tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84250731910169172442024-02-20T19:03:57.393-05:00Sherwood Family NonsenseSherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.comBlogger1102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-44180884937346694902023-06-11T10:54:00.003-04:002023-06-11T10:54:25.776-04:00Summer Bedtimes<p>Astana is, by far, the most northern place we've ever lived. Brandon and I have, surprisingly, spent a lot of our marriage hanging out around 40 degrees north, only dipping below when we in Cairo, at 30 degrees north. Astana, by contrast is at 51 degrees north, about the same latitude as London and Calgary. Each degree of latitude is about 69 miles, so we've moved about 700 miles north of our usual stomping grounds.</p><p>Being this north has the expected effect of making everything a lot colder. Winters here are very cold, summers aren't that hot, and the cold lasts several months more than we're used to. I was mentally prepared for the winter, but I wasn't prepared for the extended spring that really didn't give way to warmer days until the end of May.</p><p>I also knew that being further north would have an effect on daylight hours. Because of Astana's place in the timezone, the sun rises pretty late in the winter. At winter solstice, the sun wouldn't creep above the horizon until almost 9:30 in the morning, an hour into our school day. It wasn't as bad in the evening, with the sun setting just past 5 pm.</p><p>What I hadn't considered about daylight hours is the effect it's had on the summertime sunlight hours. I knew that it would make for nice, long summer evenings. I love long summer evenings, those times when winter is a distant memory and it feels like the lazy days will last forever. We live in a neighborhood that is pleasant to walk in, so Brandon and I will often take evening walks after the kids are in bed and enjoy being outside when it is both light and warm. </p><p>I knew that the summertime evenings would be long, but I didn't realize exactly how long they would be. I'm writing this around 8:30 in the evening, and the sunshine is still coming into my western-facing windows. The sun won't set until just past 9:30 and the last vestiges of light don't leave the sky until around 10:30 at night. We're still ten days away from summer solstice (the saddest day of the year as the light starts going away), so we haven't reached peak daylight hours quite yet.</p><p>Usually, I'm a pretty strict bedtime person. Half of the house is awake by 5 am, so everyone needs to get to sleep reasonably early. I still have younger children, and they're much happier when they've gotten enough sleep. Also, I want to have a little bit of downtime before my own bedtime - and that downtime doesn't happen when children are still partying. I even send my high schoolers to their rooms by 8:30 or so - they'll often stay up talking or reading past that time, but they're shut in pretty early. I know that Kathleen is in for a huge shock when she goes to college next year and is introduced into the world of late night everything. </p><p>But these long summertimes evenings have made me have to readjust my early bedtime policies. It feels like such a criminal waste of precious summer daylight to make everyone bundle off to bed when the sun is still pouring in the windows. The winter is so long and so dark that I feel like we have to utilize every opportunity we have to be outside and enjoying flip-flop weather. </p><p>Even if I <i>wanted</i> to send everyone off to bed at their regular hour, it would be pretty hard to convince them all it was sleep time when their circadian rhythms were saying something else entirely. You can tell them to sleep, but it won't do much good if they're not actually sleepy.</p><p>So I've decided that we have a more seasonal approach to bedtimes. During the long, dark, cold winters, bed is the only reasonable place to be in the evening. It's cozy, it's warm (although our house isn't anything like cold in the winter), and it's the logical place to be. But in the summer, it's time to relax and enjoy the beautiful long evenings. School is out, the kids don't have to get up so early, and everyone can enjoy summertime when the living is easy. Winter will come soon enough, so we might as enjoy what we can while we can - and that most definitely includes long summer evenings.</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-36645729023075276752023-05-07T10:10:00.003-04:002023-05-07T10:10:30.653-04:00Spring, the Best and Worst Season<p>Spring has finally arrived in Astana. The nights are above freezing, and all of the trees have started leafing out. We have our windows open all the time, and the city shut off the heating. The sun rises while I'm exercising and sets after the time the children are put to bed. The children have to mow the lawn this week, and I've put my tomato and basil plants outside. </p><p>I love spring. It's my favorite season. I love the new, bright green color of all the leaves as they emerge. I love the flowers. I love the longer days. I love the first strawberries of the season, leading into summer fruits and vegetables. I love putting away my winter clothes, and wearing sandals or flip-flops every day. Spring is the season where life, light, and warmth return to the world, washing away the memories of a time when they were hiding.</p><p>Spring here is even more wonderful than in every other place that we've lived. After five months of continual snow cover, seeing green grass again feels like a miracle. When going outside in the winter requires multiple layers of clothes, simply walking out the door with no thought at all is an unalloyed pleasure. And enjoying the long, long evenings is recompense for all those short winter days when the sun didn't peek over the horizon until after nine in the morning. </p><p>The entire city has turned green, and every time I drive somewhere, the bushes are a little more covered in new leaves, more trees have decided to come out of dormancy, and I've even spotted a few flowers peeking out. All of the people have come out of hiding also, with the shrieks of children playing in the neighborhood playground floating through the warm evening air long past the time when our own children have been put to bed. Eleanor has asked if perhaps they too could have a night or two a week when they could enjoy the long evenings. Our neighbors can be seen outside, working in their gardens and yards, just as happy to be outside as the children are. </p><p>The only complaint I have about spring here is that it is <i>so late</i>. The city turned off our heating the last week of April - and we've still had several below-freezing nights after they turned the heat off. The house is, ironically, colder now than it was in the depth of winter. I remember when we regularly filled out pool in Uzbekistan during the first week of April - and I'm pretty sure the river was still frozen over the first week of April here.</p><p>I'm used to seeing the trees leaves start peeping out in March, not May. I grew up in North Carolina, where daffodils will sometimes come up in February - here there are no daffodils, as the bulbs would all freeze and die over the winter. I've seen a few irises and tulips - which I'm used to seeing bloom in March or April - but I think that I won't see any flowers from them until June. Our neighbor's apple tree is <i>just</i> about to come into bloom. In Uzbekistan, it's already cherry and apricot season. Here, the apricot trees haven't even bloomed yet.</p><p>The worst part about spring being late is that it is something that we all want so desperately. I've found that it's been easier to bear the cold winter months because they're winter months. They're colder than any winter months I've ever experienced, but winter is always cold. One doesn't expect to wear flip-flops in winter, because it's winter. Even March wasn't <i>too</i> bad - we were so excited about the snow finally melting that the warmer temperatures (sometimes above freezing) felt like a gift.</p><p>But once I got to April, I was ready for spring. April is never a winter month, it's a spring month. It's the month where we can look forward to seventy-degree days and flowers and green. April in Astana is <i>not</i> a spring month. It's a month of teasing when the weather pretends that it's considering warming up before hitting you with the heaviest snowfall of the year. The days get longer and the light <i>looks</i> like it should be warm and springlike, but it <i>isn't</i>. Instead, it's an entire month of frustrated desire.</p><p>Brandon is probably tired now of all my complaining, but it kills me to see all the cherry blossom pictures when the trees outside our windows still look like dead sticks. Even Brandon, who likes winter, had to agree that it's just <i>wrong</i> for the trees to wait until May to leaf out. The months of warmth (temperatures above seventy) here are definitely shorter than the cool and cold months, so having those days take so long to show up just feels like robbery. </p><p>Thankfully, we have finally, <i>finally</i> made it past false spring and into real spring. When I think of winter, it's a bad memory that I shudder away from. I'm looking forward to another beautiful, glorious Kazakh summer where it's hardly ever dark and I almost never have to turn on the air conditioning. It's gonna be great. And when the little voice in my head whispers that winter will return, I tell it to shut up. It's finally made it to the warm and it's beautiful part of the year, and I intend to fully enjoy it. </p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-45770436771854401482023-04-30T09:22:00.005-04:002023-04-30T09:22:53.485-04:00Edwin Wins the PrizeThere are certain milestones that come with parenting. Some milestones are good ones - first smile, first piano recital, first day of school. And then there are the other kind - first time staying up all night with a sick child, first child in the hospital, first major home damage caused by a child. I feel like we've been really lucky in the bad milestones, especially with health. I've been especially grateful for this while living in countries where medical care isn't always well-equipped to deal with emergencies. <div><br /></div><div>I've always known that, statistically, one of my children would eventually break a bone. With seven children, there's no way that I could escape that milestone. Ironically, I was the first one in the family to break a bone in 2020. But last week, Edwin took the prize for the first <i>child</i> to break a bone.</div><div><br /></div><div>After I had gotten up from my Sunday nap, Edwin came and asked if he could get some ibuprofen. Edwin <i>never</i> asks for any kind of medicine, so the warning flags immediately went off. I asked him what was wrong. "Oh," he casually told me, "I was chasing Joseph outside and slipped on some snow and fell down. It's fine. It just hurts a little. But it's not broken or anything. Definitely not broken. I'm fine."</div><div><br /></div><div>I gave him the ibuprofen and grabbed his arm for inspection, not trusting the judgment of a thirteen year-old boy who doesn't like to cause problems for adults. I moved my way down his forearm until he started wincing. I checked for swelling, which was already noticeable. Then I had him move his arm. </div><div><br /></div><div>He waved it around in the air. "See," he showed me, "I can move it just fine. It doesn't hurt." I looked at him and told him to stick his arm out and rotate his hand back and forth. "Well," he hedged, "I'd rather not. It's kind of uncomfortable." When I moved it for him, his face was a dead giveaway. I called Brandon to come and give a second opinion.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I think that Edwin broke his arm," I told Brandon, "but I know that I tend to jump to the worst possible scenario. Could you look at it?" Brandon inspected it and agreed that yes, he'd probably broken it. We called the local doctor that works at the embassy and told her the story. Yes, she sighed, it would be necessary to bring him in and check on it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Brandon loaded Edwin into the car and drove him up to the embassy. Roza spent about two minutes inspecting his arm and announced, "It's probably broken." So they headed over to the government hospital that had a functioning after-hours emergency department (private hospitals keep 9-5 hours). </div><div><br /></div><div>When they showed up, Brandon told me later, the emergency room was filled with children cradling various broken limbs. Evidently the first warm weather of the spring combined with a lot of melting snow made for lots of scenarios similar to ours. The doctor took a cursory look at Edwin's arm, announced that it was broken, and sent him over for an X-ray where they confirmed what everyone knew - Edwin had indeed broken his arm. Ironically, his break was in almost exactly the same place that my own break was three years ago. It wasn't as bad as mine (which wasn't too bad either), so he was quickly casted up and sent home.</div><div><br /></div><div>Edwin has taken everything stoically and figured out how to do his life one-handed. Thankfully spring has finally decided to stay, and he can wear flip-flops everywhere and doesn't have to get help to put on socks and shoes. He also doesn't have to try and pull a coat over his cast. It was good timing for breaking an arm. </div><div><br /></div><div>There have been some benefits for Edwin. He has shed no tears over having to take a break in piano playing, and doesn't mind having to hand his dishwashing job off to another sibling. Although he's still going to taekwondo three times a week, he doesn't have to do any pushups - but that won't be so great when we has to get back into condition after the cast comes off. </div><div><br /></div><div>As a whole, having a child with a broken arm hasn't been particularly stressful. It helps that Edwin is old enough to figure out how to shower and dress himself and isn't inclined to whine anyway. As a first broken bone, it's been very un-dramatic. I'll be happy if he stays the only one with a broken bone, but I'm not holding my breath. Statistics usually catches up to you in the end.</div>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-28527233906917322912023-04-02T11:34:00.007-04:002023-04-02T11:34:48.127-04:00Thailand<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Fz6RTx3XldYvH4rip3OvGn11YSiTSbcoj4AGizL-agpDNq8PaIsma0Y0TRsm_YlHpPH9gF-Sachfsvl13bNds55e3h9KIJ9waQrVjmbD9DLlzl-xSZfQR5OyN-KS-XVaFULr8JBWjXsEZ6MUkuagnk7lfth0qP7_VX9BO1TCT6-ql_-Etfnubwc3Cw/s3794/IMG_8127.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2846" data-original-width="3794" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Fz6RTx3XldYvH4rip3OvGn11YSiTSbcoj4AGizL-agpDNq8PaIsma0Y0TRsm_YlHpPH9gF-Sachfsvl13bNds55e3h9KIJ9waQrVjmbD9DLlzl-xSZfQR5OyN-KS-XVaFULr8JBWjXsEZ6MUkuagnk7lfth0qP7_VX9BO1TCT6-ql_-Etfnubwc3Cw/s320/IMG_8127.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This year for spring break, we went to Thailand. We've enjoyed our spring break trips for the past two years, and so I've decided to make it a family tradition. I'm enjoying having children that are old enough to travel fairly easily after so many years of always having babies to make things difficult. We don't have that many years left in the Foreign Service and so we have to take advantage of travel opportunities when we can.</p><p>After making it through most of an Astana winter, our spring break this year was especially welcome. I've decided that the first week of March is the best time to travel. The anticipation and planning helps us make it through February and January, the coldest months, and by the time we get back in March, winter is nearly over. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2TqzqJpbuS2x2xYoOCqJaN76JQDySyX3ufstybsrGV57sa_9j-vepA89SKHu62OdY_tfGotg9OTy6DTCUBpev22zCeR3GCOFguP1oVADaRjdt-OPOrzz4XQKbZ-fjSOL7X0p6mdIbSbD8_7k0uepJhwBm2DHXrMZ9Q5bt96t7qsLSDjRh-a2vUdmGA/s2272/DSCN3810.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1704" data-original-width="2272" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2TqzqJpbuS2x2xYoOCqJaN76JQDySyX3ufstybsrGV57sa_9j-vepA89SKHu62OdY_tfGotg9OTy6DTCUBpev22zCeR3GCOFguP1oVADaRjdt-OPOrzz4XQKbZ-fjSOL7X0p6mdIbSbD8_7k0uepJhwBm2DHXrMZ9Q5bt96t7qsLSDjRh-a2vUdmGA/s320/DSCN3810.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>We decided to invite my parents to come and join us, and they eagerly took us up on the offer. They're thoroughly enjoying their retirement and had just finished a trip to the Caribbean a week or so before crossing half the globe to come and join us. The children were happy to have the undivided attention of the grandparents, and we were all happy to have an audience that kept us from getting too grouchy with each other.</p><p>After doing some research, I settled on Koh Samui, an island south of Bankok that isn't as heavily developed as Phuket. I found a nice house on the south side of the island with an incredibly helpful Englishman as the host. He booked all of our excursions for us, found and hired a chef, and even did all of our grocery shopping. We were within walking distance of two completely deserted beaches, and the walk was through fields of coconut palms. It was very nice and quiet.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMU1TeKELixw34LxWgoTMmB5vUsnAlQDFLlfYWdi29Fe6fPDrJeiEa3pTvGK9oGQQEwkZvyeCz883a3mHzJ1METKZrG5FgrBVnszckatymWLu7ZhFoVN9AMsUL0A0_F_wGOpo4L1xOGwzaAgRIqiCuw5UiWfVsHaqX8l8a4eAYgPFqZWnOAqiWN8k68A/s3824/IMG_7996.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2868" data-original-width="3824" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMU1TeKELixw34LxWgoTMmB5vUsnAlQDFLlfYWdi29Fe6fPDrJeiEa3pTvGK9oGQQEwkZvyeCz883a3mHzJ1METKZrG5FgrBVnszckatymWLu7ZhFoVN9AMsUL0A0_F_wGOpo4L1xOGwzaAgRIqiCuw5UiWfVsHaqX8l8a4eAYgPFqZWnOAqiWN8k68A/s320/IMG_7996.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>We spent a lot of our time at the beach and in the pool. When I asked the children about how many excursions they wanted to do, they all told me that too many would get in the way of our beach time. The beach provides endless entertainment for everyone, and I'm perfectly happy to sit on the beach and watch them enjoy themselves. </p><p>While we were not at the beach, we managed to fit in a tour of the island. We saw two waterfalls, fed bananas to elephants, ate a delicious seafood lunch at a beachfront restaurant, visited numerous wats, a large Chinese statue, had fresh coconut ice cream, and visited a night market. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzzlanB--ZNkxAiPTZpgu98HOIYJIE1SR7ZuQYznUKth6MzvpEspcgIGPG_rOQIEqXcS96mPAG_jSEbDAUuYJq31SorjE-NI463oroP9T-ybayapJHJ1M_ZHo3KE76rXQWqK7UkiRGsLhNE9x7-4ltqs-2shNkWYD0qRMzO1CxZqVUMbmP8Oq2b7XjA/s1800/B8E87975-D12C-4D7D-94F9-11980C5D1AE7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzzlanB--ZNkxAiPTZpgu98HOIYJIE1SR7ZuQYznUKth6MzvpEspcgIGPG_rOQIEqXcS96mPAG_jSEbDAUuYJq31SorjE-NI463oroP9T-ybayapJHJ1M_ZHo3KE76rXQWqK7UkiRGsLhNE9x7-4ltqs-2shNkWYD0qRMzO1CxZqVUMbmP8Oq2b7XjA/s320/B8E87975-D12C-4D7D-94F9-11980C5D1AE7.jpeg" width="256" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEHAtth4cs-Q5WjvADKycNGOrAe1yl4YGXuGeOzxNyWzIt_dVtZO2fovN8snqUtoxSN-bSa6y8JMAfcE_JVPlgnrMjyRU6bgdZRfKm-fK-VcXd9Pj1pjuM7sDqWut7TuGcHRgXzvamGnxvZyDcCEbBKWY8APQvSsqf-zTUSzkvgGnrBro04QCRjeVfQ/s4032/IMG_8060.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEHAtth4cs-Q5WjvADKycNGOrAe1yl4YGXuGeOzxNyWzIt_dVtZO2fovN8snqUtoxSN-bSa6y8JMAfcE_JVPlgnrMjyRU6bgdZRfKm-fK-VcXd9Pj1pjuM7sDqWut7TuGcHRgXzvamGnxvZyDcCEbBKWY8APQvSsqf-zTUSzkvgGnrBro04QCRjeVfQ/s320/IMG_8060.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>My parents are I are all scuba certified, so we took a diving trip with Sophia, Edwin and Joseph. The scuba sites were two islands up, so we had a speedboat all to ourselves with two dive instructors and crew. We did two dives with lunch in between before heading back to Koh Samui. All the children really enjoyed their first experience with scuba diving, and I had a nice time diving after an eighteen-year break.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlsvvCSQ7SDaruLpxh5BR-q1gh_FomkKV8Gp8nDqT0DgZ-f1JfMf7vCGa2ao4wBYtCjFmXBbqfFdr9QSVEjuLNqMMS-lBo-jcx_IoIBhcQ7X7GpUOoudBzljI7ZEjxaqr0C251epaO2DTijy5cmIz19xRUrPKAHCp6qPnWMlqdHdNpE_YqxfPYse1cg/s4000/GPTempDownload%2043.