Welcome, Spring (for real this time)

Back in February, we thought that spring had arrived.  It was early for Tashkent, but I remember experiencing an equally early spring back in Dushanbe, so I figured we were just having another one.  The apricot trees all bloomed, the bushes started leafing out, and the daffodils looked like they were going to bloom.  Then it snowed.  And then it froze.  And then it warmed up again before plunging down to a hard freeze for several days in a row - one night getting down to nine degrees Fahrenheit.

Quite a few bushes that had come out of dormancy, including our neighbor's lovely honeysuckle hedge and my own oleander plant, got killed by the late, hard frost.  I've seen holes appearing in landscaping where dead bushes have been pulled out, and noticed that about half the branches on our neighbor's willow trees haven't ever leafed out.  I'm always sad when plants get killed.

After the freeze ended, we had rain.  I use our pool to judge the amount of rain we get each winter, and this year's water level was several inches below last year's.  Then it rained for almost two weeks straight and we were suddenly above last year's rainfall level.  It felt like spring would never come.  I knew that it would, but my poor, sunlight-starved, animal brain had a hard time believing it.

But this last week has finally brought spring, and this time it is for good.  We've thrown open the windows, put on our shorts and short-sleeved shirts, filled up the pool, and started mowing the lawn again.  The weather has been sunny and seventy degrees all week long.  Tulips are blooming all around town.  All the trees are turning green as the leaves practically burst out of the branches.  Our Virginia creeper vine has gone from bare sticks to tiny red leaves to almost-full green ones over the last week.  We've even spotted both tortoises as they make their way around the yard finding green delicacies to break their winter fast on.  

Yesterday we went up to the mountains with friends to enjoy the glorious spring weather.  We were greeted by a world clothed in the eye-dazzling bright green that only comes with new growth in the spring.  Countless cars had their trunks open selling herb-filled green somsas that are only available at this time of the year, and other enterprising Uzbeks has set up impromptu stands stocked with kites to fly while enjoying the perfect weather.  Families set up picnics along the hills or beside the river as everyone soaked up sunshine after a long winter spent inside.

We enjoyed our own picnic on top of a small ridge where I felt like spinning while singing about the hills being alive.  Then we pull out own own kite and all the children took turns flying it while those in waiting played tag, stomped flowers (there were eight boys total), or threw rocks down hills.  Everyone couldn't help but have huge grins on their faces as we all enjoyed our day up in the mountains.  

Soon enough spring will wane and summer will set in.  The green will go from bright to tired and we will all hide from the sun in our houses or from the heat in our pools.  Our own Saturdays will be spent cleaning out the house in preparation for our move, and our friends will be gone, having left us a month before our own departure.  The friendly sunshine and high excitement of spring will be a quiet memory.

But for now, spring is new, the weather is perfect, and friendships have not been yet broken up.  Strawberry season is in a few weeks, followed by cherries and apricots, so welcome after a winter of apples.  All of the delights are coming, and I intend to enjoy them all for this last spring here in Tashkent.

Buzkashi

Brandon and I have wanted to go to a buzkashi game ever since we first heard about them before moving to Dushanbe.  Buzkashi is a Central Asian game that is played by riders on horseback trying to get a goat carcass through a goal.  It's a pretty unstructured game, without formal teams or even set numbers of players, and usually played on an open field out in the mountains.  

The games themselves are notoriously hard to find, as they are organized fairly spontaneously, depending a lot on the weather and inclination.  The sport is only played in the spring, around the Zoroastrian holiday of Navruz, and so there's a very narrow window of time to both hear about and be able to attend a buzkashi game.  

In Dushanbe, we would usually hear about games after they had happened, or the games that we did hear about happened on a day we couldn't attend.  Often then would be held an hour or two away from the city in a location that seemed to be randomly chosen.  All of the information was spread entirely by word of mouth, and if you didn't know someone who knew someone, you were out of luck.  

So far we've had the same luck with games here in Tashkent.  We heard about a game last year, but it was right at the beginning of COVID and just after Elizabeth got out of the hospital, so that game got missed also.  This is our last year in Tashkent, so when my Russian teacher started organizing a group to see a game this spring, I made sure to be part of it.

