Laural Out Loud

Betsy Wetsy

2009-06-29T15:15:00.000-07:00

A cold that turned into bronchitis has knocked me flat on my back. Well, flat on my bed in an upright position, since I can't breathe when I'm laying down. It has zapped every ounce of energy from my body, and apparently my bladder control. Sneezing, coughing and even just blowing my nose cause me to wet myself.

It's gotten to the point that whenever I feel a sneeze coming on, I run for the toilet, because simply crossing my legs isn't doing the trick anymore.

It wouldn't be so bad, because I have over 30 pairs of underwear, but then I went and peed myself in my doctor's waiting room during a violent coughing fit. Talk about embarrassing! Grown women don't usually have to carry extra pairs of underwear in their purses, though I might consider it if I go out again before I'm better. I do not want THAT happening again.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure my new found incontinence has more to do with an in utero baby pushing on my bladder mixed with sudden spastic pressure and not so much to do with getting older, as a dear friend is trying to convince me. No Depends for me just yet! Well, seriously hoping not.

So for now I'm firmly planted on my bed, propped up with every pillow in the house, trying not to whine too much (I'm wimpy, I whine!), with a surprisingly sympathetic Gilberto waiting on me hand and foot (I'm usually told to suck it up). He grew up with a super human mother who never let a little sickness stop her from taking care of her house or family, and I don't think he even knew women COULD get sick until he met me.

I have another doctor's appointment tonight because the antibiotic I'm on isn't working. I need for the healing to begin! Gabi has gotten away with a magnitude of stunts because I haven't had the energy to watch her like I should, the house is a mess and we're running out of clothes. I NEED to get better.

I've Lost All Control

2009-06-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

You know those cute little tiny containers of Ben & Jerry's? I got three of them at the grocery store a few days ago. I thought, this will be a great way to indulge in a little ice cream without overdoing it!

That night I ate the Chocolate Fudge Brownie one. And even after licking the inside out with my tongue, it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. So I grabbed another (also Chocolate Fudge Brownie), and would've eaten the third if Gabi hadn't thrown a fit about how it was supposedly HERS. Whatever. I didn't really want her Strawberry ice cream after such delicious chocolate anyway.

Not being able to satisfy my chocolate craving lit a massive chocolate craving fire under my quickly enlarging pregnant butt. The next day I made super rich brownies, with dark chocolate frosting. Whoever invented brownies has done this world an incredible favor, and these brownies did not disappoint in any way.

When that was all gone, I went and got all the stuff to make Chocolate Fudge Pie. Which was amazing! Each creamy, chocolaty bite melted in my mouth and tasted like heaven.

But now I have an extra crust and I can't bear to let it go to waste, so I'm going with my gut and making a Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie tomorrow (anyone have a super great recipe?). And some Banana Bread with Ghiradelli chocolate chips because if I'm baking, I might as well make some bread, too. And I have the stuff for Chocolate Chip Cookies, the thought of which are making me salivate. So that's a definite yes on the cookies.

The lesson here? DO NOT BUY THOSE LITTLE CONTAINERS OF BEN & JERRY'S. Go for the big container and just get it over with in one go.

Knocked Up

2009-06-16T14:59:00.000-07:00

I've been keeping a secret for the last six weeks and I FINALLY get to spill the beans! Which is such a relief, because I'm the worst secret keeper ever.

Well, here you go.

I went for my first appointment this morning. Besides the never ending nausea, sore boobs and crying for no reason, I haven't really felt pregnant (I know, I'm a loon), so I was half expecting the midwife to tell me I was mistaken.

Midwife: Mrs Kay, it's just that you're, um, NOT pregnant. Not in the least.

Me: But what about the uncontrollable sobbing I did over Grey's Anatomy?

Midwife: Well, emotional issues aren't really my specialty, but I can give you the number of a really great psychologist.

Me: But my pants aren't fitting anymore!

