oddball

I know I am quite the sight as I walk around our neighborhood. I have no doubt that if I could read people's minds they'd be saying, "What is that crazy white lady doing today?!" This morning I was dressed in running pants (hey, at least my skin was covered), my hot pink and orange Five Fingers, a toddler strapped to my back, with a dog walking at my side. I was 4 for 4 in the category of "Bahraini Head-turners."

Funny enough, the strangest thing about my ensemble is the dog. In general, dogs here are considered "unclean" (I happen to agree with them). Because they haven't grown up with them, most Middle Easterners are scared of dogs -- even my scrawny 25 lb dog. It's funny to see a group of men swing wide to go around me or cross the street when they see us coming. It's fine with me. I'm usually hot and tired from lugging around 30 extra pounds and trying to keep the dog from getting run over by a car on the narrow streets where no one slows down, so the less I have to give way to oncoming people, the better.

I should be used to standing out by now, but where we live now is so much more city and gritty and less oceanfront resort that it all feels like much more work. I'm pretty sure I'm depressed, but typical me, I don't do depressed like normal people. So instead of feeling sad, I feel sort of dead inside and when I do feel something it's anger or frustration. I know I'm grieving. I'm mourning my friends who died, the loss of our life in Oman, the friends who are all starting back at TAISM together next week and wishing my boys were going to school there, missing Lucy, wanting to combine the things I like about here with the things I love there and have it all, annoyed that I feel this way. . . I know I will be happy here eventually, just the way I've been happy everywhere we've lived (Fort Sill, Oklahoma? 29 Palms, CA? Two of my favorite places in the world that show up on everyone's "Worst Duty Stations" list), but knowing and feeling are miles apart.

It's probably why I haven't been blogging as much lately. I love sharing things that are funny, odd, or amazing, but I'm not feeling much of that lately. I looked back at my blog from this time last year, during the hot, lonely months in Muscat when we were trying to get settled and I was unhappy. I wanted some encouragement that I might eventually fall in love with Bahrain the way I did Oman. But I came up empty. I must have done too good of a job of looking for the good things to write about every day because I couldn't find many complaints about our move back then. I guess I'm making up for it this time around, huh?

Things really are good. I'm just ridiculously tired, I have a two year old who thinks the dog's penis is a handle and his head is a seat cushion, my brain is in a fog, and did I mention how tired I am? Don't feel too sorry for me. I did find someone to help clean the house part time. That's the only reason I have what's left of my sanity. Her name is Josie and she's been a superhero -- helping unpack boxes, mopping floors, organizing cupboards. Without her, I'd be really depressed.

I forgot to take a picture the first day of school, but here is one from the second day. Why are they wearing sweatshirts when it's 110 sweaty degrees outside? Because the A/C runs full force inside the school building and the elementary school kids aren't allowed to go outside. I picked them up the first day and their hands were like icicles and they begged to go outside to thaw out! Camille's ski hat is just a fashion statement -- I don't keep it that cold in our house. 

I'm not going to get on my soapbox about how I think it's ridiculous that the kids aren't allowed to play outside when the playground is covered and how if they do require them to stay indoors they should at least be allowed to do something active and not have to sit and watch a movie. Nope, I'll save that rant for another day.

Missing

You might not see me for a few days because my beautiful, clutter-free home has been defiled by the arrival of our household goods. I complained about the fact that it took 2 months to get here, but except for my bed and my sheets, it turns out that it's all crap. 

 

My moving plan is to have the movers unpack as much as possible so all the boxes and paper leave the house. That forces me to deal with the remaining mess immediately (or at least as soon as humanly possible). This way, I can go from boxes to "comfortable, lived in home" look in less than a week. Of course it's the week from hell, and the mountains of clothes and books on the floor when the movers leave aren't pretty, but when you're only in a house for a year or two, you can't take 3 months to move in. The move I'm most proud of is Monterey -- we had photos hung, everything unpacked and the garden tilled and planted in under 7 days. That was in the days pre-girlie, which explains a lot. 

