a fix

The day after I wrote the previous post, I came home to find the remnants chocolate milk and cookies on the kitchen table. 

It's the dirty needle equivalent. 

It's been a busy week leading up to Thanksgiving. I've thought about writing, but haven't taken the time to put my thoughts down on paper. I could use prayer that this weekend is a time for us to recharge. I'm worn out.   

Future Crack-Heads of America

I'm probably breaking some important parenting rule when I call my girlie a "junkie," but there really is no other way to describe it. She is relentless in her pursuit of a sugar fix. She'll ask for chocolate, ice cream, candy or anything else with a bit of sweetness a million times a day (once I found her hiding under the table having her way with the ketchup bottle) and it doesn't ever sink in that my answer is never going to be "yes." (Probably because sometimes it actually is yes -- I'm not running a "dry" household and sometimes I want a little chocolate too.)

It's no use trying to do a detox because she has a willing dealer with an endless supply. Josie is her go-to girl. As soon as I leave the house they skip off to the cold store together and Camille gets loaded up with all of her favorite things: Oreos, tic-tacs, bubble gum (she'll chew an entire pack in a morning), chocolate milk, and lollipops. The war on drugs has been lost here.

This is how I found her today -- the blue smudges on her face and hiding behind the curtain sure signs that she had gotten into something. 

Even though I have told her a bazillion times that they aren't candy, she couldn't resist trying the food coloring tablets left over from Easter egg dying. Junkie for sure. 

It's Bahraining

We are on day 3 or 4 of storms here -- I don't know if this is the leftovers from the hurricane that hit the Philippines, but we haven't seen this much rain or this many days of rain in the past 3 years.

Rain in the Middle East is amazing because it's as if the mothership came to visit and dropped tiny alien beings from the sky. From the way people drive, you know it's alien. Dodging puddles like they're the Wicked Witch of the West and even a drop will cause them to melt, driving 20 miles an hour, hunched over the wheel like my grandma, and a general puzzlement over all this wet stuff. And we've got a lot of it.

The roads are a mess, small cars are getting swamped, and we're going to have mud for weeks. Things don't dry out quickly here so I expect to see stagnant lakes into December.

The water is too deep here to drive on the right side of the road. 

Drainage isn't a thing here -- which usually doesn't matter . . .

By the boys' school. Anyone want to swim?

I've stayed off the highways, but I've seen some wild photos that friends have been posting on FB. 

We stopped by to pick up takeout -- trying to save the guys on scooters a trip out in the rain. This entire street was shin deep in water.

This lady is trying to see if there is any way to walk up this street. Nope, it's completely flooded.

The only way to get around it is to walk through it!

Hike up pants and tiptoe along on the edges.

Wheeling groceries from the store to the restaurant across the street -- sloshing along. 

We have a few leaks in our roof and I change out soaked towels every few hours. No big deal. In a few days the dripping will stop and we won't have to worry about that wet stuff falling from the sky for another year. 

Inshalla time

I joke about how there is no concept of time here in the Middle East, but I don't know if you all truly understand the extent to which time is meaningless (unless you are stopped at a traffic light -- then all of a sudden time becomes so important that, by all means, please cut in front of everyone and run the light).

We ran out of propane last month. That is our cooking gas that runs the stove. Josh called to have it delivered: "Inshalla, tomorrow." Josh called two more times over the next two days (because of course it wasn't delivered "tomorrow" and the response was always the same, "Inshalla, tomorrow." Finally he got someone higher up on the chain who said, "Yes, we can bring it today." Josh gave them instructions to come anytime except between 12 and 2. When did they come? Sometime between 12 and 2 according to the "you were not here" sticker that was left on my gate when I arrived home. We eventually got cooking gas after about a week.

We moved into this house in August of 2012. One of the things that needed to be fixed was the hood over the stove. Part of it was broken so the screen was hanging down. Someone came by and took some measurements and we never heard from them again. Another day a random repairman came by and used a twisted up paperclip to keep the screen in place. Huh, I guess that works. I haven't thought about it again until today, 15 months after moving into this house, the doorbell rings and a guy holding a big metal thing is standing at my front gate. I wasn't even sure what he wanted -- it's not like anyone called to see if I would be home before coming over. So I let him in and he goes into the kitchen . . . ah, the stove hood repair! 

The man inspected the current hood, looked at the size of the hood he brought and made some uncertain clucking noises. I guess maybe he didn't think it would be the right size for the existing space? He asked, "It works? You want?" At this point I wasn't replacing my half broke working hood for one for an untested one and I didn't want him tearing up my kitchen to check it so I replied, "It's fine." He shrugged, "Ok." And left. Inshalla indeed.

Sparring

The boys have been taking Taekwondo since February and have fallen in love with fighting.





They enjoy performing the different forms (choreographed movements that they are tested on before they can advance in belt rank), but they recently were promoted to the rank that allows them to start sparring.

After their most recent test

They love sparring so much, they practice on each other at home -- one referee, 2 fighters. 

