Email From The Embassy

QEP: Passed.

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 19:58:00 +0000

That's right. I passed the QEPs. Next up: the Russian language exam and the oral exam.

Go, me.

p.s. It has been brought to my attention by a friend who shall be referred to henceforth only as C.A.L.* that my blog has become a bit - how shall I put it?- BORING as of late. Apparently I'm just showing pictures of cute kids and not inserting any witty text or any cliffhangers of any kind.

Cliffhangers, hmmm. Are you ready, C.A.L.? Let's talk Russian test.

If I want to have a shot at getting accepted into the FS (and do I? That's a whole'nother cliffhanger!), I have to prove I can speak Russian. Which, no big deal, because I totally can. Or at least, I could - way back in 2004. Since the last time I've used my Russian, I've studied both Chinese and Arabic. Which means, not that I can speak Chinese and Arabic, but that Chinese and Arabic are taking up valuable brain real estate, and might possibly choose to rear their ugly heads right when I'm trying to decline a masculine noun into the dative plural, or conjugate a past tense verb of motion, or something tricky like that. It's highly probable that, when asked a question about Russian culture, my brain will misfire and I'll start shouting names of vegetables in Chinese.

Also, maybe you'd think I could start studying Russian, or something useful like that? But here I sit, blogging about Chinese vegetable names.

Anyway, that's all to say: if it's meant to be, it's meant to be. Or, as they say in Petersburg, que sera, sera.

See what I mean?

Back soon with pictures of my cute kids, just for you and C.A.L...

* Crazy Aunt Leigh.

Weekend Siteseeing: Umm ar-Rasas and Mukawir

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Our fabulous CLOs organized a day trip to Umm ar-Rasas and Mukawir yesterday.

It was a beautiful day: blue skies, cool temperatures... as opposed to today, when is is raining, icing and snowing all at once outside.

Our first stop was Umm ar-Rasas, which is now officially my favorite ancient Roman ruin in all of Jordan: better than Jerash, better than Umm Qais.

It's only partially excavated, but the exposed pieces are so fascinating. You can peer right into the ruins of a Roman house. And a Roman church. And even a Roman well, which is rather deep and not blocked off in any way. Scary. The kids kept finding bones all over the site, which added to the mystery. The guide suggested that we stick to the paths rather than risk falling in some partially excavated ruin, but the kids, being fearless, clambered atop everything. I was worried, actually, that my son might accidentally destroy an ancient Roman arch, but in the end, we left the place pretty much intact. At least, it wasn't any less of a ruin after our trip.

We only brought Aidan, as Shay has been sick and we weren't sure the girls would be up for the hiking. He had a blast running around exploring with his friends.

(This place is really, really old. Well, except for the sign. I'd guess that it's relatively new.)

Next, we hopped back on the bus and headed to Mukawir, which is known as the site where Salome danced her dance and convinced Herod to bring her John the Baptist's head on a platter.

It has a spooky past, but an incredible present. It is high, high, high atop a mountain overlooking the Dead Sea, and you can see the hills of Jerusalem far below in the distance. Truly amazing.

(There it is, on top of that mountain. And yes, you have to hike up to the top, but it isn't so bad.)
(With the zoom lens...)

(No, I am not that short. But the hill is that steep. Mukawir is back there to the left. And the Dead Sea is waaaaay down there, behind us.)

(The view from the top of the mountain...)

(Hello, Friend-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, behind us in the picture. You're famous now, in a bloggy sort of way. That'll teach you to make silly faces.)

(Phew. He's gone. Quick, take another picture before he comes back...)

(Looking back up at the road we drove in on... told you it was steep.)

What Diplomats Do When They're Not Busy Doing, Well, Whatever It Is That Diplomats Do.

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 08:07:00 +0000

(sketch by Kyra)

We made it, folks.

We're at the halfway point (halfway-ish, at any rate) of our tour in Amman.

The Foreign Service has a little graph that shows the stages of foreign-service-ness at a post: you know, first six months, euphoria, next six months, bitterness and denial, and so on. I'd link to it, but I'm way too lazy to do a google search. Any one out there know the one? Send the link my way, please, and I'll link it in later. That is, if I'm not trapped in bitterness and denial.

I shouldn't still be trapped in bitterness and denial, because (as attentive readers will have learned in sentence two, above) we're at the 18-month mark. I think. I don't remember exactly when we arrived. And I'm too lazy to look that up, either. Come to think of it, is the eighteenth month marked by laziness and sloth? I'm thinking it might be.

Where was I? Oh, yes. The halfway point. And there's a good chance we're going back stateside for a few years after this (can you hear the grandparents cheering on both coasts at the mere thought?). So we're engaged in a typical mid-tour diplomatic activity.

House P0rn.

That's right. This is - or ought to be, anyway - the stage on the chart where a typical Foreign Service family starts thinking about where they might want to live back in the States.

We go on the internet and surf realtor sites almost ceaselessly, drooling over remodeled kitchens and walk-out basements and fireplaces. We picture a life back in America, down the street from Target and Wegmans and that awesome pho restaurant.

Then we pull out our calculators and add up the bank statements and remember the college funds and sigh deeply.

We return to our real estate sites and plug in a smaller number when it asks how much we might want to pay for a house. But of course this is Virginia, and so those teeny numbers don't give us fireplaces, or basements. They do give us chain link and pick-up trucks on the lawn, or a dead tree in the front yard. They don't give us Lake Barcroft, or Falls Church, or Clarendon.

So back we go to our calculators, and we try to figure out how to save an additional one or two hundred - thousand! - over the next year-and-a-half. You know, on top of the college funds.

Alas.