We didn't know when it would take place because there needed to be a window of clear weather, and this spring has been pretty rainy.  There was talk of maybe the weekend of Navuz, but nobody knew for sure.  On Sunday afternoon, we got the news that Monday was the day.  It happened to be a holiday for the embassy also, so Brandon was already off work.  I told the kids that it was an impromptu holiday, we packed lunches, and then headed off into the mountains.

We had to wait as the local khohim (regional governor) kept changing his mind about whether or not we could go because of the pandemic, but eventually he either got enough of a bribe, decided that we were okay, or just got tired of being bothered, and we were given permission to go.  There were about forty people from the international school and the embassy community, and we all loaded into the backs of big trucks to make our way up to the buzkashi field, a somewhat level sheep grazing ground up in the mountains.

When we saw the hundreds of horses milling around, we were all happy to be safely in the back of a truck, parked on the edge of the action.  Several times the horses got close enough to bump up against the truck and the spectators milling in front of it had to quickly scatter before they got trampled.  Brandon and I were also happy that we had left all of the little children in our party home with the housekeeper.  

The game was a series of rounds, with each round ending when someone managed to get the goat carcass into another truck at the opposite end of the field.  I hadn't ever considered exactly how heavy a goat carcass was until I watched the men try and wrestle it down the length of a field while on the back of a galloping horse.  The goat would frequently get dropped and then the riders would surround it in an increasingly large scrum of horses, men, and whips so thick that we couldn't even see the carcass.  My respect for buzkashi players increased tremendously as I watched them lean down from their saddle in the middle of constantly moving horse legs and then haul the carcass up before breaking free from the pack to gallop wildly down the field.  The carcass itself didn't last through too many rounds of dropping, trampling, and pulling before it had to be replaced with a new one.

At the end of each round, the winner would go up to the organizer truck to fetch their prize, which could be a variety of things.  I saw money change hands, live goats handed over by the scruff of their neck to be hauled off by horseback, a very doleful sheep, and even a long rolled carpet wrapped in tape.  I felt a little like I had stumbled onto the filming of a Central Asian version of Lawrence of Arabia.  At the end of the match, I saw several of those goats and sheep being unceremoniously stuffed into the trunks of Ladas for the trip to their new home. 

The children all enjoyed their impromptu holiday, which was helped by sharing the truck with the other family who has church with us.  Everyone enjoyed a picnic in the truck, watching the horses, petting the goat in the truck next to ours, riding in the back of the truck as it bumped its way up and down the rutted mountain track, and wandering around the hills around the field.  As we were jolting back down the mountainside to our cars, one of our friends pointed out that for our children this is just another day for them - have a holiday, go watch hundreds of men on horseback chase after a goat carcass in the mountains.  But for their peers back in America, it would be wild beyond imagination.  But I guess that's the upside of this crazy life, experiencing things that you couldn't find in the US even if you tried.

By the end of the match, about three or four hours after it started, everyone had had a great time and was ready to go home.  We joined the streams of horses and men going back down the mountainside, heading home after the game.  Brandon and I both agreed that it was a pretty amazing day, and that buzkashi is a sport that has to be seen to be appreciated.  But after watching the shoving, whipping, grabbing, lunging, pushing, and straining that all the players were subjected to, it's a sport that I will never participate in myself - I'm perfectly happy to just watch it.  

Maldives

 A few years ago, Brandon and I took the children to Dubai.  It was the first time we'd taken a trip where we weren't visiting family.  Everyone had a wonderful time, and the children have been remembering it with fondness ever since it happened.  So when we moved to Tashkent, I started making plans for another trip with the children.  We had been planning on going to Bali, but when COVID happened and Bali shut down to tourists, we had to make other plans.

Europe wasn't really an option, and we weren't looking for a European vacation anyway.  Europe is great for older children who understand and appreciate things like architecture, history, and art, but really terrible for smaller children who get tired and bored very, very easily.  So until our younger ones grow more interested in those kinds of things, beach vacations are the best vacations for us.

Thankfully, the Maldives has been welcoming international tourists for awhile now, with no quarantine requirements upon arrival.  All we needed were negative PCR tests, valid passports, and a hotel reservation.  

The older children had spring break this past week for their online classes, so we decided to travel during that break, going for an entire week.  The travel wasn't that bad in comparison to traveling to the US, leaving Tashkent at four in the morning and getting into Malé, the capital of the Maldives, at two in the afternoon.  But the best part was that we never changed timezones.  I've never traveled internationally before and stayed in the same time zone.  It turns out that it's a lot easier to get over a 1:30 am start time when you only have to get over the lack of sleep and not a nine-hour time difference to boot.  