I didn't even take a picture of the kitchen because it makes me want to weep. All this moving has finally caught up with me. I have 1/2 the cupboard space of our Oman kitchen and there are dishes, silverware, pots and pans, and other kitchen items covering every square inch of shelf and counter space. I have to thin drastically. I think I'll start with getting rid of 2 of the 3 can openers that I have somehow managed to collect. And since I bought some silverware to get us through until our shipment arrived, now I have something like 34 butter knives. Anyone need a few mugs? We have enough to open our own Starbucks. 

Carter said, "I think this is our hardest move yet. I don't remember Oman being like this." You know why? Cause in Oman we had Lucy. She was unpacking the kitchen as soon as the movers started taking boxes off the truck and she had sheets washed and on our bed and clean towels in the bathrooms before I had finished checking off the inventory sheets. 

Also not making this move easier? This fashionista who has her own system of unpacking/messmaking. I have to have one kid assigned to her, one kid assigned to the dog, and Caleb flies under the radar and doesn't do anything except dig through boxes looking for his Harry Potter movies. I'll be lucky if I finish in less than a month. 

piles of . . .

So, I had quite the interesting anniversary. Thankfully Josh and I celebrated back in June before we moved, knowing that with him in a new job things might be too hectic to do something special on the actual day. Sure enough, that was exactly what happened. Just another day in paradise: Josh at work, me on kid/dog duty.

I woke up with an infected finger -- I have no idea how that happened. It was red, swollen, and painful. I remember when I was younger my dad used to tell me to try soaking ouchy fingers and toes in hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol so I poured a little peroxide in a cup, grabbed my computer and started reading on the couch while submerging my finger.

After about 15 minutes I got caught up writing a message and since I can't stand typing with one finger I took a break and wedged the cup against the couch cushion next to me. I'd almost finished composing my message when I hear a little voice ask, "What's this mommy?" and look up to see Camille holding an empty cup with a funny look on her face. Oh, good grief . . . does the girl not have any sense?

So then I was on a mission to Google a combination of the words "baby peroxide drink toxic" to see how freaked out and panicked I needed to get. It turns out that despite the solo headline of "toddler dies from ingesting peroxide" (further reading suggested he drank an entire bottle), the consensus was that it would most likely just cause some stomach upset. Whew!

I head to the kitchen to wash out the tainted cup when I hear shrieks of, "MOM! Camille threw up!" Did she ever. I have no idea how this much vomit could come out of a little person. Stomach upset indeed. Three huge, chunky, slimy pools of it, rapidly spreading across the tile floor. Just as I take in the horror, it gets worse. The dog, sensing the opportunity of a lifetime, races in and starts devouring the puke. Oh gosh. The kids start gagging and running the other way, I grab the dog by the collar and try to haul him away from the mess, he keeps trying to throw himself at the best stuff he's ever tasted, I am yelling for a kid to take him outside and it's just gross everywhere.

1/2 a roll of paper towels and some hot soapy water later, the living room floor is once again presentable. At least I don't have to worry anymore about peroxide poisoning since there's no way there's a drop left in her system. I start to fix myself a cup of tea and go back to sending my message when I hear horrified yells coming from the other room. Again. "MOM! The dog threw up! Come quick!" This has got to be some kind of horrible joke, right? Nope. My 20 lb dog has thrown up a pile of partially digested food as big as his head. I don't know how the scrawny little thing had room in his gut for as much food as came up out of him. Of course he chose the middle of the carpet to present his offering. And then he started to take it back.

I wouldn't be lying if I said that I almost considered letting him eat it so I didn't have to figure out how to get it from the carpet to the trash, but that would have been grosser than gross. Instead, I shooed him away and got out the dustpan and scooped it up (the whole huge pile of it), then scrubbed and saturated the carpet with Nature's Miracle. Meanwhile the boys are dry heaving and gagging, but it was nice to hear Carter say with amazement and admiration, "How do you do that?!"

Cleaning up puke is one of my superpowers.  