I can't quite remember what months 18-24 show on the little Foreign Service mood graph - desperation and resignation, perhaps?

Oh, well. It's still fun to dream.

And we do have a little townhouse already, bought when we had just two small kids and not a clue that the universe would be sending a couple more our way. So maybe, just maybe, we should stop looking at real estate websites and start googling "how to fit six people into a three-bedroom townhouse."

What We've (They've) Been Up To

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 16:56:00 +0000

Bart had loads of use-or-lose leave to kill off, just in time for his parents' arrival. I, on the other hand, had basically no leave at all at the end of the year.

So he spent a week ferrying his parents around while I went to work.

Thus it turns out that, technically speaking, I wasn't at the baptism site that day. I didn't see the sun glinting off the rooftops of the churches. I didn't see the mighty green Jordan River flowing by. And I most certainly didn't see the de-mining operation that was taking place on the other side of the river (Boom, boom, boom - welcome to the middle east, mom and dad!)

I wasn't there. But the pictures are on my computer. And so they're fair game for my blog, don't you think?

The Jordan River up close...

...and from afar...

Where it all went down (maybe, probably, possibly), back in the day...

See the teeny tiny Jordanian flag off to the left?

It looks beautiful, doesn't it? Like a painting. But those are mines being blown up across the border.

On The Plus Side...

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 19:28:00 +0000

Four days.

Three doctors.

Two x-rays.

Two antibiotics, two inhalers, two kinds of nose drops, two medicines to make you fall asleep, one nebulizer, countless cough drops and gallons of lemon tea.

But he's still coughing.

On the plus side, it's apparently NOT pneumonia. You know, yet.

Also on the plus side, the doctors are all awesome. And English-speaking. And conveniently located near an actual parking lot - not always the case here in Amman.

Also on the plus side: since I'm stuck sitting up listening to him cough, I have time to update this here blog!

...

...

...

I think I'm pretty much out of pluses.

So, It Turns Out Chicken Isn't a Vegetable

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 15:36:00 +0000

There we were, sitting in La Mirabelle with Nana and Pop, watching as the waiter put our plates on the table.

I'd ordered chicken nuggets for the girls to split - usually a hit. But this time, Kyra took one look and asked (not in her inside voice, either) "Is that PIG???? If you eat PIG, WORMS will grow in your BELLY!!"

I shushed her, because gross, but she refused to take a bite of the suspect chicken nuggets. (Pig nuggets?)

That was last week. Then, the night before last, I roasted a whole chicken, carved it, and put it on the table. She ate a few small pieces of white meat, then picked up a drumstick and carefully looked it over.

Holding it delicately between two small fingers, she held it aloft. "Was this," she asked "a bird who used to walk around?"

Pause. Gulp. Yes, Kyra, I replied. Yes, it used to be a bird.

She dropped it back on the plate with a grimace and announced firmly: "Then I am definitely not eating that."

And there you have it, folks. It appears we're going to have yet another vegetarian in the family.

At least they haven't tried to go vegan on me yet.

New Year, Same Old Me

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 21:58:00 +0000

It's been awhile, I know, and mostly by design. I like to keep quiet this time of year.

Bart's parents have been here, so we've been busier than usual with guests and travel. But that's a fun kind of busy, so yay. Once I find the time to download the pictures, I'll post some photographic evidence of their journey halfway across the globe.

They leave tomorrow, early, and tonight I am awake with a coughing child. Again. It's okay, though. I'm using this quiet time as an opportunity to eat the leftover holiday peanut brittle. All of it. I know, right? Good thing my New Year's resolutions didn't include "eat less peanut brittle."

Actually, I have no real written-down resolutions. Just some thoughts in my head that I resolve anew pretty much every day of the year, and then fail at by 7am each morning. You know, things like " be more patient." It would be a lot easier to eat less peanut brittle (especially now, as the bag appears to be empty, alas).

New Year's isn't my thing, anyway. I find the whole spectacle to be depressing. It hits right around the same time as my birthday, and I usually use the opportunity to fall into a "I have accomplished nothing in the past year" funk.

This year is no exception. I mean, yes, I suppose I got a job in 2011. Actual, gainful employment. But, in order to do that, I gave up writing for publication. No time, you see. So now I can't call myself a writer anymore, but I can call myself a spouse, with a spouse job. You spouses out there know what that means. It doesn't do to dwell on these things in the dark of winter, at least not in a house devoid of peanut brittle.

In 2011, no one close to me died. No one was born. Status quo there, thanks be. I did a lot of traveling in 2011: to Jerusalem and Bethlehem, to Petra and Aqaba, to Turkey and Germany. But I did not go back to America. I did not camp in Wadi Rum. I did not hike Wadi Mujib. I did not get to Tel Aviv, or Syria, or Egypt. See all the "did nots" I worked into my list? This is why you don't want to invite me to your New Year's party. It's one day when I'd rather stay home and sulk.

But here we are and it's January 3 over here as of a few minutes ago. New Year's is over! It's time to return to our regularly scheduled programming! No need to dwell on the past, or resolve to do better in the future. I just need to resolve to stay awake until coughing child falls asleep. Also to hide the empty bag of brittle deep in the trash can. And, while we're at it, I should remember that tomorrow I will be tired, very tired, because I will not sleep tonight, and neither will my spouse, and my in-laws will leave in the morning, so my children will be sad, and grumpy, and possibly all coughing. So I hereby resolve that when tomorrow begins, I will be patient. With them, and with myself, and with anyone else I happen to encounter.

At least before 7 am.

The War on Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 10:17:00 +0000

Here we are, during the Christmas season, in a country that is primarily Muslim.