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlsvvCSQ7SDaruLpxh5BR-q1gh_FomkKV8Gp8nDqT0DgZ-f1JfMf7vCGa2ao4wBYtCjFmXBbqfFdr9QSVEjuLNqMMS-lBo-jcx_IoIBhcQ7X7GpUOoudBzljI7ZEjxaqr0C251epaO2DTijy5cmIz19xRUrPKAHCp6qPnWMlqdHdNpE_YqxfPYse1cg/s320/GPTempDownload%2043.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>We took the whole family on a boat trip to the Anthong Marine Park, a group of islands to the west of Koh Samui. The trip was on a big boat with a lot of other tourists, and we visited two different islands on the trip. Some of the family (not Elizabeth, whose legs were too short), climbed to the top of one island and enjoyed a lovely view. Eleanor and I took a 'hike,' which consisted of scrambling up slopes with the aid of ropes, to a limestone cave. We all got to do some kayaking and then hike up incredibly steep stairs to see an emerald lagoon at another island. When I asked all the kids about their favorite part of the trip, they all said that the boat trip was their favorite part.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-dEFGGTrXHXaeZWSvnuD7QN6fVRWh9aloEf0BzeNttL_d7Ojfyqmkv1-9QB_g3tkhErafeXgK_3UEdfGdcPr7ZNBYcNxg5oO-13uY_ZaIgkO2GGPGM-JnvEuHuXQXqhCooOTSEtjeecr14BiCb4PEjvJLyQMUGZvv2etcGEtqgqRoPThjoq0t9mJTQ/s2237/DSCN3959.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1677" data-original-width="2237" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-dEFGGTrXHXaeZWSvnuD7QN6fVRWh9aloEf0BzeNttL_d7Ojfyqmkv1-9QB_g3tkhErafeXgK_3UEdfGdcPr7ZNBYcNxg5oO-13uY_ZaIgkO2GGPGM-JnvEuHuXQXqhCooOTSEtjeecr14BiCb4PEjvJLyQMUGZvv2etcGEtqgqRoPThjoq0t9mJTQ/s320/DSCN3959.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiHP0BBg2JB3Q34fFKfkrHJN5b8CkoZ-O407BVdqp2_wuIu923xxeuVstDDcFoJPiJTdfGCxYxqaYdXWpy9lER17CxQ3YOKTAmnYC4Mi6XR4onb-8CRjbIwaCKzxHa1CLisMHH8VyIJaLs40CEjgvMqjxg-ysFqfopYCcnAXKJ2X_sDgpY7vyQf7cEw/s2272/DSCN3913.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2272" data-original-width="1704" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiHP0BBg2JB3Q34fFKfkrHJN5b8CkoZ-O407BVdqp2_wuIu923xxeuVstDDcFoJPiJTdfGCxYxqaYdXWpy9lER17CxQ3YOKTAmnYC4Mi6XR4onb-8CRjbIwaCKzxHa1CLisMHH8VyIJaLs40CEjgvMqjxg-ysFqfopYCcnAXKJ2X_sDgpY7vyQf7cEw/s320/DSCN3913.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>My favorite part of the trip was the chef. Every day he spent five or six hours preparing amazingly delicious dinners. When our host first sent us the menu, it was list with eight different dishes on it. I asked him if I had to choose what I wanted, and he replied that those were the dishes for just one meal. Every night we would have at least one curry, a salad, several meat dishes, some kind of rice, and dessert. He cooked so much food that we could never finish all of it. I knew Thai food was good, but I had no idea of the variety of dishes. The kids all agreed that Thai food is the best food in the world. I'm inclined to agree.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmUgEsCMz-7voaIm9GxHzhgpudPNYoVqvVYgYIKesDwTXRQZEpo-TTJ6CbDMhXYIREYQM7orNtldbmvB07mSLGut62qb85vXk6ZxuX-tD088l78gi9hk0y-N_fctVWb9sOlaCNRnitKetSapg7CiqzCtVKhOCUrZakGcvqEYz4okeNrMOcX8MSD9idQ/s4020/IMG_8001.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3014" data-original-width="4020" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmUgEsCMz-7voaIm9GxHzhgpudPNYoVqvVYgYIKesDwTXRQZEpo-TTJ6CbDMhXYIREYQM7orNtldbmvB07mSLGut62qb85vXk6ZxuX-tD088l78gi9hk0y-N_fctVWb9sOlaCNRnitKetSapg7CiqzCtVKhOCUrZakGcvqEYz4okeNrMOcX8MSD9idQ/s320/IMG_8001.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>My other favorite part of the trip was the mangoes. I love mangoes inordinately, and was overjoyed that Thailand's mango season had begun when we arrived. I had mangoes every day, and smuggled several back in my suitcase so that we could enjoy them later. I shouldn't have bothered trying to smuggle them, however, as just about every other passenger on the plane carried plastic crates of them on with them for the return flight. </p><p>But even more than the mangoes and the food, I enjoyed having a lovely week with my family in a lovely place. I don't have many more years left before the children start leaving me to start their own lives, and so these times together are even more precious. These trips will be memories that we will all enjoy together for many years to come. We are so blessed to have them.</p><p><br /></p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-16937601818782835782023-01-29T09:01:00.000-05:002023-01-29T09:01:01.601-05:00Halfway Done With WinterWe are now halfway through our first winter here in Astana. I have been afraid of winter ever since we got this assignment back in 2021, so it's a bit of a relief to have the first one halfway done. Thanks to this first winter, I now have a new definition of winter - the time of year when the temperature stays below freezing nonstop. So according to that definition, I've never actually experienced winter before. <div><br /></div><div>Surviving winter in Astana requires the same mental mindset as surviving nine months of pregnancy and 24+ long days of international travel. You can't think about how much time has passed and you can't think about how much longer you have to go. One has to exist in the eternal now, accepting your unpleasant situation as something that is endless. "I have always been pregnant (or flying, or cold), I will always be flying (or cold, or pregnant), and there is not an existence where I am not cold (or flying, or pregnant)." I've realized that the real pain comes from realizing that it's only been 30 minutes since you last checked on the flight progress and that you still have twelve more hours in the same cramped economy seat next to a restive toddler. If time doesn't exist, the frustration and longing don't exist either.</div><div><br /></div><div>Winter here is so long that it's more of a geographical location than a season. Four and a half months sounds like a long time, but it's a much, much longer time when you're living through it. At first the snow was a novelty, but now it's just an ordinary part of the landscape, as eternal as sunlight, the blue sky, and the progression of days. In Astana, you don't live through winter, you live <i>in </i>winter.</div><div><br /></div><div>All the children have been disappointed with the snow here. We've had two or three decent snowstorms this winter, but there is less than 18 inches of snow in the flat places, which isn't enough to make anything fun with. But even if we did have enough snow, there wouldn't be much to do with it as the snow never clumps - instead it has the texture of sand. This is because the snow is too cold to adhere to itself - if you want to make snowballs, you have to wet the snow with water first. </div><div><br /></div><div>We've discovered this winter that cars won't start when it gets cold enough - usually below zero fahrenheit. Thankfully the temperature usually stays above that most weeks and Brandon doesn't have a problem driving his Fit, which doesn't fit in our very small, heated, one-car garage, to work. However, there are occasionally weeks when it gets <i>really </i>cold and the temperature doesn't get above zero for a week or so. Our last moroz, as the locals call it, got down to -31 one night with a high of -20 the next day. After those weeks are done and the temperature climbs back up to 'reasonable' temperatures, we have to jump his car as the cold has drained the battery. </div><div><br /></div><div>But even worse than the the cold is when it gets above freezing. This has happened once this winter and we're still paying for it. In an extremely bad sequence of weather, it snowed for a week and half. The city does a good job of clearing the roads, sidewalks, and gutters with an amazing array of bulldozers, snowplows, skid steer loaders, people with shovels, dump trucks, and snow conveyer belt trucks, but they only have so many people and so much equipment, so the snow was still being cleared up when the temperature got above freezing for about 18 hours. All of the piles of snow in the gutters and on the sidewalks and on the sides of the road got slushy. The packed snow on the sidewalks and driveways melted partially. Then the temperature dropped quickly below zero and further into the negative twenties and everything froze into mirror smooth sheets of ice. All of the rutted slushy piles of snow turned into rutted piles of ice. Thankfully I was checking weather, so after church Brandon and the boys spent two hours scraping off all the half-inch thick sheet of ice from our driveway and front walk before it froze solid and we couldn't get the car up the driveway. But we were about the only ones in the entire city who did this, and I've seen videos of people ice skating down sidewalks. Then it didn't snow for weeks and weeks on end, so the ice sheets just stayed ice sheets. Gradually the sheets are being chipped and scraped off the sidewalks and roads, but it's still not all gone yet and everyone has to walk very carefully.</div><div><br /></div><div>The children are enjoying the winter, which is good as they get kicked outside to play every afternoon. We've had to make a sliding scale of how long they have to stay outside. If the temperature is from zero to twenty degrees, they have to stay out for 90 minutes. If it's below zero, they can go outside for an hour or stay in and run on the treadmill for twenty minutes. If it's below negative fifteen, they don't have to go out at all. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our neighborhood has constructed a big sledding hill, about fifteen feet tall, complete with steps and wooden railings. The children enjoy sledding down in various formations and doing tricks. There is also a fenced-in soccer area that gets turned into a hockey rink in the winter. To smooth the ice out, the groundskeeping crew just puts a new layer of water on top of the ice and it freezes to a new finish. The children have enjoyed learning to ice skate, and that seems to be more popular than sledding. I never thought that I would own multiple pairs of ice skates, but so far we have four and probably need another pair or two. </div><div><br /></div><div>Edwin and Joseph's favorite past time is digging in snow piles. Our neighborhood doesn't plow the roads, but every now and then when the line between the road and the sidewalk becomes less distinguishable, the groundskeepers bulldoze the top layer of snow into large piles. This was the snow that they made the sledding hill out of. Some of the snow piles they trucked out of the neighborhood in dump trucks, but some they just left. So Edwin and Joseph enjoy digging snow caves, spending hours tunneling them out. </div><div><br /></div><div>I still don't like winter, but I'm the one who stays inside for days at a time, so I can survive it. It's like living with a constant, low-level noise in the background that you can ignore if you're focusing on something else. I try not to think of summer or flip-flops or green grass, but instead just accept winter as my current reality. I don't mind the cold so much in the day when it's sunny, but once it gets dark I have no desire to leave the house and will go to extreme lengths to avoid it. I will be happy when the snow starts melting and I don't have to holler at children whenever they go outside and don't shut the door. I'm not regretting having extended to a three-year tour, but I won't be sad to be done with Kazakh winters when we leave. It will be pretty easy to find a post that has less long winters, as the only capitol with colder winters is in Mongolia. </div><div><br /></div><div>The upside of these winters is that I can live in a great many of the 'colder' places in the US and be perfectly fine. I have no plans to move to North Dakota or Maine or Wisconsin, but it's nice to know that if I <i>had</i> to live there, I could always comfort myself with the fact that the winters aren't as cold, long, or dark as the ones in Astana. It's always good to have a new low to compare things to.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-20534323872764710352023-01-15T10:05:00.001-05:002023-01-15T10:05:04.646-05:00Paris<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUQ24WhhexXXx0Y_kA5wRRKYVuufGmvVYgBznt_if8Uq9s-w9qInD4_jQLtpDsBeXiD07IXwKLyTbN92mzNfm-DvExJ5FdqeSW7-VG5x7y7U6dAvTZj9-CvIMcY2p-KZ2CzROxHPgG0xtFR3mBWTJvVxFsfPW7i_nHOJ_pV4wSzQXmxkCgMKGDVJ-dw/s3088/IMG_7676.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUQ24WhhexXXx0Y_kA5wRRKYVuufGmvVYgBznt_if8Uq9s-w9qInD4_jQLtpDsBeXiD07IXwKLyTbN92mzNfm-DvExJ5FdqeSW7-VG5x7y7U6dAvTZj9-CvIMcY2p-KZ2CzROxHPgG0xtFR3mBWTJvVxFsfPW7i_nHOJ_pV4wSzQXmxkCgMKGDVJ-dw/s320/IMG_7676.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>When my aunt and Uncle visited Uzbekistan last April, I took the three oldest children with for an overnight trip to Khiva with our visitors. They were old enough to be interested in what we saw and hardy enough to spend all day walking without complaining about sore feet. It turned out to be a fabulous trip and I had a wonderful time with my three oldest without the distraction of having to manage smaller children. <div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykuxEVaUMh_8P5xNvnLf2TXAQ_AFI-ivlvmYiWgZvvkgeKeP8wkARdWHISh0D3g3dfx7KaOLmR0PhgWCiPwuIamaHVJQJbQBUXW0GVsYiYbhHYWjksoxVD6-VpmrUMcW1E1K_V3Me6Wq4dhEnbx0sKPbIW-wZrCx8RFOKydj8UFJfyWAAG7OciQ8ymQ/s4032/IMG_7706.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykuxEVaUMh_8P5xNvnLf2TXAQ_AFI-ivlvmYiWgZvvkgeKeP8wkARdWHISh0D3g3dfx7KaOLmR0PhgWCiPwuIamaHVJQJbQBUXW0GVsYiYbhHYWjksoxVD6-VpmrUMcW1E1K_V3Me6Wq4dhEnbx0sKPbIW-wZrCx8RFOKydj8UFJfyWAAG7OciQ8ymQ/s320/IMG_7706.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I decided quickly that I needed to spend more time traveling with my older children. Being part of a big family has lots of advantages, but there are also disadvantages. The whole family moves at the tolerance level of the smaller children, which makes some types of vacations (really, anything but beach vacations) not very feasible. Also, it's quite expensive to take nine people anywhere, so we travel less than we would if we had fewer children. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-S2QO45A-55mtMMjnQMMSOZ8ZyO9KU0gptk6wUvvkZXFxUpR5efX97yAZ0zsyOVK7RdFz4MNWOlplsdYCusjSYeSR8aC3TTt9Tgi-F7K6KaxQZtO6hg18Ig4BIwnSI2nvu7NF9xsPQnXxwypJpBnnTuw84YFeHSPHmsJHg-GrexnvaXymeiBthgIaTQ/s4032/IMG_7749%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-S2QO45A-55mtMMjnQMMSOZ8ZyO9KU0gptk6wUvvkZXFxUpR5efX97yAZ0zsyOVK7RdFz4MNWOlplsdYCusjSYeSR8aC3TTt9Tgi-F7K6KaxQZtO6hg18Ig4BIwnSI2nvu7NF9xsPQnXxwypJpBnnTuw84YFeHSPHmsJHg-GrexnvaXymeiBthgIaTQ/s320/IMG_7749%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But I don't want my older children to miss out on some fun opportunities because of their younger siblings. It can be hard to be older in a large family because there are many responsibilities that the older ones have to take on. I rely a <i>lot</i> on Kathleen, Sophia, and Edwin so I thought it fitting that they should also enjoy some privileges as a result of their increased responsibilities. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9VcIiDBiugHghCZhJYaDhaVw-_TEkuEwt63i6zFNThP4cqx3511FHQZAG8MsXj9qzL0VWVmWOojoWnGBNDTGQBeIXqlMElRd9Mspbj892soYyt3cATWcxZam5bFGN5ojS3U9TjdT02SLgD1C_TI283muHbHrz2SclVck-m2xPkB7xAfaDZeh2HEqTg/s4032/IMG_7751%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9VcIiDBiugHghCZhJYaDhaVw-_TEkuEwt63i6zFNThP4cqx3511FHQZAG8MsXj9qzL0VWVmWOojoWnGBNDTGQBeIXqlMElRd9Mspbj892soYyt3cATWcxZam5bFGN5ojS3U9TjdT02SLgD1C_TI283muHbHrz2SclVck-m2xPkB7xAfaDZeh2HEqTg/s320/IMG_7751%20(1).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We have friends that live in Paris, so I decided to make that our first trip together. We have known these friends since the earliest days when Brandon and I were first married and living as students in Cairo. They visited us in Dushanbe and I spent some quality time with them during my many medevacs to London. So when I asked Janyece if we could come visit, she was overjoyed to have us come and stay with them.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxr1JY5ngW_i5XF6PtyiBPkZIUpnbgNTm5Rn1oI6jSAT_aNe-nK4h0vKVsEsv7qFnLDUarTanAUdLCnpOTaYEwG7us1hvOFXskyPmOZZeQbEyPCaNakdgUEt-U6IF6VCF3PlewP49nIsp-sKgP5Dh7McBYGNyjP89DRx5-4wwtP9YKUwaOQBjAbfvoxA/s3088/IMG_7699.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxr1JY5ngW_i5XF6PtyiBPkZIUpnbgNTm5Rn1oI6jSAT_aNe-nK4h0vKVsEsv7qFnLDUarTanAUdLCnpOTaYEwG7us1hvOFXskyPmOZZeQbEyPCaNakdgUEt-U6IF6VCF3PlewP49nIsp-sKgP5Dh7McBYGNyjP89DRx5-4wwtP9YKUwaOQBjAbfvoxA/s320/IMG_7699.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Luckily for me, Brandon doesn't really care for travel, and so he was fairly easily persuaded to stay home and watch the smaller children. If we had had reliable childcare, we would have left them here in Kazakhstan, be we don't and so he heroically stayed behind. I didn't ask too much about what went on while we were gone ,and nobody volunteered much information, and all parties were just fine with that.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiG1uRMxwW3qWgEUIds2SZQafc5KFeTt1D5pAw72do_g0HneXK9eKQZ3Gu1Ngbk1U9gFJ1etl9FwtAsmH4VsaNjcZZW8jW3wwlTeNzXG8WusXtc-aPueny_irpXAMgBdy-DI2mtWLo4SIQpjPsaUIogkQoOoWjU2gfjXhiqpUjRN13G0sewBGR91CfQ/s4032/IMG_7729.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiG1uRMxwW3qWgEUIds2SZQafc5KFeTt1D5pAw72do_g0HneXK9eKQZ3Gu1Ngbk1U9gFJ1etl9FwtAsmH4VsaNjcZZW8jW3wwlTeNzXG8WusXtc-aPueny_irpXAMgBdy-DI2mtWLo4SIQpjPsaUIogkQoOoWjU2gfjXhiqpUjRN13G0sewBGR91CfQ/s320/IMG_7729.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The timing worked out for us to go over New Years, so for Christmas we gave the oldest children plane tickets. It was really fun to have Christmas and then leave for Paris three days later. Before covid, there was a direct flight to Paris from Astana, but sadly we had to fly through Frankfurt, about a twelve-hour journey. But when you're used to over twenty-four hours of travel time and a twelve hour time difference, twelve hours and a five hour time difference is almost nothing. Plus, traveling with children aged thirteen and over hardly counts as difficult. It's a vacation all by itself, having nothing to do but eat food, watch movies, and read a book. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1vfJJNWvNtZUZwSIXPUaCCl--WG8gzqDKJPM85ZwNRNFGTeyU69zCkP-M5uqQznI12shiu3SlyGBn1E1EY9ZeLwhZ1WVo4UG59OFjidECJmYy2lMH_76i4aa4zZWndrWzFrH1DpWwUOUaWCXe-GUHDbvivoNVTXv6a3TWKjhkedNTSAAHxnyrk748w/s4032/IMG_7695.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1vfJJNWvNtZUZwSIXPUaCCl--WG8gzqDKJPM85ZwNRNFGTeyU69zCkP-M5uqQznI12shiu3SlyGBn1E1EY9ZeLwhZ1WVo4UG59OFjidECJmYy2lMH_76i4aa4zZWndrWzFrH1DpWwUOUaWCXe-GUHDbvivoNVTXv6a3TWKjhkedNTSAAHxnyrk748w/s320/IMG_7695.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We, of course, had an amazing time in Paris. Once upon a time, I never would have considered going to Europe in December because it would be <i>cold</i>. But when you live in the second-coldest capitol in the world, almost anywhere in Europe is warmer. And Paris was considerably warmer - about 45 degrees warmer. It was amazing to see green grass and trees and no snow, and everyone appreciated being able to walk around all day in nothing but a jacket. Even though it was mostly cloudy and there was some rain, it was still so much nicer than the frozen steppe.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_tJXvWOp5_r1Ei7aZ_BK80UxeYH5QoQPBTqk5NsQ92M1GcCxMmKsY9dSl4YkJZkqXM3kZVwHJXK_gpWebZoMWFGGfGQlzGDuSH_8Iydnz8WylsWb5KI2-dOi0HEHLdMlHRVXpmzjGC4JHlPXTQaRqd8NTJ-OGDxpxgbpvd0rNWrmKEzQ55QWnhH-iQ/s4032/IMG_7693.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_tJXvWOp5_r1Ei7aZ_BK80UxeYH5QoQPBTqk5NsQ92M1GcCxMmKsY9dSl4YkJZkqXM3kZVwHJXK_gpWebZoMWFGGfGQlzGDuSH_8Iydnz8WylsWb5KI2-dOi0HEHLdMlHRVXpmzjGC4JHlPXTQaRqd8NTJ-OGDxpxgbpvd0rNWrmKEzQ55QWnhH-iQ/s320/IMG_7693.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Our friends also homeschool their children and are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, so the teenagers immediately started bonding almost as soon as we walked through the door of their apartment. Their two older sons came with us as we walked all over Paris and the children played so, so many games together every evening, enjoying the raucously hilarious sociality that is so special to young adult years. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHLslzrIiA1MH0aFckiAS5p5VQ7Y_peVwd95KDib-md9CXVGARf78UmnuANp9QX6uLu4dplVjjMebonlvP2PZcp1wY6azWiwpkFqepqJsEPSEjiHXPNHrIS05kzP9-KcBapYnZPafvIY_xq7l4fu4NlFEx1fT1y9NKJKrTEBJVKmNSHRzTp4V1-qL9w/s4032/IMG_7672.