Supposedly I missed an "epic" fight between Calvin and Carter on this day. I'll just have to get them to give me a repeat performance here at home. Unfortunately, as we experience all too often in this transient military life, the boys' instructor is moving away this week. (To Germany!) He has promised if we end up there he will find some way to continue training them. For the next 6 months they are going to be working on their own, waiting to see if they get to be reunited this summer. 

ADDING ONE MORE that shows all three of them practicing. Calvin and Caleb are in the background. 

The most ridiculous -- UPDATED

The most ridiculous thing I did today was give my dog a glycerin suppository (yep, up the butt) to get him to poop before I left the house. He's doing much better with his separation anxiety thanks to the prozac/cheeze whiz cocktail I give him every morning (another ridiculous thing I do), but he gets nervous tummy and will poop in the house on occasion if I'm gone "too long" (anything longer than 10 seconds is too long is his book). By clearing things out ahead of time, it ensures that I don't come home to any "surprises."

The second most ridiculous thing I did today was stab myself in the hand with a fork. It turns out that the Ben and Jerry's cardboard carton will not stop a fork that has missed its ice cream trajectory and hits the bottom of the carton. On a related note, it's not a good idea to substitute a fork for a spoon just because the ice cream is too hard to scoop. Also, puncture wounds hurt. Stay tuned for comments from my family like, "At least you didn't step on a fork!" since one time I left a fork lying on the floor in front of the TV and my dad stepped on it and the ensuing fork throwing and foot infection shall never be forgotten.

**************
Micah got his revenge by pooping on the boys' floor in the middle of the night and waking me at 6am to go outside.
Touché, Micah. Touché.

reinventing myself

As I'm writing this, Josie is vacuuming around my feet. That sounds completely lazy and ridiculous, doesn't it? Welcome to my favorite thing about living in the Middle East. Stay tuned for the next chapter of my life where there will be much whining and crying about the never ending housework . . .

No, we don't have orders yet. Or even a clue as to what the setting of that next chapter will be: lush green German countrysides? wandering through thick salty fog on the Monterey coast? the constant honking of horns and masses of people on the streets of New York City? Navy base meets East coast in southern Virginia?

Josh and I were talking over coffee the other day (before he flew to Oman) and we were considering all of those possibilities. I dream of Germany. I have aspirations of taking the kids on a Eurorail tour of Europe and of giving them the world, literally. A move to Germany means the kids skiing and snowboarding in the winters and bicycling in the summers. Camille going to German kindergarten and me shopping for fresh produce at the farmer's market in the village with a basket slung over my arm and a bicycle with a cart on the back to haul it all home. Snowy nights knitting by the fire with mountain beauty all around. Ah, Germany.

I will be disappointed if we don't get to assigned to Germany. But I also know that we have no bad choices. And I'm sure you're agreeing with me because all of the above places I listed would be amazing and they each have attributes that could propel them to the top of my list. But beyond all of those great choices, what I've learned from our travels is each place has something to teach me about myself, the world, God . . . and it might not be what I would have picked, but God is sovereign.

I wouldn't have picked Bahrain. Nope, I'd be living happily in 29 Palms, back in my beloved desert with friends who have also been drawn back to the best kept secret in the Marine Corps. But then I would have missed this: dear friends, a different take on Arab culture, more opportunities to travel, and Josie, who makes every day here better. Our life here is good. Very good.

I feel privileged that every few years I get to uproot and try something new. Whether it's fried catfish and hushpuppies to go with a side of tornados in Oklahoma or clam chowder on the wharf and picking organic produce straight from the farm in Monterey or driving through the mountainous desert in Joshua Tree National park and Friday night Bible studies with our closest friends (because we lived too far away from civilization to go out on Friday nights) there are things that I would have hated to miss about everywhere we've lived. The hard part is as soon as we feel like we're finally adjusting and figuring out life, it's time to leave. Like right about now. Wherever it is, even if it's #3263 on our list of desired places, it will be good.

A writer at work

I've been reading a book this week 7, An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, and she writes like I would want to write . . . if I were a writer. Some self deprecating humor (lots of it, in fact), a first person narrative style as she describes her challenges and successes at simplifying her life in an attempt to draw closer to God's will for her life, overuse of ellipses
(. . . these guys . . . love them), and a reader who learns something in the middle of their laughter. All elements that I adore in a writer/book and would emulate them . . . if I were a writer.

As I was describing a favorite part to Josh over dinner (about her adventures in organic gardening during month 5 in an attempt to create less waste) and lamented that she had a gift -- he stopped me and said, "You are a writer."

Um, no I'm not. Or did I miss the published books floating around the house with my name on the cover?

He said, "Being published doesn't make you a writer. You are one because you write. You edit. You revise. You're good at it. I write stuff for work all the time, but I'm not a writer. You are. In three weeks it will be December 1st, three years to the day that we left the United States for Egypt. You've been writing for three years. That makes you a writer." I just about leaped across the table and hugged him. Wow. Three years. If that makes me a writer, I better not stop now.