I haven't been in the States for a year-and-a-half, but I can keep up with you all through my google reader, and CNN, and Slate, and the Washington Post (and even Fox, I suppose, if I'm feeling particularly windbag-ish). And it appears that, once again, Americans are in a snit about whether or not we are being properly wished a Merry Christmas when we go outdoors.

To which I say: bah, humbug.

Seriously, people. Get over it. As long as someone smiles, and wishes you well, does it really matter how they do it, with which exact phrase?

Yesterday afternoon, I drove to the Embassy to pick up Bart. The guard at the entrance, who I know is a God-fearing, practicing Muslim, stopped me at the gate and said to me, in broken, broken, English mixed with a smattering of Arabic, "may God grant you Merry Christmas. I wish that your beautiful children, with you, and husband, and all of this family, will have beautiful holiday."

He isn't the only one. Everywhere I go, people wish me a happy holiday. Most of them are Muslim, but they know we celebrate, and so they wish me joy. Frankly, I don't care how they wish me well. They can say Merry Christmas, or Happy Holiday, or Eed Sayeed, or anything at all. But I love that they wish me, a stranger in their land, a joyous day.

And with that small commentary, I'm off to straighten up the house. My in-laws are en route from Jerusalem, and I think the house should look nice, if only for the first few minutes of their time here.

Happy Day, everyone! However you celebrate - or don't - have a happy, happy day.

Holiday Hardships

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 12:26:00 +0000

We'll have a crowd for Christmas: Bart's parents will be here, along with one brother, one sister-in-law and two cousins.

This is big news, because we never have relatives on holidays when we're overseas. So naturally, I reacted to the news by going on a cooking binge. It's what I do.

I decided to make enchiladas for Christmas Eve-Eve, because my father-in-law loves Mexican food. Last night I made one pan of chicken enchiladas, into which I tossed my very last can of chopped green chiles. No problem, I figured, they sell those at the commissary, so I can buy another can for batch #2.

But alas, today there were exactly zero cans of chopped green chiles at the commissary. None at the Z store, either. After getting stuck in Abdoun-to-Swefiyeh traffic for 30 minutes, I couldn't face another side trip to Cozmo. So our vegetarian enchiladas will be chile-less. Also, we will likely lack guacamole, because avocados aren't easy to find, and they ain't cheap! And I haven't found unflavored tortilla chips for the salsa.

Why must the simplest things be so difficult?

Make a Run For the Border

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 19:48:00 +0000

Is it even possible to be tired-er?

On Friday morning we skipped town - with grandparents! - and headed for Jerusalem, where our favorite middle-east-based relatives were awaiting our arrival.

Ainsley was loaded up with antibiotics to treat a nasty cough and a double ear infection. Aidan's palate expander decided to fall out of his mouth just as we were getting ready to leave. This qualifies as an orthodontic emergency, I believe, but what could we do? The orthodontist was closed, and anyway, people were expecting us at the border at 10 am. So we went anyway.

We made it to Jerusalem and hung out with auntie C and the cousins until dinner time, when we walked to a really nice restaurant, where - are you ready for this? - all six little cousins behaved.

The next morning we awoke early and went to Bethlehem. So odd to cross yet another border: through a gate set into a gigantic grey cement wall and into Palestinian Authority-controlled territory. Razor wire everywhere. Signs warning that Israeli citizens are not allowed to pass. Guns - on both sides of the wall. Such a sad, sad state of affairs. That massive wall is a stark reminder of how bleak life can be in that small corner of the world.

Bethlehem itself was... underwhelming. I don't know, but guess I expect, when I visit a place like this, to be moved somehow, or to experience my faith on a different level. But instead, I find the skeptic in me emerges. I want to know: how, specifically, did they determine that this is the exact birthplace of Christ? How do they know the manger was propped exactly there? How? I don't understand, and yet I'm glad to have been there, and to have seen for myself the birthplace, and the Shepherd's Field.

There is an old church built at the site of Christ's birth, and I tried to explain to the girls, who were a bit restless, the significance of the church. I told them that we were very close to the spot where the baby Jesus was born, and that if they listened very carefully, they would hear Jesus in their hearts, and feel God's love all around them.

Ainsley cocked her head and then exclaimed "I hear him, mama! I hear da baby Jesus cwying!"

But it was only baby Thomas, her cousin, crying in his carrier.

So then we talked about the baby Jesus for awhile, and I asked, "Can you imagine? Here is where Jesus was just a tiny baby, and his mother loved him very much."

To which Ainsley responded, "He was a just a tiny baby, so he used to cwy and cwy, and he picked his nose a lot."

We're going to hell, aren't we?

Add that to the fact that Kyra repeatedly asked where God was - here? Or maybe here? Or in this pillar? And is God an animal or a person or what? I quickly ran out of satisfactory answers.

There was a enormous line of people waiting to go down the stairs into the tiny cave under the church, the cave where the baby Jesus was said to have been born. We waited with the rest of them, but it was unpleasant and almost scary trying to make our way down those steps with people shoving us from all sides. As we reached the stairs and looked down, we could see a crowd of people, maybe 15 deep, throwing elbows as they tried to get to the front of the cave. Our tour guide implored us to wait our turn and go two at a time - "don't be like those people," he said, gesturing at the madness below. It was ugly.

Shepherd's Field was nice. It was strange, though: in the Bible stories of my youth, I somehow pictured that the distance the wise men had to travel was very, very far. In truth, they could have made their trip in 20 minutes or so of brisk walking. Odd how the image I had was just all wrong.

After a great lunch and some souvenir shopping, we headed back into Jerusalem and went to a little holiday party. So the kids got to see the birthplace of Christ and sit in Santa's lap, all in one day.