Midwife: Yes, I noticed that. I can also recommend a really great weight loss specialist.

So to see my baby squirming on the ultrasound screen was not only reassuring, it really drove home that I am, in fact, pregnant with a REAL LIVE HUMAN BEING inside me.

Amazing.

As for stats, I'm 10 weeks along, due January 11th, and settling into some very intense cravings.

18 Hours Straight At The Casino

2009-06-01T19:05:00.000-07:00

Gilberto and I celebrated our anniversary over the weekend. Six years! Woohoo! Since my mom offered to watch Gabi overnight, we decided to get out of town for a relaxing night to ourselves.

We went here.

Most couples head off for full weekend getaways at the beach or in the mountains and stay in a lovely little bed and breakfast and drink wine, or go into the city and have a fabulous dinner at a four star restaurant followed by a day at the spa. We opt for the loudest, smokiest hotels on earth with packages that include a variety of gambling and buffet options. Two free dinner buffets and a $20 slot credit, or a voucher for Continental breakfast in the cafe with a $50 slot credit? Pick whichever one works best for you!

We're just classy like that.

San Diego is the Land of Casinos, and it's actually a great way to get a nice hotel room for a steal. If we'd stayed local, our money would've gotten us a Motel 6 in a place where Domino's Pizza won't deliver after 9:00 at night.

At the casino, our room was really REALLY nice, with a king sized bed so decked out it screamed Oprah. I'm probably going to spend the rest of my life trying to recreate it.

And THE TUB! I was so enamored I took a picture before filling it up for a soak. Check this baby out.

I spent a good hour in there with water up to my chin.

Everything was pretty much perfect until this morning when we were woken up by the little old ladies in the room next to us, whooping it up about something at 7:30 in the morning. We could hear them clear as a bell through the shared door. I think they were doing impersonations.

I tried to convince Gilberto to do a little impersonating of our own.

Me: Hon! Let's stand next to the door and make sex noises!

Gilberto: WHAT?

Me: It'll be fun! Put a little pink in their cheeks.

Gilberto: You're insane!

Me: I'll say, Give it to me like the stud you are, baby. And you'll say, I'm going to pound you silly, you dirty vixen. Then we'll just make lots of noises and go Oh Yeah a bunch! It'll be so funny!

Though he wouldn't do it (I don't think he was all that impressed with my script), I did have him laughing pretty hard.

Our little trip was a total success.

Just a word to all women who find themselves packing for a night away. Don't think that you can go without your tweezers for even 12 hours. It's the time you don't pack them that you'll find a surprise hair that you need to pluck. Like, on your boob.

Goldie Meets Her Maker

2009-05-25T20:18:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day took on a new meaning in our house today.

In addition to remembering the brave men and women who served our country, we also mourned the death of our beloved pet, Goldie the Goldfish, who passed away this morning.

(This is not Goldie, she was much MUCH fatter)

Once she was discovered belly up, we realized that the bubbler thing had been unplugged. Official cause of death: suffocation.

I was immediately suspected in bringing on her demise with some foul play, since everyone around here knows how much I hated that fish, but we soon figured out that Gabi had accidentally done the unplugging when she was playing with Gilberto's power drill. (It sounds worse than it was, I swear. And, no, we won't be telling her about her role in Goldie's death.)

Gabi's actually taking it quite well, though she won't let us flush Goldie down the toilet. I tried to get her all hyped up on sending Gabi back to the ocean Nemo style, but she wouldn't hear of it. We have to have a funeral, complete with coffin, and bury her beneath the tree where our other two fish are resting. We put it off until tomorrow, when all of the neighbors will be back at work, just in case there's some HOA rule about burying pets in public places.

I'm so over having pets, even ones as easy as fish. I just can't do it. Heaven forbid we move and I have to fulfill our promise to get Gabi a dog.

