When the Weather is Warm

This past Saturday, the children and I went to the beach.  North Carolina hasn't gotten the memo yet that it's past vernal equinox and so that means that it's time for fall.  I know intellectually that Halloween is a month away, but viscerally it doesn't feel like fall is actually something that will be happening ever.

The beach is a hallowed tradition in my family, so I couldn't come to North Carolina and not go to the beach.  It's like coming here and not getting barbecue.  Theses are just Not Done.  I had planned on spending our first Saturday at the beach, but jet lag and a sick toddler decreed otherwise.  I was afraid late September would be too chilly, but the weather graciously extended us another chance.

My sister and her four children live half an hour away from our favorite beach, Topsail Island, so they met us for a day of beach fun.  After all, if the beach is awesome, the beach with your favorite cousins is even better.

Everyone had a great time doing what you always do at the beach: swimming in the waves, digging big holes, catching mole crabs, and watching tiny clams try to dig their way into the sand.  The beach seems to never lose its attraction.

The weather and water were even so agreeable that I went swimming too.  William, who has never swum in the ocean before, thought that it was great fun bobbing up and down on the swells.  He wasn't that sure about the crashing waves part, but that's understandable when you're about three feet tall. 

By the end of the day, we all realized that we should have reapplied our sunscreen (and also applied the first coat a little more carefully) and admired each other's fierce sunburns.  But that too is also the tradition of the beach.  If I get skin cancer, I'll name it after Topsail Island. 

We were all sad to bid the beach goodbye after only one day of fun.  Thankfully next year we will be able to attend our family beach week after two years straight of missing it.  There really isn't a better family vacation than going to the beach (those of you who disagree with me are welcome to your completely wrong opinion).  I'm already counting down the months.

Dinner by Costco

As I mentioned earlier, I am now a lone woman (and adult, for that matter) in my parents' house.  They have a former sister missionary who is getting married in Australia this month and decided that was a wonderful excuse to go and visit a new continent.  I encouraged them to go when they were planning several months ago, knowing that living with six other people in your house can get a little trying and we would probably like each other better with some time off.

They left Thursday afternoon.  I had made a dinner menu for the week, but by the time five o'clock rolled around I didn't really feel like cooking dinner.  So the children and I ate cold cereal.  While spooning my way through a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch I realized a sad truth about myself: I have no self-discipline.  Sure, I can turn out a home-cooked dinner every day by six o-clock when I know that my husband (or parents) are expecting something tasty and nutritious.  But when it's just me and the children?  Even pancakes are a bit too much work.  For some reason I just can't face cooking dinner when I'm the one who cooks it, feeds it to the children, cleans it up, and then puts everyone to bed.  It's okay when I get to look forward to some help partway through, but I just can't stand the thought of doing it all myself for three solid weeks.

I used to think I liked to cook, and I guess I did when it was a hobby.  When Brandon and I were engaged we thought nothing of spending three hours cooking dinner together.  It was fun.  It was tasty.  It was cheap.  And it was just a background for what we really enjoyed: talking.  But now cooking dinner is a job.  It's a job I do almost every day, and it's one of my least favorite jobs.  I have about fifteen or twenty recipes that I cook because they passed the test for taking less than an hour, using ingredients my housekeeper can get at any bazaar or store, and being healthy.  Which doesn't really make for exciting food.  It makes for healthy, cheap, filling food, but not exciting food.

When I thought of cooking these same menus every day (without even Friday off!  Because there's no date night when your one and only date is six thousand miles and ten time zones away), I just couldn't stand the thought.  But when I thought of eating cold cereal every day, I couldn't stand that either.  Because even if I'm lazy that doesn't mean I don't have standards.  Then started looking up delivery in the area.  But that didn't appeal either.  Like I said I do have standards - for nutrition as well as taste - and restaurant take-out for three solid weeks gets a little old after about half of one week.  Next I looked into those we-chop-all-the-ingredients-and-send-you-recipes services.  But I the prices were a deal-breaker.  They were about the same as delivery, about thirty-five dollars a meal for the cheapest services, and most of the stuff didn't look like food that my children would be interested in.

