Going to School

I am sure for most parents, the sticker shock of school registration, uniforms, and supplies is something that you get used to over time. I don't want to hear "Just wait until they get into elementary middle school high school college!" but I gotta say, this one felt like a labor of love and was an educational introduction to school, as I will know it be from here on out. I dutifully paid my fees to the school in exchange for a two page list of supplies each child needs to have. Considering my recent success with grease, I was up for the challenge of checking off the list. After two days of feeling stoned from all the fluorescent store lighting and being overstimulated from the business and roar of our local flea market, I finished!

Schools these days. They don't mess around. Amongst searching for things like puppets, hula hoops and very specific elastic blue plastic folders, I was also in need of roller paint brushes, play dough and memory games. Plus party supplies and of course books. Veterans of Brazil said stuff was expensive here, and for the most part they are right. So out of curiosity I decided to do some price comparisons inspired by The New Diplomat's Wife who showcases a few similar products within Denmark and the United States.  

For example Margo needed a backpack. I perused and found:

Brazil: 250.00 Reais = 105.90 USD
US: $25.00

Needless to say I decided she could use my existing messenger bag until our boxes arrive. I also felt very thirsty. That led me to wanting to drink a fine sour beer...

Brazil: 52.90 Reais = 22.41 USD
Europe: 4.30 Euro = 5.54 USD
US: 15.00

Ok- so maybe I bought the beer anyway. To be fair, I didn't drink it because it's Mark's "Welcome to Brazil" housewarming gift. Instead, I stayed the course and bought all of this instead: 

Grand total: 498.80 Reais = 211.74 USD
With haggling. 

I am not complaining one bit. In fact- I am grateful because our children are fortunate to have a great education and opportunity. Mark works very hard to provide for them and so far they love school. According to Deets they have "the coolest airplane collection ever" and he likes riding the bus like the big kids. Margo? Not so much. Once the fervor dies down I am told she enjoys music and dancing. She even gets a shower every day before coming home. It happens to be one of her favorite things (next to running around naked of course.)   

I'm not sure of hot pink shirts are allowed, but I had to pick my battle. 

Waiting for the bus. Margo's holding a bottle opener ready to help.

My First Greasy Jeitinho*

*Jeitinho: comes from the expression "dar um jeito," literally- "find a way." It implies the use of resources at hand, as well as personal connections, and creativity. -Wikipedia

_______________________________

Ever since we arrived, I had been battling my stroller. I would muscle through the turns, dodging potholes and curbs or dragging it backwards through the compact sand just to ensure my rug rats would have a place to rest (or rather- be contained) once we wandered farther than 500 yards from the apartment building. I ignored all my pulled muscles and achy rib cage at the same time complaining to Mark how I needed to get some grease for the wheels. His natural, problem solving response was "Then this weekend, we will head to a bike shop and pick up some grease." Seeing as how this is the only place I have ever purchased grease, it seemed like a sensible idea.

I refused to wait until Saturday so on Friday, I spent some time on the Internet checking out local bike shops and mapped my way. I decided the stroller wouldn't be worth my time since its condition deteriorated rapidly with a nearly frozen front wheel. With Margo in the backpack and Deets willing to walk so long as I promised him popcorn afterwards, we headed out for our projected 15 minute walk. Thirty minutes later I walked into the store carrying both kids; one about ready to pee himself, the other very eager to get away from my sweaty self.

First thing she sees: chairs and table. First thing she (repeatedly) says: "I'm hungry."

Chatting with the local bike mechanic (in Portuguese! -mark), I asked where they keep their bike grease. He stared at me blankly. Clearly no one ever asked him this question, or maybe he didn't understand my accent. Turns out it was neither- they simply don't sell grease. Like, ever. He showed me his store's single tube of industrial blue grease and pointed out that all people in Recife bring their bikes in for maintenance. No one ever does it themselves. Well I refused to give up and asked him if they could at least sell me a little dab of it, I'd even take it wrapped in toilet paper or a coffee cup. Apparently that was absurd request and whilst laughing me, I asked where I could find a tube to purchase. He responds with, "Go that way 10km and you will find a construction store. They can sell you grease." And he walked away.

Well okay then. Relieved at least to be in some air conditioning, the kids found the store's toys and happily played fought over the plastic-rocking-chair-snail-thing, and running laps around their store. I sat down to formulate my next plan, and ten minutes later the mechanic walked back up to me and said they were trying to figure out if they could sell me their sole tube of grease. Conferring with four other staff members, they finally agreed: 15 Reais, or about 6.15 USD. Before they could change their minds, I accepted immediately and while I was waiting for a sixth staff member to come to the register (only she could ring me up) I asked the mechanic what type of bike he owned. He laughs again, (just as Deets knocks over the torso of a mannequin) and explains to me not only does he not own a bike, he doesn't ride either. The bike mechanic. Go figure. He then asks me if I am from Norway. That was pretty cute.

