Fourth's Time the Charm

It feels like I just finished toilet training Edwin and now it's time to train Joseph.  I've never been much of a 'wait until they're ready' parent with any kind of training, more like a 'now you're ready because I'm ready,' so this means it's time to toilet train Joseph.  My sincerest apologies to whoever gets the house after us.  I'll try and clean the carpets before we leave.

When you're a parent in this transitory lifestyle, it's all about using windows of opportunity.  And since we're leaving Baku at the end of January and Joseph will be two next month, this is a window of opportunity to get him trained.  I could wait until after we settled into Oakwood at the end of February, which would mean really April, but that would mean six more months of changing diapers.  And why have six more months of changing diapers when you can have no diaper changing for the first time in over seven years?  I have been changing someone's diapers since Kathleen was born in August 2006 and I think I'm ready for a break.

So its underwear and bare bums time around our house.  Just be warned.  If you come over you will probably be treated to some toddler full-frontal nudity.

The other day I was cooking chicken pot pie to take to a friend (never again on a weekday.  I don't know how those ladies in the fifties did it, but in our house chicken pot pie is a Sunday meal from here on out) and looked around for Joseph.  It's always good to keep free-range babies close at hand where you can see that wiggle dance and crotch-grab that precedes real trouble.

He wasn't in the kitchen, so I looked to make sure wherever he was, he wasn't on the carpet and couldn't find him in the living room. Then I happened to glance at the door and noticed it open a crack. Joseph is always trying to open the front door but we have to keep it locked so usually he's stymied since not even Sophia can figure out which way to turn the lock.

It looked like someone had forgotten to lock the door and Joseph had gotten out.  I pulled the door open and scanned the road looking for Joseph.  Then I looked down and there he was - innocently sitting on Edwin's red tricycle enjoying his jail break.  Watching him were two nannies with their charges, just standing in the middle of the street.  When looked more closely, it was more like staring at him with odd expressions on their faces.

People around here, ladies especially, are very diligent about keeping their children very warm.  When Joseph was just a little thing I got bothered so much about having his head uncovered that I finally knitted a tiny baby ear-flap hat just so I would be left alone.  That day was kind of cold and windy and I knew that Joseph hadn't taken the time to put on a coat, or gloves, or a hat, or shoes, or socks, or even pants, so I shouldn't have been surprised that those nannies had something to be shocked about.  Then I looked closer.  He hadn't even bothered, for that matter, to even put on underwear.  I suppose my boys must have some exhibitionist in them.  At least this time Joseph was wearing a shirt.

I was too far gone in children, chicken stock, pie crust, and patience to even feel ashamed.  I scooped up Joseph and the ladies kept on walking.  After I got inside, the door got locked.

So that's toilet training at our house.  After having done this three times, the fourth time barely registers as something new in the daily circus our house.  At least, however, this will be over at some point.  Hopefully.

Time to Hide the Camera Better

Every afternoon the girls have quiet time in the toy room.  The boys and I need a nap and everyone has just finished school, so the girls are sent upstairs to play, read, sleep, fight, or do whatever they want until I recover from the morning.  There are only two rules: whatever mess make has to be cleaned up before you can leave and don't wake Mom up unless there is blood or repeated (at least three in a row) phone calls.

Sometimes they tell me what they're done and sometimes I ask, but most of the time I really don't care.  I like to pretend that I'm a good mother and call it Independent Creative Time, but really it's just Benign Parental Neglect Time.

When I was uploading pictures from my camera this evening, after scanning my SD card the computer politely told me that I had forty-seven pictures waiting.  I didn't remember taking that many pictures this week and wondered what hidden gems were waiting for me.

I was right - I hadn't taken forty-seven pictures this week.  I had taken nine.  Thursday afternoon the girls decided that Independent Creative Time included work on their photography skills.  Mostly Sophia's, however.  It appears from the pictures that Kathleen was spending most of her time reviewing What to Expect When You're Expecting.  Good information to have for the very distant future.

"Baby blues are usually temporary and leave as quickly as they come"

I'm glad that these pictures didn't involve any film, but I think it's time to have the discussion, again, about what things are off-limits during quiet time.