And then I remembered the standby of every busy mom: frozen food.  When I was a child, frozen food meant tater tots, chicken nuggets, fish sticks, lasagnas, and chicken pot pie (okay, chicken pot pie is still awesome).  Thumbs up for ease, thumbs down for nutrition.  And taste.  Because fish sticks and microwaved peas do not a complete or delicious meal make.  But.  Prepared foods have come a long way, especially if you're willing to spend a few more dollars for the good stuff.  Because two words: Trader Joe's.

So the next day I armed myself and my credit card for super-duper-lazy-eight-months'-pregnant-mom-with-five-children-all-by-herself-for-three-weeks indulgence.  And if you don't think that's a real thing, you've never done a medevac.  After Target (Target! Oh how I love thee), I headed for Costco (you too!).

After filling up on apples and mandarins and pears (oh non-rock hard crunchy Asian pears!) and bananas (so cheap!) and pineapple and strawberries (in January!) - my children would eat just fruit if I let them - I headed to the refrigerator section.  But not before stopping by the bakery (!!) for still warm rosemary parmesan bread (the likes of which you cannot find anywhere in Central Asia) and coffee cake (yup, I'm so lazy I don't even want to make breakfast).

The first thing in the cart was a vat of chicken noodle soup.  I practically swooned thinking of just putting that baby in the microwave, slicing up delicious bread not baked by me, and having dinner just like that.  Next went tortilla soup, stuffed grape leaves (we haven't eaten those in years because they take so. much. time.), two (two!) different kinds of quiche, asparagus (yup.  never seen that in Dushanbe, ever), pre-washed baby greens and green beans, hummus, pita chips, spanakopita, rotisserie chicken (okay, so we have those, but they weigh about half what American chickens do), spinach ravioli, stir fry vegetables, potstickers, chicken tikka masala (I can make that, buy why make it when you can buy it?), naan bread, and my old standby favorite that it still great after twenty years, chicken pot pie.

I practically danced (okay, if the cart wasn't weighing in at about two hundred pounds by then I would have) my way through the aisles thinking of the hours of time I had just bought (literally - thanks, Brandon!!) myself and how much cooking I wasn't going to be doing for the next three weeks.  And the dishes too, because did I mention that my parents' dishwasher broke and the replacement wasn't coming for a week and a half?

When the checker finished ringing up everything and the total was a hundred dollars more than my generous estimates, I barely even flinched because hey, I had at least two weeks' worth of dinners that I didn't have to cook.  And even more than that, food that actually tasted good.  I wanted to give America a big, huge, wet kiss for having people who pay good money for delicious, convenient food.
And so that I how I completely lost my principles - thrift, nutrition, homemaking - at Costco in one short morning.  Brandon, my wallet, and my pride are probably happy that I don't live in the land of easy convenience on a permanent basis.  But for now, I am very very happy to be here.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have a quiche to put in the oven.

The Last Hurrah

So, just in case you missed the news, I'm having a baby this week.  Like all things that involve waiting a long time (like more than a month) for, it's incredibly shocking to actually have the long-awaited event arrive.  I still can't quite believe that in less than a week the baby that's been keeping me company for nine months will be in a separate location.  I feel that I should be pregnant in perpetuity.  

But I won't, and in a few days the logistics of taking our circus out in public will get incredibly complicated (again).  So when I brought up the idea of taking the children to the zoo this Saturday and Brandon made a face and talked about having to haul four children through the inevitable crowds that throng the zoo on a beautiful spring Saturday, I pointed out that in less than a week we would have five children to haul through those crowds.  

So for our last Saturday of four-childness (very strange to think that from here into eternity we will have more than four children) we took everyone to the National Zoo.

Did you know that although the zoo is free, parking is twenty-two dollars?  But before you think that is crazy, did you know that taking all of our children on public transportation would involve at least thirty minutes of walking, forty-five minutes of metro riding, and still cost more than parking?  Yep, there's just no way to do anything on the cheap (or on the easy for that matter) with four kids.

But, when you're in DC, how can you not go to the zoo?  After all, it's the zoo.

When Brandon and I were planning out logistics (I had a hair cut that afternoon), I assured him that we would be done in time for my appointment  - children never last more than two hours at anything and it doesn't matter if the zoo has flying unicorns with gold-glitter manes and silver hooves, it's no exception to the rule.  And almost exactly two hours after we arrived, the requests to go home started.  Did I ever tell you that I'm good?  No?  Well, I'm good. 

I remember sitting next on this exact same lawn with a bunch of youth from my ward (temple trip) when I was fourteen.  And then I realized that was eighteen years ago.  Very strange.