The Maldives is a country entirely composed of tropical atolls, located three degrees above the equator in the Indian ocean.  There are about 1,200 individual islands in the Maldives, an a majority of the hotels are resorts that are located on their own private atoll.  The resort we were staying at was far enough from Malé that we had to take a seaplane to get to it.  With only sixteen seats in the plane, we made up half the passengers and had to leave half our luggage to come on a later flight because there wasn't enough room for it.

Our hotel was on a small island, 500 meters long by 200 meters wide, and all the villas were either oceanfront or over the water.  There were lots of families with children, although none of them with seven, so we were in good company at breakfast, dinner, and by the pool.

Both Brandon and the children, when seeing the clear, blue, tropical water for the first time, were completely amazed.  "I didn't know water could really be this color!" exclaimed Kathleen, "I thought all the pictures had been photoshopped.  It turns out that they weren't!"  The island was a small blip in the ocean, covered with coconut palm trees and surrounded by white sandy beaches.  For me, I can't think of a more perfect picture of paradise.  

Everyone had a wonderful week of swimming, playing in the sand, taking walks on the beach, and snorkeling.  The island was located on the edge of an atoll, so the reef was literally right out our back door.  All we had to do was put on our gear, swim out fifteen or twenty feet, and then gently drift with the current along the two-hundred foot drop off.  We saw all kinds of tropical fish and coral, giant clams, sea anemones with their attendant clownfish, a moray eel, blacktip sharks, and a group of five manta rays swooping across the reef.  

One of my favorite parts of the week was not cooking or making children eat anything they didn't like.  Every morning William enjoyed two doughnuts for breakfast while Elizabeth ate a whole plate of fresh pineapple with her own doughnut.  Brandon had fish curry every breakfast, and Kathleen drank at least three glasses of fresh juice.  Despite having new kinds of delicious food every night, Joseph stayed true to his favorite meal, rice with ketchup, a roll, and fruit finished up with a bowl of ice cream.  William had potatoes wedges and a roll to even out the two bowls of ice cream.  The rest of us enjoyed more variety, but what mattered to me was that I didn't cook it, I didn't clean it up, and I didn't have to make anyone eat their food.  

By the end of the week, everyone had been burned multiple times (tropical sun is fierce even when you do reapply sunscreen), the children's hair was several shades lighter, and we had collected at least a pound of beautiful seashells.  We all regretfully boarded the seaplane, wishing we all had at least several more weeks of paradise.  

When I asked Brandon what he would have changed about the trip, he thought for awhile before answering.  "I would have brought the baby monitor.  And another bottle of sunscreen."  We both thought for a little longer before agreeing that we couldn't think of anything else we would have done differently.  And that is when you know that you've had about the most perfect vacation possible.  I'm already making plans for a return trip.  

The Groundhog Was Wrong

 When we moved to Dushanbe back in 2014, I geared myself up for a long, cold winter.  After all, Dushanbe is right next to the mountains and in Central Asia, so that meant that I was going to actually have to learn how to cope with winter.  

I learned a few months later that my calf-length down coat was going to spent most of the next eight years hanging up in my closet.  I think that I can count the times I've worn my bright red cold-weather coat on one hand.  I don't think I've ever worn it here.  It turns out that there are two parts of Central Asia - the cold parts (Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan) and the not-so-cold parts (Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan).  

So in January, when winter got really 'cold' - where the temperature didn't get above freezing for at least ten days straight - I didn't worry too much because winter here is pretty much a six-week long season.  It takes a long time to really settle in and starts its exit by the end of February.  The ski season might stretch a little longer than two months, but I'm pretty sure it's never had good snow for three solid months.  

We can depend on apricot trees blooming by the first of March, and though there may be a rogue snow storm or a week or two of cold, rainy weather in during the Month, winter has lost its power and we can expect a lot of fine, warm days in late March.  I like winter that way.  I prefer it as a something that makes spring possible, but not much more than that.

This year, however, winter has given up the ghost pretty early.  I looked over our wall a few days ago and noticed that our neighbor's apricot trees were just about to burst into bloom.  Today Joseph and I took a walk in flip-flops and t-shirts, pushing Elizabeth in the stroller while she happily kicked her bare baby feet.  The weather forecasts claims that we will reach the upper seventies by Thursday before dipping into - gasp! - the fifties next week when some rain comes through.  