Perfection

2009-05-24T21:55:00.001-07:00

My new favorite ice cream:

Caramel & Sweet Cream Ice Cream Swirled with Fudge Peace Signs & Toffee Cookie Pieces

Delicious!

I had to hide the carton in dish towel and sneak bites so I wouldn't have to share with Gabi. Some things are sacred like that.

Just Assume That All Nasty Looks Are The Result Of Being Out Of Beano

2009-05-20T14:10:00.001-07:00

I call it a MAJOR success when I go into Costco for one container of Cesar Salad and leave with only salad, blueberries and trail mix. I don't think I've ever gotten out of Costco for so little before!

I'm still a bit high from it, actually.

Though the 40 minutes it took me to get checked out and back to my car I could've done without.

Part of it was the sheer number of people at Costco today. Are Wednesday afternoons usually so hopping? I had to park in the boonies, wait for a cart, then push it through the masses to the back of the store while trying not to ram into anyone. (Which I almost didn't do. At least it was someone strong and stout.)

On my way back to the front I kept getting stuck behind slow moving cart pushers, people stopping to chat with each other in the middle of the aisle and pile-ups near the sample stands. I had no idea that the Three Bean Salad In A Jar was so popular! It was just NOT my day for a quick shopping run.

Even trying to divert through the clothing area didn't work. Obstacles were everywhere!

But all of my annoyance disappeared at the check out stand when the couple behind me, who tsk tsked and then gave me nasty looks because they had to push my cart forward for me, started loading the Beano onto the conveyor belt. You just can't be upset with people who need to use Beano. I mean, they probably just can't help their sourpuss faces, due to all the gassy build up.

Despite ending my trip with a chuckle, no more Costco for me on Wednesday afternoons. I've learned my lesson: any time the only parking option is the back lot, TURN AROUND and get the heck out.

From Brown To Green

2009-05-01T19:57:00.001-07:00

All it took to make my day perfect was three Queen Palms!

Palms that dumped dirt in my shoes and down my shirt and into my mouth while I was trying to load them into the truck. But they have been forgiven, since they look so pretty on my patio.

They are replacing the dead plants that have graced the space since last summer. I'm just not so good with plants or flowers. No matter how hard I try I end up killing them, and then once they're dead and I don't have to water them anymore, I kind of forget they're there. And so they stay.

NOT that I plan for my new palms to die. They're really big so I figure they'll have a stronger hold to life. It'd be nice if I could keep SOMETHING alive and not be the Grim Reaper of Gardening.

I also picked up a hanging basket and a few other potted flowers (or plants? I can't really tell). I just can't help but try again every spring, though the outcome is always the same: brown. At least my patio will look good tomorrow for my birthday BBQ!

Next obsession- finding the perfect pots to put them in. Knowing me, this could take months.

Spring Cleaning

2009-04-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

I've been knee deep in spring cleaning for the last two days.

I don't deep clean very often because the OCD part of me takes over and I do things like scoot around on my butt cleaning baseboards with a toothbrush and stand on a ladder to wash the upper parts of the walls.

I also sort and organize as I go. My hall closet is now a masterpiece, and you should see the truck load of stuff that I made Gilberto haul off to Goodwill! It felt SO good to see it all go, even though I had to justify why I wanted to get rid of every single item to my pack rat of a husband. I think it physically pained him to drive the load away.

This type of approach takes time, too. So after two days, I've only just finished the downstairs. The sad part is that looking around, you can't really tell at all.

Tomorrow I start with the upstairs, though I need to speed things up. Not only do I have an out of town friend coming to stay with us starting tomorrow night who probably wouldn't enjoy spending her vacation watching me scrub furniture, I also have serious issues with spending more than three days deep cleaning my house. Three is okay, but four is a deal breaker.

That's when hiring some help comes into play. Since we don't have the money to do that now that I'm not working, I guess whatever doesn't get done tomorrow will have to wait until the fall.

Plus, I have other things to worry about. Like how Gabi has started to eat her boogers.