So just in case you noticed, there aren't any pictures of animals.  Sorry.  That's what National Geographic photographers are for, right?

As I was walking around enjoying the perfect spring sunshine (and listening to other people's infants fussing because they were hungry or up past nap time), I felt somewhat like a condemned prisoner enjoying their last meal.  Thankfully, it's not a life sentence, having a newborn, and in a year or so I'll be able to galavant about again.  But for now, our Saturdays will be a little less exciting.  

Hooray for the zoo!

Living in America: Food

So we've been back in the land of our nativity for two and a half months now and living overseas has receded to that part of my life experience labeled recent past.  I know that I lived in Baku for two years but it feels like a foggy memory.  Now I live in the United States and of course strange people can come up to me in the grocery store and chat for five minutes (always brought on by my watermelon belly) and I completely understand everything they say.  Isn't that's the way it's always supposed to work?

People ask me about how it is living overseas and then coming back and then going out again and coming back again and I have to confess that it's a lot less disorienting than it seems like it should be.  It would probably be a lot worse if I lived overseas for several years solid, interacting daily with the local culture, but I come back and forth enough that I can switch pretty easily.

And it turns out that I don't interact with American culture that much either.  My life is pretty similar to what I did in Baku: I school the children in the morning (but oh! the library books!!), take them out in the afternoon, cook dinner, eat it (but now Brandon is here for dinner every. single. night) and put the children to bed.  I do go to the library once a week (library books!!) but I actually shop even less than I did in Baku.

Since shopping is such an amazing workout deserving of its own post... sometime... I've figured out how to just shop every other week.  I didn't think I'd be able to fit two weeks' worth of food in our refrigerator, but we actually manage to fit in ten dozen eggs, eight gallons of milk, five pounds of cheese, and all of the various and sundry fruits, vegetables, and dairy products that our household runs through in two weeks.  When we finally move to a three-bedroom apartment we will actually have two kitchens and thus two refrigerators so I will have a little more space to work with.  If it weren't for milk expiring, I'd try and stretch my trips to every three weeks.

It's probably good that I go shopping only every two weeks because I've never realized how difficult shopping in America is.  The physical shopping is actually easier than overseas - no cursed four-wheel mini shopping carts that slide sideways into the other person trying to navigate narrow aisles filled with products covered in incomprehensible labels - but the psychological aspect is twenty times harder.

Maybe it's because everything is new again or maybe it's the fact that I actually know what all of these things are and taste like, but never have I been bombarded with tasty food calling my name like I am when I go grocery shopping in America.  Perhaps it's just that there's more food in general.  But as I walk in the door, the strawberries wink at me alluringly (I can resist, knowing what they actually taste like), followed quickly by the mangoes (ditto), pineapple (not so bad), blackberries, raspberries, peaches, and nectarines.  Those are just the fruits.  After the asparagus, leeks, and baby spinach (it's washed!) comes the bakery section.  Cupcakes!  Doughnuts!  Cookies!  Bread!  If you don't want a whole dozen doughnuts, it's okay because you can just buy one and not even have to talk to someone to get it.

After I've passed that temptation the meat comes next.  In order to buy pork in Baku, Brandon had to go to a shop in a specific bazaar that came to be known in the embassy community as the pork palace.  But in America, there's a whole section dedicated to pork products that not only have the prices marked, but have recognizable cuts!  And I'm not going to even think about steaks.  I haven't had a steak for almost two years.  Then there are bratwursts and hamburgers and breakfast sausages and of course bacon.  I'm really going to miss bacon come November.

By this time I'm starting to feel a little dazed by all of the food I've already said 'no' to and I haven't even made it past the snack food aisle.  Thankfully the children have learned that asking for things only makes me irritable so I don't have their pleading added to my own inner ones shouting out the names of cookies as I hurry by.  Oreos!  E.L. Fudge!  Star Crunch!  Twinkies!  Krispy Kreme (I know they're not fresh, but I still like doughnuts even a day or two old)!  Thankfully the ice cream aisle is the last freezer aisle at my local grocery store and so I can usually skip it entirely.  And I still have several stops to make before going home so I can remember that the drumsticks, York peppermint patty bars, Haagen Das, Ben and Jerry's and chocolate fudge bars would only end up a melted mess before I got home to enjoy them.  And there are too many witnesses who would want their share if I just tried to eat the ice cream in the grocery store parking lot.