Yesterday morning we went to church in the Old City before driving back across the border to Amman, where we took Aidan to the orthodontist and brought both Shay and Ainsley to the doctor (Shay now has a ferocious cough). And today, it was work as usual...

Tomorrow is another long day of work and school meetings and holiday prep. I refuse to believe Christmas is in just a few days. I haven't wrapped, or shopped, or baked... But I have seen the birthplace of Christ, and I have taken my children to see it for themselves, and we read the Bible story about the birth, and so I suppose you could say we are ready. Ready to celebrate Christmas in a way that just wouldn't be possible elsewhere.

During the church service in the Old City, the children were asked "how many of you have been to Bethlehem?"

Every single child in the room raised an enthusiastic hand.

This is something that would never have happened if we had stayed home in Virginia. This is something that makes this Foreign Service lifestyle worth living. This is something for which I am grateful this holiday season.

Weekend Sports

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 20:01:00 +0000

Can you tell my new computer is here? I can put pictures on my blog once again! Of course, I can't put any old pictures up, because for some reason the old hard drive can't be recovered. Not yet, anyway, though I haven't given up hope that someone out there can revive it. It makes no sense: if the gatorade that struck the fatal blow never made it all the way to the hard drive, why is it dead? But it is, apparently, and I am beyond bummed, because that sucker was full of photos and unpublished stories, and everything important to me. Yes, I know: I should've backed it up more frequently. I'm an idiot. And why hasn't anyone invented waterproof keyboards? For all their vaunted design brilliancy, you'd think Apple would've figured that one out by now.

Anyway, in the interest of catching up on my blogging, I'm going to give you two-posts-for-the-price-of-one.

Our weekends have been crammed full of activities recently, so there's no way to catch you up on everything. But here are a couple of fun intramural events to tell y'all about.

First up: Shay's cross country meet, held out in the boondocks at King's Academy (a really nice school; really not close). Shay placed 2nd in his age group (he got passed at the very end, and boy, was he irritated about that!). His team placed first overall.

While they waited for the race to begin, the girls built a snowman. Except, well, it doesn't really snow here, so they built it out of rocks. And yes, they chose their own outfits for the day.

Aidan also had a soccer tournament recently. I know they didn't win their matches, but I don't know the final scores. Aidan played goalie, and he had a couple of really nice saves. That kid is not afraid of the ball.

Big day ahead tomorrow, full of holiday concerts and doctor appointments and airport trips and Christmas shopping and work and who knows what else? Good night, wherever you are...

'Tis the Season

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 19:47:00 +0000

When December rolls around, things get a little crazy in our house. The kids spot an advent calendar and it's all over - it's all so exciting that no one can be bothered to be good, or calm, or patient, when Christmas is JUST AROUND THE CORNER!!!

They're making me crazy.

****

On December 1st, I pulled out the Christmas plates. We have four little plates, each with a different Christmasy pattern, that were given to us a few years back. It's become a sort of holiday tradition to fight over who gets the snowman plate.

That first night of December, I made a red-and-green meal. Sort of accidentally, but still: such holiday spirit I had on the first day of the month! We had pasta with tomatoes and basil, we had beets, and we had spinach salad. The whole meal looked quite festive. I dished it out on the fancy Christmas plates and waited for the kids to notice.

"I got the reindeer!" said Aidan, midway through the meal.

Shay dug around under the spinach and said "I got the snowflake!"

Kyra looked and shouted "I got the tree!!!"

Ainsley was confused. She looked down at her plate of pasta with tomatoes and basil and shook her head sadly. "All I got," she said, "is a tomato."

****

Today was Breakfast With Santa at the Embassy, and I'm pretty sure if I don't get any photos up soon, the grandparents are going to withhold my Christmas presents. So here they are: the kids with Santa. And Santa's camel. Because, after all, we do live in Jordan. I'll try to be back soon with more from Amman, but no promises: 'tis the season, after all, to be totally overwhelmed by the to-do list.

Where Was I?

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 12:30:00 +0000

When last we met our fearless heroine, she was prepping for a Thanksgiving feast for 45. Can we blame her if she hasn't blogged since? That kind of partying is exhausting!

Oh, but I had help. Lots and lots of help.

We tend to invite the Marines over for Thanksgiving every year, both because they work for Bart (the MSG program is, I believe, the only case in which a civilian directly oversees the military) and because they're always a great group of young guys - plus the occasional female - and they're serving their country, far from home, without their mamas and without any roasting pans of their own. So we invited them, and they offered to bring along a few drinks. When Sergeant Dan walked in, he was lugging more beer than I could pick up, let alone consume in a lifetime. I can't stop laughing about that one.

We also invited Bart's whole office, and while not all of them came, an awful lot did. Which meant our guests were mostly either Marines or federal agents. Strange crowd I hang with. (Aside: when told that so-and-so was going to a friend's house for the big day, Shay retorted "So? Our party will be cooler, because we will have all of the Marines!") Our guests all brought food, so while I cooked all of the usual Thanksgiving dishes, I didn't have to make enough of each for 45. No, I just made one turkey, but we had three turkeys in all, plus a ham. Oh, and mac n cheese, and sweet potatoes and stuffing, and salad, and ohmygosh I'm suddenly hungry again. I laughed at Beth when she walked in with a dish of mashed potatoes that measured - no joke! - about 2x3 feet, because who could eat that many potatoes? We could, apparently, because by night's end they were 100% gone.

We had 5 tables set up in our living room, with drinks on the porch and food in the kitchen.

It was madness. But it was such delicious fun.

And then, because we are INSANE, we got the bright idea to host a "leftovers party," so the very next night we had 25 more people over to polish off what was left. Only problem: they all brought leftovers of their own, so we had about the same amount of food that we'd had the night before.