15 years

On the eve of our 15th anniversary, Josh and I were sleeping in sleeping bags on a bed that had no sheets, downloading "dog calming music" (seriously, there is such a thing), and trying not to wake the 2 year old tossing and turning in the bed next to ours. Not quite as romantic as the night before our wedding when we slept out under the stars on lounge chairs next to my parents' pool, whispering late into the night.

But, as much as things change there are things that stay the same. Like the headache that I had both nights. Oh, you thought I was going to say "our deep love for each other"? Yeah, probably that too, although that has changed over the past 15 years. Newlywed love is surprise phone calls and flowers -- 15 year love is not waking me up in the morning when he leaves for work and snuggling with the kids on his side of the bed when they get up in the night. 30 year love will probably be when he buys batteries for my hearing aids and pretends not to notice the deep frown lines on my forehead in-between my eyes (he already does that, thankfully).

As far as anniversaries go, this one isn't too bad. We're both exhausted and feel unsettled, but at least it's not the year that Josh had to have back surgery while I was off my rocker and trying to take care of 3 babies 5 and under. Tonight, if we're lucky, the kids will go to bed before 10, the dog calming music will take effect and he'll settle down in his crate, and we'll watch something mindless on Netflix and eat ice cream together.

It's enough. More than enough.

  

  

Edited in case someone missed my meaning: When I say 'love is not waking me up in the morning' it's because there really is nothing better in the world than letting me sleep in. You can keep your jewelry and furs -- letting me roll over and go back to sleep is L.O.V.E.

Too much perspective

One of my friends died on Friday night. She was a mom of 4 kids -- 3 boys and a girl, just like me. Her name was Michelle. Her daughter, Julia, was one of Caleb's best friends at school. She was killed too. She was only 8. Our friends were teachers at the American school in Oman, home on summer vacation, saying their last goodbyes before flying back for another wonderful year. Their older sons, 14 and 12, are friends with Calvin, the husband taught computer classes to my kids, we went to Atlantis with them, went camping with them, our kids were in Awana together and Josh served with them as Awana leaders.

They were headed home from a movie on Friday evening, 9pm. Grandma, mom, daughter and son. They were hit head-on by a drunk driver who couldn't manage to stay on his side of the road. A 21 year old who walked away with scratches, smelling of alcohol and driving with an open container. My friend and her mother-in-law died on impact, as the car burst into flames. Julia died on the way to the hospital and 5 year old Jason was pulled out of the burning car and is in critical condition at the hospital. In an instant our friend Mike lost his mother, his wife, and his daughter. I feel sick. 

I never cry, but I have cried plenty over this. Less for me and more for all of my friends in Oman who will have to face this empty hole in their lives day after day. And for my friend Mike and those three beautiful boys who have lost so much. My mind goes to that ugly, dark place and wonders, "Why not me? What can I do to control my life so this doesn't happen to me?" The answer of course is, "absolutely nothing."  

So today I don't care that our shipment hasn't arrived, or if it ever arrives. The kids can fight and pester me and I'll be glad they're here to be frustrated at. When Camille is extra needy tonight I'll think of Mike and know he wishes he could lie down next to his daughter and tuck her in bed and I'll gladly stay 5 more minutes and then 5 more minutes after that. 

And then, in a few weeks, I'll forget how much I have to be thankful for and I'll find things to complain about. I always do. Life doesn't seem so short or fragile until it is. And then I better hope I made the most of the time I had. I'm not very good at that part, but I'm immersed in it today. If I disappeared in a flash tomorrow, have I given the boys enough? What would they do? How would they turn out?

So I'm sad today. Putting on Mike's shoes and walking around in them. Glad I can take them off at the end of the day and not be trapped in a nightmare that begins with a knock on the door from the Highway Patrol and very aware of the fact that it could easily be us. 

Busy, busy

Between the dog, the kids, my sister and Jeremy in town, and Josh taking several days of vacation I haven't made time to blog. What we've done hasn't been particularly adventurous (except for eating out with a squirrely two year old) or exotic (except for our Iftar feast in the tent at the Gulf Hotel), but we've had a great week.