Adventure is a Four Letter Word

I am not an adventurer.  I wasn't before I got married, and having children has made me even less so.  When you have an entire circus train to haul behind you every time you leave the house, 'adventure' really just is another word for a big old hassle that will probably cost more time, money and aggravation than it is worth.

So when the CLO sent around an announcement about a trip to Georgia for the upcoming five-day holiday weekend next month, I read it and laughed.  An overnight train?  With four children?  No thanks, I'd rather stay home and stick pins in my eyeballs for entertainment.

But when Brandon read it, instead of laughing he looked interested.  

Let me tell you something about Brandon - he's even less adventurous than I am.  His idea of the perfect weekend is coming home Friday night and leaving the house Monday morning.  After being gone at work all week all he wants to do is stay home and enjoy the castle all of his meetings, email exchanges, and cables have provided for him.  I'm the one who hauls him on our little adventures.

I looked at him, "you're not really seriously thinking about this Georgia trip, are you?  We would have to get the children to sleep on a fourteen-hour train ride twice.  And we wouldn't have our car.  And we would have to make the children eat Georgian food for four days."

He looked back and shrugged.  "When else are we going to get to Georgia?"  I was so shocked I told him I'd think about it.

I thought about it, and the deadline for signing up passed.  Oh well, we can do something else that weekend, I told myself and Brandon.  Then it was extended so I had to think about it again.  I thought about it and got busy with sick children and life and remembered it had passed the day after.  

But then it got extended a third time.  In a spasm of adventuresome spirit one day while taking the children on errands, I brought up the subject with them.

"So, your father and I were talking about maybe taking you on an overnight train ride to Georgia.  I'm not asking for your vote, just your opinion.  What do you think?"

Thirty seconds later it was decided - we're going to Georgia.  I called Brandon at work and broke the news to him.  "You had to ask them didn't you?  Of course they're going to say yes to sleeping in a train!"

So that's how we backed ourselves into taking four children on the overnight train to Tbilisi, staying two nights in the city at a hotel where there will be other people Brandon works with, and taking the overnight train to Baku.  Did I mention that we're doing this with a seven year-old, five year-old, three year-old, and one year-old?  

But I suppose in the end, as long as nobody has died, we will have taken the children on a train ride, gotten of town for a break, put Georgian stamps in our passports and most importantly, gone on a really big Adventure.  Which is, after all of the bad memories have faded, what counts in the end, right?  

It's Autumn Time

This week fall came.  Thunder woke me up around two AM Monday morning and we had rain for the next two days.  When our preventative maintenance men came on Friday I had them switch off the air conditioning and turn on the heat.  Of course the weather says we're supposed to have eighty-five degree heat on Thursday, but everyone knows that it's just a bluff, a brief flirtation with a summer that is done.

I've grown to like fall more and more.  I used to hate it because it meant that winter was coming and I wouldn't be warm again until spring.  This is still true, and winter is even worse when you have to corral wiggling bodies into socks and shoes and coats before going outside.  But the children have worn me down or I'm getting older and more tired or maybe more zen about life, but I like the change that fall brings.  Summer has grown stale anyway and it's time for crisp air and cloudy days and tasty fall things, like pumpkin bread.

This Saturday we decided it was time to resume our Azerbaijan promotional posts and so we went up to find some real trees to walk around in and crunch leaves and feel appropriately fall-y.  Because to me, it doesn't feel nearly enough like fall when you're surrounded by concrete.

After breakfast we announced to the children our plans "we're going to go into the mountains and go hiking!"  Nobody said a word, so I continued, "and have a picnic!"  Cheers followed.

So we packed up the car, took off north, drove around in the mountains until we found tall trees to wander around in, which happened to be the Atiagach National Forest.

Joseph was very pleased.

"Look mom!  A triplet tree!"

Before we showed up, the entire forest was dead silent.  No horns honking.  No music.  No perpetual city-sounds.  The silence was deep it was its own sound.  I wonder if I could build a hideaway here?

What you don't see in this shot is Brandon hovering two feet away telling everyone they'd better not fall off the tree because he wasn't going to haul them back down the trail before driving ninety minutes into town to get any broken bones fixed.  We're very safety conscious in our family.

In the end everyone was happy with our hike.  I got out of the city into a green place, Joseph got snacks, all three of the children brought home sticks, and Brandon... got a happy family.  Hooray for fall!