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHLslzrIiA1MH0aFckiAS5p5VQ7Y_peVwd95KDib-md9CXVGARf78UmnuANp9QX6uLu4dplVjjMebonlvP2PZcp1wY6azWiwpkFqepqJsEPSEjiHXPNHrIS05kzP9-KcBapYnZPafvIY_xq7l4fu4NlFEx1fT1y9NKJKrTEBJVKmNSHRzTp4V1-qL9w/s320/IMG_7672.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Over three days and twenty-four miles of walking, we managed to see the Arc de Triomphe, Place de Concorde, Champs Elysees, Petit Palace, Tuilleries, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Sewer Museum, the Seine, Concierge, Notre Dame, Roman ruins in front of Notre Dame, several churches, Sacre Coeur, a Christmas market, Versailles, Grand Trianon, Petit Trianon, and the Versailles gardens. Everyone's feet were aching by the end of each day, but nobody complained. I enjoyed just walking around and being in Paris, especially with stops for pastries.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPreRkBe85Us7Rnd8ADFp_FGA5_AplZVf9g5J_tGamer_Mx6VdCYCKFEJlvR16xslgsY2HlQqKuQjJBL6Nz_aseG8M7UykNyxq50wYfz3A4cv2noIlBQF5nser9HhHvz2-oDszN22BO-UgpzeSjTsQpIuj7GiEDZBv10gh_XA2-1sLV6iNkl477UFHPg/s4032/IMG_7643.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPreRkBe85Us7Rnd8ADFp_FGA5_AplZVf9g5J_tGamer_Mx6VdCYCKFEJlvR16xslgsY2HlQqKuQjJBL6Nz_aseG8M7UykNyxq50wYfz3A4cv2noIlBQF5nser9HhHvz2-oDszN22BO-UgpzeSjTsQpIuj7GiEDZBv10gh_XA2-1sLV6iNkl477UFHPg/s320/IMG_7643.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The highlight of our trip was a visit to the Paris temple. The children were not able to attend the temple this summer, as we were not able to return to the US. So one evening we went with our friends to perform vicarious ordinances for those who had passed on and give them the opportunity to receive the blessings of the Gospel. It was a beautiful evening and a reminder of the most important things that we can have. I hadn't been able to serve in the temple with my children before, and so it was special for me to see them together in a sacred place. I hope that we can spend many more such times in many more years to come.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hUWImeCqWMPxmVykT6fTs9xniD-1Ye2hUW0h4TUfAsv18cJ7ltvurNn2y-QeB4Wy31FFjqt_C1Q2Ci_gzr-3vkOSgq93lA5DRvKy7az657QTnmCTx1LRBnNxCsi8_n1SP-tZYFsrJH6Hf9gU3SBHQfyQmGTG_-nwHUE7exxXkwtZOGPCUmVQ-m3ckQ/s4032/IMG_7679.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hUWImeCqWMPxmVykT6fTs9xniD-1Ye2hUW0h4TUfAsv18cJ7ltvurNn2y-QeB4Wy31FFjqt_C1Q2Ci_gzr-3vkOSgq93lA5DRvKy7az657QTnmCTx1LRBnNxCsi8_n1SP-tZYFsrJH6Hf9gU3SBHQfyQmGTG_-nwHUE7exxXkwtZOGPCUmVQ-m3ckQ/s320/IMG_7679.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>In the end, however, we had to come home from our endless partying and sight-seeing and resume normal life in the frozen steppe. As we landed and snow once again coated the landscape, I sighed to myself, knowing that longing for more would be fruitless. But it was amazing fun while it lasted, and I'm already making plans for our next trip together. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGpJOUve4HrHUx9AnfymY8bmlqusEld2m_FByLylwRWyagXC11OC7JfDjmI8Kkt6nMtpp6cfSL-YXfnFucAN9q-QJ9L7-r-1S5nb9MaeI8AsLNlOEwD3HrIdwjgnETSoUp3xlf5-ZZuqZ799coG47u4nbAdXh7lqvpzbx9U5nTGOdwcEZ7e5asELnNQ/s3088/IMG_7659.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGpJOUve4HrHUx9AnfymY8bmlqusEld2m_FByLylwRWyagXC11OC7JfDjmI8Kkt6nMtpp6cfSL-YXfnFucAN9q-QJ9L7-r-1S5nb9MaeI8AsLNlOEwD3HrIdwjgnETSoUp3xlf5-ZZuqZ799coG47u4nbAdXh7lqvpzbx9U5nTGOdwcEZ7e5asELnNQ/s320/IMG_7659.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-40763250920485785862022-12-04T10:03:00.004-05:002022-12-04T10:03:31.827-05:00First Impressions of Winter<p>Winter in Astana is a serious thing. When we would talk about various places we could live in, Astana was in my bottom five, along with Nigeria and New Guinea. Five months of below-freezing temperatures were enough to put it on my 'absolutely not' list. This is a feeling that is very prevalent with most people in the State Department, as it is very hard to get anyone to come here because of the winters. </p><p>Ever since we accepted the job in fall of 2020, I've been dreading our first winter here. I hate being cold. I grew up in North Carolina, where one person described their 'winter' as "running through a freezer naked" - unpleasant but short. Often mid February would bring several days or even a week of 70 degree weather, and you could usually wear ballet flats all winter long. It wasn't nice enough to want to be outside all day, but it was bearable. </p><p>And since we've joined the Foreign Service, I've really been able to avoid any kind of real winter. Cairo's winter was seventy degrees for months on end, and the other places we've lived have only had occasional short-lived snowfalls. I figure that I've been pretty lucky considering that Brandon speaks Russian, and Russian-speaking countries are generally not known for their mild winters. Brandon likes winter, so he's been shorted.</p><p>But both of us have been dreading our first real winter. Brandon has been dreading it because of me and I've been dreading it because I hate being cold. So when temperatures started dropping in mid-October, it was almost a relief to finally get the winter started. I had been fearing it so long that I just wanted to get the unpleasant anticipation over with and get to the torture already.</p><p>We've now been below freezing for almost three weeks straight, with not even a bare possibility of seeing the other side of 32 for months to come. Last week the temperature was -28 when I woke and I considered myself officially ushered into my very first real Astana winter. Brandon's car froze up after that -28 night and refused to start for several days until the temperature clawed up to 12 degrees - forty degrees warmer than it had been at the beginning of the week. Not only is it cold, it's <i>really</i> cold. I've experienced temperatures that I hoped to never ever see for my entire life. But that is standard for the Foreign Service - you end up doing so many things you'd hoped to be able to avoid forever (*cough* giardia). </p><p>But we're okay. Thankfully, Kazakhs take winter <i>very</i> seriously and their buildings are constructed with that in mind. Our house is so well insulated that it took below-freezing nights to make the house cold enough to need any kind of heating. Occasionally snow will blow up against the windows and <i>it won't melt</i> - and our house isn't cold inside either. The water for our radiators comes from a city heating plant, so we have no control over the temperature. That sounds like a recipe for a cold house, but it actually has the opposite problem - houses that are too warm. We have both heated floors and radiators, and a lot of the rooms only have floor heat, because the radiator heat makes the rooms stifling. I took the temperature in the kitchen recently, and it was 81 degrees. Elizabeth usually runs around in summer sun dresses because the house is so warm. </p><p>I'm the one who is the least affected by winter, as I usually don't leave the house Mondays, Tuesdays, or Wednesdays, which I am perfectly fine with. The children, however, have to go play outside every day, which I was worried about. But we've been able to work out how many layers of clothes and gloves to put on - the answer is several - and they've gotten used to the cold pretty rapidly. On that oh-so-warm twelve degree day, Kathleen admitted rather sheepishly that it felt almost springlike. </p><p>I've outfitted myself locally with winter gear, the kind of gear that can't be found in the US. Anything but mid-calf length coats are pure foolishness, and mine has a wonderfully soft, warm raccoon fur edged hood that acts as the warmest scarf imaginable when the hood is down and cuts the viciously freezing wind very well when it is up. I also have a fur hat which makes me look like a character out of <i>Dr. Zhivago</i>, but does a wonderful job of keeping my head warm. I sourced my snow boots from Canada, and clomp about in them during snow play days looking like someone who's ready for an Antarctic expedition.</p><p>I've quickly come to realize that the cold here is something to be taken very, very seriously. As a friend commented, you worry about sunburn in the summer and you worry about frostbite in the winter. Any time we go out, I have to think through how long we'll be outside, how long the walk from the car to the building will be, and how cold the car will be when we get back into it. Our garage is heated, keeping my car a toasty 35 degrees, but it doesn't stay that way when we're parked somewhere else. Sometimes we'll come back to a car with ice-covered windows <i>inside</i> the car - our breath has frozen and iced over the windows. Sophia was hot a few days ago, opened a window for half an hour or so, and succeeded in killing several houseplants completely from the cold. While driving home yesterday with the children, we counted how many people on the street weren't wearing hats. During the twenty-minute drive home, we saw three. I learned very quickly never take a deep breath as the cold will make your lungs ache, if it it's cold enough, the bones in your face start to hurt pretty quickly. I wouldn't mind the cold so much if it didn't <i>hurt </i>and if it didn't hurt so much. </p><p>I keep reminding myself that we have almost four more months left of the cold, and then I also remind myself that there's nothing I can do about so I'd better just not worry about it. People can get used to a great many things, and winter is something that I am quickly getting used to. Thankfully the weather usually stays pretty sunny and the reflected snow keeps the house very bright. When I pray at night, my grateful prayer for a warm house is more sincere than it's ever been before. And with a warm, cozy house, winter is something that we can make our way through without too much trouble. But still, I won't be sad at all when spring finally rolls around. Not sad at all. </p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-61166620884113785122022-09-18T11:33:00.005-04:002022-09-18T11:33:31.443-04:00Eagle Hunting<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG8wSHW6cbT2Cb3y4PlBiygeIa8WejDFWwLqtOSoS9oEMRIsLiSBP1PEyEPkRkvJf2-nKJpW_Ix2GvdP0Qhv-xuVNDrA_2SiZV65efnCij6FRGShqi4rShpNz6f0GzsGtzheu4jN0vN-hr0_nscQcbo6gaOX8huJ5wkBwcFjILKm6fv6J4JdrcB9egAw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG8wSHW6cbT2Cb3y4PlBiygeIa8WejDFWwLqtOSoS9oEMRIsLiSBP1PEyEPkRkvJf2-nKJpW_Ix2GvdP0Qhv-xuVNDrA_2SiZV65efnCij6FRGShqi4rShpNz6f0GzsGtzheu4jN0vN-hr0_nscQcbo6gaOX8huJ5wkBwcFjILKm6fv6J4JdrcB9egAw" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This past Saturday we got to go on a little trip out of town to see some traditional Kazakh activities. Kazakhs are very proud of their nomad heritage and we were happy that they could share some of their traditions with us.</p><p>We started the morning with a drive outside the city. Since our cars are not yet registered, we haven't had a chance to get out of the city and see what it's like. Once we were able to get out the industrial areas (which in some places felt a lot like the US), the landscape opened up to wide open steppe. </p><p>Eventually we pulled off the highway and followed a dirt track to a ridge where we could watch the sports from. They started with horseback riding. We got to watch the riders do all sorts of tricks on horseback, jumping on and off the horses, standing on their backs while galloping, and wrestling to pull each other off. The demonstration even included a horseback chase of the female member of the team. If the guy chasing her didn't get close enough to kiss her, she got to chase him and try to whip him.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii6Mbm6CSpqta79dx0qDXCzDc-HZFTIYW2aAb1ofts0TDYgL2uJG1bQ0NZCRCkpaFa8kTRtiU7M4HkIhz_JujJLsoKjEER9Uq7h9vDYOMc6XDE7ArFeFTJ4zihJE2orvF3_-SRnTDJZBR4S-Fg3UBJtCq5ybC9vpmbAG806oRKQJpod0bsraoQuOjk3g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii6Mbm6CSpqta79dx0qDXCzDc-HZFTIYW2aAb1ofts0TDYgL2uJG1bQ0NZCRCkpaFa8kTRtiU7M4HkIhz_JujJLsoKjEER9Uq7h9vDYOMc6XDE7ArFeFTJ4zihJE2orvF3_-SRnTDJZBR4S-Fg3UBJtCq5ybC9vpmbAG806oRKQJpod0bsraoQuOjk3g" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;">After the horses, we watched the local hunting dogs running. They are long and lean like greyhounds, but with furry ears and tails. It was impressive to see how quickly could run, which is probably pretty helpful for catching rabbits on the step.</span><p></p><p>The demonstrations ended with a golden eagle catching a killing a rabbit. It was impressive to see how fast it flew and caught the rabbit, with the entire thing lasting less than thirty seconds. We got to gather round and watch it eat the rabbit and then take pictures with the handler while he fed the eagle. </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9MF_mHlhT1Xz08BOOwPOBdpzopiUNsYu_7lDoj1B1hJ-43VYb_bxss0AHGpcuyz_v79k0fsgngjz5nA3c7wZDf6Uv3doEDrOtQhrSHsv6PmS-HA15PU1W74DKN4KjqCMVtmkmbWICdvOYcWPNEX9gqBw6dIN55jX6PNlEKG_4qB54QmNnS4uQBqqRvQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9MF_mHlhT1Xz08BOOwPOBdpzopiUNsYu_7lDoj1B1hJ-43VYb_bxss0AHGpcuyz_v79k0fsgngjz5nA3c7wZDf6Uv3doEDrOtQhrSHsv6PmS-HA15PU1W74DKN4KjqCMVtmkmbWICdvOYcWPNEX9gqBw6dIN55jX6PNlEKG_4qB54QmNnS4uQBqqRvQ" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p>Golden eagles are prized family possessions among Kazakh families, with eagles being passed from father to sun as they can live from 80-100 years in captivity. The Kazakhs will catch an eaglet when they are young and then train them up for hunting, taking them hunting on horseback for foxes and hares.</p><p>We finished the day with pictures, petting the dogs, and rides on the horses. The children enjoyed petting the dogs, which were remarkably calm and quiet, not barking a single time despite being surrounded by people and children. I suppose they're saving all their energy for running fast to catch hares.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-iy7TKhn0TOX65vs0rLmzZCsa4zbxyGKsym-YG0GIausem7GvnIXBGA3ac_UC1DnZFv7nCCm9LmEHgFm6rujH1N2nLmuORagmLZbUWlocadfOXI_Qsk00UkM232rf8dMa0HLLslbAKi1MQk5m8woW2mB7LYsfiy-bKxZ32JXhwLZi1taVk-32LbnbyQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-iy7TKhn0TOX65vs0rLmzZCsa4zbxyGKsym-YG0GIausem7GvnIXBGA3ac_UC1DnZFv7nCCm9LmEHgFm6rujH1N2nLmuORagmLZbUWlocadfOXI_Qsk00UkM232rf8dMa0HLLslbAKi1MQk5m8woW2mB7LYsfiy-bKxZ32JXhwLZi1taVk-32LbnbyQ" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p>Despite the incredibly windy weather (a taste of things to come soon) that made the day pretty cold, we had a nice time seeing a little more of Kazakhstan and its traditions. </p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7ALWd3TC9kepgJ4b0J0Ivkc5NzDt8V-j5oZo8HZx1mkF_cVLwrKZX7_TskEudCaXjWP10pAfP2Vg7xpd4tgqTuaed-XNIhrC6m4DI4ndjEXYRErPE8oLnVNptkamcDXFRS09MkTbPe-aiJNmpXH_ohr8Jj6J1ElhB2K9MSnLBgyIJI0DwIy9uFU7GrA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7ALWd3TC9kepgJ4b0J0Ivkc5NzDt8V-j5oZo8HZx1mkF_cVLwrKZX7_TskEudCaXjWP10pAfP2Vg7xpd4tgqTuaed-XNIhrC6m4DI4ndjEXYRErPE8oLnVNptkamcDXFRS09MkTbPe-aiJNmpXH_ohr8Jj6J1ElhB2K9MSnLBgyIJI0DwIy9uFU7GrA" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-13914764747189893672022-09-04T11:50:00.003-04:002022-09-04T11:50:36.006-04:00Canning Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipB9wCrJPymtqFEDPgkaVoHBSvd3NTM4T0i_o9GfkWL9fczuqx_VQXC-12EfFlKEROoR51EJmNwnOKIE2G9gbRpcy1Qe1t8de2nPUMX619X8UiCMwAtmYQQifsHFX90V5kP5NbX6OYTHjE1Bm2WDY541aFGMTmA6kpnV-A5-phtqy4C5_7jAsEHLgw1w/s3855/IMG_7015.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2891" data-original-width="3855" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipB9wCrJPymtqFEDPgkaVoHBSvd3NTM4T0i_o9GfkWL9fczuqx_VQXC-12EfFlKEROoR51EJmNwnOKIE2G9gbRpcy1Qe1t8de2nPUMX619X8UiCMwAtmYQQifsHFX90V5kP5NbX6OYTHjE1Bm2WDY541aFGMTmA6kpnV-A5-phtqy4C5_7jAsEHLgw1w/s320/IMG_7015.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I am, generally, not a big canner. I learned how to can from my mother, who grew up canning. When I was a child, we would have various days - applesauce day, peach day, tomato day - that I do not have fond memories of. I still don't care for canned peaches. When I was first married and we lived in Utah, I canned applesauce and pears because they were both grown locally and not very expensive. When we lived in a duplex that had a Concord grape vine, we canned grape juice - because free grapes.</p><p>As a general rule, I only can things that are a significant cost savings or taste significantly better when home canned. As we've never managed to live in a house with any fruit trees or grape vines (each time I hope that we'll get one of those, but we never have), that restricts the list to two things - tomato sauce and jam. Tomato sauce because tomatoes are cheap in the summer and jam because homemade jam is vastly better than commercial jam. My children want me to add applesauce to the list, but apples are available all year round without needing me to take the time and effort to can them.</p><p>Since I had unpacked the last box and organized the last closet on Tuesday, I deemed this Saturday Canning Day. Nur-Sultan doesn't have the multitude of bazaars that Tashkent does, but starting in mid-August they have farmer's markets that are open on the weekends. Farmers from surrounding regions bring in their produce and sell it from the backs of trucks and pop-up tents. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_L01F-58vtksEZKVkOvAJ0FhYM0WoeZHaugtBS34DSh8CLIZCsqqoKQY6nDANJyjdrcDpSy2w8NdwZQf4XfpJY4yzy32S7c4b-HEgv1jtilegA4olJpNYFmgTSgZqKcJOTiQ9D0V2lzdj0E5M7Rmbd73QBaMzI5FSFfRPlXv-6eZIrX8xXJ6sNTlI0A/s4032/IMG_7012.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_L01F-58vtksEZKVkOvAJ0FhYM0WoeZHaugtBS34DSh8CLIZCsqqoKQY6nDANJyjdrcDpSy2w8NdwZQf4XfpJY4yzy32S7c4b-HEgv1jtilegA4olJpNYFmgTSgZqKcJOTiQ9D0V2lzdj0E5M7Rmbd73QBaMzI5FSFfRPlXv-6eZIrX8xXJ6sNTlI0A/s320/IMG_7012.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>We went to one close to our house that was held in the parking lot of the big hockey rink in town and were surprised to find it swarming with people who were stocking up for the winter while being entertained by a live singer (who was actually very good). There were vendors selling bags and boxes of potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, garlic, onions, melons, pumpkins, and various other produce. In addition to produce, there was honey, eggs, fresh butter, cream, and so so many carcasses of sheep and cows.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FeDe0xIRYcL6hhV2EZz_xnUi3hsFqaidd6jFpuGg5M_KxQqTqp1m1kUrW3ru2UvVW-fasZZYWwv9DIKQQkCIafvdzHa3QdM_CyVddkYqIg2nyAq1qZltBPmjtYNbNPHk-MQp0M2-J-v8GZVhkMZP-vy68dr0AXeB41L1Lu7mgrQ11mvgNIhm4tlzDg/s3888/IMG_7010.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2916" data-original-width="3888" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FeDe0xIRYcL6hhV2EZz_xnUi3hsFqaidd6jFpuGg5M_KxQqTqp1m1kUrW3ru2UvVW-fasZZYWwv9DIKQQkCIafvdzHa3QdM_CyVddkYqIg2nyAq1qZltBPmjtYNbNPHk-MQp0M2-J-v8GZVhkMZP-vy68dr0AXeB41L1Lu7mgrQ11mvgNIhm4tlzDg/s320/IMG_7010.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>I was able to easily find tomatoes in addition to both strawberries and raspberries. Evidently the season for berries is in the fall here because summer takes such a long time to get started. By the end of our shopping trip, we had 63 kilos of tomatoes, 9 kilos of raspberries, 6 kilos of tomatoes, 1.5 kilos of garlic, a kilo of butter, two flats of eggs, and a bucket of honey. It's hard for me to know when to stop at farmer's markets.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigvPN9fp42FAKTX8UYZLz_s8lkuZTaEu7uge4-KxWumgaHPWrfR4bLWpF3bM8sDUHdrO_Y8jkS1uDan_Zz2rb_mIBblfbL-Rl0tOhoyl63K2T7NV8LPKfvVXcKuGr-ieGModoX18rpKdhXv2F_XCMtux97gJmSbAH8PoH-_hCqodOeDpIh7f9ILv-0g/s2780/IMG_7014.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2085" data-original-width="2780" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigvPN9fp42FAKTX8UYZLz_s8lkuZTaEu7uge4-KxWumgaHPWrfR4bLWpF3bM8sDUHdrO_Y8jkS1uDan_Zz2rb_mIBblfbL-Rl0tOhoyl63K2T7NV8LPKfvVXcKuGr-ieGModoX18rpKdhXv2F_XCMtux97gJmSbAH8PoH-_hCqodOeDpIh7f9ILv-0g/s320/IMG_7014.