Tomorrow Josh goes back to work, Wendy and Jeremy leave, and the kids and I will try to get back on track in the remaining seven days until school starts. We'll have new routines to learn, an earlier start to school, an extra creature to add to the mix, and no Lucy to help out. I also just realized that since we don't have our shipment I have none of their lunch boxes, school supplies, normal clothes and shoes, and probably a number of other "necessary" items. At least I'm good at improvising and I have 7 days to "make it work."

A short recap of what has gone on this week: kinect tournaments, swimming in our backyard pool, visits to base (for movies and food), drives around the island to check out both the beauty and the graffiti, an evening at Al Bandar resort for swimming, eating, and competitive water bottle finding, a trip to the mall for people watching, sweatshirt buying (the A/C here is freezing!), and Turkish food, staying up late and sleeping in (except for those on dog/kid duty), and lots of eating out at our favorite restaurants. Ramadan Kareem! (Happy Ramadan)

Josh is home! Happy day!

*** hopefully the photos are working now

Josh is home! Happy day!

Oh, you didn't know he was gone? Good. Then I did my part to help keep America safe. Just kidding, he was at a conference in Germany for a week. The secrecy about his departure was more for our safety than yours. Last weekend we moved in to our house, got the dog, and he left about 12 hours later. That probably explains the frantic tone of some of my posts last week.

But now he's home and I have another body to add to our dog sitting/Camille sitting rotation. Whew! On the downside, he brought home these wooden swords that have not added to the state of peace and quiet that I'm hoping to attain in our home. (I've always liked to make goals that are impossible to reach.)

So it's been bash! clack! and clatter! since he walked in the door. Throw in a little, "Mom! He's got my sword because mine is the one with gold colored screws and his had silver ones!" and you've got the picture. 

Like a good dad, Josh brought his daughter home something special. Unfortunately after she put her dress on, she went digging through his suitcase asking, "Daddy? Where my sword?" Oops. Thankfully she has kind older brothers who are happy to include her in their games of joust. 

She is a menace with a wooden stick -- look out! I think she looks like a peasant woman going off to fight in a local battle. 

While Josh was gone, we had a visitor -- this teeny tiny lizard that the boys found swimming in our pool. They scooped him out and let him dry off on the pool deck. 

Can you believe how small he is compared to Calvin's finger? 

Camille's dog love has not waned. 

The only time he has any peace is while she's eating (and then he wants to be close to her) and when she's going to sleep. As tiring as the week was with a new pet and getting used to a new house, the boys were a big help when they weren't fighting or complaining.  

This is her happy place. As close as she can be -- breathing the same air. 

Petting him and touching his ears. 

Using him as a pillow

And resting on him while watching the Olympics. He may be named Micah, but he has the patience of Job.   

In over my head

The prevailing thought running through my mind for about 48 hours this week was, "I've made a huge mistake." Not just the dog -- the decision to have children, living overseas, all the hours I spent tanning as a teenager . . . you name it, I could find a reason to regret it.

For starters, I knew that I would be taking care of the dog. I didn't buy into any hollow promises of, "We'll do everything!" or make them sign any weird contracts (ask Dave and Pam about that one), I knew that as a mom I'd be cleaning up after the dog the same way I clean up after all of them. Heck, they can't even remember to flush the toilet half the time, I'm not expecting them to take full responsibility for a living creature. But I didn't think my full time job as Dog Mother would start on day two. I figured I'd get at least seven days before the novelty wore off. I agree, it is hot outside, but the dog still has to be walked, he's going to poop and it has to be picked up and thrown away, and I can't watch the dog, the toddler who loves to poke at the dog's eyes and play with his ears every time I turn my back, and feed starving children all at the same time. I'm awesome, but I'm not super-human.

And you would think the food thing would be easier now that we're in a house. It would be, except none of our stuff is here so the kitchen (and its cupboards) are bare. At least in the hotel we had dishes, silverware, pots and pans and basic cooking essentials so even though I never felt like cooking, it was possible. Now we're all sick of eating out and want to eat at home, but it's not so easy to improvise a pot.