So, stories from Motherboy XICXV last night (I can't be bothered to figure out the Roman numerals, especially since it's an Arrested Development reference and you'll either get it or you won't and the fake numbers don't matter anyway). Josh was/is out of the country (visiting Oman, weep for me) so I took Calvin to the Marine Corps ball as my very handsome date.

I am not photogenic (I had the man at the base retake my ID card photo 3 times and it still looks like a chipmunk with crossed eyes) and Calvin is hoping to overtake me in height in the near future, so we took 1001 photos of me trying not to smile too hard and him trying to stand on his tiptoes without me noticing. It was fantastic.

We mingled, we ate, we didn't dance (more on that later) and had fun people watching. It turns out that after 16 years in, most of the special uniform pieces are still foreign to me and I don't know why one guy wears a gold cord around his shoulder (lie: I actually do know that one -- it's because he's an aid to a VIP), or what all the different ribbons mean and if it's an Army or Navy uniform? Forget it. I don't know why one guys has blue lapels and another has gold (though if I had to guess it's probably dependent on their job/unit). I missed having my military guide Josh there, to answer all my questions, but Calvin and I texted him a few times and that was almost as good. 

He wanted to be able to say that he ate a piece of the birthday cake

Then he realized he was trying to cut it with the back side of the knife.

One of the official candids from the night.

We were about to leave and we hadn't danced yet (I couldn't convince Calvin to go out with me to do the Electric Slide) when the first slow song came on and I seized my opportunity: "Do you want to dance one song before we head out?" He was a good sport and agreed. I was looking for a place to stash my purse when I recognized the song as "I'll Make Love to You" and decided that was a bit too skeevy for a Mother/Son dance. A little "Afternoon Delight," anyone? 

Then we came home to these monkeys who were fast asleep and the girl monkey who was wide awake. (Josie was babysitting. No need to worry about child neglect.)

play hard, sleep hard

she doesn't always sleep, 

but when she does, she goes all in

henna time

Back in September we went to a rug flop and they had a lady there doing henna. It's a dark paste that is piped onto the skin and left until it dries and flakes off. The henna stains the skin and the design lasts for about 2 weeks. Basically it's a long lasting temporary tattoo. I've gotten henna before, but Camille has always looked at these strangers suspiciously with her trademarked side-eye glare. Surprisingly, this night she was game. 

A butterfly!

Not related, but since we only have about 6 months left here, Josh and I have been looking for some Bahraini pieces to add to our eclectic household furnishings. We've been wanting a Bahraini bench and loved this one in our friends' house so we took a picture of it and have "a guy" who is either going to find one or make one like it. 

Ever since her first taste of henna, Camille has been asking to "get another butterfly." This week we walked to the salon near our house and I got a pedicure while she had henna painted on her feet. 

It took about 30 minutes to draw out the design -- all freehand

You can see the henna on the artist's hands. It starts out bright orange and deepens in color over the next few days. 

All finished. Now she aims a fan on her feet and we wait for it to dry.

After it is dried and the henna paste is removed.

After a few days the color gets deeper. The end result -- two weeks of pretty feet!

Crazy life

What a week -- between Halloween, making travel plans and all the normal kid and pet care, I am wiped out. I blinked and it's almost a week into November. At least all hotels have been reserved, intra-Turkey plane flights have been booked, and my updated guidebook should be in my hands tomorrow so I can brainstorm another list of must-sees for this trip. Of course of all the guidebooks that I have, the only one I couldn't find is the one for Turkey.

Morocco, Tunisia, Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Middle East (big book), and all the dialect phrasebooks for the different regions? Yep, got them. But Turkey went AWOL. After digging through 6 boxes of books, I finally gave up and just ordered a new one.

Halloween: Too much candy, but lots of fun anyway. I felt like Josh and I should get an award, a trophy, or eternal gratitude after seeing the Halloween costumes that we put together for Carter and Caleb.

I knit Green Arrow's (a comic book character) hood and created the vest out of a sweatshirt. Josh was responsible for the genius bow, arrow, and arrow holder thing -- and they actually shoot. 

I created Hawkeye's shirt (character from The Avengers) out of two T-shirts and a too-small vest from the suit he wore to Wendy's wedding. Josh again gets credit for all shooting paraphernalia.

All the work on this costume was done by some poor child laboring in a sweatshop in China. 

They had a huge Trick or Treat event on base and various units decorated tents and handed out candy. Calvin didn't have a costume because he was helping hand out candy. 

She skipped the scary themed tents

The boys entered the costume contest, but the real prize is the bow and arrow that they get to keep after the holiday is over. 

More Halloween fun -- visiting Caleb at his class for a party. 

One more thing of note from this week: Our cat is crazy. (In a good way)

We already knew that when we take showers he likes to sit on the side of the tub and play in the spray, but I did not expect him to hop in the tub with me when I take a bath. I started the water running and then went to check on the kids before getting in. I came back to find him walking around in the water, playing in the current. He is one of a kind.