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>I can't say that the children were <i>excited</i> to get to work when we got back home with our haul, but they were amenable enough to being pressed in to service once we got an entertaining audiobook started. There were enough able hands that I was able to split them into two teams, one working on berries and the other on tomatoes. It was a long day, but by the evening, we had canned 47 quarts of tomato sauce, 15 quarts of pizza sauce, 15 pints of raspberry jam, 12 pints of strawberry jam, and frozen three sheets of raspberries. I was grateful to have so many people to help, but as Sophia pointed out, without so many people, I wouldn't have needed to can nearly so much food.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrncD_IS_NAVqnwnGdOChCJu9Xh8eMvZx5G0KJVnuII5pRcrMo3US_871e_B2yQqi-EyVO64GLryWE7zMLoqv663MizJcQo-iA6fbVI00mKAa5YLxty0tQsnAThvLkgPIzGEBfoO-RgzJEIeX3Rml_OQH64SA38i-4Cun1TWj-RrN13DAd_OE5jBGdw/s3718/IMG_7018.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3718" data-original-width="2789" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrncD_IS_NAVqnwnGdOChCJu9Xh8eMvZx5G0KJVnuII5pRcrMo3US_871e_B2yQqi-EyVO64GLryWE7zMLoqv663MizJcQo-iA6fbVI00mKAa5YLxty0tQsnAThvLkgPIzGEBfoO-RgzJEIeX3Rml_OQH64SA38i-4Cun1TWj-RrN13DAd_OE5jBGdw/s320/IMG_7018.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>By the evening, everyone was exhausted and didn't want to see another tomato, strawberry, or raspberry for a <i>very </i>long time. But the best part of canning day is that it only happens once a year. And we're all grateful for that.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYM0UODRQDYDJFKkG9QbB4ua6iiItjIGdB_7mU_DMFCyWWZu0u-l8sDIloPc-FpOej6NggaghG_QJKET856KM0Dd69PMF4c-4d93t3ZVI5LR0vDaGv1ow1qBuyKZGffAdII6LGCKyeWclf6U1W6Ge2xt-xa7s0kKufGAfP_1nhURBcrtR5AF9nxFAAA/s3763/IMG_7020.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3763" data-original-width="2822" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYM0UODRQDYDJFKkG9QbB4ua6iiItjIGdB_7mU_DMFCyWWZu0u-l8sDIloPc-FpOej6NggaghG_QJKET856KM0Dd69PMF4c-4d93t3ZVI5LR0vDaGv1ow1qBuyKZGffAdII6LGCKyeWclf6U1W6Ge2xt-xa7s0kKufGAfP_1nhURBcrtR5AF9nxFAAA/s320/IMG_7020.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-24951782494727173712022-08-28T11:05:00.001-04:002022-08-28T11:05:03.394-04:00Stuff!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv_mZ7DMfN-bmgXnmT2JMJasWth9F4ok-jh1Hi3-O8l_LGQ8LcjyxgIIjN_S7pJQkkNO0HEHJTFmtzNLOJnVDdXFq9he3_unrS6RN8AKVDz1b3KRMF-FlnA8DNe8ZX_meUu7Qfci6atd-QLTWoSheyT7SB_g5Qnar3Ad5tZQHwf1KHmSezygchN6d1Q/s640/IMG_6965.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv_mZ7DMfN-bmgXnmT2JMJasWth9F4ok-jh1Hi3-O8l_LGQ8LcjyxgIIjN_S7pJQkkNO0HEHJTFmtzNLOJnVDdXFq9he3_unrS6RN8AKVDz1b3KRMF-FlnA8DNe8ZX_meUu7Qfci6atd-QLTWoSheyT7SB_g5Qnar3Ad5tZQHwf1KHmSezygchN6d1Q/s320/IMG_6965.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>On Tuesday, our stuff finally arrived from Tashkent. I'm not quite sure how it took five weeks to travel 1000 miles, which averages out to 28 miles a day, but I think that probably the travel was not what took so long. Our air shipment, which is supposed to be the fast shipment full of the most important things, showed up two days after our ground shipment, but I guess that's government for you.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZjNi3717TJs1dKoQQh7WPJ01urRD3nhgBniG2o_bqmsO1GxA7ELjaX0jq9r4BoFAj-g8GZuAfkfZt4i0mtgPSwbdyPrTZkkLKvJ30D2Ab74Oe63VZ8bEsi35UYOkpKZiMEgAt2zZGTgxsmCJxOkRsi29DlDqrOCou-LcX-UwK1TZQihgEuY7hjciiA/s640/IMG_6968.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZjNi3717TJs1dKoQQh7WPJ01urRD3nhgBniG2o_bqmsO1GxA7ELjaX0jq9r4BoFAj-g8GZuAfkfZt4i0mtgPSwbdyPrTZkkLKvJ30D2Ab74Oe63VZ8bEsi35UYOkpKZiMEgAt2zZGTgxsmCJxOkRsi29DlDqrOCou-LcX-UwK1TZQihgEuY7hjciiA/s320/IMG_6968.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>Regardless of how long and by what method it took to get here, our things finally did arrive. Despite the fact that the boxes had been packed up only five weeks ago, and the children had theoretically labeled all of the boxes themselves, the process of directing boxes to the correct rooms involved a lot of shoulder shrugging and head scratching. Ninety percent of the boxes were labeled one of the three things - books, toys, or stationary, despite us possessing a lot more than just books, toys, and stationary.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVoic-dMPqzTZvY16TijlNHd4xrSUfiFktrdSfU_bQeTzxEcfvN0Mg2B7U9jmEq-ONJBvMbuSknSv0DuG7fyyWKamcAhp2vRjbSks29cT0x_i3hv-UCnjk59EBjJUj-nnAgQ9fnHwRpwrX2FvQu32R6D_zResVnOUPMCaxIzEZfnJmIv3ARfMTmAzNVA/s640/camphoto_1144747756.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVoic-dMPqzTZvY16TijlNHd4xrSUfiFktrdSfU_bQeTzxEcfvN0Mg2B7U9jmEq-ONJBvMbuSknSv0DuG7fyyWKamcAhp2vRjbSks29cT0x_i3hv-UCnjk59EBjJUj-nnAgQ9fnHwRpwrX2FvQu32R6D_zResVnOUPMCaxIzEZfnJmIv3ARfMTmAzNVA/s320/camphoto_1144747756.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>After the boxes were lugged to their appointed rooms, I had the movers open and unpack every box and furniture item in the house. There is a hot debate in the Foreign Service community between complete un-boxers and people who like to go box by box themselves, but I prefer to have piles of stuff laying all over the house rather than spending days and days opening and unwrapping everything on my own. I did that once while six months pregnant in Cairo, and swore I'd never do it again. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq00M0zNaUSls56Huy1yyI6HbfbFckvuBWtZI6Tk28cNKrrksGOSMVrHuqGXCVvBpjR-zm1ch8WzQcRwOWZH-boD2m17DQyF_e_vqX5GXViLGxgn8yqVUt9-Up4GYQjI1ULwZsUDrRIvWNIRylxNiqxoH7Gu37Q68QhefbsaaybkRu19sj_5f-tje1g/s640/IMG_6970.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq00M0zNaUSls56Huy1yyI6HbfbFckvuBWtZI6Tk28cNKrrksGOSMVrHuqGXCVvBpjR-zm1ch8WzQcRwOWZH-boD2m17DQyF_e_vqX5GXViLGxgn8yqVUt9-Up4GYQjI1ULwZsUDrRIvWNIRylxNiqxoH7Gu37Q68QhefbsaaybkRu19sj_5f-tje1g/s320/IMG_6970.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>I've been slowly putting the house to rights since Tuesday, working room by room. The first task in unpacking is sorting out all the stuff that doesn't belong in the room that you're working on. Our house in Tashkent was arranged differently than our house here, so stuff that all lived together in one room there now is getting split up into multiple rooms here, and the opposite is also true. If unpacking only meant actually putting things away, it wouldn't be that bad. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJj8-ZS8PO65Hud7TyQNkquCnoJL_nOwzXV43qGI-hgScTDAnsfP82PQODCudjtdeSxJb57i865OAzUG2jPdNIOaTeqkgll_aUZibLsQgTzCcOVB0uDfA4lQTnjHI9B-OY4xjPyzuUXqVlWWxsYJUuBsVFSMNXMOFWur3gtyV_A0-ZiLL7MFY1gbO6Jw/s640/camphoto_579758561.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJj8-ZS8PO65Hud7TyQNkquCnoJL_nOwzXV43qGI-hgScTDAnsfP82PQODCudjtdeSxJb57i865OAzUG2jPdNIOaTeqkgll_aUZibLsQgTzCcOVB0uDfA4lQTnjHI9B-OY4xjPyzuUXqVlWWxsYJUuBsVFSMNXMOFWur3gtyV_A0-ZiLL7MFY1gbO6Jw/s320/camphoto_579758561.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>But of course, it never happens that way, and that's without the efficiency of movers making things worse. Their job is to squeeze everything into the smallest space possible, so they pack empty bins full of random stuff, fill the tops of half-empty bins with more random stuff, and empty out mostly empty bins to put more random stuff in. That's how we managed to have two Christmas decoration bins filled with empty canning jars, and one of the hand-me-down clothes bins filled with girls' clothes <i>and</i> snow boots. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDG_YIZ6tPW_aFTq0pGTS7T5rc6Ia5lxsiJBDjP24pnaIrTgU6KlpieLg3FS2mso3gbxX5SIOkK_WRDYyVWBfOio_i4cEwONWN5lZABbvof3d3pcP7jKDr5ZLlG3SIae-LlMWXXR5AIX39OZWDD049P33rL8TTfpNK7tul6DaNtMYUujWRKf-UnG6MA/s640/camphoto_570397931.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDG_YIZ6tPW_aFTq0pGTS7T5rc6Ia5lxsiJBDjP24pnaIrTgU6KlpieLg3FS2mso3gbxX5SIOkK_WRDYyVWBfOio_i4cEwONWN5lZABbvof3d3pcP7jKDr5ZLlG3SIae-LlMWXXR5AIX39OZWDD049P33rL8TTfpNK7tul6DaNtMYUujWRKf-UnG6MA/s320/camphoto_570397931.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>But unpacking is mostly a happy activity because it means the end of the tunnel that we entered back in May when preparations for the move got serious. As each room is cleaned out and put to rights and our lovely things get settled into their new places, the cycle of uprooting is completed, and we settle a little bit more into our new home. Unpacking is a bit of a ritual where an empty shell that could belong to anybody is transformed into a home that will be ours for the next three years. I'm always reminded of a dog arranging its bed <i>just so</i> before contentedly settling in for a good nap as I arrange and rearrange things until I get them <i>just right</i> and I can settle in to my life again. Home is mostly where the heart is, but it's also where the stuff is too. And it's good to be home again.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRqKY55KnC_BjyGTQvgC1IRq0sNH73TSrb95XhDxLdKaxSf3162BWh4HlytAzQzjQsNsq9USroRXx5dQ_2JM5nKNO8hnkzB-PqbEiwKKfnWVjJK5wmhbjvOyZjGWiqi2XTdEjOSNOtmQMewV7fzALMbPDdKUKPtInJqFulR93j5s0oka5nMO72W4q1w/s640/IMG_6978.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRqKY55KnC_BjyGTQvgC1IRq0sNH73TSrb95XhDxLdKaxSf3162BWh4HlytAzQzjQsNsq9USroRXx5dQ_2JM5nKNO8hnkzB-PqbEiwKKfnWVjJK5wmhbjvOyZjGWiqi2XTdEjOSNOtmQMewV7fzALMbPDdKUKPtInJqFulR93j5s0oka5nMO72W4q1w/s320/IMG_6978.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-57603769088182433872022-08-21T12:28:00.002-04:002022-08-21T12:28:51.647-04:00Hello, Fall!<p>When we decided to come to Nur-Sultan, we knew that it would be cold. It is, after all, the second coldest capital city in the world. Once November hits, the temperatures drop below freezing and stay there for five months straight, never ever getting above freezing until April. So, it's cold here. Really cold.</p><p>When we got here exactly one month ago in July, the weather was absolutely beautiful. We left Tashkent on a day where it had been 108. When we landed in Nur-Sultan, it was in the eighties. We were able to open all the windows in the house and enjoy a lovely breeze and the children spent the first few days outside for almost the entire day. It was so nice to be outside and not feel like you were going to melt into a puddle within five minutes.</p><p>A few days in July, the temperatures climbed into the upper eighties and even maybe the low nineties and I turned on the air conditioner in a room or two inside the house. But those days didn't last long, and the long, sunny, pleasant days were oh so refreshing after years of sweltering through summers in both Tashkent and Dushanbe.</p><p>Then the weather started cooling off. I've been enjoying running outside, and this week I started wearing long sleeved shirts because my arms were going numb in the upper forties low fifties morning weather. We've had to start keeping the windows closed because the refreshing breezes are a little too nippy for the house most the time. The children have started putting jeans on to go play outside in the morning, although Elizabeth keeps insisting that her sun dresses are good enough.</p><p>But the weather has still been pleasant enough - low seventies and sunny is pretty good weather if you ask me. Sure, it's been cold in the mornings, but it does warm up in the afternoons. However, when it dipped into the fifties this weekend, I realized that summer is officially over. We took the kids to the embassy to swim (in the indoor pool), and everyone was wearing jeans, long-sleeved shirts, jackets, and shoes. The house is getting a little chilly, and we won't have any heat until the city turns on the hot water for heating in October. The grass everywhere is perking up and turning green with the cooler temperatures. I've noticed some trees starting to change colors.</p><p>I keep reminding myself that this is <i>August</i>, because it feels like October to me. If we were in Tashkent, we'd still have another six weeks of swimming season, and in North Carolina it's still hot and humid with no cool weather in sight. But although the temperatures feel like October, the days are still long summer days, with the sun rising by 6:15 and setting by 8:30 at night. I've never lived in a northern place like this before - we're the same latitude as London and Calgary - and I'm having to get used to a whole new cycle to the year.</p><p>But as with all things in life, we'll get used to the seasons here in Nur-Sultan, and by next year August will be associated with fall instead of the depth of summer. And it will be strange to think of people in other parts of the world going to the beach when we're pulling out fall jackets and having bonfires. For now, however, it's going to take a bit of adjustment.</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-29666593357989686342022-08-14T12:02:00.009-04:002022-08-14T12:02:51.143-04:00Sweet Sixteen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi038vQ3jTcvhYMSBUObDTYa17y1irfF3QZMFZvkjlmqy0Kgy6o11RCgsQfXc5eSM9IpyhkNizwSI2UE5TNQQixgeK2f-xA8ZgnJDRAHrGjUfaM8r7YUG6EVSaFnEzEQeImjHFBGSZr0isciZMPx8_F_OBh8ZRqI8B7McWKdVaLXhztEgAGhWXf0k7sgQ/s4032/FF20F286-0C6C-4FA6-9218-35271FBFC038.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi038vQ3jTcvhYMSBUObDTYa17y1irfF3QZMFZvkjlmqy0Kgy6o11RCgsQfXc5eSM9IpyhkNizwSI2UE5TNQQixgeK2f-xA8ZgnJDRAHrGjUfaM8r7YUG6EVSaFnEzEQeImjHFBGSZr0isciZMPx8_F_OBh8ZRqI8B7McWKdVaLXhztEgAGhWXf0k7sgQ/s320/FF20F286-0C6C-4FA6-9218-35271FBFC038.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />This week, Kathleen turned sixteen. It seems like it wasn't that long ago that I was dropped into the crazy, sleep-deprived world of being a new parent. But in reality, it was sixteen years ago and now I have a young woman that's not that far from being a full-fledged adult. Time moves in funny ways when you're a parent.<p></p><p>Kathleen celebrated her birthday in a fairly quiet fashion this year, as we've only be in Kazakhstan for a little over three weeks. Because her birthday is in August, she either celebrates it in the US with family or in a new country with nobody and nothing to celebrate it with. She celebrated her third birthday in temporary housing in Cairo, her twelfth newly arrived in Tashkent, and now her sixteenth just three weeks into her new life in Kazakhstan. </p><p>Since we're still living out of suitcases and making do with a miserably stocked welcome kit, the usual celebrations were a little less personal this year. Instead of getting an elaborate breakfast, Kathleen had to make do with pain au chocolate made with frozen croissant dough. In place of a special cake made by me, she got to go to the grocery store herself and pick out whatever cake looked good. And no special home-cooked meal, just delivery sushi. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUMWvjK1i3-HDFislihiMec45CWGdg2X6uAaKr3WGcsR2n1FwLtkhErLJXDRzf9pqakM0QTIBdvTh5aMOk9ZeSbiI6_ipihpQuk9LDZIvgsPseWQTP17r3ZYITpqZajy2zoqwQi385hihWLbpUwfwqgl833sDAtQFxLNY70U2R7sRN_1EIyQFEUnfRw/s4032/6567BDD7-A2DE-4815-B467-A7F7B7F1D578.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUMWvjK1i3-HDFislihiMec45CWGdg2X6uAaKr3WGcsR2n1FwLtkhErLJXDRzf9pqakM0QTIBdvTh5aMOk9ZeSbiI6_ipihpQuk9LDZIvgsPseWQTP17r3ZYITpqZajy2zoqwQi385hihWLbpUwfwqgl833sDAtQFxLNY70U2R7sRN_1EIyQFEUnfRw/s320/6567BDD7-A2DE-4815-B467-A7F7B7F1D578.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>But Kathleen is a cheerful child, always looking for the good things around her, so she was happy to celebrate her birthday, even if it didn't have the usual level of fanfare. Everyone had forgotten about shipping times in the flurry of moving, she her presents are still on the way. But her brothers came through and gave her some yummy treats for her birthday and I did remember to pack candles in our suitcases. </p><p>In addition to celebrating with us, she also got to go to the mall with some friends. We live a mile and a half from the biggest mall in the city, so it was easy to drop them off and let them enjoy themselves without the watchful eye of a parent to disapprove of their clothing purchases. She came home with a pair of non-skinny jeans, which just further confirmed the fact that she is young and fashionable and I am old and not. But no mother should compete with their teenaged daughters for beauty, so I'm happy to be the old, unfashionable middle aged mother to my young, fresh-faced, beautiful daughters.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowTIMd-8rTgZ7wVg9RLbNnI9btUtT0SHivva0y9uR76D_8WUKNdFWyeM4O92eQx7r4cg3zal9ceJNvE2UpX9JvfPgTM_Cvb7dZb8Xl8PxCpL30UtW_3aGPEvJJIeNhV-h9qVFLD4suwYZkswbA6tON5zn4SdCSgf3D0XtSpbcriRVpvDcENQvVRQhxQ/s4032/22E8331F-2B72-44B2-8831-60608561EC17.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowTIMd-8rTgZ7wVg9RLbNnI9btUtT0SHivva0y9uR76D_8WUKNdFWyeM4O92eQx7r4cg3zal9ceJNvE2UpX9JvfPgTM_Cvb7dZb8Xl8PxCpL30UtW_3aGPEvJJIeNhV-h9qVFLD4suwYZkswbA6tON5zn4SdCSgf3D0XtSpbcriRVpvDcENQvVRQhxQ/w187-h250/22E8331F-2B72-44B2-8831-60608561EC17.jpeg" width="187" /></a></p><p>It has been fun to see Kathleen grow up into a capable, confident young woman and see my fears about bad parenting not come true. She only has two years left with us before she moves on to the wider world of college and autonomy, and it's starting to become something that isn't so strange to imagine her capable of. We'll make sure to treasure those two remaining years with her and continue to enjoy seeing what kind of lovely young woman we are having the privilege of raising. Happy birthday, Kathleen!</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-49482852538901139512022-08-07T11:53:00.000-04:002022-08-07T11:53:20.732-04:00Hello, Kazakhstan!<p>We have now been in Nur-Sultan, Kazakhstan for seventeen days now and everyone is fairly settled in. Kazakhstan is the biggest -stan country in Central Asia, and is also the most economically developed because of oil and gas fields. We're in the capitol city, which is in the very far north part of the country, about 200 miles from Russia. </p><p>Our transition from Tashkent to Nur-Sultan was supposed to be the easiest move ever. We packed up our things on Monday and Tuesday, watching everything in our house get wrapped in paper and packed into boxes for their short(ish) journey to our new home in Kazakstan. We had scheduled three days for the move, but it only took two days, which was quite nice.</p><p>On Wednesday we got the rest of our affairs in Tashkent wrapped up, which included dropping both our cars off at the embassy so that they could also get shipped up to Nur-Sultan. The State Department only pays to ship one car, but we decided to pay ourselves to ship the other one because it's been reliable and we bought it for a really good price in Tashkent. It was a little painful to pay more for shipping than we had paid for the car, but such is life sometimes.</p><p>Wednesday evening, the first change to our plans showed up in an email to Brandon. We had had a house assigned to us about a month earlier and had been sent pictures of our future home. I had spent a lot of time thinking about how to set everything up and looked up the address in the neighborhood we would be living in and gotten my mind wrapped around our situation.</p><p>Then the email arrived, telling us that our housing assignment had been changed. It was in a different neighborhood, it had one less bedroom, and fewer rooms downstairs. And the biggest blow was going from a kitchen with two stoves - one European and one American - to a mini-sized European stovetop and equally mini-sized European oven. Everyone was in shock and quite disappointed by the news. But such is life when someone else pays for your housing.</p><p>Our flight the next morning was supposed to leave at 7:15, and as we were traveling with sixteen suitcases, our ride showed up at 4 am. So we got the children up at 3:30, dressed them, put their shoes and backpacks on, and started shifting all the suitcases into the waiting van. At 3:43, I got a text from Air Astana. Due to the closure of the airport, the flight was delayed by twelve hours, not departing until that evening. </p><p>So everyone climbed out of the van, Brandon started dragging suitcases back into the house, and I realized that we had neither food nor money for the next twelve hours. Not being able to do anything about either food or money at four in the morning, we all went back to bed and got some more sleep. </p><p>When we woke back up, I texted a friend to see if she could lend us some money. She offered to have us over for lunch and playtime until we had to leave in the afternoon, an offer that we happily took her up on. The kids enjoyed having a second goodbye party with their friends who they had just been hanging out with the night before, and I enjoyed having food to eat and a non-empty house to occupy the children.