We went for second best and got take out from the base cafeteria the other night -- BBQed chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. I stopped at the base grocery store (more like a big mini-mart) and bought paper plates, bowls, paper towels and a few other things so we could eat in style. I got home to find that the plastic silverware that we brought over from the hotel had all mysteriously been thrown away so we had no utensils to eat with. Eating mashed potatoes and gravy using our fingers was not the dinner I expected, but at least we were eating around our own kitchen table. I also discovered it's really hard to drink cereal out of a bowl because the milk drains out leaving the cereal behind . . . scraping the saturated Os into my mouth with my fingers is not my favorite way to eat Cheerios.

So I went and bought real silverware, 6 plates, 6 bowls and 6 cups. I also threw in a can opener, a cutting board, a cheap knife, and a glass storage bowl with a lid that could go in the microwave. I'm still looking for a saucepan. This is how I end up with 4 can openers: we move, our stuff doesn't arrive, I get frustrated and buy something to hold me over until my good stuff arrives. This time I thought I was being smart by mailing my good knives to myself so they'd get here before my shipment and I wouldn't have to buy a cheap knife. Six weeks later that box still hasn't arrived. Time to start browsing Williams-Sonoma.com for replacements.

Things here have been rather chaotic this week. But I think (really, really hope) things are looking up. While I wanted to run away from my children a few days ago, last night they really increased their effort (after I threw a screaming fit and their dad told them to stop behaving like jackasses). I took away electronics for a few days so they'd have one less thing to fight about and last night after we all cleaned the house they raced each other around the living room (since we can't watch the Olympics they have to invent their own events). Nervous dog is getting less nervous all the time and surprisingly he still likes Camille, even though she follows him like a pest every minute of the day.




I think I might make it.

life with dog

You know how people say you should get a dog to prepare for having kids? I've always told people that having a puppy is way harder than a baby. A puppy in the house is like taking care of a two year old without a diaper. Unfortunately, I already have one of those. Thankfully, Micah seems a little more like a 4 year old. We still have to watch him closely, but he's not a tornado of destruction and pee -- so far. I'm still waiting for his true personality to unfold as he gets more and more comfortable being at our house. 

The hardest part about having a dog this time is the toddler. We've never added a dog when we had little kids, they were always used to having one in the house from the day they came home from the hospital. But Camille seems to think that this new creature is here specifically for her enjoyment; finally someone who is lower than her on the totem pole. She has taken her new job as big sister very seriously and spends all day trying to get close to the dog, pet the dog, tell the dog what to do, and play with his toys. I spend all day saying, "Get away from the dog," "Get out of the dog's face," "Give the poor dog some space," and "Camille, enough!" 

Good thing Micah has been a good sport about all of this so far. He is so sweet and a big baby. He is only 7 months and spent at least 4 of them at the shelter, maybe more. He's good with people -- very gentle, not mouthy, doesn't jump up, lies down at our feet when we're sitting around in the living room, but we can tell he doesn't have much life experience. He's scared of our stairs (won't go up them), scared of the different tile in the kitchen (won't go in there), scared of the bath (loud water sounds/splashing), pulls like crazy on the leash (we knew this from walking him at the shelter), and has no idea what to do with toys or treats. 

The first day he wouldn't eat or drink out of his food bowls, so I hand fed him some kibble. I tried to get him interested in some toys, but he only sniffed at them. I even slathered peanut butter inside the chew toy, but he turned away. What am I going to do with a dog that doesn't live for food?! 

Since then, I've figured out that he doesn't like to eat when he's stressed, not even treats. I throw good stuff in his crate when we go out and we come home to find them uneaten. Poor guy. But he's finally figured out the magic of peanut butter and has been chewing away at the bone this afternoon while sitting at my feet. He's still not a chow hound, but maybe that will change as he gets more comfortable. It's hard finding things to entertain him since he does NOT want to go outside during the day, and he eyes the different toys with suspicion. He's not crazy or running around the house (thank God!), so maybe he's happy just lying on the floor? 