I'm really enjoying wearing a t-shirt in February.  It feels so indulgent to be able to open the back door while cooking in the kitchen so I can enjoy some of the bright sunshine.  Sending the children outside to play is much easier when everyone just throws on flip-flops (or not even that) and runs outside.  They definitely play much longer when toes and fingers aren't going numb.

I know that we won't have unbroken warm weather until spring begins in earnest next month, but I'll take this warm spell, not looking a gift horse in the mouth.  After all, every day that it isn't cold is one more day closer to real spring where it will be warm reliably and I can enjoy all of the delights of green grass, flowers, and flip-flops.

This spring is also my last spring in not-cold part of Central Asia, so I'm working extra hard to enjoy all of the sunshine, blue skies, and above-freezing weather.  Nur-Sultan hasn't seen temperatures above freezing since last year, and can't even begin to think about a thaw for another six weeks.  I know that I'll remember these warm February days with fondness when I'm getting acquainted with a block heater in two winters.  

But for now, I'm going to enjoy my early spring.  It turns out that Phil might have been right about the US, but he was dead wrong about Uzbekistan.

Happy Birthday, William!

Today William turned four.  His birthday is actually this coming week, but I'm not a stickler about doing things on their exact dates if other dates are more convenient.  We've had several Christmases on a day other than December 25, and everyone was just as festive.  Brandon has a busy schedule this coming week, so celebrating on a weekend made more sense this year.  Plus, William isn't that aware of what dates are.  And also, who would argue with having their birthday early?

For his birthday activity, we went to a local trampoline park.  We hadn't been in maybe a year (definitely not since March), so Elizabeth had a whole new world to discover and was beyond excited to have an entire room full of trampolines to crawl on.  I had to laugh as I watched her crawl from trampoline to trampoline, stopping to sit and bounce on every single one.  

I don't usually bounce with the children, but had to watch Elizabeth this time, so Kathleen and Sophia cajoled me into showing them my trampoline flipping ability.  It's been a long time since I was young and (much more) reckless, and although I pulled off the flip, it was a lot scarier than flips used to be.  William took advantage of my presence and made sure that I spent a lot of time jumping with him.  Which was fair, as it was his birthday Saturday.

The fun continued with lunch at a restaurant (also not done in over a year) and William's choice of movie for the evening.

Today we had his birthday meal of choice, spaghetti.  I have never made spaghetti in my entire life, so when he started asking for it, I couldn't figure out where he had even heard of it, much less eaten it.  Then I remembered that his current favorite book is Spaghetti With a Chance of Meatballs (because who doesn't love a book about food??), but I still couldn't figure out where he had eaten it, until I recalled his play dates at a friend's house.  I asked my friend if they had ever eaten spaghetti for lunch, and she said that yes, but only once.  But for William, I guess once was all it took.

For dessert he had chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.  When I brought up cakes, he first requested a red car cake, which got shot down.  I'm not a creative cake maker, so I gave him the option of white cake with brown frosting or brown cake with white frosting.  He opted for brown cake with brown frosting, choosing the best of both worlds.

One of the best parts of little kid birthdays is how easy they are to please.  For his present, I sent Sophia down to the local grocery store, where she picked out a set of three little cars for him.  She and Eleanor (the only currently solvent siblings) also bought him a set of little cars, and he was wildly happy when he opened his present.  My mom had asked for suggestions for a grandma present, and I told her not to worry because: 1. He's only four and doesn't need much more than a simple present, and 2. We're going to be getting rid of lots of toys in a few months anyway, so why buy more toys now?

So for William, it was a perfect birthday.  He got to make all the choices, blow out the candles, have cake, and add more cars to his collection.  I think that we could all learn a lesson from the happiness of four year-olds.  Happy Birthday, William!

Elizabeth, the Reluctant Walker

 I love when my babies reach mobility milestones.  I always excitedly watch for when they learn to roll over, then sit up, then crawl, and finally walk.  Brandon doesn't understand why I want them to become more mobile - it just gives them further scope for creating messes.  Why would I want a nice, quiet, self-contained baby to get some mobility and start creating chaos everywhere they go?  I understand his view - mobile babies do manage to orchestrate some pretty spectacular disasters - but I enjoy the self-entertainment value of the messes.  Yes, I have to clean them up eventually (or even better - make one of the other children do it), but for that twenty or thirty minutes while the baby is creating their newest masterpiece, I am left alone.  A mobile baby is not a bored baby, and an entertained baby is a happy baby.  