I love Thanksgiving.

But here it is December 1, and Thanksgiving is long over. The house is clean again, and the leftovers are all gone, and there will be no more turkey until next year - unless I decide to make the same meal on Christmas Day.

There will, however, be beer. From now until we move again, there will be enough beer for all of us.

Forty Five

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 10:28:00 +0000

That's how many people are expected at my house for Thanksgiving tomorrow. How did Bart's office get so big?

Right now I am elbow deep in turkey brine, bread cubes, sweet potatoes and chocolate. I love this holiday.

Back soon with a recap. Meanwhile, enjoy your Thanksgiving, wherever you are in the world - I have friends and family cooking up feasts in Bahrain, Beijing, Japan, Jerusalem, New York, Nouakchott, Malawi, Virginia, Senegal, Seattle, Canada, Los Angeles, Afghanistan, Austin, Baghdad, Scranton, Santa Barbara, Kenya and so many other places across the globe. And for all of these people, who have kept me smiling and standing all these years, I am truly, deeply thankful.

Marine Ball 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 19:25:00 +0000

This year the Marine Ball was held at the Dead Sea. Given the massive quantities of vomit that were flying around our house as recently as Thursday evening, I was seriously concerned that we would have to cancel. But somehow everyone managed to be not-sick on Friday, and so we sent our eldest child away for a sleepover and asked the nanny to stay overnight with the other three.

Then off we went to the Dead Sea Marriott, where, upon check in, no one complained about being hungry, and no one bopped anyone else on the nose with a backpack, and no one called anyone else a dummyhead, and no one fell off the bed, or otherwise required medical assistance. It was ever so strange.

We had a great time, eating and drinking and yes, even dancing, despite my firm belief that there is nothing on this earth more ridiculous looking than me, dancing. Apparently I hang out with a bunch of enablers, because every time I'd finish off a glass of something, someone would refill it. Bart's strictly a soda water guy, so it was mostly just me with a constant refill. But at least I wasn't drinking out of a bottle with a straw, as was one of my friends. And I didn't accidentally stick the back of my heel through my dress, so there's that. And no one had to kick me out of the place at 3 a.m. - I didn't even make it 'til midnight before I turned back into a pumpkin.

We had a great time, but I think I'm glad it's over for the year. I'm exhausted! Next up: Thanksgiving dinner for forty.

That's What Friends Are For

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 15:08:00 +0000

Kyra is finally on the mend as of yesterday. She's eating solid foods again - and keeping them down! - though I'm afraid she's developed a frightening addiction to Popsicles over the last couple of days.

Last night we had an event to attend, but it was Aidan's night for basketball, and he desperately wanted to go. So when a dear friend offered to take him, we happily accepted. At the appointed hour, he ran out the door to join her boys in the car, and while they headed to the gym, we went to our little party.

When we returned a couple of hours later, Aidan was lying on the couch, clutching his stomach and moaning. It turns out he'd been stricken with the stomach bug during basketball practice, leaving our poor saint of a friend to deal with the aftereffects. First he vomited in the gym, so she had to track down a bucket and mop to clean up the mess. As if that weren't bad enough, he vomited in her car on the way home. In her car. Is there a sorry-my-kid-threw-up-in-your-car Hallmark card? Because I need one, apparently.

Aidan was up every 30 minutes or so last night, vomiting. And, because God wanted to make it convenient for me, Ainsley got sick, too, around midnight. Twice the vomit, half the sleepless nights. Thanks, God.

Now 75% of my kids have gotten sick (did I do the math right, EconKate?), and since Bart and I have a big date planned for tomorrow night, I suppose my astute readers can guess what's going to happen to the other 25% within the next 24 hours.

My life. It's like I'm a walking advertisement for birth control.

Too Late

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 05:56:00 +0000

Thanksgiving is next week.

And do you know what that means?

It means I'm too late for Christmas.

A notice went out, oh, sometime before Halloween, reminding us that the deadline for holiday shipping was fast approaching. But at the time, I was scouring the Internet, looking for Halloween costumes. There was no time to think about Christmas.

And then someone asked me: have you finished ordering gifts yet? But this was a couple of weeks ago, and at the time, I was still saving up for my phenomenally expensive overseas turkey. You know how they give turkeys away free-with-purchase in the States sometimes? Give thanks, people, give thanks. Because shipping a frozen butterball overseas ain't easy, and the cost is exorbitant. It's easy to blow $50 on a turkey, and you still haven't sourced the bread that you need to personally cube and dry if you want to make stuffing. And... well, you get the idea. I am currently thinking about Thanksgiving.

Not Christmas.

But if Santa has any hope of getting here on the 25th of December, I really need to stop thinking about cranberry substitutes and start surfing over at amazon. Like, yesterday.

Ba humbug.

Us

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 15:45:00 +0000

Wow. Just, wow.

My little post went viral, and I've had quite a few extra visitors these past few days. Welcome, new people! I don't usually run around calling people morons, so don't get used to it.

Lots to say, but I'm having trouble forming words over here. It's nothing as simple as writer's block, no. You see, there's some nasty bug that's been striking down kids all across Amman. Just about every parent I know has spent some quality time this week cleaning up vomit. Last night, it hit us, and poor Kyra is down for the count. I was up half the night washing linens, so this morning, I'm feeling somewhat incoherent.

But hey, there's good news! Before Kyra started throwing up, I was able to get on the phone and order a new computer. Which means that, assuming it makes it through the DPO (and do you know how expensive it is to ship a computer over here? Yikes.), I'll soon be back in the 21st century.

Meanwhile, I figured out a complicated work around so I could post a picture here. It took half of forever. But here, as promised eons ago, is a picture of us, in Petra. Enjoy. Oh, and wash your hands a lot - you don't want this vomit thing spreading to your house, trust me.