 He's only had one accident in the house when the boys were not closely watching him. They took him out in the morning, but he didn't go, so they brought him back inside (dog novices). I was still upstairs sleeping with Camille. He wants to hurry up and get out of the heat so he has to be "encouraged" to go.  Today I sat on a rock outside in the yard and ignored him as he tried to pull toward the house and whimpered to go back in the A/C. I was dripping with sweat, but figured I could wait him out. 

I was successful, but then he showed me by stepping in it and tracking it back in the house (the hose out front doesn't work so I tried to open the front door to call for baby wipes and he wiggled right past me to get into the cold air). Good thing we have tile floors downstairs. 

He's made huge strides in the past 24 hours -- he's tiptoed into the kitchen a few times, has figured out that plush squeaky toys are fun to carry around in his mouth, and he's been drinking out of his water bowl freely. We have been trying to give him a good walk at night since that's his only chance for any real exercise. Last night we walked from our house to Costa Coffee which isn't too far away, but it was so humid out we were all dripping by the time we arrived. Thankfully this photo is grainy or you'd be able to see all the beads of sweat on our faces. It wasn't that hot -- if you like walking through the steam room at the spa. 

 

waiting outside while the other two boys get our drinks

 

Seriously sweaty.

 

 

Feast or Fast

We are more than 1/2 way through the month of Ramadan -- praise God! Next year, I'm going on vacation. No, I'm not fasting, but the food, drink and dress restrictions basically confine us to our house during the day. It's much too hot to be outside (even the dog resists going out for potty breaks), especially without food or water. We have been able to go to friends' houses (now that we've made a few) and that helps break up the monotony of the days, but in general the boys lie around watching Netflix on the iPad and I eat chocolate in bed. Believe me, it gets old.

We were at church the other day (a different church, not the dual worship one) and Calvin had a bottle of water that he started drinking out of as we were standing around before service began. One of the pastors saw him and joked, "Is this a Ramadan free zone?" I replied, "It better be!" and we laughed.

Later in the service they served communion and I realized how different the Christian faith is in this area. While Muslims are fasting all day for these 30 days, I go to church and am told, "Eat! Drink! This is my body, broken for you!" God isn't requiring me to fast to earn his approval . . . he's the one providing the food and drink through his own sacrifice.

Instead of being irritated that their religion is impinging on my freedom, I should be feeling compassion for those that haven't discovered that we can "taste and see that the Lord is good." (Psalm 34:8)

Moving day

We are packing up and moving out. The house is not quite completely furnished and our stuff isn't here, but I'm ready to be settled in our semi-permanent residence so I can get on with the business of figuring out what our life in Bahrain is supposed to look like.

Oh yeah, and we're picking up our new dog today. Minor detail. Today looks like a feat of juggling many trips in our tiny car -- transferring all our suitcases and the other minutiae that has multiplied to the point that it doesn't all fit in the suitcases, bathing and de-ticking a strange dog, unpacking and settling squabbles (over who's working more, has the better bed, or what to name the dog), scrubbing out the refrigerator and freezer, all while trying to figure out how to feed everyone in a house with no dishes or cooking utensils in a country where it's illegal to eat or drink in public until the sun goes down. It's my Olympic heptathlon. 

 

home 

cooling off

Micah, the dog that came after Jonah

Stupid GPS tricks

This one's for you Mom, the woman who blessed me with her sense of direction . . . Happy Birthday!

I really shouldn't be allowed to leave the house. My GPS either doesn't like me or isn't very good at her job. Invariably we end up somewhere other than where we are trying to go. It only happens when I'm driving, but I know it couldn't possibly be user error. 

The other day the boys and I planned to go to the SPCA to look at dogs because, as we have established, I am insane. The current plan is to get a dog the same day that we move into our house because I want Josh to be around to help make the final decision and the day we move in is the only day that he'll be able to do it. We could wait, but that means waiting until the kids are in school and since this is all for them, gosh darn it, they better be around when we bring this thing home from the shelter.