And that's just the regular grocery store.  I'm not sure how they do it, but Costco has even more deliciously edible treats calling my name.  Because if some guacamole is good then a five-pound tub of it is better.  And don't forget the two-gallon bag of corn chips to go with it.  And who doesn't need more crab dip in their life?  And I have very fond memories of those yellow wheels of brie on assorted tasty crackers.  I never knew how many different types of frozen appetizers and seafood entrees I could purchase until I got a Costco membership.  And did you know that you can buy 32-oz jars of Nutella?  The opening is large enough to dip your strawberries (or cookies or maybe just both) straight in without needing a knife.

I'm hoping that some of the siren song will be muted after I'm finished with this pregnancy because I'm not sure how much more I can handle tasty American food shouting my name every time I go to the store.  It even calls to me as I'm driving down the road.  "French friiiiiiiiiiies," the golden arches remind me as I sail past.  "Iccccccccccccce creeeeeeeeam," Baskin Robbins sings to me as I rush to the library.  "Coooooooookies!!" shout the bakery as I come home.  All I have to do is pull the car over and all of these promised delights can be mine with just a wave of my credit card.  I'm not sure how anyone permanently living here can handle it.

But of course when I go back to the lands of incomprehensible labels and dubious foodstuffs I'll miss it all.  Because even if I don't indulge, sometimes it's just nice to know that I could.  If I'm having a bad day I can always hop in my car, drive a few minutes and get something deliciously tasty to cheer myself up.  Isn't America wonderful?

Celebrating Halloween in the US

I've never been much of a Halloween celebrant.  I blame my mother.  We were banned from trick-or-treating after fifth grade, and the older I've gotten the less festive I've become.  I was quite happy to live overseas and miss out on all of the excitement.

Brandon recalls trick-or-treating once when he was five, and for every Halloween after, his father would cover the windows with blankets and pretend they weren't home while the family watched movies and ate candy.

So I blame Brandon for this Halloween.  We started the season early with a visit to a pumpkin patch.  And then for Family Home Evening we actually carved the things.  The last time we carved pumpkins was when Kathleen was two and I ended up scraping it off the porch in February right before we moved to DC for the Foreign Service.

Then on Saturday we went to the ward Halloween party where the girls dressed up as princesses.  Of course it was pure coincidence that I gave them princess dresses for Christmas last year and they dressed up as princesses for Halloween.

And tonight we lit up our pumpkins and dressed the girls up again.  Edwin and I stayed home (he went to bed) while Brandon led the girls around our little complex.  They came home after ten or so houses thrilled with the candy they had picked up and made a grand evening of stuffing themselves with more candy they had ever eaten in their short lives and making candy trails across the floor.

So that will be their only memory of Halloween, at least for the next few years.  And when they ask why we don't celebrate Halloween, I'll point out that yes, we did once, and I'll show them pictures for proof.

Why I can't hack it in the US

We've now been actually living (not traveling or visiting) in the US for seven weeks.  There are a number of things that I love about being in the motherland.  Public libraries are amazing.  Same with public parks.  Although sometimes illogically bizarre, having a GPS makes getting around much easier.  And of course, Target, as always.

I looked forward to being back to the land of Wonderful Things, but one thing I didn't think about when looking forward to all of the amazing things I could do was that in order to do those things, I'd have to leave my house.

In Cairo, we had a lovely, large apartment.  So on days when I didn't feel like leaving, the children had lots of space to ride bikes, push strollers, build houses, make cushion mountains, and scatter their toys.

I think that the townhouse we're renting (at a price that I'm not going to name, but let's just say that it's a good thing State pays housing) could probably fit into the front room of our apartment.  And that includes the staircases and three bedrooms and bathrooms.  We have a deck, but it opens onto a communal hill, and even Edwin can easily unlatch the gate, so I have to be downstairs in my room to supervise if they want to go outside.  So the children have the kitchen, the living room, and their room to play in.  And any time they bring out a toy or two (of the three we brought with us) the entire house immediately looks like a hurricane went through.

So yes, the parks are amazing.  I love the library, and maybe we'll make it to the zoo.  But when doing any of those things involves loading three children (soon to be four) into the car, unloading them, keeping them from running away or being run over, putting them back in, driving home, and unloading them again, I think I'll actually take my apartment in Cairo some days.  I guess I've been spoiled.