</p><p>The rest of our transition went fine, and we were able to board the flight, enjoy ninety minutes of flight time, and land in Kazakhstan just as the light was finally fading around 10:00 at night. Our sponsors very kindly picked us and our sixteen bags up and we made the six-mile journey to our new home in Kazakhstan. </p><p>As we've settled in to our new house, I've come to enjoy it very much and am glad for the switch. In addition to not having any crazy wallpaper that Central Asians are inordinately fond of, we also have the biggest yard in the entire neighborhood. The children are already planning epic snow forts and sledding hills and tunnels. Our backyard adjoins the neighborhood park, and the children have spent many, many long hours playing and enjoying the much cooler Kazakh summers. Kathleen has made a Kazakh friend who she practices Russian with, and they also ran into other American kids who live in the neighborhood. </p><p>The girls and I have already found a new horseback riding teacher and are enjoying the new stable and new horses. We've found plenty of grocery stores nearby for the kids to go to and have discovered that almost everyone in Nur-Sultan accepts Apple Pay. I have even paid a delivery grocery guy with my phone, which is pretty amazing. The other embassy families in our neighborhood have been quite welcoming and we've already been given a tour of the city and been invited over to dinner twice. </p><p>One of the main reasons we decided to take a job in Kazakhstan is because we didn't want to start over in a new place with new systems and a new language. We reasoned that it would be easier to settle in somewhere where we knew the language and could get around independently. I've definitely found this to be true. Thirty-six hours after we landed, Brandon and I took a walk to the local mall and got SIM cards for my phone and the kids' phone. This was only possible because of Brandon's Russian ability and our confidence in being able to figure things out. </p><p>On the day of our first riding lesson, I got a taxi on an app, asked the driver if he could wait while we went to the store, and then asked if he could take us to the stable and then return in two hours after our lessons were done and take us back home. Then I asked him if he could come back and drive us the next week. That was something that I <i>never</i> would have felt confident doing when we first moved to Tashkent. Not knowing the local language is severely limiting as you can't feel like you can do anything but the most basic things, and you can never quite settle fully into a place because of it. </p><p>But we are settling in nicely, thanks to our long acquaintance with Central Asia and the Russian language. I may start singing another song when the snow starts falling and we don't see above-freezing temperatures for five months straight. For now, however, I've decided that I like Kazakhstan quite a lot, which has surprised me. There's something about the open steppe that I find alluring and I love that it's literally a mile from my house. The city is convenient and has enough amenities that are close to us that life will be fairly easy here, and we've found the embassy community to be very welcoming. I'm happy that we got the rough parts of the transition over with first and now we can enjoy the good ones!</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-6155116349058863012022-07-17T12:47:00.003-04:002022-07-17T12:47:11.835-04:00Farewell, Tashkent<p>Tomorrow morning, a team of movers will show up at our house to pack everything we own in a flurry of paper, boxes and tape. I've spent the last week preparing the house, throwing out and giving away the last piles of things that we don't need, separating stuff, dis-assembling furniture, washing linens and tuppeware, and worrying if we will be overweight or not. </p><p>On Thursday morning, we'll all happily board an Air Astana plane and arrive in Nur-Sultan before lunch time. Because of State Department regulations, we'll be skipping our usual six-week home leave in the US and instead going straight to Kazakhstan. We're sad that we won't be seeing as many of our friends and family as we can cram into the weeks-long marathon of late nights, park visits, games, movies, stories, laughter, and fun. But we're not sad to miss the jet lag, endless suitcase packing and re-packing, flights, car rentals, and nervous anticipation of a yet-unseen new house, city, and country.</p><p>Everyone in the family is ready to leave. Brandon and I are done with the endless preparations for departure, and disruptions to the usual calm rhythm of our life. The children are tired of being pressed into service to clean out another dark corner and are excitedly waiting for the delights of a new place to explore. We aren't ready to leave because we want to leave Tashkent, however, we're ready to leave because we're all tired of the process of moving.</p><p>Tashkent itself has given us a wonderful four years. When we moved here, I had six children eleven years old and younger. As we leave, I have seven children, ages almost sixteen to two years old. When we arrived in Tashkent, I was just beginning to crawl out of the swampy middle years of motherhood where the days are long, the children are needy, and mothers have nothing for themselves. They are hard years. Now four years later, I'm firmly in some of the best years of motherhood - children old enough to be helpful but still with young children to adore. I've taken up two hobbies - horseback riding and painting - and am very happy with my life.</p><p>The children have grown tremendously during our time here. I arrived with six children, and now I'm leaving with two young women and a rising young man. Kathleen, Sophia, and I can share each others' clothes, and Sophia, Edwin, and I all have the same sized feet. Two children have grown taller than me, and Edwin is close. Our baby is potty-trained, talking, feeds herself, dresses herself, and has strong opinions about how everything should be run. Sophia and Kathleen are intermediate-level horseback riders, with Sophia jumping one-meter jumps. Eleanor has gone from a little girl who knew nothing to a recently-baptized eight year old who is getting pretty good at piano, canters her horse happily around the ring, and devours novels while she's supposed to be going to sleep. William has gone from a baby who was just learning to walk to a five year-old who is learning to read and teaching himself how to write. Four years doesn't seem like a long time until you see how far everyone can go in that amount of time. </p><p>Tashkent has been a good city to spend four years in. We've enjoyed our house and our yard, and especially the pool. It can be a pain to get across town here, but the traffic isn't too bad and it's very affordable to do fun things here. We've been able to see the Silk Road cities and go up into the mountains and do some sledding and hiking. There are enough good restaurants to not get too bored and there are enough fun things to do with the kids on holidays. We've also taken some fun trips, visiting the Maldives and Sri Lanka. It's been a pretty easy four years.</p><p>We have, of course, made lots of wonderful friends during our four years here, despite the isolation that COVID brought in the middle of our tour. Kathleen and Sophia made their first teenage friends, organizing meetups and book clubs and pool parties without any input from me. It's been fun to see them grow into socialization and nice to be able to have taxis to do the ferrying for me. Eleanor has found her best friend and already has plans for letters and packages that will be sent back and forth between the two countries. We even found a family that was crazy enough to want to meet us somewhere for a vacation - and we had a wonderful time together. We have had wonderful teachers that have become good friends and that I'm already missing. I will always remember Tashkent for the wonderful people that we've been blessed with during our four years here.</p><p>And even Brandon has had a good four years at his job. He was able to see some really good progress on some of the issues he was working with and has been recognized for those efforts. Most of the time it has been the usual daily grind, but there have been some moments that have made him feel like he was pushing forward the Lord's work.</p><p>In four short days, our time here in Tashkent will be entirely in the past. It's always strange at those transitions, when your life switches entirely. One would think that that switch happens in some gradual fashion, a transition from one place to the next, but it never goes that way. One day you're living in the same place that you've been living in for four years, and the next day it's all like a dream, entirely in the past, never to be repeated. And the fuzzy future that you've been planning for and thinking about and researching and looking forward to is suddenly the very real present. </p><p>Within a month, we'll be settled into our new place and new house and new friends and new grocery stores and new teachers and new rhythms. Life will again be as it is supposed to be and the old will rapidly fade from memory. We will reminisce about our time in Tashkent and the funny stories and good friends and great pool and warm winters. But for now, we're in Tashkent, if only for a few more days. And then, it will all be over and the next part of our life will have begun.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-76279467616439522832022-06-13T02:07:00.002-04:002022-06-13T02:07:13.416-04:00Happy Birthday, Sophia!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsiD4XDrt-RUn6A1x4TgQSYcgeLWFbfNghOz8nZ7ei0uBuQdUTs866N6QzeGs1UiWttLQX68SKwUUc4vYQUyDPmxv9VV3KFcTgyJxHcshMBUmk5201f1ms1-inNn5LQFL5n0IZDChopdk6dJjVhxV28Po4ZI9MHpW9qvCgmMYy71eNwmuuXKEkvpnJXg/s1280/IMG_6512.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsiD4XDrt-RUn6A1x4TgQSYcgeLWFbfNghOz8nZ7ei0uBuQdUTs866N6QzeGs1UiWttLQX68SKwUUc4vYQUyDPmxv9VV3KFcTgyJxHcshMBUmk5201f1ms1-inNn5LQFL5n0IZDChopdk6dJjVhxV28Po4ZI9MHpW9qvCgmMYy71eNwmuuXKEkvpnJXg/s320/IMG_6512.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Sophia's birthday was also back in May, but we didn't celebrate it in May either. She wanted to wait and celebrate it with her grandparents. So when Brandon had to be in Bukhara for a work conference on Sophia's birthday, it was okay because she'd already decided to delay her birthday. Ironically, we celebrated it on Brandon's birthday, so this coming week will be his birthday, observed.</p><p>But despite my insistence that her actual birthday was just a regular day without any special celebrations, when friends showed up we decided to make an evening of dinner and swimming together as both husbands were out of town and couldn't say no. Sophia's friend had baked banana bread for her birthday, so we ended up singing to her anyway and she did indeed have <i>two</i> birthdays. I guess that's what she gets for being a reasonable child about moving her birthday around.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhS9qq0HfGzJvdSO8CBR5YNZAKtLHX1SPuf53l_lND0AuRvz4sc5A6CKIAK95E1PobkOx85FCRoY7NjQwFJ2kp3Ky1FuogLA--OXBlRMOePvkeeT5sY6aRVNoMhoK2eApKVi3kgy1Kh1Q5LT3qJItt8udA-5_jTY9icamxdocDMqvwxXliDhiEDLFSAA/s1280/IMG_6510.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhS9qq0HfGzJvdSO8CBR5YNZAKtLHX1SPuf53l_lND0AuRvz4sc5A6CKIAK95E1PobkOx85FCRoY7NjQwFJ2kp3Ky1FuogLA--OXBlRMOePvkeeT5sY6aRVNoMhoK2eApKVi3kgy1Kh1Q5LT3qJItt8udA-5_jTY9icamxdocDMqvwxXliDhiEDLFSAA/s320/IMG_6510.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>On her birthday, observed, she got to have all the food preferences she wanted - coffee cake for breakfast, eggs benedict for dinner, and raspberry baccone for her cake. For her fun activity, we went to a local water park where she repeatedly badgered the lifeguards into letting her ride the 'adult' waterslides. The weather was better for water parks in June than in May, so she probably came out ahead in that respect.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSD9SGS53PWStgch9gU4SuLscYBtNA8scFOcxqaE7oNMrA9rZMJPfgq43OI2orEzyZg9u6lT8G_5ZbXGMptetdPQObCQ70HvM0d00Un6NyzSuY3UymaUowIpdscwT-xLQDqulKrhIMULshAvIiSpf2l_MtY3cQqwbHbWL6zmyI8Wzf-MWfxbtiEmikw/s1280/IMG_6504.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSD9SGS53PWStgch9gU4SuLscYBtNA8scFOcxqaE7oNMrA9rZMJPfgq43OI2orEzyZg9u6lT8G_5ZbXGMptetdPQObCQ70HvM0d00Un6NyzSuY3UymaUowIpdscwT-xLQDqulKrhIMULshAvIiSpf2l_MtY3cQqwbHbWL6zmyI8Wzf-MWfxbtiEmikw/s320/IMG_6504.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>I can hardly believe that Sophia is already fourteen. When Kathleen hits the big milestones, I seen them coming from a long way off. But then Sophia sneaks up behind her and hits them less than two years later and I'm surprised every time it happens. She will be in high school in the fall, and then I will have <i>two</i> children in high school, which really spells the end of my run as a mother of young children. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDA9njzTG3cRNRLrrGOlMnozdSoYPF0BXK2_gjk8_uK7C_3H04JrEbhJFFdqscGS7CVSGkyzO94vjtAjipjFoR8lduIr3sUL0-XBh7-Rm5DXr4SQrEXcRN9mk9VKKbp1PfXXS_kYAqxAVxuTKAkwKEPsN3UhOMcDE1P82EAC6nvhuNkAAXzKJA-QFG8w/s1280/IMG_6520.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDA9njzTG3cRNRLrrGOlMnozdSoYPF0BXK2_gjk8_uK7C_3H04JrEbhJFFdqscGS7CVSGkyzO94vjtAjipjFoR8lduIr3sUL0-XBh7-Rm5DXr4SQrEXcRN9mk9VKKbp1PfXXS_kYAqxAVxuTKAkwKEPsN3UhOMcDE1P82EAC6nvhuNkAAXzKJA-QFG8w/s320/IMG_6520.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>I'm not concerned at all with her ability to handle high school and the harder classes that she'll be starting in a few months. She has, through a lot of hard work, learned to be quite diligent in all her school assignments, and I never have to worry about bothering her to get anything done. It's always a relief to me to know that there's one child I can count on to be dependable and reliant even if everyone else is falling apart. I probably lean on her for help more than I should because she is not only capable but also willing to help out, especially with Elizabeth. Elizabeth will sometimes call me "Sophia" because Sophia spends so much time with her and really loves it (mostly). On Sunday mornings Elizabeth will come down dressed in a pretty church dress, complete with hairstyles and jewelry because Sophia wanted to dress her up. </p><p>Everyone is happy to have Sophia in the family, and it showed when all of her siblings that have money bought her a present for her birthday. I look forward to continue watching her grow and become even more amazing. Happy birthday, Sophia!</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-56434105021968746862022-06-13T02:01:00.003-04:002022-06-13T02:01:31.744-04:00My Parents Visit, Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKmelI-_XMVe_PPiZVFcg0RSqk1KV9yC2sPXs-HPTIt1gy1NDiOglvJZJIFilzoV6rHLEUS6sBDO_nc4AlTViwSLbymuDw4fUFul5eOGITWrVoQASCKJtc06mHx5IK2yhXqMr5zrJ4bWySI5ya8aLisj5EqWfOm0L1s0I0IbBYO_9T-CvRpqv8qrz2Q/s1280/IMG_7784.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKmelI-_XMVe_PPiZVFcg0RSqk1KV9yC2sPXs-HPTIt1gy1NDiOglvJZJIFilzoV6rHLEUS6sBDO_nc4AlTViwSLbymuDw4fUFul5eOGITWrVoQASCKJtc06mHx5IK2yhXqMr5zrJ4bWySI5ya8aLisj5EqWfOm0L1s0I0IbBYO_9T-CvRpqv8qrz2Q/s320/IMG_7784.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Every year we've been in the Foreign Service (all thirteen of them), we've been able to go back to the US for a visit. It hasn't always been at the same time, but we always make it a priority. It's a lot of hassle and can be pretty exhausting, but we want the children to know their extended family, and I know that their grandparents want to see them. This year is the first year that we haven't been able to to go back, and we're hoping that it was the last year.<div><br /></div><div>When my parents heard that we wouldn't be able to make it back, my mom cheerfully announced that they'd just come visit us instead. My dad has been retired for almost eleven years and after spending five years serving missions for the Church, they've been enjoying their retirement and have spent a lot of time traveling. So they were able to slip in a visit to us between a trip to Cape Hatteras for kite surfing and a trip to Seattle to go see my brother. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA3Nni50h0NiKf4w_5BsfzyUh1XFD6pSm9S9GJZyZkdvwtua3LR7JwGyw_g1TWq4K7uGk2d5nDeDEyKxkwNEcqo4x349rNriaDC2vpkp2R2-lHU8hDJ2JoaDm8sKTrwIQkfw5lX5-GwordqYFfHznyJ1lC6GUaRQZnMu6liHtBYDZleCL4dYfjBLSkQ/s1280/IMG_7796.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA3Nni50h0NiKf4w_5BsfzyUh1XFD6pSm9S9GJZyZkdvwtua3LR7JwGyw_g1TWq4K7uGk2d5nDeDEyKxkwNEcqo4x349rNriaDC2vpkp2R2-lHU8hDJ2JoaDm8sKTrwIQkfw5lX5-GwordqYFfHznyJ1lC6GUaRQZnMu6liHtBYDZleCL4dYfjBLSkQ/s320/IMG_7796.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The kids were, of course, ecstatic that their grandparents were coming to visit, and eagerly counted down the days until my parents showed up to come and play with them. My parents had already seen all the Silk Road cities during their last visit, so we decided to keep things low-key and hang around Tashkent for most of the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>This turned out to be a good decision, as their bags got stuck in Boston and my parents spent three days borrowing clothes and washing their own every evening while waiting for the baggage to arrive. It was a complicated process to figure out how to file a report for lost baggage - I made 37 different phone calls before I actually reached a person, and thankfully that person could tell me where to go to file the report - and complicated process to get the bags from the airport. I was very thankful for all the years of studying Russian that made it possible to understand what everyone was saying to me and give them a coherent answer. I can't imagine how tourists with lost baggage get it back.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2jsx1Z7c1X794-j60SJqDGteVdEHRcmpVFr5dLUEoafSKxXPnRb7o6CVIQVBrqPBVIHFiZgCq9AKdiHkDenarHu8lHTXWuuso19WnaPvIwzNH44XZ0fUSP6NRak40yWiI65kJjXEbfkZ2vbJHJtran8br5VMt17SfCnaRb_jJL0FScX1ynDEHNGl_w/s1280/IMG_6468.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2jsx1Z7c1X794-j60SJqDGteVdEHRcmpVFr5dLUEoafSKxXPnRb7o6CVIQVBrqPBVIHFiZgCq9AKdiHkDenarHu8lHTXWuuso19WnaPvIwzNH44XZ0fUSP6NRak40yWiI65kJjXEbfkZ2vbJHJtran8br5VMt17SfCnaRb_jJL0FScX1ynDEHNGl_w/s320/IMG_6468.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Most of our days were spent in the pool for at least part of the day. After an unusually cool and rainy May, summer arrived the day my parents did, with the temperatures getting up to 100. The kids had a great time swimming with their grandparents and making silly underwater videos and having my dad throw them into the pool. I'm grateful for parents that are both able AND willing to come all the way here to swim in the pool with my kids.</div><div><br /></div><div>In between swimming, napping, and hanging out, we did take a day trip to Samarkand. Some children wanted to see it again now that they have a greater appreciation of history, and others just wanted to ride the speed train that took us there. Elizabeth and William - who are the only ones in the family who <i>haven't</i> been to Samarkand - got left at home with the housekeeper. Nobody wants to haul small children around in ninety-five degree heat to go see tile-covered monuments. </div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to going to Samarkand, we also rode the Tashkent metro and went up the TV tower - both firsts for everyone. Neither was the highlight of anyone's visit, but now we've done them and nobody can complain that we spent four years in Tashkent without going on the metro. I found it to be nicer than the metro in Baku, which is the only other former Soviet metro I've been in.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnkhvrQwqqBLNSxbbehV23U_QA-8RHjJ6ah81G5uuKeLyCJGhPV18i5DWWkfvUoHlq0NZwXG-3ebSSzqm8rw2cut6DA26hg2AGQwzlZV_Sg1CnDLlcJjns-QRVcpgjL_SjlVR46ue-S24q5GAUX3QAVEKObbtQDPtaO2e3C68dD92DsnFCoJl7DFHlg/s1280/IMG_6472.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnkhvrQwqqBLNSxbbehV23U_QA-8RHjJ6ah81G5uuKeLyCJGhPV18i5DWWkfvUoHlq0NZwXG-3ebSSzqm8rw2cut6DA26hg2AGQwzlZV_Sg1CnDLlcJjns-QRVcpgjL_SjlVR46ue-S24q5GAUX3QAVEKObbtQDPtaO2e3C68dD92DsnFCoJl7DFHlg/s320/IMG_6472.