I had BSPCA already tagged in my favorites in the GPS so I selected it and off we went. Over the bridge and through the desert . . . hey wait now. We didn't go over this bridge when we went to church or the animal shelter last time. And why am I seeing signs for Sitra, which is near the resort place where we went to swim? That is not near the animal shelter . . . I zoom out and see that I am nowhere near where I'm supposed to be going, even though I swear I programmed it correctly at the beginning. 

started at orange, SPCA is somewhere near the other orange spot, but we drove to a completely different part of the island (pink).

The boys suggest selecting "Church" instead, since it's in the same area. We'll be able to find our way to the SPCA once we get to church. Great. I can do that. So we backtrack and start heading in the right direction.  

We're seeing familiar landmarks and know we're getting closer when the phone rings. It's a friend who has run out of gas on the other side of the island and needs me to go pick her up.  

I have to figure out how to get to Amwaj, while she's stuck standing in the heat on the side of the road with her 2 kids. 

Since she's new too, I know that I am (unfortunately for her) her only hope. But how to get from where I am to where she is? I have no clue since I barely know where I am. I get off the freeway and try to turn around, but in the roundabouts and things I end up going further into the city and am not making much progress. I have to get back to the freeway. What would be marked in the GPS that would get me headed in that direction? I scroll through the favorites and see "Lulu's." Oh, good! Josh must have marked it the other night when we were there with the kids. 

We start driving, I call Josh and tell him my change of plans and thank him for marking Lulu's. He says he didn't mark Lulu's. Maybe I did and I don't remember? How else would Lulu's get in my GPS? Wait, where are we going? None of these city choices on the freeway are going in the right direction. It's like wanting to go to San Francisco and the only signs are for Sacramento, Walnut Creek or Pleasanton. Where is this crazy thing taking me? 

I'm on the phone with Josh, telling him that I'm crazy lost and the GPS he bought for me is possessed. He tells me I need to zoom out to see where I'm going and then select the right place on the map and go there. He doesn't understand that I don't get maps. At. All. Even after looking at these map pictures and drawing all over them, I only slightly understand where I was/am. Being in my head and driving around is like one big surprise after another. I imagine where I'm going and then I come upon a landmark and realize the picture I had in my head is totally reversed and I'm heading exactly opposite of where I thought I was.

I may have started screeching that I couldn't zoom out because I had the phone in one hand, was trying to drive with the other hand, and couldn't pull over because I was on the freeway, but he couldn't hear me because it was chaos in the car with all the kids trying to tell me where to go. 

Oh, and the Lulu's? It was one that I had marked when we first arrived -- when a friend drove me around the island and pointed out landmarks. Too bad this Lulu's was nowhere near where I needed to be. But we got there, pulled over and told the GPS to take me to the airport since that's near where my friend was stranded. She did her job and got us back on track and we eventually made it to rescue my poor melting friend.

All 6 kids crammed in the backseat and we went to find a gas station.

They didn't have any gas cans so they pulled some empty water bottles out of the trash and filled them with gas. They rinsed them out with gas first (swished it around and poured it on the ground) to make sure they were "clean." 

Did you know gas was bright pink? I didn't either.  

The first bottle had a crack in it and started to leak so they had to use a different one. 

Ospreys flying overhead! I've never seen one in person before -- these were really low because they were coming in to land. (They are the jet/helicopter hybrid planes)

A crush of kids in the back seat. 5 kids in a space for 2 since Camille was in her car seat. 

Pink fuel!

After our rescue mission we didn't end up making it to the SPCA that day. Instead we went to lunch with Josh on base and we cooled off for a while in the base movie theater. We still plan on getting a dog this weekend. After getting a dog I'll probably be too busy to go anywhere, but at least I won't get lost every day. Yesterday after running errands I pressed the 'Home' button on the GPS and couldn't figure out why she was taking me this crazy roundabout way home. I finally got tired of driving in the exact opposite direction of where I thought we needed to go so I stopped to see what she was doing. She was, in fact, taking me home. To Oman.