Our Evil Plan is Working

This evening I took the children on a walk around the neighborhood.  Theoretically Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, but around here life gets a little crazy by four or five o'clock and I'm not feeling very restful, and the kids are feeling more restless than anything.  I suppose when your day consists of getting ready for church, going to church, cooking dinner and then eating it, maybe you're ready to go a little stir-crazy by the end too.  By five-thirty everyone was making just a little too much noise for being inside, so out we went.

Luckily we live in a neighborhood with deserted streets (we didn't have a single car pass us the entire time) perfect for walking in, so we walked.  There are two sections that have been under construction since we moved here that we'll periodically visit for updates, looking for some kind of entertainment (Oh look!  They finally put the windows in that house!).

This time we discovered a blobby-shaped concrete pad covered in astroturf, newly laid.  I have no idea what its final purpose is, but to children finishing a long, boring Sunday it looked like heaven.  Kathleen and Sophia ran up and down, prancing horses in a green pasture.  Edwin somersaulted in a long line, loop after loop after loop.  Joseph kicked off his flip-flops and ran circles around his siblings.  The girls started racing.  Edwin joined in.  Joseph wandered over and all four joined hands to run up and down the length of their new green wonderland.  I sat and watched them in the evening sun.

Sometimes I've wondered if having four children in five years was such a good idea as it seemed on paper (yes! It was all planned).  There are days when just about everyone in the house seems to spend the majority of the day yelling, screaming, whining, and crying.  Or the weeks when four children pass sicknesses off to each other like they're running a relay race.  Sometimes I don't get dinner until it's cold because everyone else needs help with cutting/scooping/serving/eating their dinners.  Life is generally pretty busy with so many bodies to contain.

But, even though our plan didn't truly take into account the craziness it would bring, it really did have a purpose.  And that was to give everyone a friend and have everyone close enough to play together through the decades of moves to new countries and new homes and new friends and new problems.

Up until recently, this plan hadn't been in place long enough to see complete results.  Sophia and Kathleen have been friends for some time now, but Edwin has only recently been behaved enough to be occasionally admitted, and Joseph has just been the baby.  I realized just recently, however, that Joseph is almost two and is getting pretty close to the end of being a baby.

This evening, if only a short, golden evening on the brilliant green of astroturf, the plan worked.  Kathleen, Sophia, Edwin, and Joseph laughed and shouted as they ran back and forth and back and forth across their new domain, hands linked like paper dolls.

As I watched them, I thought of all of the arguments against larger families - so much work, no time for yourself, no individual time for each child, too much money, too many years of your life sucked away - and laughed.  Yes, yes of course all of those are true.  They always have been and I would never deny that all of those things have an impact on my life.

But how could you compare that - money, time, a few extra years you won't need when you're dead anyway - to watching four little people that are attached to you forever, will always and forever have started with you, will grow up to be four people with lives full of meaning and more little people, run together on a quiet Sunday evening, full of joy in the way only little children can be?  I don't think I could trade anything for that.

And so, when people smile when they hear the ages or count the heads, and comment that my I have my hands full, I smile back and say yes, yes I do.  Some days they're full with aggravation.  But others are days when they're full of joy.  And those will be the days I will choose to remember when I'm old and tired and the sun has finished setting.

Moral Superiority is For the Dogs

A month ago my housekeeper quit.  We got home from our R&R Saturday night at eleven o'clock.  Sunday afternoon Brandon rolled over in bed and asked me if I had heard the doorbell ringing.  I hadn't heard it ring, but since it was three o'clock, I figured it was probably time to get up and feed everyone breakfast/lunch/early dinner.

As I stumbled down the front stairs lugging Joseph, my phone rang.  It was Asli, my housekeeper and she needed to 'talk about schedules' with me.  She was waiting outside.  I crawled over piles of luggage abandoned the night before in our front entryway to open the door and usher her in.  'You see,' she started in.  I knew where this was going.  'My daughter is in the hospital.  I can't work for you anymore starting tomorrow.  But my sister,' she waved to an unknown woman tagging along, 'is happy to work for you.'

I think maybe the door might have hit one of them on the butt as I hustled them out.

Sometimes I wish that people would just be honest and say 'I don't like working for you.  I think you're crazy and I hate your children.  I'm quitting.' instead of making up the same tired lie about a family member being in the hospital.