Rain, rain, go the heck away, would you?

We have now been in Arlington for almost an entire month.  Our boxes are all unpacked, almost everything has found a home, and we've even gone a road trip so that it really felt like home when we got back.  Cairo is quickly retreating into a distant, dream-like memory.  We've been here for awhile.  At least for a family who moves around so much.

There have been quite a few things that I've already grown quite fond of.  Every time I take the children out riding bikes, I miss the wonderful trails already.  Each time we go to the library and the children start grabbing books off the shelves and stuffing them into my arms as fast as they can, I think about how many books we'll have the weight for over the years.  And of course, Target.  No explanation needed.

One thing I have not grown fond of: the rain.  The first few days when the weather was oh-so deliciously cool and rainy was refreshing after hot, hot sunny Cairo.  After five straight days of rain, I almost shouted for joy when a ray of sunshine peeped through my window one afternoon.  But then the clouds came back, and the rain returned.  I constantly checked the forecast, looking forward to the days that called for sunshine, only a few days in the future.  But those round yellow things kept retreating away from me, tantalizingly close but never actually on the day I was actually living.

This morning we told the girls (and Edwin, but I'm not so sure about the comprehension) that we would take them bike riding.  Everyone happily finished their breakfast, quickly put on their pants and shirts and socks and shoes and jackets, and I went online to find a local bike trail to explore.  I checked the forecast, and the daily dose of rain wasn't scheduled until noon.  We were ready.  And then we opened the door.

Rain, happily pattering down on the trees outside our door.  Rain flooding the steps outside our townhouse.  Rain, again.

I looked at Brandon, he looked at me, and we looked at the children dressed to go.  And he got out the umbrella.  We've finally been parents long enough to recognize when rebellion is imminent, and went out anyway.  He suggested we go to the bike path and see how things stood there, and so we piled into the car.

Thankfully when we arrived, the rain was nonexistent to sprinkling, and so we unloaded everyone and went on our merry way.  We may have gotten a little wet, but I don't think anyone cared.

I just checked the weather forecast for this week, and watched as the round, happy sun on Monday's forecast turned into more drippy blue things.  And my hope for sun has retreated another day.  I know that I didn't have more than three hours of rain while in Cairo, but does the weather really feel like it needs to make up for that lack all at once?

Did I tell you about how much I love parks?

Now that I'm going to have a car at my next post, I think that parks are the number one thing I love about being in the States.  And the parks around here are wonderful.  I love that not only is there a trail within walking distance of my house, but there's a park within walking distance on that trail.  The townhouse we are renting is nice, but it's a little... cramped... compared with our apartment in Cairo.  So I really enjoy having parks to frequent when there's no room to ride bikes in the house.

After having nothing to do every Saturday except go to Maadi House for two years, I'm really enjoying have the ability and weather to do any of number of things on a Saturday.  So this past Saturday, we had an outing to the park.

For Kathleen's birthday this year, we got her a bike.  And as Kathleen got a bike, we made sure to include Cannonball the red tricycle in our UAB shipment for Sophia to use.

So after spending Saturday morning shopping for supplies and making treats, we loaded up Cannonball the Elder (our Honda Pilot, which was my number one favorite thing about being in the US during evacuation) with Cannonball (the Younger), Lucy, and Edwin's stroller.

Our first activity was bike riding.  Kathleen has had a rocky start to riding a two-wheel bike, but on Saturday she thoroughly enjoyed wheeling along beside Four Mile Run while passing Sophia on Cannonball.  Edwin pointed out every squirrel he saw from the comfort of his stroller.

After bike riding, everyone parked their conveyances and played at the park.  Edwin especially enjoyed hanging out of high openings and giving Brandon heart attacks.

And then to finish out the afternoon, we had a picnic on the grass for dinner.  Everyone had an immensely enjoyable time, and not one single person asked to take our picture.

Why I Prefer to Live Overseas

One of my very favorite parts of living in Egypt was Rere.  Not only did she clean my house, iron Brandon's shirts, shop for food, and wash the food, but she also watched the children when I needed to get things done.  My visiting teaching appointments were always on Sundays or Wednesdays.  I shopped alone, occasionally taking the girls for a treat.  When Edwin was a little baby, the girls' swim lessons were always on the days when Rere came.

