Wadi Digla

Some friends of ours recently left town for a month and (not having heard of my high school driving record) left us the keys of their car.  Unfortunately, since the evacuation, nobody is allowed to drive without another adult, and so we've only just used it for the first time this past Saturday. 

So, for our inaugural outing in Egyptian traffic, we went to Wadi Digla, a local 'nature' preserve.  After driving for awhile though the canyon, we parked the car, and Sophia and Kathleen immediately headed to the nearest rock pile and started climbing.

 

Sophia enjoyed climbing, but Kathleen decided that climbing, rocks, and skinned knees weren't her favorite and had to be coaxed down by Brandon after getting to the top.

 

Edwin and I stayed on the valley floor where he found trash to dig in the dirt with. 

We ended our trip into nature (we had to explain to the girls what 'nature' means) with a walk down the dry creek bed, and stopped by the commissary on the way home for Fudgsicles.

 

 

All Dressed Up and (Finally) Something to Buy

Yesterday I planned a series of surprises for Brandon's birthday.  The surprises culminated in me showing up at his office just as he was leaving for a long, very hot ride on the metro with all of his required 'buddies' from work.  Brandon was at first confused, and then happy to see me, and even happier to take an air-conditioned taxi down to Maadi with me, his preferred buddy.

I had left the children with Rere, so we had the rest of the evening to ourselves.  I knew that dinner would only take so long, so I suggested visiting the rug shop that was never open when we went out for my birthday in January.  It was open this time, and a hand-made silk rug caught our eye as we walked in the door.  We looked at quite a few other rugs, but the first was our favorite.  When it came time to ask the price, it was no surprise that our favorite was also the most expensive.

Neither of us have any reasonable experience bargaining, never having haggled for anything worth over eighty dollars, and this rug was a great deal more than eighty dollars.  We looked at each other, realized that we were in over our heads and thanked the kind man and went to dinner.

Over coconut juice, spring rolls, and pad thai, we discussed our options.  I was surprised to find out that Brandon, as his attachment to material goods is almost nonexistent, quite seriously wanted that rug, and only that rug, regardless of the cost.  So we discussed prices, the theory of bargaining, and our bargaining strategy, eventually deciding on a price that we could live with but wouldn't go above.

When we walked back into the shop, the owner pulled out the rugs we had previously narrowed down our choices to.  I became insistent that I wanted the rug, and Brandon stubbornly refused, reminding me repeatedly that it was much more than we could afford to spend.  He asked to see other, less expensive rugs, and I pointed out that my rug was obviously the most beautiful of all of them while Brandon claimed that they were all rugs to him.  By this time, the men had gathered around, and were telling Brandon that he had better listen to his wife because she knew what she was talking about and she was the one who would have it in her house.  The ante only went up when Brandon slipped that it was my birthday.

After enough acting, the shopkeeper agreed to lower the price, and left us to argue about getting another, cheaper rug while I insisted that I only wanted that rug.  When we stood up to leave, the man was back again, asking us why we were leaving.  When Brandon told him that we just didn't have the budget, he asked what our budget was and came down again.  After some more pleading, we counter-offered, and then he counter-offered the price Brandon and I had agreed on over dinner.  Not one to give up a game so easily, Brandon grumbled for another five minutes before finally giving in for 'my birthday.'


The owner happily wrapped up our rug, pleased to have sold the rug for such a good price, and I happily handed over the credit card, pleased to have gotten it for such a good price.  Brandon and I both left happily, pleased to have worked out our play-acting exactly how we had planned, the warm glow of our first successful bargain in our hearts.

When the girls saw it this morning, they oohed and ahhed over how beautiful it was, and Sophia announced that it was just like a magic carpet.  And we all got on and went for a ride.

After making four dozen sugar cookies (with frosting), three dozen chocolate chocolate chip cookies, lemon poppy seed muffins, scrambled eggs with bacon, and a four-layer carrot cake with cream cheese frosting in the last 36 hours, I think I've found the sixth language of love.

Food.

Out out, darn spot!

A few days ago, Kathleen dropped a basket on her toe and scraped some skin off.  The wound wasn't deep and so I gave her a kiss and saved the Band-Aids for a bloodier occasion.

Last night while I was cleaning the kitchen, I heard a wail from Kathleen.  She came limping down the hall to show me her bloody toe.  The girls had been spinning in our room (Sophia was the princess and Kathleen the prince), and the scab from a few days ago had popped open and was bleeding.  This time a kiss wasn't going to stop the blood, so I cleaned her toe while she wailed in pain and anxiety and fixed a Band-Aid on the bleeding wound.

Right after cleaning her up, Brandon came in from an errand, and we went back to our room to read scriptures and pray.  When I knelt down to pray, I noticed a spot of blood on the carpet.  And six inches away, another spot.  A foot away from the second was a third.  When I looked around, I discovered that we were surrounded by little red bloody spots all over our State-issued carpet.