I especially love when my babies learn how to walk.  When babies start walking, they aren't left behind all the time, busily crawling to try and keep up with the rest of the family.  They stop following everyone around the house, crying loudly to be picked up and taken along.  Instead, they just toddle behind, happy to be going something like the same pace as everyone else.  And they can be let out of their strollers when we go to parks, happily toddling around instead of eating mud and getting dirty.  It's just a better way to live.  There's a reason humans became bipedal.

Kathleen learned to walk at the early (for our family) age of twelve months.  Nobody else has matched her early mobility, with the latest walker being Sophia.  She didn't decide to be self-propelled until I was six months pregnant with Edwin.  Most of them have started walking between fourteen and fifteen months, much to my sadness.  I hear stories about nine- or ten-month walking babies, but none of mine have ever come close to being that clever.

Elizabeth has been... less adventurous... about all her mobility milestones.  She was coming close to her six-month birthday and was still unable to roll over.  She hadn't shone any inclination and wasn't particularly worried that practically her entire life was spent on her back.  Finally, worried about her development, I showed her how to roll herself over.  After a day or two of coaching, she picked it right up.  But I'm not sure when she would have decided to do it herself if nobody had intervened.  

She learned to sit up by pushing herself backwards through a split, which was endlessly entertaining.  I took several videos so that we can make sure she never forgets how strangely she sat up as a baby.  Her crawling also took coaching, but thankfully she learned to crawl before too much boredom set in and cries for entertainment disturbed us every twenty minutes.

When she learned to pull up on furniture at nine months, I figured that I had an early walker on my hands.  In my experience, babies are walking within a month or two of learning to get upright.  First a month passed, then two, then Elizabeth's first birthday, then another month, and she still didn't show any desire to walk.  

By the beginning of December (13 1/2 months, for those counting), she learned how to stand independently.  "Finally!" I thought to myself, "Now we're getting somewhere!"  Her favorite place to stand was in front of the Christmas tree, where she could delicately finger the ornaments, babbling pleased comments about the baubles she had better access to with this new and improved way of doing things.

Kathleen and Sophia, as eager as I was to see Elizabeth walk, started baby bootcamp for walking practice.  Their early efforts with gummy bears as bribes were fairly successful, but Elizabeth got tired of the game, and would fold her legs up in protest, going limp with every attempt to make her stand and walk.

Still they persevered, and after a month break, she grudgingly allowed her sisters to set her up so she could stumble a few steps into their arms.  After the false start of the month before, everyone thought that surely this was the time.  Every other time my children have learned to walk, they have moved quickly from those first few steps to walking drunkenly across the room, hands waving in the air, grinning with excitement with their new skill, taking a few weeks at most to make that jump.  

But not Elizabeth.  Having been shown that walking was possible, she just didn't care.  She would willingly enough consent to being set up to take three or four steps, but didn't see the use of doing any more than that.  When she needed to take something with her, she would just get up her knees and knee-walk across the floor while clutching the crucial toy, safely kept from having to walk.

This past week she has decided that walking is okay if you need to get from one place to another, but only if it is three feet away from where you already are.  Everyone is, again, waiting for that first unprompted trip across the floor, but I've stopped holding my breath.

We have a family vacation planned for the first week of March, one that would be a lot easier to take with seven fully mobile children.  Almost every day, the children ask if I think that Elizabeth will be walking by then.  If she were any other child, I would easily answer yes.  But I have no idea with Elizabeth.  She clearly likes to do things in her own way and in her own time.  

Sophia asked me recently how we could make Elizabeth walk.  I laughed and replied that nobody can make a baby do anything.  You can make things more attractive, set up situations where they're more likely to do things, and exert some small amount of physical coercion.  But - just like any other human being - you can't make babies do anything.  They do things when they decide that they want to do them, and not a second sooner.  Which is a good lesson to learn early on in life because children will continue to learn things when they want to and not any sooner.  And so will teenagers.  And so will adults.  So I suppose it's good to learn the limits of your power as a parent early and save a lot of hair being pulled out in the future.  Or at least that's the idea.  