That has all ended.  At least for the next four months.  So when I had my first OB appointment Tuesday, everyone got to tag along.  The girls at least were excited.

My OB has her office in the local hospital complex, and so I made sure to look up online to see what part of the complex the office was located in.  It didn't tell.  And instead of calling them as I should have, I piled everyone in the car and set off for our grand adventure.

The website for the office helpfully provided a parking map of the hospital, but neglected to mention which parking deck (green, gold or blue) I should pay four dollars for the privledge of parking in.  After circling around aimlessly and getting caught in traffic-light lines, I randomly chose the green deck.  With 5 minutes to go for my appointment, I hustled the children into the green building and scanned the list of offices.  Nothing that looked like OBs (I had forgotten the name and still don't have a cell phone because the charger got lost somewhere in the Virginia-Cairo-US travels-Virginia loop), and no suite 474 was on the list.

Down the stairs we went, out the parking deck, and across the street, past the oncology clinic, up some stairs, down a few sidewalks with Sophia trailing behind crying because we were walking too fast, and we were in the next building.  Still no luck.

At this point, I had no idea where to look next, no phone, no phone number, and no name.  Just suite 474.  And so I asked the nice man at information.  Oh, he told me, that office is actually inside the hospital, so I had to keep going, turn a few corners, go in the elevator and up to the fourth floor, trailing my three ducklings behind me.  Who knew that doctors had their offices inside hospitals?

When I checked in, we were only 10 minutes late for my 2:30 appointment.  The receptionist asked my name and looked up my appointment.  Oh, that was for 9:30 this morning, not 2:30 this afternoon, she told me.  By this point looking desperate, I asked her when I could reschedule.  She took pity on me, and had me sit down while asking my doctor what would work best.

Thankfully and mercifully, she came back and told me to sit down; they would work me into the schedule then.  All four of us sat and I pulled out a car for Edwin and books for the girls.  Kathleen read her book, Sophia looked through hers, and Edwin drove his car on the table.  Sophia looked through her second book, Kathleen read Sophia's first book, and Edwin drove his car on the floor.  Kathleen read her second book, Sophia looked at Kathleen's first book, and Edwin drove his car on the seat.

My name was called and I packed up all four books, the car, and Edwin's blanket.  The nurse weighed me (and I'm not telling), took my blood pressure, and sent us back to the waiting room.  Kathleen read Sophia's second book, Sophia looked through a magazine, and Edwin attempted to drive his car on the wall.  Kathleen put the books away, Sophia was done with the magazine, and Edwin started throwing his car.  Kathleen loudly asked when they would call my name, Sophia showed everyone in the waiting room her underwear while lolling on the chair, and Edwin lolled on the floor.

Finally, they called my name and we were left in an exam room.  Thankful that at least the noise and incessant motion was contained in a room away from other people who might have been thinking of having another child before they got to watch my children, I let them do whatever they wanted.  Kathleen and Sophia pushed each other around on the stool, asked what the stirrups were for, rattled the stirrups in and out, and tried to understand the diagrams on the wall.  Edwin drove his car on the loudest surface he could find.

While Kathleen was asking why I had my head hid in my arms, the doctor walked in.  We talked for five minutes, measured my stomach, and listened to the baby's heartbeat.  We scheduled a date for the induction, and said goodbye.  Edwin drove his car.

And then everyone hiked back to the car and piled in to go home.  Where we had pancakes for dinner.

#3

I've always enjoyed reading.  I remember many, many nights where my parents would walk past my room, open the door, and tell me to "put away the book."  Most nights I would feign sleep, and then pull out again to read until all hours of the night.  Family beach trips each summer were a perfect combination of swimming and reading with very little responsibility in between.  Even now, my perfect vacation centers on a beach and a book.

Obviously being a mother of three has cut down on my reading time.  My days are usually busy, and the book supply isn't very steady.  I have a secret and deeply abiding love for fantasy, young adult and regular kind.  As our earthly possessions are judged by weight, however, I can't usually justify purchasing pounds and pounds of books that I'll only ever read once.  And I don't have the time anyway.

But now that we're on evacuation, circumstances have changed.  I left Kathleen's school materials in Cairo and the easel didn't fit into my suitcase very well, so my days are much more open than usual.  So I marched everyone down to the library within the first week of our arrival, and I've been in heaven ever since.