The truth is that Asli had been driving me crazy for quite a long time.  She had an amazing talent at hiding things in completely irrational places - camera chargers in toy bins, my hair product in the girls' jewelry drawer, nail clippers in the silverware drawer - because she was too lazy to put them up in the right places.  Her cooking declined steadily after she realized that I didn't care what she cooked until it was so bad that even Brandon started protesting.  I was always happy to see her go, even if it meant paying her until five and letting her leave at two.

But, the devil you know is always better than the devil you don't know, especially when you're leaving in less than five months.

I've now had three housekeepers quit/leave town on me.  I'm tired of having to train someone new and try to ignore their personal deficiencies (the housekeeper before Asli was incredibly slow), and so, I thought, maybe wouldn't it be just easier (and cheaper!) to just clean the house with the girls instead?  After all, lots of people in America clean their houses all by themselves and haven't died of overwork yet.

So I decided that I could be Super Housewife and do it all.  The first week started out okay.  On Tuesday I washed the laundry, split the folding with the girls, went to the grocery store with all four of the children, and put all of the laundry away.  And I made dinner.  All on four hours of sleep (thank you Unisom).  Because I'm awesome.

Wednesday, after finally getting a good night's sleep, the girls and I tackled the third floor.  Two hours later it was clean.  Hooray for our side!

Thursday I vacuumed all of the carpets and mopped all of the floors on the second floor while the girls cleaned all three bathrooms.  Really, cleaning isn't that bad.  How was I so scared of cleaning my own house?

Friday we were supposed to clean the bottom floor with the dreaded kitchen.  I hate cleaning kitchens.  So many things to scrub and wipe and keep track of.  So instead we went to the grocery store - all of us - again.  And I made home made pizza.  The kitchen wasn't that dirty anyway.

Monday it started again with the top floor and laundry.  At 8:30, I had finally finished cleaning up after dinner and realized something profoundly unsettling - I couldn't handle life, or at least all of it.

I could handle teaching school without anyone watching the boys.  I could handle doing all of my own laundry.  I could handle doing the ironing.  I could handle taking all of the children to the grocery store where we trailed cooing Azeri employees around the store.  I could even handle cooking my own dinner every night.  But I just couldn't handle doing all of those things and cleaning my house too.  Sadly, I wasn't even doing most of the cleaning - the girls were - and I still couldn't handle it.

But even worse than that, I realized after thinking more about my life, I actually could handle the management of cleaning my own house, I just didn't want to.  I didn't want to do it, and so I caved and called a friend whose housekeeper has a free day.  I'm still ashamed and try to think of valid excuses other than 'I'm too lazy' and even more ashamed that I try to come up with excuses instead of admitting that I'm plain old lazy and spoiled.

So, that's my brief foray into moral superiority.  It didn't last long.  I guess the warm glow just doesn't make up for every day reality.  Sigh.

How to Buy a Car While Living Overseas

Did I ever tell you the story where Brandon and I bought a car this summer?  I didn't think so.

Up until two months ago in our entire lives Brandon and I, combined, have owned two cars.  When I was a sophomore in college, my parents helped me buy a silver 1996 Honda Civic.  The original plan was to buy a Prelude, but we couldn't find any over the summer, and so I grudgingly bought the Civic instead.  My parents insisted I would be happier in the long run since I'd probably put carseats in the back eventually and I knew they were right.  But that's why I didn't want a responsible car - I knew the next car I owned would be a minivan.

Which was almost true - it was an SUV - but only because we were moving to Baku and didn't think a minivan could make it here.  The Civic lasted eight years - from 2001 until we moved to Cairo in 2009.  Then we were without a car for two years until I bought our Honda Pilot, sight unseen with a check, the day before driving up to DC to set up temporary living during the Great NEA Evacuation of 2011, or the Arab Spring.

So that's it.  Eight and a half years of marriage.  Thirty-three years combined driving experience.  Two cars.  I guess we're boring, cheap, or very utilitarian.  It probably helps that we both come from families that drive cars into the ground before buying another used car to drive into the ground (or crash).

But.

