler, we because this time Margo unleashed her inner beast. I'd say 7 out of the ten hours of flying time she hysterically fought sleep forcing Mark and I to take turns dealing with her. She walked up and down the aisles until Margo determined she needed to drink from stranger's cups, and grab at the crotches of unsuspecting passengers to say hello. Then we carried her up and down the aisles until her banshee sleep deprived shrieks reached a fever point. Only then did we put her in the car seat and waited for her to pass out.  I wonder if we will ever "break" her resistance to travel. Considering she's MY daughter, probably not. Karma's a mean one.

Freshly arrived sans deodorant and shower.
They took us home anyway.

The crew practically applauded us off the plane as we sleeplessly landed in Denver. I dared to feel relief when we flashed the Dip Passports, bypassing the throbbing line of exhausted travelers at Customs.  We collected our bags and dog and everything else that came with us and walked straight into the arms of our family who clearly didn't care about our bedraggled state of existence or the mysterious smells that we always seem to acquire during travel. We were home.