I just finished the latest thousand-page behemoth, and my life is returning to order again.  I folded two day-old laundry this afternoon, and have returned to reading (and writing) blogs again.  My children had craft time (a first!) and stories today.  And I even vacuumed the carpet underneath our table.

But it's only a breath of air until I plunge into another book.  A lot of things about this evacuation aren't my favorite.  But I'm not complaining about the books.

Baltimore Aquarium

When we were here in 2009 for language training, Kathleen was two and a half and Sophia was a year old.  The first warm day in March, we decided to go have some fun and take the girls to the National Zoo.  After taking the Metro and walking up to the Zoo (never. again.), we walked around for perhaps forty-five minutes before the girls gave up and we hiked back.

We realized after the Zoo that small children have no appreciation for anything beyond swings, french fries, and swimming.  And so we haven't bothered going anywhere more interesting than a felucca ride since.

Kathleen is now four and half, fully verbal, literate, and interested in things beyond her own special world.  Sophia is happy to be interested in whatever her sister is interested in.  And Edwin, well, he is the third child and so gets hauled around against his will.  So when my Aunt Kathleen (whom Kathleen is named after) called so see if we would like to come with her and Uncle Bruce to the Baltimore Aquarium, Brandon and I looked at each other, took a deep breath, and agreed.

We started our morning at 6:30 and loaded the children up with french toast, whipped cream, and strawberries, then drove up to Maryland to pick up my aunt and uncle where we made use of seven of the eight seats in our Pilot to drive together to Baltimore.

We got there just in time for the 11:30 dolphin show, where the girls were enthralled and even Edwin got in the spirit and clapped with everyone else.  Sophia was disappointed, however, to learn that no, she could not ride the dolphins.  After that, the day continued on quite enjoyably.  We even got to say hello to Nemo and his father, and finished our day with the aquarium's amazing, three-floor 360-degree tank.

The girls had their very tall great-uncle to pick them up whenever they liked, their Aunt to talk to them, and I have a few times when I got to hold Brandon's hand and nobody else's. Afterwards, we went back to my aunt and uncle's house for takeout Chinese for dinner.  On the way home, everyone was asleep within five minutes.

Now that we've met and enjoyed our first all-day outing, I'm excited for more explorations with my children.  Just maybe not for a few weeks.

Yesterday I went to Target.  While wheeling my children through the aisles I picked up a can opener and a bread knife.  Last Saturday I purchased a mixer and cookie sheets.  On my previous trip I bought small cups and bowls, an immersion blender, washcloths, a pizza wheel, mixing bowls, a pizza pan, and clippers.

I already own all of these things.  Due to our present circumstances, however, they're halfway across the world, and I won't be seeing them anytime soon.  In the meantime, I still have three children and a husband to feed and take care of.  And so every time I go to Target, I pick up a few more things that I already own.

We have now been evacuated for over a month, and living in Oakwood for just over three weeks.  The initial trauma of the evacuation is over; we're in no danger, we have a safe place of our own, and we've even established routines.  The immediate dislocation of evacuation is finished.

But now comes, in some way, the harder part.  This is the part where we wait, and while we wait we set up a semi-permanent, but ready to go with three days' notice, lifestyle.  Every time I think about buying another piece of household equipment, I wonder if I really need it.  Could I get along for the next few weeks without a garlic press?  Probably.  How about the next few months?  It would be more annoying.  But which do I have in store - weeks or months?  Which is more important - money or sanity?

After traveling between Egypt and the US several times, I feel like I've developed a split reality - third world and first world - that I can switch between in the blink of an eye.  Sitting in the Cairo airport, waiting to board a plane, I'm in a third world country.  But when I step onto that Lufthansa plane with its pleasant German flight attendants, I'm back in the first.  No problem, no dislocation.

I find the same developing now - evacuee and typical American mother.  I take my children to the library and they agonize over which books to take home.  We go to Costco and eat samples of crab dip.  But then I think of what we were doing just over a month ago - riding a felucca on the Nile.  I look at the emerging flowers and anticipate spring and warmer temperatures.  But will I be here for spring?  Or just skip it entirely and head back to Egyptian summer?

Who knows?  At this point, nobody.  And so life continues - the first world American one.  For now, anyway.

#2

Being back in the US has given me the opportunity to enjoy some of the things I have missed.  Of my top five favorite things in the US, parks are number two.