I also met the store owner who called himself Robinson. He thanked me for coming into his store and then he told me all about his recent trip to Miami, followed by the question "do you know so-and-so at the Consulate?"  He said he was happy to make a special exception in selling the grease to me. When I thought about this special dispensation, it made sense because I guess most people on the US prefer bike specialists to fix their bicycles as well. Like Mark, my brother is also a well skilled bike mechanic agreed to this theory. He laughed, remembering the thousands of bikes he'd maintained or fixed that never once saw a drop of grease or lube. Or a bike pump for that matter.

Victory was mine. I walked away with grease, two relatively happy kids who got to blow off steam (though they were supremely annoyed that I wasn't buying them new bikes or helmets) and the name of a good bike shop should I need one in the future. I plan to grease everything that I can in my house now. 

My one and only true form of transportation/punishment for the kids.

Jim's leash has practically rusted from the ocean. 

After repeatedly scraping my knuckles trying to slide open the lock.

Mark's knee. 

The First Four Days

Good God I have never showered so much in my entire life these past four days! I always said I prefer humid weather over dry and in theory I still stand by that, but my body seems to disagree. With my hair and face greasier than a diner stove top and sand that lurks in all my creases, I've been forced to rinse and re-rinse several times a day in addition to watering down the children as many times too. They are experts in performing Down Dog in the shower to get all the sand out. Deets and Margo keep figuring out the hard way that when they sit in the surf and their swim suits fill up with heavy sand, chafing their cracks.  But of course it has not stopped any of us from taking multiple daily swim trips to the ocean or the pool. They love it. Even Jim-dog loves the beach and he hates water.

As for me, I love that they love it. Never having been a beach-person, I am learning what not to do. For example: don't bring a water bottle that your daughter will inevitably bury in the sand. Don't bring a bag for towels and snacks; they are useless and actually encourage more sand.  Don't try to hide cash in your bikini top, especially coins (where DO I put it?!) But the good news is the vendors will still take it, even if it is mashed against your personal parts. We've already teamed up with a couple of gregarious beach vendors to use their chairs and umbrellas in exchange for purchasing drinks.  Turns out coconut water served really cold isn't half bad. That is, until your daughter drops it in the sand and you end up drinking the beach. 

Let's talk about the weather really quick: yes many of you saw on FB the gorgeous sunny day picture of Recife when we arrived on the first day. Traditionally, that's how it is here. A piece of humid (80-90%) paradise 6 degrees south of the equator with a coastal breeze that keeps the temperatures steady between 72-75F at night and 84-89F during the day. Starting "last night," (sunset is around 5:30pm) the wind and rain started. It hasn't really stopped, and resulted in our family looking like drowned rats when we took the dog out during a break in the storm.  According to weather.com, the wind speed only clocks at 15 mph as I write this, but from our apartment the roar of the waves and wind blasting through the windows make it sound far more violent. I could've sworn I saw the Wicked Witch flash past our balcony. 

Despite the rain, Deets still begs to go swimming. When he's not also begging to watch movies, we are playing on the playground and walking the dog. I don't know how Deets even has energy these days because he's not eating much with exception to yogurt. Since Margo does whatever Deets does, my children have pretty much boycotted all food when normally, the kids voraciously eat anything we put on their plates.  It makes for interesting diaper changes and bathroom breaks. I am sure it's just a phase, and I am not trying to sweat it too much. But we all know that's easier said than done. 

Yesterday we walked to the store to pick up some groceries, and Deets demanded we buy him a kiwi. That's right: urgently demanded- as if it was a matter of life and death. Because it was his favorite.  I bought it even though I knew for a fact he'd refuse to eat it later. So we made a deal: he would eat three pieces with dinner and if he did, he could watch Cars in Portuguese. Poor kid gagged and it took him 30 minutes eat the kiwi, but he did it. And now he knows not to ever demand for things when we are at the store. I wonder how many times Margo will need that lesson when it's her turn? On another positive note, Deets did try a piece of papaya without any solicitation before spitting it out... can't say I disagree with him, I think this fruit might be better in a blended and very boozy cocktail. 

At any rate, between these ventures we have been spoiled rotten by Mark's work sponsor/neighbor and her family. Not only did they have our apartment set up with dishes, sheets, groceries and flowers, they helped setup Internet! (My friend Dina in Kiev wrote a post about how happy she was to have immediate Internet access over having a place to sit upon their arrival and I couldn't agree with her more. Yes, I am a slave to staying connected with friends and family. It's the motor that keeps me going with this chosen lifestyle.) Besides all this they've fed and watered us, they put together a newbie Happy Hour over the weekend which was chock full of similar aged children running around. It was a joy. They've taken us shopping and sightseeing some personal favorite spots already. They even call just to check up on us! Mark and I are so grateful for their company and they are making the adjustment quite pleasant. 