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We finished up our visit with a quintessential Central Asian attraction - a local water park. My parents got to experience the random reinforcement of non-logical waterslide rules and then watch as my children pushed, cajoled, begged, and badgered their way onto the waterslides that were for adults only. They also got to experience burning the bottoms of their feet on hot pavement, icy cold pool water (how is that even possible when it's a hundred degrees???) and crowds of Uzbeks also trying to beat the heat at the pool. But the highlight of the afternoon was when waterslide lifeguard stopped Kathleen from going on the adult waterslide and then asked her out in Russian. She didn't realize what was going on until halfway through and let him know that no, she wouldn't be meeting him later to go for an evening walk. But then he let her go on the slide, so it was a win in the end.</div><div><br /></div><div>After spending a week with their grandchildren and eating <i>lots</i> of cherries, apricots and fresh naan bread, my parents left to go back to their real life. Even as they were saying their last goodbyes at the airport, they kept claiming that it was completely worth it to fly twenty-four hours each way, not have new clothes for three days straight, and <i>just</i> get over jetlag before returning and having get over it all over again. I've got to admit that I've got pretty amazing parents. Everyone was sad at the parting, knowing that they'd have to wait a whole year before seeing each other again. But we're grateful that it's only one year and not two.</div>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-17757821375751351562022-06-13T01:47:00.010-04:002022-06-13T01:47:51.453-04:00Happy Birthday, Eleanor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoaz-mjF6GrrrbPyGZnb87yVu1xGDpLaqCFAZSwinqG9oWn8FLH0XiAzsTz8hoHEdvXYlflYB9jEROLElnXekuiKp60BwZIYntmew-yOT4rd39NTg1cBS86gPzMXqdXp-EIStqE1l2Jm0_WOfdDIXeF7EGHVZH5Uo88IrxlV71Q1_Sk94sJZG7dCuVg/s1280/IMG_6278.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoaz-mjF6GrrrbPyGZnb87yVu1xGDpLaqCFAZSwinqG9oWn8FLH0XiAzsTz8hoHEdvXYlflYB9jEROLElnXekuiKp60BwZIYntmew-yOT4rd39NTg1cBS86gPzMXqdXp-EIStqE1l2Jm0_WOfdDIXeF7EGHVZH5Uo88IrxlV71Q1_Sk94sJZG7dCuVg/s320/IMG_6278.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Eleanor had her birthday back in May, more than a month ago. She had a pretty good birthday and got to go out to dinner to the local amusement park for her birthday Saturday. It's hard to believe that my fifth child, the oldest of my babies, is now eight years old. We let the children use breakable glass and ceramic tableware when they turn eight, and it's so strange to see only two plastic settings left when the table is set for meals. Children have a tendency to grow up when you're not paying attention and it's very surprising when that happens.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9uYEsdS3dvfHpgsw2X6xImKY3ih9KUPM3KRSI8bXxG82JAHB96lrIdngdXmqvYJDQtLqdaiKaew7aA9QWOXwOZCfT_pD9cDFyHO5Q60reDArd4TOGd_5dGtNkb1B3rlasUqhjLKg80T0HfAp-J3pMMLaKzs5JgGdOkKNjY-L0Gl7QjEmSiQzQqAO9w/s1280/IMG_6252%203.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9uYEsdS3dvfHpgsw2X6xImKY3ih9KUPM3KRSI8bXxG82JAHB96lrIdngdXmqvYJDQtLqdaiKaew7aA9QWOXwOZCfT_pD9cDFyHO5Q60reDArd4TOGd_5dGtNkb1B3rlasUqhjLKg80T0HfAp-J3pMMLaKzs5JgGdOkKNjY-L0Gl7QjEmSiQzQqAO9w/s320/IMG_6252%203.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>My parents decided to come and visit us in June, so we decided to hold Eleanor's baptism during their visit so that her grandparents could be part of it. They don't have that many grandchildren left to be baptized, so we thought that they'd enjoy being here for Eleanor's baptism. </p><p>When Kathleen turned eight, I sewed a white dress for her baptism. It's also been used by her female cousins, so my parents brought the dress and a pair of white pants for Brandon with them in their luggage when they came out to visit.</p><p>We had planned to hold the baptism for the day they arrived, on a Saturday, but their luggage didn't show up when my parents did. The baptism had to be postponed until the clothes arrived, but thankfully it was was pretty easy to postpone as it was going to happen at our house and only one other family was coming. We started looking for other clothing options, but were happy that the suitcases showed up Monday morning so we could hold the baptism that evening.</p><p>The baptism was, of course, beautiful, and Eleanor was happy to have her friends and family there to celebrate with her. Everyone in the family except William and Elizabeth got to participate, with Kathleen and Sophia helping with the music, Edwin and Joseph acting as witnesses, my mother speaking, and my dad helping with the confirmation. I loved seeing the wide smile and happiness shining from Eleanor's eyes as she was confirmed after her baptism. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrvwKSnWDBVXYd-rQ7rttX14zRxP1UIVeSz0x63i7jXkQCAti2_tgvQir7TYNiGe0_ZH5PC_fXtMV3ONqglla_NtlnhYSDMw2cKgr9_s03dFqF1NY2geu4tsircEeIeaOsr-psJ_7RugZ8DfvFJvVtMFD_cncHnrsQhIp90-HWnt02jLZ9jSyrepEUQ/s1280/IMG_6465.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrvwKSnWDBVXYd-rQ7rttX14zRxP1UIVeSz0x63i7jXkQCAti2_tgvQir7TYNiGe0_ZH5PC_fXtMV3ONqglla_NtlnhYSDMw2cKgr9_s03dFqF1NY2geu4tsircEeIeaOsr-psJ_7RugZ8DfvFJvVtMFD_cncHnrsQhIp90-HWnt02jLZ9jSyrepEUQ/s320/IMG_6465.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>I love seeing Eleanor grow up into a cheerful, thoughtful, sweet girl. She is always happy to share with everyone, even if it's just a crumb of the cookie that she has. Her infectious laugh always makes me smile, especially when she's being tickled. I love seeing the latest horse drawing that she has created and finding the numerous pictures she leaves littered around the house. Poor Eleanor is stuck between two brothers, but she is a needed break from her sometimes intense brothers. I look forward to enjoying seeing her grow up further and seeing what amazing things she has in store for us. Happy birthday, Eleanor!</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-88151696819913209242022-05-22T12:12:00.002-04:002022-05-22T12:12:10.821-04:00Cleaning out the House<p> This week I started cleaning out the house. Cleaning out the house is one of the Dreaded Tasks of moving. The State Department will pay to ship our stuff around the world, but they have a weight limit - 7200 pounds. When I first joined, that sounded like a lot of weight, but now that I have seven kids that I homeschool and have collected treasures, it's not that much after all.</p><p>So this means that every time we move, we get to purge our stuff. In theory, this is actually a good thing. It's surprising the useless things that manage to unknowingly get hauled around for decades. After we had been living in Tashkent for a year, I found a <i>Babybug</i> magazine from 2008. In 2008 we lived in Utah, which meant that it had been moved from Utah to Maryland to Cairo to Belgium to Azerbaijan to Belgium to Tajikistan to Uzbekistan. And I don't actually even <i>like</i> <i>Babybug</i> magazine. So I do consider the requirement to purge to be a good thing because purging isn't something that I spontaneously do for fun.</p><p>But the <i>actuality</i> of cleaning out the house is another thing entirely. It's amazing the number of places in your house that junk can collect in. There are always those places in everyone's houses that become the dumping ground for stuff that you don't know what to do with. Often it's the basement or that nook under the stairs or the back of the kids' closet. We all have those places. It's where the things that <i>might</i> have some use go to hide for a decade or so, waiting for their chance to be used just once so that their storage is justified. It's also where all those unused electronics cords go.</p><p>Cleaning out the house means confronting all of those places and sorting through all the piles of potentially useful things and figuring out what things are <i>actually</i> useful and what things really haven't been worth keeping. It requires the deep soul searching and consideration of what useful means and how often you actually have used a hacksaw in the past four years (answer: none) and if you can think of a situation in which you will buy/can buy a live Christmas tree when you also own a perfectly good fake one (the tree stand didn't make the cut). It can become somewhat of a zen exercise where you consider the material world and our interaction with it and how those things can cumber your soul. But it's usually just a huge pain.</p><p>Cleaning out the house also means sorting through bins and bins and bins of clothing and wondering if maybe your sanity is not worth saving money by reusing clothes and maybe each child should just get a new wardrobe of their own each year just so you don't have to store clothes in between children. It's amazing how you can think that clothes are perfectly reasonable while children wear them, and then they look terrible once you take them out of storage for the next child. I'm happy that we have purged multiple bins of clothes while here in Tashkent. There's nothing quite like the feeling of just getting rid of clothes when William and Elizabeth grow out of them. Someone else can enjoy them and I don't have to put them in a bin, waiting for the next child to grow into them.</p><p>We have also gotten rid of all of our baby things. Gone are the car seat, strollers, crib, nursing pillow, bottles, baby bath tub, maternity clothes, blankets, towels, pump, washcloths, baby clothes, swing, rocking chair, changing table pad, diaper pails, cloth diapers, baby toys, and toddler beds. I'm happiest about getting rid of all of the diapering accessories. Although having a last baby is bittersweet, not having any more children in diapers ever again is completely awesome.</p><p>Last summer I did a preliminary purge, cleaning out all of the low-hanging fruit in preparation for a deep purge this summer. And it has indeed been a deep purge. I've cleaned out every single bin we own, going through things that haven't been examined since we joined the foreign service. I found material from skirts I sewed in college, gift cards that Brandon was given before we were married, dictionaries for languages that neither Brandon nor I speak, and mini bread pans that I've never actually used. It's freeing to get rid of those things, to realize that actually we don't need them. And if suddenly we do in the future, we can just buy them. We don't have to haul them around anymore.</p><p>I've given myself plenty of time for this purge, knowing that decision fatigue is a real thing. I've done exhausting purges where I just don't care by the end. The last quarter of the house is done in haste, figuring that I can sort it all out at the other end, and when the other end arrives, I can't fathom how all the random stuff got packed up and moved just so I could throw it away in our new home. </p><p>I've paced myself, working for four or five hours a day - enough time to get into a good rhythm where my head is in the game and my whole existence has narrowed down to making crucial decisions. But not so much time that I'm completely exhausted, brain buzzing with fatigue, and past caring about anything at all in life anymore. It really hasn't been that bad, which has surprised me.</p><p>As the garbage bags pile up outside and the mound of treasures for my housekeeper grows, I grow increasingly satisfied with my moral purity. Look how much stuff I've gotten rid of! Think of how many pounds we've shed! All of those things won't fill up our bins and shelves and closets anymore! But, of course, the joke is on me as I cheerfully get rid of things that took so much time and money and energy to acquire. I was just as happy to get those things as I now am to get rid of them. </p><p>In about eight weeks, a team of movers will come and spread over the house like ants, boxing up everything in their path, encasing our entire life in cardboard and sealing it up with plastic tape. Brandon and I will anxiously watch the stacks of boxes as they grow higher and higher, wondering what the day of judgement will bring. Will we be under? Was all of the purging enough? Should we have gotten rid of more books? Should we have kept the weights? And if we pass we will breathe a sigh of relief for the next few years until we have to do it again. And if we fail, the tab of expensive things we have to pay for this summer will grow even longer and I will know that all of my efforts were not quite enough. </p><p>One day, we will retire and stop moving. Our possessions will not be measured by pounds, only by what will can cram into our house. When I buy something, I won't wonder how much it weighs and if it is worth spending our precious allowance on. I will be able to own as many books as I have bookshelves for, and my furniture can be as heavy as I can afford for it to be. I'm really looking forward to that day. But for now, I'll just keep on purging.</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-11864349558602843172022-05-08T12:22:00.008-04:002022-05-08T12:22:47.644-04:00Khiva<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOW5IgyKmE3jgOHzA23QW8J7kjItsgq1iqw4YwnNbMFjHBK4TvdkKghTL9nxBkDZvvagqZLjE9VYQ5mLYnF78vI8iFRd0AJt-gLey_ln9x0vgNDqgd-4QXEo8SnLJ_J-zFkC3z3RhteY4wBJuVFj-BXinOFJWDF5KOKo-wB_Uizx9Ft4kb3EUxYH7Sg/s1280/IMG_6149%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOW5IgyKmE3jgOHzA23QW8J7kjItsgq1iqw4YwnNbMFjHBK4TvdkKghTL9nxBkDZvvagqZLjE9VYQ5mLYnF78vI8iFRd0AJt-gLey_ln9x0vgNDqgd-4QXEo8SnLJ_J-zFkC3z3RhteY4wBJuVFj-BXinOFJWDF5KOKo-wB_Uizx9Ft4kb3EUxYH7Sg/s320/IMG_6149%20(1).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">A few weeks ago, I was able to take Kathleen, Sophia, and Edwin to Khiva, the smallest of the Silk Road cities. My aunt and uncle came out for their own Silk Road trip, so we decided to go with them for the first of the three stops. We haven't taken any of the kids to any of the cities while we've been here, so when the older kids asked if they could go to Khiva, I thought that it would be fun to combine our visits and go together.</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaK8czcVrHD-B43szstE-h6gBUvw5k-QF6jM5Jt-v4htpFbxpUtJjJwHc6Ef9DaferLnOAKuSuIvsJo9mo3zLxBtZsAXhcv61rj7GSziiHzIvuYf_9zeLiOwB-M5loSXAcYTFU8hOw60PxxMW9jHSq60FtReeedZ28VhOIzQX-HnjtPEBHZQLUrv17Q/s1280/IMG_6114%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="961" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaK8czcVrHD-B43szstE-h6gBUvw5k-QF6jM5Jt-v4htpFbxpUtJjJwHc6Ef9DaferLnOAKuSuIvsJo9mo3zLxBtZsAXhcv61rj7GSziiHzIvuYf_9zeLiOwB-M5loSXAcYTFU8hOw60PxxMW9jHSq60FtReeedZ28VhOIzQX-HnjtPEBHZQLUrv17Q/s320/IMG_6114%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>Khiva is in the western end of Uzbekistan, so we had to fly and then take a car from Urgench, the closest city with an airport. Flying domestically with only three children who are all old enough to be completely reasonable was so much more enjoyable than our usual international monkey circuses. The kids kept on saying, "Mom! This is so easy with only three of us! It's so quiet! Nobody's whining! We can all carry our own boarding passes!" </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PcKqWeiD_CPg511IP6gotL8i3wK4GJ8gcm3kHcbxcE8eeNFIKDBwiFaQKTudmbCQoUXxD5GKV1k0Pcvc-0fYvai3JsxGt5g8zZ_qe2jVHNmCYyGFTkaCiiKeQ8Zj34OQkzxL110ZksMDfEjrtodSQlBxjqUyaotUhcuGbWaA-s6GRGOFdDgNV--0bA/s1280/IMG_6152%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PcKqWeiD_CPg511IP6gotL8i3wK4GJ8gcm3kHcbxcE8eeNFIKDBwiFaQKTudmbCQoUXxD5GKV1k0Pcvc-0fYvai3JsxGt5g8zZ_qe2jVHNmCYyGFTkaCiiKeQ8Zj34OQkzxL110ZksMDfEjrtodSQlBxjqUyaotUhcuGbWaA-s6GRGOFdDgNV--0bA/s320/IMG_6152%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSZccmVCePRGv2Q2CiG_GIpiZnryYSHJe_HUs9IDwiQ9T8CVIyh3rctw_ZukRwWuuVHlMEcNBgMxtjIV_oxw6ZrHZiO0CljAqEZuja7aS4mbKY2x6Zz8OIJqhAJLuN8bX2hEm1k-_vnghkNXUjRqb3Glp2JHdKDpH_eSeGIof_-Nef-C41NmFJ76mvw/s1280/IMG_6145%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWSZccmVCePRGv2Q2CiG_GIpiZnryYSHJe_HUs9IDwiQ9T8CVIyh3rctw_ZukRwWuuVHlMEcNBgMxtjIV_oxw6ZrHZiO0CljAqEZuja7aS4mbKY2x6Zz8OIJqhAJLuN8bX2hEm1k-_vnghkNXUjRqb3Glp2JHdKDpH_eSeGIof_-Nef-C41NmFJ76mvw/s320/IMG_6145%20(1).jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>We got into Khiva late Monday night and then spent all day Tuesday touring the small walled city. There is a a lot of Khiva that is outside the walls, but most of the interesting sights are inside the walls. Everyone has their favorite silk road city, and usually it's either Bukhara or Khiva. Khiva is my favorite, so it was fun to come back with the kids and my aunt and uncle.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0Mhrul4OcioMZdDVcEYhB2aVB09gVNP1QI_5Ffu3pexwU4prikkKRAdUIIIcMKRa1ayePFULr01GvEuKt0sucr21Ux_1IizmpEy9TH71Dyh0EgfjQQkmXXxFzc3B45_NU0mA5E_R6xsYwFuvyMhetIVFK0W3I0aI9pavWQ_knzYWehEnuA_w-cYYXQ/s1280/IMG_6138%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0Mhrul4OcioMZdDVcEYhB2aVB09gVNP1QI_5Ffu3pexwU4prikkKRAdUIIIcMKRa1ayePFULr01GvEuKt0sucr21Ux_1IizmpEy9TH71Dyh0EgfjQQkmXXxFzc3B45_NU0mA5E_R6xsYwFuvyMhetIVFK0W3I0aI9pavWQ_knzYWehEnuA_w-cYYXQ/s320/IMG_6138%20(1).jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjce9GE1ucgVKpb-Q4LbUDCko24u1yckdee0rUnYgPle4IsiROlHjDQUw_I0XhhwbKvUW3EFggEvMKe7EZC8GY-C0uRgosXeunz4FxYRfU9_BQ6rFeKkDHQV-yfGhN11861tD5-s0Wm7xoiYSbissFZM0pSPucobEMEtnhqYQWQp0CIdi03DAP64w2s5Q/s1280/IMG_6129%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjce9GE1ucgVKpb-Q4LbUDCko24u1yckdee0rUnYgPle4IsiROlHjDQUw_I0XhhwbKvUW3EFggEvMKe7EZC8GY-C0uRgosXeunz4FxYRfU9_BQ6rFeKkDHQV-yfGhN11861tD5-s0Wm7xoiYSbissFZM0pSPucobEMEtnhqYQWQp0CIdi03DAP64w2s5Q/s320/IMG_6129%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>The entire walled city was declared a UNESCO world heritage site in the nineties, and it's easy to see why it got that designation. The inside of the city is packed with madrassas, mosques, and old palaces. There are so many madrassas that a good number of them stand empty, locked up because nobody knows what to do with them. I'm not sure what was happening back in the nineteenth century in Khiva that made madrassas the popular thing to build, but I'm pretty sure I've never seen so many crammed in so close together anywhere else. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVF2Xea73o6K0t4IbljThz_pA9zoQ8T2jgHYrFceLhibmRKaaohlzf1NNJouXbjM4jr-3G3JS9Och0hI4VGCEoJHEPsPoS1WVuu2w_TG2Xx_THGGT5_kJX7wmD9s99enq5_mhL0OBwrS49IxYDl2TihzaxK-1HlgTAcaxwVT_cjp6FSNIDj3tBrJ1Og/s1280/IMG_6115%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="961" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnVF2Xea73o6K0t4IbljThz_pA9zoQ8T2jgHYrFceLhibmRKaaohlzf1NNJouXbjM4jr-3G3JS9Och0hI4VGCEoJHEPsPoS1WVuu2w_TG2Xx_THGGT5_kJX7wmD9s99enq5_mhL0OBwrS49IxYDl2TihzaxK-1HlgTAcaxwVT_cjp6FSNIDj3tBrJ1Og/s320/IMG_6115%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>The weather for the day was one of those perfect April days that makes being in Uzbekistan during the spring a delight. It was clear and sunny and all of the trees were leafed out in the fresh, bright spring green of new growth that hasn't gotten tired and dusty from a long, hot summer. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimo-WQ5vn59UXZHwkm6WFoqs9OL5TPOSLD2jSFX7eNgHBR8xzNkF4HXyP2YMRacHqxSbqa2ne0wd-YgLQdjQRdZ-qq4WhxY52TvtInbS3weiUTowAA9bXuHaNCXqbP-mLABbJl6_xKbksbxv4KjByfSBcl5dHiC5SRJQjvcrStj3LIJ2Gpsg7SeQrAUA/s1280/IMG_6134%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="961" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimo-WQ5vn59UXZHwkm6WFoqs9OL5TPOSLD2jSFX7eNgHBR8xzNkF4HXyP2YMRacHqxSbqa2ne0wd-YgLQdjQRdZ-qq4WhxY52TvtInbS3weiUTowAA9bXuHaNCXqbP-mLABbJl6_xKbksbxv4KjByfSBcl5dHiC5SRJQjvcrStj3LIJ2Gpsg7SeQrAUA/s320/IMG_6134%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>Foreign tourists were far outnumbered by school groups who had come to tour Khiva for field trips. I've found that Uzbeks love visiting their silk road cities every bit as much, if not more, than everyone else. My uncle had taken Russian back when he was in elementary school, so he enjoyed bringing out his few remembered words every time we got mobbed by school groups who wanted to know where we were from and if they could take a picture of us. He loved it all, soaking in all of the cultural experiences he could cram in for their week-long visit.