Brandon's in the Foreign Service, and he's a political officer (who favors posts to strange countries that speak obscure languages) and that means that we're pretty much guaranteed to spend at least nine months in between each posting in language training.  With training that long, we could choose to permanently relocate to DC and have our car and things shipped back to DC, but that means we'd have to pay for housing.  And I'm cheap.  So instead we're TDY (temporary duty) for nine months which means we get 900 pounds of stuff.  Period.  But in exchange, our housing is paid for.  And in the DC area, that's nothing to sniff at.  So we deal.

However, the housing doesn't include a car and so we have to figure something out.  We considered ZipCars (they don't generally come with six seats), renting a car (have you ever tried to rent a minivan for nine months?), going without (grocery shopping would get kind of tricky, and church isn't a walkable distance), renting a car just on the weekend (but no weekday library trips! and have you ever been to the Pentagon City Costco on a Saturday?), and just buying a car and selling it nine months later.

Obviously we decided to buy a car.  We all have our luxuries that we can't live without - a particular American product, some personal service, or a favorite TV show - and mine is mobility.  I don't like being trapped in a three-bedroom apartment (yes! three! for nine months!) with four children and no way to go and see all of the zoos and museums and parks and libraries and Target and Costco and friends and family that I can cram into a nine-month period.  So yes, not the cheapest option, but in the end, the one that works best with my personal sanity.  We all pay for that in some way or another.

This spring when I started looking into flight schedules and car rentals, I was shocked by the prices I found.  We're big enough that we have to rent a minivan, and our flight schedules involved flying into one small airport and out of a big one or the other way around and it all ended up looking very expensive - about $1500.  So I started thinking.  What if we just bought the car we were going to buy in January six months early?  We could pick it up in North Carolina, drive it to Missouri and see various family members and then leave it at Brandon's parents' house until we needed it for home leave.  Six months of car insurance and gas for driving was going to be cheaper than the rental - and then we could have a car for home leave.

I talked to Brandon and he agreed that it sounded like a reasonable plan so I emailed my car guy, Jef.  When I suddenly found myself in the US and in need of a car to take to DC, he came through with our Pilot that has been great.  My sister had used his service to buy her car, and so I knew that when he said the car was in good condition, it would be.  He did all of the taxes, tags, and registration and mailed my permanent plate to our Oakwood apartment.  All I had to do was hand him a check.  I didn't even test drive the car first.

I emailed him in April.  We wanted an Odyssey or Sienna, within a certain price range, with leather seats.  We were coming into Raleigh on August 2.  Could he do that?  Of course!  Within a month he had a car that looked like a good deal, so we sent him a check.  The week we left on R&R I sent him our flight information.

My parents are in Peru for three years and so when we landed in the Raleigh airport after almost 24 hours of traveling, we had no welcome crew.  Instead we staggered down to the baggage claim, corralled our two suitcases, one duffel, and two carseats and looked around for Jef.  He wasn't at the baggage claim, so Brandon went outside to look for him, presumably in a Sienna.  As Brandon headed for the doors he turned to shout back "What color is it?"

"What color is what?" I shouted back, too tired to care if half the baggage claim could hear me.

"The car!!" Brandon gestured wildly.

I thought for a minute and guiltily shrugged with a smile.  "Um, I forgot to ask!"

I could see his shoulders hunch in a sigh as he continued out the door.  Who would forget to ask the color of their new, check-has-cashed, car?

I nervously waited with the children, hoping that my plan that connected the dots starting with transportation picking us up out our house at 1:30 AM Baku time to getting to the airport, making our connections through Frankfurt and DC, and finally being picked up by Jef, who had never confirmed getting our flight plans, to be driven to the Days' Inn to finally crash-land, would work out.  There really were a lot of dots to connect.

Five minutes later Brandon returned without his back-pack, and I let the knot in my stomach go as the last dot got connected.

"It's gold," he told me as he hefted a suitcase-duffel-carseat combination in one hand and Joseph in the other, "your new car is gold."

I've never liked gold too much.  Oh well.  It won't be ours very long.

We loaded the bags in the car, strapped in carseats, strapped children in carseats, and followed Jef to the Days' Inn a few miles down the road.  We pulled in and Jef pulled out a stack of papers to sign.  Brandon signed while I kept Joseph from picking cigarette butts out of the trash and Sophia from crawling under bushes.  Brandon finished signing.  Jef explained some things.  He handed over the keys.  And then we had another car.