I'll Bet I've Met More Diplomats Than Rick Perry Has.

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 17:33:00 +0000

I've met lots and lots and lots of diplomats over the past decade or so. Heck, I even married one.

But of course, I'm not a diplomat myself. Which is why I can say, very undiplomatically, that Rick Perry is a moron. Go read this and see if you don't agree: http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2011/11/07/perry-questions-intentions-of-american-diplomats/. Said Mr. Perry: “I’m not sure our State Department serves us well. I’m not talking about the Secretary of State here. I’m talking about the career diplomats and the Secretary of State who, all too often, may not be making decisions, or giving advice to the administration that’s in this country’s best interest.”

Here's the way it works, Mr. Perry, since you're clearly not too familiar with how the Foreign Service operates. The U.S. Department of State looks for the smartest people it can find, and then, if it can interest them in a low-paying, lonely and dangerous job, somewhere in the far reaches of the globe, it hires them.

We have Republican diplomats. We have Democratic diplomats. We have gay diplomats. We have diplomats who oppose gay marriage. We have Muslim diplomats and Jewish diplomats, and girl and boy diplomats. Single parents can be diplomats, as can childless singles. We might even have (or at least we might have had, until today) diplomats who are Rick Perry supporters. We have just about every type of diplomat you can imagine, because we represent a fairly diverse cross-section of America.

What we don't have, Mr. Perry, are diplomats who joined the Foreign Service because they wanted to give screwed-up advice directly to President. You won't find a single person in the entire State Department who joined solely to get rich, or to advance a personal agenda at some great cost to our nation.

People don't always agree with each other in the Foreign Service, and people don't always get along on a personal level. But Foreign Service officers always advance the agenda of our government, without fail. And they work together, no matter their personal beliefs. Because that is what they were hired to do. Imagine that, if you will: Democrats and Republicans, all working together on behalf of our nation - it happens every single day in the Foreign Service.

I'm guessing our pal Rick Perry hasn't actually met a Foreign Service officer before. But he probably knows there aren't a whole lot of them out there (I'm told it is still true that there are more military band members than there are FSOs). Since there aren't a lot of FSOs, maybe he figures it's okay to insult the whole lot of them - after all, even if every single one of us votes against him, we don't have enough votes to collectively guarantee a loss for him. And here's the kicker: if he somehow manages to pull off a victory, those very same Foreign Service officers whom he just mindlessly insulted will stand up and support his policies across the globe.

Because that's what the Foreign Service is about. Diplomats support American ideals in every country across the globe, often at great risk to themselves and their families. Diplomats (and their boss, the Secretary of State) don't set their own policies. Rather, they serve as boots on the ground, the eyes and ears of the President in every corner of the globe. Diplomats report back what they see and hear and think in these countries that Rick Perry has probably never considered visiting. They present the facts - and yes, they present their own educated opinions - so that our President has the information he needs to create and direct policy. Once the President decides on policy, these same diplomats work to advance his agenda. Not their own agendas, mind you. Never their own agendas.

If they feel strongly enough that they can't support the President's policies, they resign. It happens, on occasion. If you suddenly find that you can't support current policy, you resign, and you go look for a job in the private sector, where you are allowed to disagree publicly with our nation's policies, and where you probably make more money, too.

But the rest of those diplomats work for the United States of America. They don't work for the Republicans, and they don't work for the Democrats. They work for us, for our country. Always.

And shame on you, Mr. Perry, for suggesting otherwise just so you could win a few votes. Shame on you.

Another Day, Another Jordanian Get Together

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 15:11:00 +0000

This time, it was at Kyra's school. I love the girls' school, truly I do. It is a mix of nationalities: Russian, Japanese, American - but mostly Jordanian. Classes are taught half in Arabic, half in English, with 30 minutes of French thrown in for good measure. Small class sizes, great teachers, and walking distance from home. What could be better?

They tend to have a lot of parent-type days, like sports days, or concerts, or holiday celebrations. One other thing they have, which I'd blocked out after last year, is We Are Jordan day.

I was summoned to the school last week for We Are Jordan. The kids in Kyra's class were split into three groups, each at a separate table. Our group consisted of me, Kyra and 4 Jordanian families. We sat down together at a table covered with cardboard, play dough, bags of sand and other arts and crafty type things.

Now might be a good time to tell you that I SUCK at arts and crafty types things.

The teacher explained, in Arabic, what we were supposed to do, but it was loud and Arabic, so I understood not a thing. I asked her to repeat, for me, in English, while the other moms and kids feverishly set to work. Turns out, we were responsible for making Wadi Rum, the desert wonderland in southern Jordan, not far from Aqaba. The other parents in our group were making camels, or bedouins, or campfires. Kyra and I were assigned to make a tent.

A tent?

Yes, said the teacher, handing me a footlong square of burlap and two wooden meat skewers. A tent.

I tried every way I could think of to make that tent. I stabbed the sticks into the cardboard base and propped the canvas on them, but the whole structure collapsed. I wrapped play dough around the sticks, to no avail. I stuck bits of play dough around the edges of the burlap, hoping it would hold the heavy fabric in place, but - can you guess? - the tent collapsed again.

Next to me a mother son team were busy making paper camels with play dough saddles. Another kid was making an orange play dough campfire while his dad built another tent out of red and white checked fabric. His tent was square and sturdy and almost finished. My tent, shakily propped up with bits of toothpicks and cardboard, threatened to topple over at any moment. The mom to my right leaned across me to prop her kid's camel in front of the burlap tent. It perched there proudly, seeming to mock my tent. The mom to my left leaned over and handed me a piece of play dough, suggesting that I turn it into a saddle for that jaunty little camel. I pushed it onto the camel's back, where a saddle ought to be, and the camel prompted collapsed. The mom to my right glared at me. The mom to my left focused on her own project, even though it had been her suggestion that prompted me to mutilate the poor kid's camel.

