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!

Girl's Weekend in Colorado

Here's a question for all you concert-going enthusiasts: standing room, general admission seating implies that when 3 people in front of you leave for whatever reason, do they have the right to claim back their spot? My best friend Amy and I were rocking out to one of Colorado's famous bands, Big Head Todd and the Monsters up in Breckenridge, when a family of three who were collectively imbibing on a secret flask of whiskey plus beer, decided to leave their spots right in front of us. Probably to get more alcohol. In my opinion, concert etiquette meant we could and should fill in the extra space, right? Apparently, the drunk trio felt otherwise and upon returning began to whine how girls of 5'4" and 5'7" were blocking their view of the band. I figured they could have their spot back if they only asked, but they played the passive aggressive card instead. And so we held our position until the delightful end.

Thumbs up for "why yes, we smell pot."

The whole weekend with Amy was a fabulous reunion, filled with other interesting stories and observations. Upon picking her up at the airport at 7:00 am, we proceeded directly to breakfast where I heard a story about a woman who thought the kicking pain in her belly was the result of a poor diet... for nine months. Turns out it was a baby the whole time. Thankfully, mom and surprise baby are doing incredibly well and are enjoying each other's company. After breakfast and prior to the concert we enjoyed a 6.5 mile hike where we encountered a lady walking a puppy on the trail. She was congratulating the 7 week old dog in a baby voice for his "very successful poopie!" The lady was clearly very proud.

Gluttons for punishment, the next day Amy and I signed up for a Body Pump class filled with exuberant thirty-something moms, led by a seemingly lackadaisical instructor. Neither of us could keep a straight face when she told us to "use your back door" when referring to triceps extensions. Okay, maybe we have the maturity of twelve year olds because the giggles didn't stop when we took the following yoga class. Amy kept trying to use her back door while channeling her "isosceles triangles" in chair pose. The instructor said this, I kid you not. It made me wonder what bizarre things have come out of my mouth when I teach yoga...
 
Later that night, we were scheduled to go dancing with a dear friend of mine from high school.  (I didn't really think this through after hiking and the gym, two things that I never do in real life.) But she would be bringing another friend I had not seen in over 14 years so we found our resolve- we'd dance; sore back doors not. Of course being the cheapskate that I am, I insisted we could easily walk the mile from the hotel to the dance club instead of taking a cab. Milk was the club and had variety of rooms playing anything from 80's music, to electronic, to goth. Amy and I settled in wearing sundresses and sandals, only a slight contrast from trench coats, chains, lace and eyeliner. We loved the uninhibited dance moves and people watched as we sipped our beers,  jiggling what body parts that weren't already aching. I saw one gentleman snort cocaine and another palm what seemed like ecstasy amid the flurry of was described as the "Gothic March." It was like red tinted dream, but totally worth spending time with some hilarious and interesting friends from my childhood. On the way home, after a few drunken cheers for boobies and babes we more or less passed out once our heads hit the pillows.

Fitting right in.

 When planning for our reunion Amy mentioned she wanted new photos of us, so I logged onto Groupon and found a photographer for $39.00. We met her the next day at the hotel and over champagne toasts, we proceeded in making onlookers think that I had just proposed. Truth is, she'd be worth it, but of course is already married! The shoot was short and sweet- 40 minutes in exchange for 25 pictures on disc. The photographer, Devorah Roldan did a phenomenal job. She was professional, creative and timely. Should anyone be interested find her here and here and here  (links to her website, FB, and Groupon.)

She said yes!

Not quite done with my sweet Amy, we hopped back into the car and drove to my parents house for another mini reunion. Margo was only slightly pissed that I left her for two days and kept her eye on me the entire time, but was social enough to give Amy some warm hugs and kisses. Sadly, after steak and champagne and crooning over toddlers and babies, it was time to take her to the airport. In three days we hiked over 57,000 steps and drove 300 miles, and laughed off 10,000 calories. God knows why she loves me, but Amy is part of my heart and soul and I am indebted to her amazing friendship and insatiable sense of humor. I don't know when or where we will see each other next, but 10 years ago we both committed to seeing each other at least once a year, and have followed through; every time picking up right where we left off.

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.