She has given me two reasons for why she doesn't want to stop. One, it's far more convenient to just eat them than wait for a tissue. And two, they're tasty. My logical, disgusting child.

Advice is welcome.

Asthma To The Rescue

2009-04-24T14:28:00.000-07:00

The sessions I've had with my personal trainer have been torture!

After nearly dying every single time I've gone into the gym, I was complaining to my mom and wondering if I should quit.

Me: I just don't get it. It's been over two weeks and it's still just as hard! I thought it'd get better, but my legs are so sore I feel like they're going to buckle with every step I take. And forget about putting my bra on- my arms won't cooperate.

Mom: It'll get easier, just stick with it.

Me: I will, but during my workouts, I just can't catch my breath. It's a horrible feeling! And I've almost passed out so many times. I get lightheaded and I can see a black cloud squeezing my vision in. I feel like such a wimp.

Mom: Hmmm. And you're taking your inhaler?

Me: My inhaler? Wow, no.

Mom: You have exercise induced asthma and need to take your inhaler before every work out! What were you thinking?

Me: I forgot!

Mom: You forgot that you have ASTHMA?

Me: Yeah! I can't believe it, but I did! And now everything makes so much more sense!

Like, how after 10 minutes of strength training I'd already be a red faced, sweaty mess, gasping for breath as I stumbled for the balance bar after each rep to keep myself from falling to the ground. And how no matter how deeply I breathed, I never really felt like I was getting enough oxygen. Silly me, I WASN'T.

I wonder how many brain cells I killed in the last two weeks. At my age, I don't have any to spare. Obviously.

I bought an inhaler and took it before my next session, and oh my word, what a world of difference it made! My trainer was shocked at how much better I was doing. And it felt so good to be able to say, "See! I'm not just an intolerable complainer! I really WAS going to pass out dead."

The inhaler has also made a huge difference for my cardio workouts. I used to climb on the elliptical and it would feel like I was dredging through a swamp with weights on my ankles. When I was done I'd be so worn out I could barely get off the thing. Not anymore! Still a little swampy, but without the dredging or weighted ankles.

And the way I see things, more oxygen = better results = more leeway in how many Trader Joe's Maple Leaf Cookies I can consume. Have you had one? They are DIVINE.

When Easter Goes Bad

2009-04-13T16:56:00.000-07:00

I keep reading all of these wonderful Easter stories, full of family and happiness and well behaved children. Stories that would make Martha Stewart and Jesus proud.

But did anyone else have an Easter like mine?

It went down like this.

Gabi barrelled down the stairs and ripped her basket apart in less than five seconds, not taking any notice of all the toys I'd lovingly picked out for her over the last few months in her quest for chocolate.
Gabi noticed that there wasn't very much chocolate in her basket this year, and threw a fit.
I debated about telling her about the chocolate filled plastic eggs hidden throughout the living room because I didn't want to reward her behavior, but thought a fun hunt might cheer her up. Maybe she'd just woken up on the wrong side of the bed?
Gabi tore around the living room collecting eggs, and then plopped down on the floor and started stuffing chocolate into her mouth as fast as she could.
When the chocolate was cut off, she screamed and cried about how unfair we were and threw her new toys on the ground.
For the next several hours we kept finding her trying to get into her basket for more chocolate, which was in a time out on top of the fridge.
Each time we caught her, she threw a loud, screaming tantrum. Dragging a flailing, screaming child off a kitchen counter without anyone getting hurt is HARD.
After lunch, Gabi was allowed to have more chocolate. Why, I don't know, because she was soon running around the house in a sugar induced high, destroying it, and screaming every time I tried to get her to pick up after herself.
In the afternoon, she looked out the window and saw the neighbor girl dressed in a puffier Easter dress then hers. She spent the rest of the evening crying about her horrible, not as puffy dress.
In the bathtub she started sobbing about what a horrible Easter she'd had. She didn't get any chocolate, her dress wasn't puffy and her eggs hadn't even been hidden outside. How could I hide her eggs inside? HOW could I do that to her?
I'd had ENOUGH.