Tomorrow I will wrangle the kids and check out their potential school. I also plan to buy the following: vegetable peeler, cheese grater and trash bags. Watch out world. 

DCA->MIA->REC

2:51 am: Move To Recife Day. Call us paranoid, but we weren't up for another Romanian repeat and instead slept with one eye open and rolled out of bed 9 minutes early. It was enough time to load up the porch with 1 dog, 1 kennel, 1 stroller, 2 car seats, 4 carry-ons, and 7 bags before rousing the kids. It was enough time to double check the house, turn off the lights and leave our keys on the kitchen table. It was also enough time to realize our 2nd taxi would not show- necessitating a sweaty game of Tetris to get everything and everyone inside the minivan. Kids in laps, we hightailed it to the airport only five minutes behind schedule. It was at the check in line where I dared to breathe- but a moment too soon because I realized here that my wallet was gone. Now: trying to slyly rummage through your bag that is stuffed with nothing but bribery suckers, diapers, wipes, and dog food to locate a missing wallet with out your husband noticing can't actually happen. Nor can you hide the fear and rising stress from your kids.

I could have sworn it was in my back pocket. But crazy things happen at 3am and I've been known to do silly stuff in the past. I will spare you the details, but my mess-ups usually involve clothes... I rummaged through a few other bags and called the taxi company but to no avail. It was gone. Sheepishly, I sent a friend a 4:30 am text requesting should he have the time to invite himself into our unlocked apartment and see if I managed to put my wallet in the freezer or something. Mark assured me the world wouldn't end today and continued onto Miami.

Our flight was uneventful and we arrived to the bright sunshiny Miami airport where we would shack up all day in MIA's terminal airport to wait for the midnight flight to Recife. Due to pet regulations with American Airlines, we knew we couldn't travel if the temperature would be warmer than 85F. So we decided to split our trip in half. It worked out reasonably well: concierge let us check in early with "free" breakfast and we splurged for a suite order to facilitate naps better. Signs of melt down arrived faster than anticipated as Margo absconded with jelly packets, exploding them all over the table (and us) and took off running with sticky hands grabbing anything in sight. Dang! She's quick and refused to go down easily. Eh. Can't say I blame her.

A few hours later, I received a phone call from my friend who had relieving news: no, my wallet was not in the freezer but the maintenance guys found it! It was laying in the grass just on the other side of the porch. I realized it must have fallen out of my pocket when I heaved my ass over the fence. Because what normal person would use a door? My friend was gracious enough to "pouch it" aka- mail it to the Consulate in Recife. So Tim, if you are reading this please tell me your shoe size! I have a pretty little package to head your way soon!

Too excited to sleep. 

We ate expensive airport food, watched cartoons and took Jim outside to play in to closed off parking lot to pass the time. All the while the temperature reading 86-88 degrees. Deets was too excited to nap all day, so when the time came to head down to check in for the final leg at 9:45pm he jolted Margo awake by shaking her bed and yelling at her to get her "lazy bones out of bed." And the journey continued. My amazing, and burly yet tender husband took one for the team and sat with the kids on the planes (again) whereas I sat alone and hardly made it out of the gate with my eyes open. I feel like we travel enough to warrant the ridiculous neck pillows, but knowing how a) useless it would be since it would guarantee ill behaved children and b) how much Mark would make fun of me,  I just can't go there. So instead I slept with my mouth wide open, head lobbing back and forth in the twilighty half-sleep. Like an ugly crier, I'm also an ugly sleeper. I fear the day someone takes a picture of my drooling double chinned self. And posts it.

Alas, the flight ended and masses of people crowded the aisles, frantic to grab their lampshades and duty-free goodie before anyone else could. Classic to Margo form, I had to change her incredibly dirty diaper in the airport bathroom and this is where I knew I had finally arrived: no soap, no towels, no changing table.  Just like the good old days. And clearly looking like we needed help, the porteiros came to the rescue, offering extra hands and expedited entry through customs since we had the only dog who needed inspection. It was awesome.

Ten minutes after leaving the airport with Mark's work sponsor and locally engaged staff all who were lithe, helpful, and super friendly we arrived at our new home...

Found my yoga spot. Safety nets to keep the kiddos safe...

Sticking the iPhone lens through the netting to get an unhindered view. 

Playground fun.

Deets slightly annoyed that I deprived him of second round of the beach-
on his first day. 

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.