So for now, I'm making sure to add 'baby carrier' to our packing list.  Is it possible that Elizabeth will start walking in the next four and a half weeks?  Perhaps.  Is it likely?  Maybe.  Should I stake the happiness of may vacation on it?  Definitely not.  She's making sure that we know now that she prefers to do things in her own time and in her own way.  Which, I suppose is good to know early so we can get ready for some fun times as she gets older.  And for now, I'll just keep carrying her around the house with me.  It's the final time anyone will need me to do that for them, so I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

Happy Birthday to Me

 This week I turned 39 years old.  As birthdays go, it was a pretty good one.  Since I'm the teacher, principal, guidance counselor, and school nurse, I used my authority to cancel school.  I briefly flirted with the idea of holding school anyway, but thankfully my sanity returned and everyone was happy for the break.  

Brandon worked from home this week, so we enjoyed a delicious breakfast of crepes (I also briefly considered waking up at 5 am to exercise as normal, but again made the right choice and slept in).  I happily left everyone to clean up, and then enjoyed spending the rest of the day doing exactly what I wanted.  

I didn't teach anyone school, feed anyone lunch, change any diapers, entertain any children, put any of them to bed or get them up from naps, clean up, or cook food.  It was wonderful.  

In years past, a good birthday would have involved elaborate celebrations requiring extensive planning, with the entire world throwing me a parade, but I've gotten older, and with age comes much more reasonable desires and expectations.  Now all I need to be happy is to get to take a day off from taking care of everyone else.

Brandon, Kathleen, and Sophia had spent several hours the evening before making an eight-layer Russian Honey Cake for my birthday.  The frosting didn't turn out as thick as it should have, thanks to using sometimes-unreliable local whipping cream, but the cake was delicious.  And more than the taste, I appreciated the hours of work the three had put into making my cake. 

This birthday was much more quiet than my birthday last year, where I celebrated with friends and other January birthday ladies here in Tashkent.  We all went out to dinner together and enjoyed partying long into the night.  It's strange to look back to a year ago and remember how normal life was.  We were less than two months away from the beginning of covid in Uzbekistan, and at the time the sickness was just something that was troubling China.  Nobody could have imagined that more than half of the women we were partying with would be gone in two months and those of us left wouldn't see each other for months, or perhaps ever again.  It's strange what a year can bring.

Next year I will turn forty, and my once-firm plans to celebrate with friends in Vienna have become more aspirational.  Hopefully another year will see a mostly-normal world, but who knows?  I guess I'll have to do what everyone else who wants to know the future has to do: wait and find out.

But for this year, I'm grateful to have celebrated my birthday with my family, and enjoyed birthday wishes from friends and family all over the world.  I'll never complain about that.

Pretty Much Back to Normal

This past Tuesday morning, I went downstairs and didn't get on the treadmill.  For my early morning exercise, I usually run on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  I hate running.  I started running when I was 19 and have hated it for the two decades I've been doing it.  But, I hate not being healthy more than I hate running, so I run.  

When we moved to Tashkent, I started lifting weights on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I probably hate lifting weights less, but I don't find it enjoyable either.  Previous to weight lifting, I had been doing a power-90 workout for years, but when Brandon started lifting, I followed suit.  I have no desire to ever be anything approaching amazing (too much work), but it is nice to be strong.

When I broke my wrist back in November, I had to stop lifting.  I even stopped running for a week or two, but got back to it after the swelling went down and I could think clearly again.  But lifting was definitely out of the question.  So it was running five days a week.

I also stopped riding, as that was the activity that got me into trouble in the first place.  Also, riding with a broken wrist is a bad idea.  Also, nobody at the stable would have let me ride with a broken wrist anyway.  

After seven weeks in my splint, I got to finally get rid of it the week after Christmas.  It was a very happy day.  You never realize how much you use a hand until you can't use it anymore.

But I could only kind of use it.  It turns out that having your wrist immobile for seven weeks has consequences.  Thankfully the internet has lots of physical therapy exercises for broken wrists, and I spent the next two weeks strengthening, stretching, and massaging the muscles and tendons around my wrist.  