As Brandon looked around to see what I had pointed out to him, I could see dollar signs flashing in his widening eyes while he tried to keep from shouting at Kathleen.

Only after I googled "get blood out of carpet" did I realize how suspect it looked, but luckily the blood came off easily enough with cold water, and the girls were happy to help wipe up the blood trail down our hall.  As I cleaned I was amazed at the places Kathleen had trod with her bleeding foot - my favorite was a spot almost behind the curtain.  Was she spinning for some time before the noticed the blood?  Or did she dance around our entire carpet in distress?

But, everything came out, at least until SPM comes around with the luminol.  And while cleaning, Brandon taught the girls a new phrase to use while cleaning up spots.  "Out out, darn spot!"

The Beginning of a New Era

This evening after dinner, a seminal event occurred: after finishing their dinner, the girls ran off to play.  Edwin, hearing their merriment, indicated he'd like to get down too, and then ran off after his sisters.  Brandon and I stayed in the kitchen and washed the dishes in peace.

Every dinner we've had previously has ended with somebody being forced to finish, the others hanging around the kitchen while playing, fighting, asking endless questions, making endless requests, and getting under the feet of anyone trying to do anything useful.

But we've reached a new stage in parenting, the new stage where our children enjoy playing by themselves.  Kathleen and Sophia have become, on occasion, more interesting to each other than their parents are.

It's strange, to reach the end of constant leech stage and move on to something different, and even more strange to realize that that stage will never come again.  I will have individual children who will find me so irresistible they can't leave me, but never again will all of them swirl around me constantly, satellites to my planet.  I won't be surrounded by a constant of little voices, moving wherever I move, and providing constant company.

And I'm thrilled.

No Roller Coasters for Her

This past weekend, we celebrated Memorial Day.  Because the workweek here is Sunday through Thursday, we didn't have Monday off, we had Sunday off.  However, because our guests were from Wales, England, France, and Canada, none of them had Sunday off.  So instead we celebrated on Saturday.  Got that?

When I was a child, we always spent Memorial Day at the pool.  Our pool opened on Memorial Day and closed on Labor Day, and both days were celebrated with a pot luck pig pickin'.  So I always associate Memorial Day with barbecue, fried chicken, cole slaw, potato salad, and my personal favorite, hushpuppies.

We couldn't find anyone to sell us a whole pig, and don't have anywhere to set up an oil-drum pig smoker, so we only had fried chicken for protein.  But of course we had the cole slaw, potato salad, hushpuppies, and for dessert, peach ice cream.

Our Saturday morning was spent in various food preparations, and the girls started the morning in our company.  They peacefully painted in watercolors (practicing the color-mixing principles they had learned at a friend's house that week) while Edwin wandered around the house, Roomba-fashion, picking up whatever was in his path.  After awhile, the girls got bored, so Brandon turned on an Abba CD for them in the study.

Our study had two spinning office chairs, and there are two girls, so two girls heartily amused themselves while spinning to the solid-gold seventies Abba tunes.  Who doesn't like Dancing Queen?  They were happy, and we were left in peace, and our work progressed well as Brandon chopped potatoes and I peeled and mashed peaches.

After twenty or thirty minutes of peace, Sophia started coughing.  I wasn't worried (I never am until the bones snap and the screaming starts in earnest), but Brandon was and went to check.  "I keep coughing things up," she told him, so he brought her into the kitchen.  And then the burps came, and we looked at each other and rushed her to the trash can just in time for breakfast to come around again, several times.

After she was calmed down and cleaned up, we catalogued all of the food she had eaten for the last twenty-four hours.  Nothing seemed suspicious, and nobody else was sick.  We felt her forehead, and it was normal.  She didn't complain of a headache or feeling badly.

And then I remembered: the spinning.  So now we know who in the family gets motion sickness.

So How's that Baby Coming Along?

I'm now four months through my fourth pregnancy.  I think I can now consider myself a fairly seasoned pregnant woman, having spent two and a half years (of my six years of marriage) pregnant.

So when friends ask me how the pregnancy is going, sometimes I have to stop and think for a minute and remember that yes, I am pregnant again, and it's going fine if I forget that there's a baby the size of my fist currently residing in my abdomen.

With my first pregnancy, Kathleen, I couldn't wait to fit into maternity clothes and felt like I had to wait forever until those parachute-sized shirts fit, and some of them never quite did.  Sophia landed me in maternity jeans before the end of two months, but with Edwin I managed to hold onto my normal pants, with some modifications until over halfway through.  I waited until the absolute last necessary minute before I started wearing those maternity clothes.  This time I'm hoping the extend my record even further.

During Kathleen's gestation, I checked the pregnancy book at least twice a week to see how my baby was developing.  This go around the only time I've ever checked it was to settle a dispute Brandon and I had about the size of the baby - apricot or small cantaloupe?  He won, and I haven't opened it since.

I got blood work done in the US before we left so that I wouldn't have to bother with it here, but I've yet to go to the Embassy clinic and confess to the doctor there that I'm pregnant - again.  Maybe I'll get around to it the week after next.