I was miserable. All around me parents and kids chatted happily as they cut out tiny camels and people, or made tiny clay furniture that was supposed to go inside my tent. The furniture all stayed outside the tent, as it was clear the tent would blow away in the first desert breeze.

Perhaps sensing my misery, one of the moms smiled sympathetically and said "they gave you the hardest job."

Kyra was oblivious to her mother's complete lack of craftiness. She eyed the bag of sand and decided that our tent would look much better if we added sand. So she happily spread sand under and over the tent, sprinkled it on the campfire and poured it over the camels.

The tent, that poor sad sack of a tent, collapsed again under the weight of all of the sand. All the same, I pronounced our tent "perfect" and Kyra, who apparently has never seen a tent in her short life, happily agreed. We retired to the sand bottle table, where the kids were busily filling bottles with funnels of colored sand. And I rejoiced in the knowledge that We Are Jordan was over for the year.

That is, until I found a note in Ainsley's lunchbox that afternoon, summoning me to her classroom next week for her We Are Jordan event.

Just Your Average Mammal

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 09:48:00 +0000

The rainy season started, officially, last night.

Which is a tad bit annoying.

I mean, yes, I know I'm living in the fourth water poorest country in the world, and so we need rain in order to stay off of the winner's podium, but did it have to start on the first day of a week-long vacation, when my husband is winging his way back to the Land of the Giant Commissary and my nanny is enjoying her well-earned vacation and I am here alone with four children, plus their various hangers-on and all of their laundry?

Could the rain not have waited until next week?

But rain it did, and rain it is, and so I did what any sensible mammal does on a rainy, beginning-of-winter day: I went to the store and bought butter. And sugar. And flour and chocolate. And a whole chicken, for soup. And dried beans, for more soup. And a jalapeño, for salsa, because of course chips and salsa would be delicious on a rainy day.

And then I bought more butter.

It seems it is a good thing that my computer is dead and buried, because I cannot post any pictures via the iPad, and I have a sense that if I actually carry out all of my plans for butter comsumption, my pictures will be scary, indeed.

I have the chicken simmering on the stove and some butter softening on the counter. I plan to put my eldest to work baking cookies this afternoon, because then they will be educational cookies rather than woe is me summer is over cookies, and it's always easier to stop after three or so educational cookies. The woe is me cookies generally need to be eaten until one's stomach hurts, wouldn't you agree?

And for any grandparents out there reading this, if you happen to find some girls' raincoats and umbrellas out there for sale in the wide world, feel free to ship some our way. Apparently the girls outgrew last year's coats somehow.

Must be all that butter.

Passed

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 19:05:00 +0000

I passed the FSWE. Next up: the QEP.

Loving the acronyms. I was asked to sit in on a meeting this week, and the lady threw out so many acronyms that I simply had no idea what she was trying to tell me. I eventually tuned out and turned my attention to studying a map of the West Bank that was hanging on the wall. Here I thought I knew enough acronyms to fake my way through my day. I think someone out there has a full time job just thinking them up.

Maybe that's the job I should apply for. Acronym Thinker Upper. ATU.

Oops I Did It Again

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 18:11:00 +0000

You know, maybe I'm not cut out for life in the Foreign Service. Because here's the thing: if you're in the Foreign Service, you have to go to great lengths to meet new people. And I really, really hate meeting new people.

I'm okay if I have a goal in mind. Maybe I'm giving a presentation, or hosting a party, or asking an interviewee questions. But tell me to walk blind into a party, and I break out in hives.

Just last night, for example, I got to steak night (a semi-regular party at the Embassy) later than usual. There weren't any free tables, and I would've up and gone home except that I'd already ordered my food. So I just sort of stood there stupidly, waiting for an empty table to magically appear in front of me. And this is with people I sort of know! So imagine how terrible I am at walking into a party where I know no one.

And that's the set up for today.

Kyra got an invitation to a birthday party, and she was over the moon with excitement about it. I tried a million different ways to talk her out of going, because I was pretty sure I wouldn't know anyone there, but she was determined. So we went, she and I, though I'll admit we were fashionably late.

The party was at a new little play place in Abdoun. When we walked in, it was crazy. There were about 50 kids in attendance, no joke, plus various parents and nannies. You remember what happened last time I went to a Jordanian kid's birthday party? It wasn't pretty. This time, I was determined not to make an ass of myself, though I did plan to stick with my usual casual jeans/t-shirt/nice shoes combination, even though it would likely leave me underdressed.

So we found the place, and went on up, and they asked us to take our shoes off and store them in the cubbies by the door. We did that, and then Kyra took off into the play place, a vast area full of craft rooms, and water tables, and an entire pretend city. I took a deep breath and talked myself into walking into the mommy room.

I was somewhat taken aback by the sheer number of dressed-up Jordanians in the room - I counted about 30 women. And as I stood there in my newly stockinged feet, with my jeans rolled up so they wouldn't drag on the floor, I noticed: not one of those other moms had removed her own shoes. They were all in fancy stilettos and pumps - no need to roll their jeans up. The nannies were all barefoot, like me ( yes, lots of moms brought their nannies to the party, too).

At that point I knew was not going to have a successful party experience, so I slunk out of the mom room and went off to join the nannies and kids.