So this past Tuesday, I got to skip the hated running and return to the slightly-less-hated weight lifting.  I certainly wasn't anywhere close to the weights I was lifting pre-accident, as my wrist still isn't strong enough or flexible enough to jump right back in to weight lifting.  But it was good to start again.

And that afternoon, I made my triumphant return to the stable.  I was told multiple times that there wouldn't be any more jumping, but the lesson went very well after a two-month break.  

The next morning, I could hardly walk.  If you ever have to return to weight lifting and horseback riding after a two-month break, don't start them both on the same day.  

And so, with the return to horseback riding and lifting - the last two holdouts - life is pretty much back to normal.  I say pretty much because some things are still hard for me and my wrist still hurts if I twist it too far or bend it too much.  I can't hold a heavy pot very well with my left hand, holding Elizabeth is more comfortable with my right, and leaning on my left hand while laying and reading a book is not an option.  

But most of the time, I don't remember that one hand is no longer like the other.  This will probably be the case for quite awhile, and perhaps for the rest of my life.  But it works well enough, and it's thankfully my non-dominant hand, so I'll take it.  But for those of you who are considering breaking a bone, I wouldn't recommend it.  And if you do end up doing it anyway, make sure to avoid breaking a joint.  It takes much too long to get back to normal, and is definitely not worth any sympathy you may get.

Six Months to Go

Every post that we live at has certain milestones: six weeks, six months, one year, halfway, six months, and six weeks again.  Recently we reached the six month milestone.

With six months left at post, nothing much changes in our every day lives.  Everyone still goes about their usual schedule of school and work, the same as we have been doing for years.  The children have barely started into spring (winter?) semester and it's much too early to every start dreaming of the end of school.  Brandon still has several reports to check off his list before he can be happy to have them done.  I still have to cook dinner, make sure the house doesn't fall apart, and make sure everyone has what they need.

It's too early to start getting rid of things, but I have started thinking more carefully about ordering things, especially things that don't get used up too quickly.  How many bags of masa flour do we go through in six months?  Do we need another two boxes of mint tea, or is the one box we have enough?  Can I get along with only one muffin tin until we leave?  

Our consumable shelf causes anxiety every time I pass by it.  I evaluate how much food we have there and make notes of what we need to eat more or eat at all of so that I can feel better about another empty place on the shelf.  Right now my list includes molasses cookies, anything with coconut milk, and lots and lots of bean dishes.  

After thinking of the things I need to eat more of, I think of the things we have to eat less of.  Our root beer supply, sadly, is completely gone, and the bacon stash in the freezer is down to one solitary, sad box.  Then I remind myself that America has lots of both.

As I walk through the rest of the house, I evaluate everything that I see, mentally looking for things that I can get rid of.  We were just at our allowed weight of 7,200 pounds when we left Dushanbe and - as Brandon likes to point out frequently - the Amazon boxes haven't stopped showing up for the last 2 1/2 years.  We have hauled furniture with us from post to post that will find its final resting place here in Tashkent.  Every time I get rid of something, I am filled with virtuous elation, as that is a pound or two less that we will take with us.  I've sometimes mused on how strange it is that I feel virtuous for getting rid of things that I spent Brandon's hard-earned money on and was so happy acquire at the time.  Then I look forward to the day when I can buy anything I want without having to worry about its weight.

While getting rid of things, we're also acquiring all of the Uzbek treasures that we haven't gotten yet.  I have a rug or two, pottery, and a few other things that have caught my eye, and there's a limited amount of time to buy them.  I've spent the whole tour planning on getting them, and if I don't get them now, I know that I will regret it later.

The last six months is also filled with all the trips that we've been meaning to take, but haven't.  The lack of traveling this tour has also been helped by spending almost the entire last year in pandemic mode, and the year before that in being-pregnant-and-having-a-baby mode.  But we can hardly leave Uzbekistan without taking the children to see the Silk Road cities, so we'll slip those in before we leave.  

The most interesting things about the last six months is how six months feels like a lot of time to get things done right until you hit the last six weeks.  And then utter panic hits and everything you've been meaning to get done has to get done right then and it's a complete mess until everyone gets on the plane.  This is our fourth tour and so theoretically I will have learned from the previous three times.  I should start looking at rugs now, go through the kids' old clothes in a methodical fashion, and start eating strange meal combinations this week.  If I do those things, my life will be much less stressful when June comes and things get very real and any semblance of normality goes out the window as I have to pay the price for my procrastination.  