So, for the first time in our marriage, Brandon and I are a two-car family.  I suppose it's not a normal arrangement - each car on a different continent.  But hey, who said we were ever normal?

Sick Week(s)

Our family doesn't get sick very often.  Every now and then a few of the children might pass around a cold, or I might get struck down after eating out (but, for some unknown reason, never Brandon.  He claims moral superiority), but for the most part we've avoided any major disasters.  I think homeschooling might have something to do with it (less access to germ-of-the-week), but mostly I'm just grateful.  I hate vomit.  A lot.

However, nobody avoids being sick forever, and this past week and a half has been our turn.  Kathleen started off the fun two Saturdays ago, waking up with fever and other toilet-intensive issues.  She stuck close to her bed for a few days and was reasonably recovered by Monday.  Not that bad, I thought.  But I hope she doesn't share.

By Tuesday afternoon, I was stuck in bed with Joseph.  Brandon had to come home from work and make dinner while I lounged in my bed of pain.  The next day school was cancelled, but I did manage pancakes for dinner.  Thursday was a no-school day, too.  By then I was trying really hard to feel guilty about abandoning my schol responsibilities, but I was just too tired and sick to care.  Because did I mention that Joseph was sick too?  And he has a tendency to need lots of diaper changes in the middle of the night.  I finished recovering Sunday, but we were still up last night changing diapers.

Right on schedule, Sophia got ill Saturday night.  I stayed home from church with her Sunday, but left her with a movie to go next door for a branch pot-luck.  It's really nice to have church next door.

Last night about midnight, Edwin's high voice outside my door woke me up.  "Dad, I have a problem.  Dad, I have a problem.  Dad, I have a problem."  I stumbled out of my room and followed him into his to look for the disaster.  He apologetically gestured to his sheets (and pillow and blankets), which I gathered up and stuck in the wash after plopping him on the toilet.  

Brandon hunted up some pull-ups and helped me put new bedding on.  With a parting discussion about passing gas vs. going to the the bathroom, we crawled back into bed.  Brandon had fallen back asleep and I was on the edge when Edwin's voice returned.  This time he had gotten the carpet, and only after inspecting his shorts we realized that the problem was coming out of the other end.  So new sheets and back to bed - with a bowl.

At 1:30 Joseph woke up screaming to tell us he needed a diaper change.

So today I've been hanging out with Edwin and school has been called off again.  After having dealt with a sick seven year-old, five year-old, three year-old, and one year-old, I think I can say I prefer the three year-old the least.  He's potty trained, but I don't quite trust him, and he'd rather have my company and a movie.

Brandon's the last man standing.  He claims he won't get sick.  But we'll see.

And We're Back!

Actually, we got back two weeks ago.  But the combination of jet lag (one memorable night I didn't sleep until the Unisom kicked in at 4:30), internet problems, wrestling life back into its normal schedule, and having no housekeeper has kept me from posting.

Just in case you were wondering, we survived our R&R.  We even had seats assigned that didn't leave any children in the care of strangers, except once, and Kathleen was in heaven having an adult pay attention to her chatter for the entire flight.  Every time we fly the children are older and the flights get easier, thank heaven.

The R&R was great, and we managed to see three of my siblings, including my brother Mike who I haven't seen in three years, two of Brandon's siblings, Brandon's parents, all of the kids' cousins on my side, all but three of the cousins on Brandon's side, and a handful of second cousins thrown in for extra fun.

We started out in North Carolina at the beach.

Then in a moment of insanity we thought that we should drive our new car from the NC coast to St. Louis in one day.  We made it, but when the boys started screaming to relieve the boredom from nine hours of driving and we still had seven hours left in the car, I swore I'd never do it again.  

We stayed the night and caught up with Brandon's sister and brother-in-law and their five children before heading to Hannibal to see some more cousins and Brandon's brother and his wife.

One afternoon we visited Nauvoo and got to see rope-making, baking, pottery, weaving, blacksmithing, and various other demonstrations.  The girls decided that dressing up was the best.

Then we headed west to Brandon's parents' house for more cousins, lots of tasty sweet corn, trampoline-jumping, and cow-watching.  