We haven't decided on a name for either gender, and haven't even talked much about it.  I could get an ultrasound whenever I feel like going down the Nile Diagnostics clinic and paying for it, but I'm considering not even bothering until I return to the US just to avoid the hassle.

I'm very thankful that I've been blessed with very easy pregnancies, and this one has been no exception.  Which is good because by the time this baby arrives I will have packed and moved out of three apartments, moved into three apartments/houses, flown on two transatlantic journeys, visited or lived in five countries, been evacuated for three months, on home leave for six weeks, and taken care of three children under five the entire time.

So, the pregnancy is going well.  Having three children already helps the time pass quickly, and moving in the middle keeps my mind off the constant mantra of how many months, weeks, and days until I stop increasing daily.  I'm looking forward to the baby coming, especially since it will mean that we're almost done with the Year of Craziness.

Swim Baby, Swim

Swimming season has officially begun (it was one hundred degrees today), and so the girls have started swim lessons during the week.  Last year I left Edwin with Rere at home and participated in the lessons with the girls since Sophia was only two.

This year, however, both are old enough to have lessons without my presence, so Edwin gets to come to the pool with us and have swim time with me.  Last year when we started taking Edwin swimming, I'd dunk him a few times every time we went swimming so he wouldn't be scared by going under the water.  He was young enough to not know the difference, and so the strongest reaction he ever had was surprise.

So this year when I plunged him under the water, he looked around, wiped his face, and then broke out in a wide grin.  And he hasn't looked back.  Now, at the ripe old age of seventeen months, he practically belly-flops off the side of the pool into the vicinity of my arms, often regardless of my nearness.  The last time we went to the pool, he thought it was great fun to flop himself into the baby pool face-first and then wait, quietly floating, until I came over to give him my hand so he could stand up.

I'm happy that he's so comfortable with the water, but he has no natural caution to keep him safe and I have to watch him like a hawk.  And I think he makes the lifeguards incredibly nervous too.  But when it comes to his turn for swim lessons I think we can skip the part about putting his head under the water.

So Much for Being Proactive

I've never owned a refrigerator.  Or a furnace, or air conditioner.  I have owned a washer and dryer, but those for less than two years.  My responsibility when it comes to appliances (and cars, for that matter) usually amounts to crossing my fingers, screwing my eyes shut, and hoping that nothing goes wrong with them until my turn with them is over.  Not very adult, but so far it's worked.

So when the refrigerator started collecting water in the bottom a few days ago, I didn't worry about it.  Refrigerators do that sometimes, and then they usually stop.  No problem.  Brandon mentioned it, and I theorized that the freezer was going through a self-defrosting cycle, so he stopped worrying too.

But this morning, when Rere showed up, she worried.  Because that's what she's paid to do. If it weren't for Rere, half of the things in this apartment (other than the AC) wouldn't be working.  And so when she suggested giving her friend in maintenance a call, I shrugged my shoulders and said why not, not wanting to be bothered about it for the next three weeks.

Twenty minutes later facilities was here, and ten minutes later they had taken my refrigerator apart.  They couldn't find anything wrong, put everything back together, and told Rere to give them a call that afternoon if the water showed back up.  It did, so by three o'clock a new refrigerator was brought by, and by three forty-five Rere had cleaned it and replaced my food.

I came home from swim lessons with the girls to a new refrigerator - narrower, shallower, shorter, and with one less row of shelves than my old one.  We had just finished cleaning out the leftovers and our refrigerator had been in that blessedly empty state, cleansed of its old odds and ends and waiting to receive new leftover deliciousness.  The new one, despite this lack of food, was full, almost overflowing.  I cursed facilities for their old, crappy appliances that they always pawn off on me, and schemed how I could at least get some more shelves.

This evening at dinner, I noticed water on the table.  I picked up a plastic half-gallon water container, one of several we keep filled in the refrigerator for ready cold water.  I wiped off the water that was pooling around its base.  And then I noticed the crack, so small I had overlooked several times.  But not small enough to keep the water from leaking out... for at least a week now.

Sophia turns three

Wednesday was Sophia's third birthday.  We celebrated the day by eating breakfast in our pajamas, going to the Commissary for a treat, and starting out the swimming season at Maadi House.

We had her favorite dinner, eggs benedict, and then had cake and presents.  I had worked the night before and that afternoon to make the cake she had specifically requested.  But even before the presents were opened, she and Kathleen both declared that they were not interested in cake.  By this point I shouldn't be surprised, as most times nobody wants cake after the presents are opened.  But still I make cake every time.

I find it strange to have Sophia turn three already - she was my Foreign Service baby, born right before we realized that Brandon might have a shot at a job other than lasagna making, and she really hasn't known anything but this crazy life.  One of the more common conversations is how old somebody will turn in what country.

I'm grateful to have Sophia in our family, brightening our days and so adorably lisping out her verse when it's her turn in scripture study.  I just can't believe she's three already!