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJka_DZhXybtC9KBe3oLehDCPTzY2vMyXgo9S615uFoauEOVqzP35IjThJ5-GesFtXTRoNhhke5tLaWhRi2bGj8ifd0hSykjp887nov8Rp75B2QX3gZXxSzg_jf2vyMR3piBJ3-ySHOj_tT2YTrTSEVGZiwAA6sycNL_wA8-c-K-wvGVTJfgrOakdkQ/s1280/IMG_6121%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJka_DZhXybtC9KBe3oLehDCPTzY2vMyXgo9S615uFoauEOVqzP35IjThJ5-GesFtXTRoNhhke5tLaWhRi2bGj8ifd0hSykjp887nov8Rp75B2QX3gZXxSzg_jf2vyMR3piBJ3-ySHOj_tT2YTrTSEVGZiwAA6sycNL_wA8-c-K-wvGVTJfgrOakdkQ/s320/IMG_6121%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>Sophia spent the whole day trying to get to places that weren't strictly part of the allowed sections. At one mausoleum dedicated to a fourteenth century wrestler-poet, she managed to find a stairway that led to the roof. By the time I slipped past the minder and up the staircase myself, she and Edwin had managed to climb up the back of the entrance facade and were enjoying their view of the street far below.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgka1BEjjFZyCjzMMNbx_lrUFhfklPReOeGBy4e8iAg60WlmavG_ebFYsYoEVh8vxeJVgqhbUoykYGFsDAOevV0Ykk6zxgp2L_T1ns1wjhvl2HpgWx3HBL2_oVrZFtUQBSIlspuXDnjRsETCa2Qvtv1ScC8Hquana8ahDHmC60k2YH8bRBLbgiuVhW8Zg/s1280/IMG_6143%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgka1BEjjFZyCjzMMNbx_lrUFhfklPReOeGBy4e8iAg60WlmavG_ebFYsYoEVh8vxeJVgqhbUoykYGFsDAOevV0Ykk6zxgp2L_T1ns1wjhvl2HpgWx3HBL2_oVrZFtUQBSIlspuXDnjRsETCa2Qvtv1ScC8Hquana8ahDHmC60k2YH8bRBLbgiuVhW8Zg/s320/IMG_6143%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>In an empty madrassa, she found the small staircases embedded in the wall that led to the second story. When she appealed the authority figure - me - we agreed that if the doors weren't actually wired shut, we could slip through one and explore the second story. She found one that was open and so we did some furtive stair climbing and quietly crept around the second story, exploring empty rooms. Luckily we didn't get caught and everyone enjoyed a shared adventure. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvbvP2UFQs-DtjMyIu_rOYnWlC1qOFbD5_54gFK3UsCtoKkpyQDyxu2MHIWH_-drwFhhM8Mb-72DpD3njoNqoMAY8uMSyZF42uAo1T4WQbkocc7CivmFpH4AheBKAeiiJCgemf5215mRJgTkgOt7sPHaVuLJh_7Y0NG1L2jc6_qAaEfgPthqUta2IVg/s1280/IMG_6155%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="961" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvbvP2UFQs-DtjMyIu_rOYnWlC1qOFbD5_54gFK3UsCtoKkpyQDyxu2MHIWH_-drwFhhM8Mb-72DpD3njoNqoMAY8uMSyZF42uAo1T4WQbkocc7CivmFpH4AheBKAeiiJCgemf5215mRJgTkgOt7sPHaVuLJh_7Y0NG1L2jc6_qAaEfgPthqUta2IVg/s320/IMG_6155%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>We finished our day with a walk along the city walls before heading back to Tashkent while my aunt and uncle went on to Bukhara by train for more silk road adventuring. It was fun to be able to travel with children who were interested in what we were seeing and enjoyable company to have along. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSP1udbjwDDFwhGODliuK5pnN7Aw1bNs21Vgv913UkdfauN-eWBhq9ETyMsm32rrZhGS8JhlrjxY-2X1Mcci57gGKJrKe5ZxKgTK3H0l5FUrzBwzgKnYnstZRYhkj4eo-IOsd2XeHg0LMvJBmGPvbAaExedOGGKGxVWjl1kzl4-lOcjBN4DY-Hi0ccQ/s1280/IMG_6157%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSP1udbjwDDFwhGODliuK5pnN7Aw1bNs21Vgv913UkdfauN-eWBhq9ETyMsm32rrZhGS8JhlrjxY-2X1Mcci57gGKJrKe5ZxKgTK3H0l5FUrzBwzgKnYnstZRYhkj4eo-IOsd2XeHg0LMvJBmGPvbAaExedOGGKGxVWjl1kzl4-lOcjBN4DY-Hi0ccQ/s320/IMG_6157%20(1).jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>As we were waiting for the (inevitably) late plane home, I realized that sometimes our mostly normal lives have little detours into the exotic. On Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, everyone had school like we always have school. Everyone did their Russian classes, had piano lessons, did math lessons, and complete homework assignments, just like any other kids their age back in the US. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ_2youLyDQDNu4W57NeeXd5O29zU-E9Xb_GUyGZ41q2U4ZWMIQcjorZ24xeobfDARyuo0WO_8GMG_tRhH3kgcTVO1gY33xwnSKqBNZH25-SOSh2GDnmipo1EvJRvdor_T6PxYPyEgfz4PLZGEpNn6p6QIYZCHUtQMdJZlTwsh02Jpo2pMo5DPhaQBQ/s1280/IMG_6131%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQ_2youLyDQDNu4W57NeeXd5O29zU-E9Xb_GUyGZ41q2U4ZWMIQcjorZ24xeobfDARyuo0WO_8GMG_tRhH3kgcTVO1gY33xwnSKqBNZH25-SOSh2GDnmipo1EvJRvdor_T6PxYPyEgfz4PLZGEpNn6p6QIYZCHUtQMdJZlTwsh02Jpo2pMo5DPhaQBQ/s320/IMG_6131%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><p>But on Tuesday, we took a short little jaunt to a Silk Road city where we wandered around in the inside of a tenth century mosque, climbed down into a madrassa cistern, walked along the ancient city walls, and admired tile work in the seventeenth-century palace of a khan. It's fun to have some awesome in the middle of regular life sometimes. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgq1qin0jzIo8xqtmvX0A1ilzgkr8kZ4BbmbxNgek6F5JQsLXIPkE_FvvgvK6L6FElv2R5aXHAPs97i3UCFHpFDPHXjHMRITec4ND8QTGL9cCfWTXA3KuHGdx_ouY-xTkGLeoY2lRXpVVi-x24plzbj31jgsS2zKKPQrOSXMqjbBx7s7pmYbHM36Ggg/s1280/IMG_6123%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgq1qin0jzIo8xqtmvX0A1ilzgkr8kZ4BbmbxNgek6F5JQsLXIPkE_FvvgvK6L6FElv2R5aXHAPs97i3UCFHpFDPHXjHMRITec4ND8QTGL9cCfWTXA3KuHGdx_ouY-xTkGLeoY2lRXpVVi-x24plzbj31jgsS2zKKPQrOSXMqjbBx7s7pmYbHM36Ggg/s320/IMG_6123%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-42925117870317792422022-04-24T13:23:00.001-04:002022-04-24T13:26:20.105-04:00Ashley Sherwood, International Russian Translator<p style="text-align: center;"> <img alt="В Ташкенте прошли соревнования по конному спорту" class="n3VNCb" data-noaft="1" jsaction="load:XAeZkd;" jsname="HiaYvf" src="http://uzdaily.uz/storage/article-ru/October2019/photo_2019-10-01_17-08-31.jpg" style="height: 300px; margin: 0px; width: 450px;" /></p><p>My Russian is terrible. I've given up hope that I will ever be anything approaching good at Russian, but I still study it because it's so painful to be so bad after so many years of studying. At this point I can speak like a two year-old. I understand a lot of what is being said (although sometimes I get completely lost, holding on to a few understood words like a drowning man to a passing log), but when I open my mouth everything is in the wrong case or tense or aspect. People understand the gist of what I'm saying, but I sound ridiculous.</p><p>Last Friday, my horseback riding teacher asked if I could translate for her. She has a horse that has problems and she had heard that there was a vet in town who might be able to give her some more advice than the local vets have been able to offer. The only problem was that he didn't speak Russian and she doesn't speak English.</p><p>The club next door to where we ride held a four day FEI jumping tournament this past week with riders from all over the former Soviet Union and a few other nations also. As part of the tournament, an FEI vet came in to certify the horses before the competition to make sure that they were all sound and wouldn't get injured while competing.</p><p>So after our lessons, we headed over to the club to consult with the vet. When we got there, everything was in full swing with riders, horses, spectators, officials, and support staff everywhere. The girls were in absolute heaven (the boys got left in the car). We eventually made our way to the vet, who was at a table in the VIP section with several other FEI officials. When we were introduced, he mentioned that he was Iranian.</p><p>It's always a little sticky running into Iranians when we are overseas because of the weird official relations between the two countries. I've always found Iranians to be very kind and hospitable people, but there's always a weird understanding that on some level hanging out with them is not exactly all the way okay. This was the same, as nobody said anything, but everyone stiffened ever so slightly when it came out that I was married to an American diplomat. </p><p>But nobody was there to talk or care about politics, we were there to talk about lame horses and I was there to translate what he had to say in English (not his first language) to Russian (not anything even close to my first language). Everyone at the table spoke some level of English, but it wasn't anyone's first language but my own. I had to wonder why anyone hadn't thought of using Google translate (which has a talk-to-text translation feature) to solve their problem, but that's not what had happened. Instead they had me.</p><p>I was able to explain the horse's problem (Russian-English translation is okay for me) and then stumble terribly through an explanation to my teacher of what to do (English-Russian translation is a different story altogether). At one point a young lady at the table jumped in to help with the Russian-speaking end and I <i>really</i> had to wonder why I was there. But then when I heard her Russian translation, I realized that her English comprehension wasn't that great and maybe I was useful after all. </p><p>At one point in the whole endeavor, I had a little laugh at the completely ridiculous situation I had gotten myself into. As diplomats, we get a free ticket into a class of society that everyone local had to use money to gain entrance into. In places like Uzbekistan, that class is very aware of their status and what it means. So there's a sense not really belonging in those places all of the way because really we're just regular people doing a government job, but still being part of that class anyway because of who we represent. But that sense has faded over time, and now I feel pretty comfortable in those situations. </p><p>So I was sitting at the VIP table with event officials who, at one time, I would have seen as Important People, but now I realize are people who are simply normal people doing their job like my husband is a normal person doing his job that includes attending meetings with foreign ministers and presidents' daughters. They all understood one half of the conversation that I was having with an Iranian veterinarian, but none of them understood the other half of the conversation that was being stumbled through by the wife of an American diplomat dressed in sweaty riding gear. My riding teacher understood nothing the vet said, and the Uzbek young lady understood half of what he said. I understood everything the vet said, most of what the young lady said, most of what the riding teacher said, but explained everything to my teacher with hand gestures and terribly bad grammar. Meanwhile the Uzbek military was coming in with bayonetted AK-47s to do a military half time show while the ladies in Uzbek costume were getting ready to hand out prizes to the winners of the 130 cm class that had just finished. Most of the time my life is normal and makes sense. And sometimes it goes a little sideways.</p><p>In the end, I was able to get the important information across, I small-talked with the vet about LA, living in Milan, and hopes for seeing each other again at another competition (because of course I attend these things in between schooling seven children and running a household), and then I left, having done the job I came to do.</p><p>I was able to peel the girls away from the horses and got back to my car so that I could get home and relieve my housekeeper who was waiting for my return. As I got closer, I realized that yes, those were both my sons standing on the roof while a concerned Uzbek police man was watching to make sure they didn't fall off and die in a random back alley. I herded them back inside the car, went home, and then resumed my normal non-translator-at-international-jumping-competitions job where I tell children to do their homework and break up fights. Just another day of a homeschooling mom in Central Asia!</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-74963560651760222962022-04-03T12:42:00.002-04:002022-04-03T12:42:09.325-04:00Uzbekistan Saturday Fail<p> There's a new park outside of town that I've been eying for months. I'm always a sucker for parks. It's not like one park is materially different from another - all parks are essentially the same combination of trees, grass, paths, benches, and maybe a playground. But somehow I always think that a new one will offer a different combination that will make my park experience significantly better from all of my previous ones. </p><p>We've seen it while heading out of town go up and play in the mountains, and we've watched the construction as the months have passed. This park, New Uzbekistan Park, looks to have the same combination of trees, path, grass, benches, as all the other parks. But still, I've wanted to go and see it every time we drive past it. I know, logically, that it will be almost the same as any other park, but emotionally it still feels like this one might possibly be better as a result of some mysterious combination of elements that can't be defined. </p><p>We first tried to go and check it out in late February. The weather had warmed up for a brief False Spring, a short string of seventy-degree days that lures everyone into thinking that it won't be long before flip-flops and shorts will be a permanent feature in their wardrobe. It also tricks the newcomers into turning their heating systems off much too early and then suffering through the inevitable cold and rainy March with a snowstorm or two that always follows False Spring. We've been in the region long enough to recognize False Spring for what it is and no longer are taken in by its counterfeit promises. </p><p>Brandon had heard reports from a co-worker who had been a few weeks earlier that the park was quite nice - and more importantly - had a good playground. A good playground is key to a good park. It keeps the children entertained so Brandon and I can enjoy the weather and scenery without having to break up fights or ignore complaints of boredom. </p><p>We decided to make a picnic of it and bring lunch. It would be a perfect outing after being cooped up inside all winter. But after we drove up, parked, all piled out of the car, and strolled up to the gates ready for a good time, the surly guard informed us that it was closed. Looking through the fence at the sunlit lawns of perfectly green grass just a few feet away, we were crushed. Brandon asked the guard why, and he tersely replied, "Repairs." We couldn't figure out why a brand new park needed repairs, but there was no getting around the guard. Deflated, we went home and ate our 'picnic' at the kitchen table.</p><p>The next time I tried was with a friend. It was a Sunday a week or two later, and we decided to take a walk and enjoy the weather and have some time to talk. I told her about the new park and we drove out together, figuring that surely a few weeks was enough to finish the 'repairs.' Sadly, it was once again closed. Having already driven out, we just decided to take a walk <i>around</i> the park, figuring that we were next to the lovely view and it would be close enough. It was a nice enough time anyway because honestly we were mostly there for the talking.</p><p>Real spring finally arrived this week. March this year was especially cold and rainy, with three weeks straight of cold, cloudy, rainy weather. Our rain gauge, otherwise known as the empty pool, showed that we got at least six inches of rain over that three weeks. Everyone was excited to get out of the house to enjoy some nice spring weather this Saturday. We planned to go hiking with friends, but ended up delaying the hike for a few weeks.</p><p>Still needing something to do, we decided to go to the park. Our friends had passed it over Navruz holiday and reported that it was <i>definitely </i>open. There were throngs of people and everyone was enjoying all of the grass, paths, trees, and benches that have been empty for so long. When we drove up to the parking lot, the gates were open and people were hanging around outside them. </p><p>Having done this a few times before, Brandon left us in the car (getting everyone in and out is quite the exercise) and went to see if it was <i>really</i> open this time. He asked the people and they assured him that yes, the park was open. Everyone joyfully tumbled out of the car, happy at the thought of exploring a new park and a new playground. </p><p>Sophia and Kathleen started talking about what games they could play together, Eleanor was already imagining herself as a wild horse galloping through the grass, and William wanted to know if there would be swings. I was anticipating finally getting to see this new park that had been beckoning me for so long. The grass was perfectly green, the sky was perfectly blue, and we had friends to be with. Who could ask for anything more on such a beautiful day? </p><p>We swarmed the entrance, happily looking forward to a perfect morning at the park. We made it to the gates that opened up to a beautiful vista and manicured greenery. But standing in our way was another surly guard, foreboding in his black jacket, black pants, and authoritarian black cap. I've never seen a guard at a park in the US, but it seems that here parks are a natural resource that needs to be preciously hoarded, guarded carefully against people who would want to actually <i>use</i> them. </p><p>"You can't go in," he told us with a frown. Everyone stopped, frozen in their tracks from dismay. How could it be possible? We were just told that it was open. It certainly looked open. People were inside. Why couldn't we go in? "It's closed," he curtly informed us. "Repairs."</p><p>How was it possible, Brandon wanted the guard to tell him, that it was closed when it had just been open for the Navruz holiday? Why were there people inside right now? When was it going to ever actually be open? "It's closed," he told us again, not answering any of our questions, "Repairs." Maybe those were the only words he actually knew in Russian, so he was stuck repeating himself like a recording anytime crazy foreigners who actually wanted to go in the park asked him long and increasingly irritated questions. </p><p>We considered swarming him as a mass and seeing what he would do. After all, there were nine of us and only one of him. Maybe if we waved our diplomatic IDs while rushing the gate, we could claim diplomatic immunity to park closures and surly guards. We could claim that we were there on behalf of the US government to inspect the park and have the children test the playground equipment for US safety standards. Joseph suggested we could scale the fence and skip the guard altogether.</p><p>In the end, we just retreated the car, frustrated with our repeated failures. Everyone sadly piled into the car while wistfully looking through the fence at the park, just out of our reach. Once again, the lovely, new, shiny, unknown park had eluded us and we were relegated to going to a park that we already knew, one that held no allure of something novel to see on a perfect spring Saturday. One that was nice enough, but not the one we wanted.</p><p>I suppose that sometimes we get lulled into a sense of normality here in Tashkent. We have grocery delivery and mostly consistent internet service and somewhat decent restaurants and the open ditches on the sides of the roads are even getting curbs put up to guard the unaware driver from dropping a tire in them. Things here mostly work and life isn't that bad. But it's good to be reminded every now and then that we're still living in Uzbekistan, the place where things can stop working at any time with no warning. Because it's when you forget and start expecting them to work all the time that you get set up for serious disappointment. So thanks, Tashkent, for reminding me that I'm still in Central Asia. I certainly wouldn't want to forget it! </p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-61579222626519845692022-03-27T12:03:00.000-04:002022-03-27T12:03:05.480-04:00Sri Lanka<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTrqwdmZsERqGBH5wvCP5MhnqlDgIwt4i9gZQZM5usnDACGaYqQNbl0I_7YzLKzL_3lzUprMG-x-dcp5j_4LKJolgBOl3hFXN2tQIa8G82I-OtXB9KgPhQNvUEuI1YK6vkMJrQN6vsLSe-Fmapc-1PnUYMsf_JGWf3LUf7-P_ssZJHXFG8HeVaKiQIQ/s1280/IMG_5845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTrqwdmZsERqGBH5wvCP5MhnqlDgIwt4i9gZQZM5usnDACGaYqQNbl0I_7YzLKzL_3lzUprMG-x-dcp5j_4LKJolgBOl3hFXN2tQIa8G82I-OtXB9KgPhQNvUEuI1YK6vkMJrQN6vsLSe-Fmapc-1PnUYMsf_JGWf3LUf7-P_ssZJHXFG8HeVaKiQIQ/s320/IMG_5845.