But, let's be honest.  I probably won't.  Brandon and I have a constant debate about which is better, to shove all the pain into a short, intense burst of insanity so that the rest of the time is reasonable, or to have a longer, less intense, dose of pain.  He favors the latter and I favor the former.  Over time he's managed to convince me to give myself more time so that complete and utter insanity becomes just insanity, but he still hasn't won me over to his preferred way of doing things.  And sadly for him, I'm in charge of the logistics of our household, so he has to suffer through my method.  

So when June rolls around, don't be surprised if I disappear, keep walking if you hear loud screams coming from my basement, and say a prayer for everyone in the house.  They'll all need it.  

Snow Play Day

Yesterday we went sledding.  We haven't been outside of Tashkent - with the exception of going to America this summer - since February, when we went sledding on leap day.  There has been lots of rain down in the city, and even a little snow, so we knew that there would be lots of snow up in the mountains.

The children have had school off for the last two weeks, and Brandon has taken some extra days off each week, so we planned to go sledding over the break.  We were planning on sledding with friends (because, friends, finally) and it fell out the best day to go sledding was this past Saturday.

In case you weren't paying attention, this week was the New Year's holiday, which is a big holiday in Uzbekistan where they celebrate most everything that we celebrate for Christmas.  We thought that if we went on Saturday, we could miss some of the crowds that like to go up to the mountains for the weekend, because maybe everyone would be sleeping off their hangovers from partying on New Year's Day (spoiler alert: we were wrong).

The day started off well, and we got to enjoy a very quick trip up to the mountains, thanks to a new road that skipped all of the terrible in-town traffic.  The drive was mostly foggy and grey due to a temperature inversion that has kept everything trapped down in the lowlands and the temperatures sub-freezing for the last two weeks.  But when we started climbing into the mountains, the fog cleared, the temperature warmed, and we broke into a sparklingly clear, sunny day.

The mountains were covered in a thick blanket of snow, and as soon as we had parked and gathered our sleds and picnic things, everyone rushed up the mountainside to go play in the snow.  We were able to find a nice open meadow to set up camp and the children were soon breaking in a few sled runs in the pristine snow on a nearby hill.  

Elizabeth was entranced by this fluffy white stuff, and kept sticking her hands in it so she could play with it.  But as soon as the cold set in, she would begin howling at the pain and demand comfort.  And then after her hands warmed up, she'd go back to the snow, hoping that this time, it wouldn't hurt her hands.  The rest of the children, thankfully, didn't yell so much when they got snow on their own hands.

Everyone enjoyed a nice snack and cup of hot tea before going back to their sledding and snow play.  Thankfully everyone had enough warm clothes that they were able to play and play without getting too terribly cold.  Slogging up hillsides through knee-high snow also helped keep everyone warm.  I got warm enough to unzip all three of my coats.

As everyone played and snacked and played, the hillside filled up with Uzbeks who had had the exact same idea we had, minus the playing in the snow part.  By the time we had left, parties dotted the hillside, and shashlik (kebab) fire smoke filled the air.  I saw families haul up large plastic sheets, dig out an area to sit on, lay cushions and blankets on top, and then lay down to hang out - after taking their shoes off and hanging them up in available trees.  Some brought music to play, and I saw one party that had hauled up an iron and wood table and chairs.  It looked like everyone was hanging out at the beach - except it was January and there was almost 2 feet of snow on the ground.

By 2:30, some children had gotten cold and others needed a nap, so we decided to head home.  That's when the real fun started, as we got to squeeze past double-parked cars, other cars trying to get in to the parking lot, and join the long line of cars on the road.  As we passed the main ski area of the hill, I realized that we had been in the sparsely populated area of the mountain - the main area had horse rides, snowmobile rides, sleds, skiers, restaurants, plastic covered tapchan booths, and about ten thousand Uzbeks milling around, enjoying the sights.  

Our drive home got an extra 45 minutes to an hour tacked on to it and Brandon and I had flashbacks to Azerbaijani driving as a two-lane two-way highway got turned into a four-lane one-way highway by impatient drivers who couldn't stand waiting in the stop-and-go traffic returning to Tashkent.  

But in the end, however,we made it home and our car didn't have any new scrapes added to it, so the day was a success.  Next time, however, we're not going sledding on a holiday weekend.