Things were going okay until one of the moms - whom I know from last year - approached to chit chat. Of course I couldn't hear her - it was too loud and I'm too deaf, so I just kind of did my usual smile-and-nod thing until I realized she was trying to set up a play date between Kyra and her daughter. I'm not quite sure what we agreed on, but it seems she and I agreed on a date of some sort. As we were doing this (?), one of Kyra's teachers wandered by and the mom engaged the teacher in a discussion. I was kind of trapped in between them, and I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could tell they were speaking Arabic, and they seemed to be including me in the conversation. So I just batted my eyes and tried to look as if I was in complete agreement with whatever they were telling me.

I kept it up for a good 5 minutes before the mom asked me a question, in Arabic. I must've been doing a stellar job of looking as though I was following along, but my cover was blown at that point. Even the smile-and-nod didn't get me back in the conversation. Once again, I found myself slinking away down the hall, looking for a new place to hide.

Oh, but they found me. These moms were so nice, and they were determined to get me into that mom room. One of them beckoned me back in there -apparently they were serving dinner. So I got in line - the only American, barefoot in a sea of well-heeled Jordanians.

I was standing there, clutching my plate and trying to decide what to eat, when the woman in front of me turned to me and said something. But what? It sounded almost like.... French? She repeated herself and yes, I'd found the lone Frenchwoman in the group.

Once we determined that I don't speak French, she switched to English. "I though you were French," she explained, "because French women, we often have such long, thin faces."

Yes, perhaps - but I bet French women wear shoes at parties.

We tried to chat as we got our food, but when I turned to find a table, I discovered there weren't any more seats in the mommy room. I stood there with my plate of tabouleh and watched as my new French friend rejoined the women at her table. No seats there. Kyra's teachers were parked at another table.

There was only one seat left, and it had been recently abandoned by the father of the birthday boy. I wasn't sure if he planned to return to his seat, but I had to sit somewhere. So I walked up to the table and asked the four ladies sitting there if I could join them. They assured me that I could, then returned to their conversation, in Arabic, without introducing themselves.

I know, I know. I should've introduced myself to them first. But by that point I was so desperately miserable that I just sat there and choked down my food. I was vaguely aware that the dad returned to the table, saw me in his seat, and left again. It was all I could do at that point not to burst into tears and run from the building. I nibbled on my food for a few more minutes, then excused myself and left the table. The four women didn't acknowledge my goodbye, engrossed as they were in their conversation. They weren't mean; they weren't rude. They just clearly did not care one bit that I was at their table. And really, why should they? They were all friends; I was the awkward new girl.

Sigh. I really wish I were better at this party thing. You'd think, after all these years in the FS, I'd have it figured out, but I don't. I'm forever wearing the wrong clothes, or taking off my shoes when everyone else leaves theirs on, or sitting in the wrong chair. That's one reason I like blogging. Because even as I tearfully locked myself in the bathroom and texted a friend about my lack of footwear, I thought to myself "yes, but now I have something to blog about!"

I was homesick tonight for America, where, generally speaking, I know the rules and can make it through a kid party with my ego intact. Kyra, however, had an absolute blast. So viewed in that light, the party was a huge success.

Still and all, I have to stand tall and shout it to the rooftops:

God Bless America, home of the brave and land of the drop-off party.

Quick Update For the Grandparents

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 19:10:00 +0000

The house is empty.

Well, as empty as it can be with just 4 kids, 1 dog, 1 cat and 2 parents.

Last weekend our Jerusalem relatives came for their first visit since moving to the Middle East, and it was so fun catching up with them. At the same time, Uncle Sean flew in from Los Angeles, via France, where he'd gone for business (rough life he leads, no?).

We spent a day hiking through Petra - no small feat with 6 little kids in tow. And we spent a few lazy afternoons at the pool. After the Jerusalem folks went back to work, Uncle Sean stayed on to entertain the beasts. It's his talent, and they adore him.

We also took him/ sent him to Mt. Nebo, Jerash, Ajloun and Rainbow Street. And basketball practice, of course.

This past weekend we piled in the car and drove to the Dead Sea. Love that place. We floated and swam and ate and water-slided (water-slid? What's the verb here?). At dinner Aidan ate 2 pieces of steak and a piece of chicken. He asked for more. I got him 2 more steaks and some pasta. He finished that off and said "that steak is good, but it's really filling!" Ummm, duh - anything's filling if you eat four servings worth, kid.

Uncle Sean is winging his way back to LA now, and the kids miss him already - even Ainsley, who couldn't quite remember his name. She kept calling him Uncle Brian. Or "the Red Guy," because of his red t-shirt. But this morning, when she awoke and he was gone, she sighed and said "I lub him, mama."

Still no computer, so still no photos to show you. But my lovely sis-in-law posted some photos of the whole family at Petra, so if you have her blog address, go there to see our smiley family. I'd give a link, but I'm not sure if she wants the extended audience stopping by. And speaking of my sis-in-law, can I tell you how awesome it is to have her in the region? My brother-in-law chose wisely and well, and I couldn't have a more perfect friend if I'd chosen her for myself. I think I won the in-law battle all around.

And now, for my traditional end-of-post:

It's late! I'm tired! Good night!

Road Trip Math

noreply@blogger.com (Donna) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 19:18:00 +0000

11 Gormans. 2 cars. A 3-hour caravan to Petra, which is, of course, one of the 7 Wonders of the World.

1 son noted with displeasure that 3 trips to Petra in 1 year is 2 trips too many.

A long day, that. But, despite the fact that my kids are becoming completely jaded by our international life style ("Oh, gawd, mom, the Great Wall again? Seriously? That is so boring!"), we all had fun. Tragically, there will be no pictures, as I have no computer upon which to download the photos. Hopefully I can get my sister-in-law to email me a few of hers one day.