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>This year we spent our spring break in Sri Lanka. We won't be able to go to the US this summer, so I decided that we should take a trip somewhere fun to soften the blow somewhat. We have very close friends that moved to India last summer. They invited us to come and see them in India, and as travel plans progressed, we agreed to meet somewhere fun instead, as their town itself isn't that exciting. After some talking, we decided to meet in Sri Lanka. <div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVLCGn5uHfi4nq2kVZr4gsdh1r9Euga4L2zW7BY34ut70VJZ51HE05Wdk33PxvvhFx2sGpLI2PR8Uzd2b_uLZPsm1eVUsopN8l2rMnem6UAw4yLMKMkneJhifn-u2GO8k-QqhqLfqhOdjtRKZqjWm_Udw2yFzKGCRZb8AyLspxsfFY2a9epKGpBviTvg/s1280/IMG_5837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVLCGn5uHfi4nq2kVZr4gsdh1r9Euga4L2zW7BY34ut70VJZ51HE05Wdk33PxvvhFx2sGpLI2PR8Uzd2b_uLZPsm1eVUsopN8l2rMnem6UAw4yLMKMkneJhifn-u2GO8k-QqhqLfqhOdjtRKZqjWm_Udw2yFzKGCRZb8AyLspxsfFY2a9epKGpBviTvg/s320/IMG_5837.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Sri Lanka, an island nation off the southeast coast of India, has some of the feel of India, but is very popular for beach vacations. And if there is one vacation that is the best for a trip with sixteen people, it's beach vacations. After a lot of searching, we were able to find a house that perfectly fit everyone, and - even better - had staff that would cook for us.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYa9uwO-Ig14xwaFrqDJBbGmASFHKyEKnoNJ-40x0BguMEhJIqemKVhfSLfTKz2hEWRte7n5XsCWEzQOKlqzoWhgIcRwOGLxPWETrwrb7EzuCmpMENAXgY5cq3ZApRfS7NVqvgShluUfk6i1mTh644eQihreUr0HJjNjFl034pgIRA1f2BXtjaayYPBg/s1280/IMG_5849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="959" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYa9uwO-Ig14xwaFrqDJBbGmASFHKyEKnoNJ-40x0BguMEhJIqemKVhfSLfTKz2hEWRte7n5XsCWEzQOKlqzoWhgIcRwOGLxPWETrwrb7EzuCmpMENAXgY5cq3ZApRfS7NVqvgShluUfk6i1mTh644eQihreUr0HJjNjFl034pgIRA1f2BXtjaayYPBg/s320/IMG_5849.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The trip down wasn't too terrible - twelve hours of traveling really is quite short when our usual trips are over twenty four hours - and there was only a half hour time change. Our house wasn't located on the beach, but we were able to take tuk-tuks to several nice beaches close by. For the children, the tuk-tuks were part of the charm of the vacation. Every morning after breakfast, we had four tuk-tuks waiting for us to take us to whatever outing we were headed to that day.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUODl_DZDuQELYRW76uACx6EdyfJZDZSUticwt8UnG-p0KNyONjVG-lJRJ31ffEa3Oux3hm39vyIYgNVae_t9fPdvSeNKmLexSqAl4O4ss6eIpacKq_47N-QeR-7rCy6lppiWnsUkRFub7NYXXrO2b9RcxWDUNyYJkXiNF0rsakUPDjQU4zxzTa2RJzA/s1280/IMG_5826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="959" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUODl_DZDuQELYRW76uACx6EdyfJZDZSUticwt8UnG-p0KNyONjVG-lJRJ31ffEa3Oux3hm39vyIYgNVae_t9fPdvSeNKmLexSqAl4O4ss6eIpacKq_47N-QeR-7rCy6lppiWnsUkRFub7NYXXrO2b9RcxWDUNyYJkXiNF0rsakUPDjQU4zxzTa2RJzA/s320/IMG_5826.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In addition to going the beach, we also went on a few adventures. We visited Galle fort, went to a sea turtle rescue hospital, went on a safari, visited an elephant orphanage, and went to a temple. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHKwdjqgsvBaFxSCqEj4j3Fnl4nqoYf2HwD-B9gKOZNBKEl53WIdg3ovPHJJtlwx_hHuaYRsczIv-uT6siEXjYpOlgkQTCfybFpfQT1UosCLqG6N68uy4eVjipe01jh_C4tbX6stj2veYohQxot1UCJvO6e4rYb8eyB8UTXrKPMpdCZUARcVeTiJY9w/s1280/IMG_5962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHKwdjqgsvBaFxSCqEj4j3Fnl4nqoYf2HwD-B9gKOZNBKEl53WIdg3ovPHJJtlwx_hHuaYRsczIv-uT6siEXjYpOlgkQTCfybFpfQT1UosCLqG6N68uy4eVjipe01jh_C4tbX6stj2veYohQxot1UCJvO6e4rYb8eyB8UTXrKPMpdCZUARcVeTiJY9w/s320/IMG_5962.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIpuEirinGbazvgHKnH05B0Q3LVlnYPdkh9KYthg--xspxXQKGT46IKQtyrdlGn6biHILhl_p97AaQTlS6s6rC4Gr6ntHAdg5og9R8iARH5BJq9OJBe6RPL9fi9chdLwhK-pAADJ1-PtfPAAhmKC0W5by0XwUfV3Fq770nLJU7PgIN2_KC2ljXQeWSA/s1280/IMG_5948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIpuEirinGbazvgHKnH05B0Q3LVlnYPdkh9KYthg--xspxXQKGT46IKQtyrdlGn6biHILhl_p97AaQTlS6s6rC4Gr6ntHAdg5og9R8iARH5BJq9OJBe6RPL9fi9chdLwhK-pAADJ1-PtfPAAhmKC0W5by0XwUfV3Fq770nLJU7PgIN2_KC2ljXQeWSA/s320/IMG_5948.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHNtxBXC3o284jfDrEMEWSY3euwCCudU3gLTRaEpFeJSe6Qwzaf8txFqjolqcvol1SVv0JouEmrrRquZRxfN140WC9y84Thd4tmTK3Avk-bi7vrB05f0uvixSf2seVH-sdkCtKNG4Jfal-1dhySMAIF8n_lG642v61Vx-fEyJL2VDKQPACJT4OliyAg/s1280/IMG_5935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHNtxBXC3o284jfDrEMEWSY3euwCCudU3gLTRaEpFeJSe6Qwzaf8txFqjolqcvol1SVv0JouEmrrRquZRxfN140WC9y84Thd4tmTK3Avk-bi7vrB05f0uvixSf2seVH-sdkCtKNG4Jfal-1dhySMAIF8n_lG642v61Vx-fEyJL2VDKQPACJT4OliyAg/s320/IMG_5935.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwnW3gsN59PyOApTeoKy5-8ztKkIybefzJEP9wvsQGBIYb8GT6P9iP5LcDTQ_mk36-KLMsmcnhBgD29PpP0woIYbUMaQSxx1I_D5W9hDfpct0eWWxEm7gkFgFtNuz9mIKed_VEETP1MdxRyhevMNTQtnRSc0xFQ_fPI_5S4oAQEx4ETju08QNyrH0Dw/s1280/IMG_5882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwnW3gsN59PyOApTeoKy5-8ztKkIybefzJEP9wvsQGBIYb8GT6P9iP5LcDTQ_mk36-KLMsmcnhBgD29PpP0woIYbUMaQSxx1I_D5W9hDfpct0eWWxEm7gkFgFtNuz9mIKed_VEETP1MdxRyhevMNTQtnRSc0xFQ_fPI_5S4oAQEx4ETju08QNyrH0Dw/s320/IMG_5882.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>But mostly, we went to the beach. Because the best possible thing to do with twelve active children is to spent lots of time at lovely beaches. And when everyone was done with the beach for the day, we came home and then everyone spent a few more hours swimming in the pool before being served a delicious dinner of Sri Lankan food.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jWjLdQoPPxd2b79bSUl4N3haGGWYhL0iKcayD-9NMpHpA-yAKisKtZJHJD7AZVqk7SkeZBsa4ayorbj3dUO6H7HqtmeXDKDth8ycSSuedNvgwRzltlpLx-Wwx8l-7Fv42K3rzVQMj7MdK_6DFz7nfOAx0bnzOGEw6maLtELXb4C3x_Ge_u7dosx9Uw/s1280/IMG_5971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jWjLdQoPPxd2b79bSUl4N3haGGWYhL0iKcayD-9NMpHpA-yAKisKtZJHJD7AZVqk7SkeZBsa4ayorbj3dUO6H7HqtmeXDKDth8ycSSuedNvgwRzltlpLx-Wwx8l-7Fv42K3rzVQMj7MdK_6DFz7nfOAx0bnzOGEw6maLtELXb4C3x_Ge_u7dosx9Uw/s320/IMG_5971.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadZ_jZ2baroqblowP7pB6G-6EJDwTbWlYhZBy-eF9v07sCElo8CBteQE4FK-bnUIPsG-xARFjvybimoEGs5ht89Uxz6vmhcG_C5qgMssg6_TS00Kzs-T4dIUr5CuNyMcOoFCUY-QYIDMNKEdPgHM8x_LB2j-VOxgBauXb4EbcF9dL0g897XdWRvNDAw/s1280/IMG_5860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadZ_jZ2baroqblowP7pB6G-6EJDwTbWlYhZBy-eF9v07sCElo8CBteQE4FK-bnUIPsG-xARFjvybimoEGs5ht89Uxz6vmhcG_C5qgMssg6_TS00Kzs-T4dIUr5CuNyMcOoFCUY-QYIDMNKEdPgHM8x_LB2j-VOxgBauXb4EbcF9dL0g897XdWRvNDAw/s320/IMG_5860.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_iKDGh1rnEuzQIr9PZ17R7KOrk8k6A0XqP_nJpTLPWuqem9W_pNqbY2gPWKA4ge9-xfkF2INXLDNv8bCzpe9K6AjvtVqBj-t-BERM7Sx24Bq99zwsYFEI5JkxD4pMIJ1caDqAySPHNFuH-8BU2MaatovQquVcwK4hKkFeTFS3WADS5taPyAT1j8BWg/s1280/IMG_5887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_iKDGh1rnEuzQIr9PZ17R7KOrk8k6A0XqP_nJpTLPWuqem9W_pNqbY2gPWKA4ge9-xfkF2INXLDNv8bCzpe9K6AjvtVqBj-t-BERM7Sx24Bq99zwsYFEI5JkxD4pMIJ1caDqAySPHNFuH-8BU2MaatovQquVcwK4hKkFeTFS3WADS5taPyAT1j8BWg/s320/IMG_5887.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At the end of the week, everyone agreed that it had been a completely perfect week. I didn't think that it would be possible to have a vacation as fabulous as our vacation to the Maldives last year, but Sri Lanka was different but equally amazing. We absolutely loved the house that we stayed at, which was probably what made the vacation so wonderful. The owner arranged everything for us and decided on the menu each night, which made it a vacation for everyone, especially the moms. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdRjOdLw1d63fASyNHTMXkPPEbb06_B7F26IW1s6Pn7HMVLnwoxJ7MZwfziuh5AAqshZ11lHZMGbZ98aixkuV5Ll6gsc0QlWU2fKuFG8qpeVKLUCLglQcZjF5xtK1xAEXJDA1YRbCvsHxAWiY3oBmpzJoijoh5ndK1xkgYJ6ujmKQOQwYypnoMZI1lw/s1280/IMG_5907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdRjOdLw1d63fASyNHTMXkPPEbb06_B7F26IW1s6Pn7HMVLnwoxJ7MZwfziuh5AAqshZ11lHZMGbZ98aixkuV5Ll6gsc0QlWU2fKuFG8qpeVKLUCLglQcZjF5xtK1xAEXJDA1YRbCvsHxAWiY3oBmpzJoijoh5ndK1xkgYJ6ujmKQOQwYypnoMZI1lw/s320/IMG_5907.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The house was perfect for two families, with each one having its own separate space. It had lots of room for the children to play and adults to sit and talk without anyone disturbing each other, and it even had a well-stocked library for anyone who had the chance to get bored. And the house and grounds were stunningly beautiful. The house was tastefully decorated and the garden made us feel like we were in our own private jungle. When we were preparing to leave, everyone was already making plans to return for spring break next year. We all hope it works out!</div></div>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-51954570691265055062022-02-06T09:59:00.004-05:002022-02-06T09:59:36.747-05:00No More Solo Church<p> A few weeks ago, our third stretch of self-churching came to an end. We've been holding every Sunday service alone since last June, when the final family in our group left Tashkent for their next post. We had already spent eight months of 2020 self-churching because of covid and a State-department evacuation, so this most recent time wasn't too much trouble. There are some times when having seven children really comes in handy, and when you have to hold church on your own, it's nice to have enough people to sing, play the piano, pass the sacrament, lead the music, bear their testimonies, help out with Primary, and participate in Primary. </p><p>I confess that we had gotten pretty comfortable with waking up on Sundays whenever we felt like it, followed by a leisurely breakfast and and equally leisurely preparation for church - which started whenever everyone was ready, whatever time that was. We still held church according to the usual pattern, including all the important parts and with everyone dressed up in their church clothes, but there was a little more casualness to the entire affair than usually occurs when other people are there on Sunday. </p><p>If Brandon went long in his lesson, there wasn't anyone to be bothered by it. If Elizabeth got a little restive during our sometimes quite involved discussions, it was okay for her to play on the floor with some toys because she wasn't bothering anyone but us. If our frustration with restive children sometimes turned into impromptu lectures, nobody was there to witness it but the guilty parties.</p><p>But it really is better to have church with someone other than the same people we've been seeing all week long, so we were all happy when a long-anticipated new family finally made it to Tashkent. It's been nice to have some other voices to add to ours and other faces to see on Sunday and other views to hear during lessons, even if it means we have to set alarms on Sunday mornings again.</p><p>The children are happy to have new friends to play with, especially Kathleen, Sophia, and Eleanor who are enjoying having girls in church after only previously having boys at church. Brandon and I are enjoying having other adults to share teaching duties with, and we're also enjoying getting to know new friends. Our only complaint so far is that they couldn't have arrived earlier to we could enjoy their company longer.</p><p>Our next post will be a first in our Foreign Service career - a country where the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is officially recognized and allows missionary work. Our church congregation will include local members, something that we've never actually experienced at church before. That will bring its own challenges - not the least of which will be having to use our questionable Russian skills - and new experiences. And as far as we know right now, we'll be the only American family there for a year.</p><p>So for now, we're enjoying our comfortable little church congregation that is easily run without too much trouble. Almost everyone has a friend, we all can understand each other, and we can pretty much run it however we like. Sometimes it's nice to be in places like this.</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-82064344688302308002022-01-30T10:11:00.000-05:002022-01-30T10:11:14.421-05:00COVID Strikes<p> A few weeks ago, we all got sick with COVID. Omicron has showed up in Uzbekistan as it has pretty much everywhere else in the world. It seems like everyone who hasn't yet gotten sick has fallen ill to the omicron variant of COVID. Brandon and I both have family members who have gotten sick, in addition to friends here in Tashkent and back in the US. </p><p>When Kathleen was the first to get sick with a cold, neither Brandon nor I thought much about it. When Sophia, Eleanor, and Joseph got sick in quick succession, I still didn't think that it was anything other than a cold. Only Sophia had a fever, and it only lasted for half a day. But by the time William, Elizabeth, I, and finally Brandon also got sick, we thought that maybe Brandon should get tested. It's not very often that every single person in the family gets sick within a week. Usually at least a few people get lucky and miss out on the fun.</p><p>I confess that I was a little disappointed when Brandon's test came back negative. If we were all going to be sick, it would be nice to have COVID done with. But then the medical unit asked him to come back in for a PCR test, as they are more sensitive than the rapid test he had taken. So back in to the embassy he went for another nose swab, and this time it came back positive.</p><p>By this point, everyone in the family had gotten sick, and some of them were already feeling mostly better. I was relieved to not have to decide whether or not to isolate and by the time we figured out that Brandon was sick, half of us were already past the isolation stage anyway. </p><p>The kids were all a little excited about finally haven fallen ill to the dreaded COVID and survived unscathed. I was relieved to have gotten it over with with no problems at all. Brandon and I both felt a little crummy for half a day and had congestion and some coughing for awhile, but we've definitely had worse colds. I'm also grateful that we had the omicron variant and not the delta variant from last year, which seems to have been much worse to go through.</p><p>So now we can join the hundreds of millions of people across the world that have fallen ill to COVID, although I can't say that we have a particularly interesting story about it. We got sick, everyone got better, and then we moved on with our lives. My favorite part of the story is that we don't have to worry about testing positive before we take any trips. The children were very disappointed to hear that it didn't mean that we don't have to take any more tests, but at least the outcome of the tests won't be so stressful anymore. There's always a silver lining!</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8425073191016917244.post-33278064839238587942022-01-23T11:41:00.000-05:002022-01-23T11:41:03.918-05:0040<p>This past week, I turned forty years old. My birthday was a completely delightful day. It actually turned into a completely delightful two days by the time the partying was over. Brandon started the morning off right with homemade churros (something that he's turned into an art form), and I got to go riding with the children in the morning. Any day when I get to ride is a good day, so riding on my birthday is exactly how I wanted to start my day off. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVwVpxoulDaZ3JMK688G-KhDJrauXgedP_z0NksWJ22tqyoTRGUB3vZMsDq8SIlKNBPoTr0naE1ln_g-6bhV3FB6COhTnLjn-UuCmRetIekzRuEG5VCsMaYdGMmSJCZOPtki5uo32vA9nWPRoYofdBugWqZtwTEX7WLZUDv1VrCcSNmI5z3ZLb6R4LKA=s3716" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2787" data-original-width="3716" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjVwVpxoulDaZ3JMK688G-KhDJrauXgedP_z0NksWJ22tqyoTRGUB3vZMsDq8SIlKNBPoTr0naE1ln_g-6bhV3FB6COhTnLjn-UuCmRetIekzRuEG5VCsMaYdGMmSJCZOPtki5uo32vA9nWPRoYofdBugWqZtwTEX7WLZUDv1VrCcSNmI5z3ZLb6R4LKA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>When Brandon asked what else I was going to do in order to celebrate my new stage of life, I told him that I was going to do all of the other things I normally don't have time for. So I got a massage, read a book, and took a nap. I actually have time to take a nap every day, but a birthday nap is even better than a regular nap because you know that there aren't any unpleasant things to greet you <i>after</i> you take the nap.</p><p>The children are old enough that we can leave them overnight, so we did, checking into the local Hilton for the night. As I've gotten older, my dreams in life have gotten more modest, so having two meals - in a row - that I didn't have to cook, clean up from, or feed to anyone but myself made for a great weekend. And when you throw in a late check-out so that I can have a little more reading and napping, it makes everything that much better.</p><p>Saturday also included at two-hour meetup with a friend, followed by dinner (made by Brandon and the kids) and birthday cake (made also by Brandon and the kids). I got two take two days off from making food, chasing children around, or really doing any work at all. I think that it was probably one of the best birthdays I've ever had, thanks to the hard work of Brandon and the children. Having eight people who want to make your birthday great is pretty amazing.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcNbhPKsEuWcpJRJzkwWuMIfXosyTw0P5sR2U8-gxNFB0l64SkRPcZpNI0lpaytdCy1YEF9BBByYp3vJaPEx5ijBn_rkSDla-6Vn9hd8LKBiUaDu8RWIh-CCqJv_WF7iuvzP__ul2S1vU_QmVPAk2udxYjrSSPUFysP0XxMPHCM2HXzf6UTASYnZsArA=s3461" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3461" data-original-width="2596" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcNbhPKsEuWcpJRJzkwWuMIfXosyTw0P5sR2U8-gxNFB0l64SkRPcZpNI0lpaytdCy1YEF9BBByYp3vJaPEx5ijBn_rkSDla-6Vn9hd8LKBiUaDu8RWIh-CCqJv_WF7iuvzP__ul2S1vU_QmVPAk2udxYjrSSPUFysP0XxMPHCM2HXzf6UTASYnZsArA=s320" width="240" /></a></p><p>Now that I've finally reached forty, I confess that I do find it a little disconcerting. I've never been bothered by aging because aging is something I have no control over. It happens to everyone, so why get distressed by it? There's no point in trying to stop something that started the minute you were born.</p><p>But it turns out that those were the thoughts and words of someone who was young. I'm not sure why forty is such a daunting number, but there is something quite visceral about leaving the last gasp of youth behind and stepping into the second, less attractive and glamorous, part of your life. I don't look any different than I did the day before I turned forty, but now when I say that I'm forty, I don't see myself the same way as I did only a few days ago. </p><p>I haven't exactly been trying to pretend that I'm any younger than I am - after all, having seven children does imply that one has been living for a reasonable amount of time. And as I watch my older daughters beginning to come into their own as young adults, I have no desire to compete with them in the beauty department. But there still is that little sting when I realize that my youth has definitely and completely come and gone. I guess it's probably because I've spent my who life young and now I get to spend the rest of it old, getting older each year.</p><p>But I still would never go back to being twenty, or thirty, or even thirty-five. I may now have more wrinkles and a saggier face and even several gray hairs (that was a shock to see those), but I also have all the experience that I've gained from being alive for forty years. There are so many dumb choices and difficult lessons and work that I've put in to be the semi-reasonable person that I am. And I'd never want to go back and have to learn all of those over again. </p><p>I remember asking my mother once if she'd like to go back to being twenty-one. I was in college and was afraid that I would always miss those years and think of them as the best years of my life. "Oh no!" my mom laughed, "I would much rather be forty-seven! Life is much, much better now than it was when I was your age." I felt a lot better after that conversation.</p><p>Although I'm not yet forty-seven, I'm a lot closer to being forty-seven than I am to being twenty-one. And I definitely have to agree with my mom. Getting older isn't always a picnic, but it sure as heck beats being young.</p>Sherwood familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13147895345679709682noreply@blogger.com1