We celebrated Kathleen's seventh birthday with a pizza party 

and a visit to the zoo.

So now it's back to normal life until January.  When I get asked about the difficulties of living overseas, I shrug off the usual ones because life is generally composed of the same actions regardless of location - cooking, cleaning, taking care of children, spending time with friends, going to work.  It's being separated from family that is the worst.  We only have three weeks each summer to cram all of the family fun we can and then we have a drought until the next year.  And I think each year it's a little harder.  Sophia was nearly in tears this week because she couldn't understand why Brandon wasn't going to move us all to Jacksonville so she could be near her cousins.  

But, such is the nature of life and the choices we have to make.  I'm looking forward to next summer already.

Vacation Time

I run for exercise.  I've been running for exercise over a decade, and I would never call myself a runner.  Calling oneself 'a runner' implies that you enjoy running and I don't.  I hate it, wondering at least every thirty seconds how much longer I have until I'm done, and when I am finished with my torture session exercise, being so incredibly happy when I am.  Maybe it's my short legs or my nonexistent torso or just that I'm a wimp, but I never enjoy it.  However, it's the fastest form of exercise I can do without leaving my house, so I run.

I've noticed over the past decade a curious phenomenon about running.  Back before children I would run six miles several times a week.  At the end of those runs when home was in sight I remember feeling that I couldn't take it one more step and would surely die before I got there.  Sometimes I would have less time to run so I'd cut my route down but still at the end I felt the same way - completely spent.  These days I don't have the time to run six miles, so I'm down to around three.  And still I feel like three is the longest distance I could ever imagine running.  Some mornings when I'm late I might run only a mile or two - not enough to even think about - and still by the end I'm checking the clock wondering when this awful punishment will be over.

So my sense of being utterly spent and finished isn't actually based on how long I run - after all, six miles is a lot longer than one - it's just based on how close I am to being done.  When I'm close to being done, I can't take it any longer.

That's how I feel about my life right now.  We've been in Azerbaijan for almost an entire year without leaving the country (except Brandon, who's been to Turkey a few times) - which is the longest I've ever been outside the US in one stretch - and I'm just about done with it for now.  I'm also getting tired of school and the four walls of my house and Brandon being at work every day and having the same three options every weekend.  Which means it's time for a vacation!

The funny thing about vacations living overseas is that they tend to be longer than ones people take stateside.  As a child we would take one big vacation every summer, for one week to the beach two hours away.  Every few years we would visit family on the west coast for two weeks (I remember thinking how horrible three hours of jet lag was.  ha.), but that was the longest we went on vacation.

But when you live overseas, anything less than three weeks simply isn't worth the time it takes to get over the jet lag.  We have some friends in the military who came here direct from Moscow and had to fight to get some of their home leave.  In the end they were given two weeks so they just went to London for a week because there wasn't enough time to make travel to the States worthwhile.

We have some other friends who just got back from their three weeks with family.  When we saw them we asked how their time with family was - lots of fun?  They smiled and sighed and we nodded knowingly and smiled too.  Three weeks of living out of our suitcase with family is a long time.  

It's wonderful to see family and fantastic to be back in the US where nobody stares at you and everyone drives in the lines and anyone in any store can understand your questions.  I love it.  I look forward to it every year as the highlight of the summer.  I always wonder how I'm going to live life when I have to return to crazy-life.

But by the end, we're ready to get back home to schedules and our own house and regular life.  So it's good - we're looking forward to going and by the end we're looking forward coming home.

Right now, however, we are oh so very much looking forward to getting the heck out of here and not being in Azerbiajan, not being in our house, not waiting endlessly for Brandon to come home from work, not fighting crazy traffic, not being a magnet for adoring fans every time we go to the grocery store, and just taking a break.

I'm looking forward to seeing my youngest brother, who I haven't seen in three years, my cousins, my other siblings, and spending a week playing at the beach.  I'm looking forward to to seeing Brandon's family (yes, really) and taking evening walks through cornfields at dusk, reveling in being the only people in that hundred-acre field.  I'm looking forward to Target, getting my hair cut, and being able to talk to anyone I see.  At this point, I'm even looking forward to watching movies on the plane, and the orderly first-worldliness of the the Frankfurt airport.

It's time to escape from every day life and go on a vacation.  See you in a few weeks!