I dragged her out of the bath and wrapped her tightly in a towel so she couldn't squirm away while I retold her the reason why we celebrate Easter. How it's all about Jesus rising from the dead, and how that meant we could now be forgiven for the bad things we do. And how Easter baskets and chocolate and pretty dresses are just an extra bonus, things that we do because we are so happy to celebrate such a wonderful day.

I thought I'd gotten through to her because she calmed down, stopped crying and ended up being upset that Jesus had been watching her bad self all day.

But today, when we picked up the little boy we car pool for preschool with, and he asked her how her Easter was, she told him about how awful it was. So much for getting through to her. Thankfully he ignored her and launched into a story about his new Spiderman scooter.

I was so livid I was on the verge of banning Easter baskets from our house forever and never letting any type of candy into our house EVER AGAIN, EVER, when a thought struck me. Maybe Gabi's behavior wasn't based so much on her, but on God punishing me for not going to church on, like, only one of the most important days on the Christian calendar.

I know, I skipped Easter Sunday. I am not without shame. But I thought we'd just forgo one year of crowds and parking hassles and take it easy at home. Instead my child turned into the devil.

Message from God, or just a coincidence?

Next year I'll try Easter baskets AND church and see how it goes. If Gabi's still acting ungrateful and bratty, then I'll implement a basket and candy ban.

Not A Good Day For Shishkabobs

2009-04-10T09:45:00.000-07:00

I don't think Jesus is going to strike me down for eating meat on Good Friday. But Gilberto's mom does.

Every year we forget that the Friday before Easter is Good Friday. It just doesn't cross our minds. So every year Gilberto will call me in a panic after receiving a call from him mom bright and early in the morning.

Gilberto: Laural! We can't eat meat today! DON'T EAT MEAT!

Me: Gilberto, that's silly. You know it doesn't matter if we eat meat today.

Gilberto: Just don't do it, okay? Better to be on the safe side, you know?

Me: Honey, nothing is going to happen!

Gilberto: OH MY GOD, JUST DON'T EAT THE F***ING MEAT TODAY!

Me: Okay, fine, whatever.

And I don't. 'Cause I'm a good wife like that.

This year his mom called while he was driving to work. The calls are actually quite funny. She says hi and wishes him a happy Good Friday, to which he expresses surprise, and she freaks out that he didn't know and could've eaten meat, and he gets upset that he almost damned his soul, and she spends the rest of the conversation making him promise over and over again that he'll stay true to his roots and not eat meat, and he spends the rest of the conversation promising. And then he immediately calls me.

I got my Good Friday wake-up call at 7:00 this morning.

Gilberto: I can't eat the lunch you packed for me, it has meat in it!

Me: What? Can't eat the lunch? Oh, is it Good Friday? Did your mom call?

Gilberto: YES, she called. Or I would've eaten it! It would've been awful! I could be in hell right now!

Me: It's not like I tried to poison you! I just forgot! My goodness.

Gilberto: Laural, just promise me that you won't eat meat. And that includes Gabi.

Me: Gabi?

Gilberto: DON'T YOU DARE FEED MEAT TO MY BABY TODAY!

Me: Okay! Chill out! I wasn't planning to!

Gilberto: You'll be sorry if you give her any meat. Just sayin'. Love you, bye.

The warning isn't without warrant, because the rebel in me is already wanting to do something sinful like roast a pig on a stick on the back patio, or eat a cheeseburger for lunch, just to prove him wrong. But I won't. Plus, Gabi's old enough to tell on me.

No meat today.

Carnival Of Disease

2009-04-08T14:49:00.001-07:00

While we were in Brasil, Gabi's preschool mail slot got so full that the staff had to find somewhere else to keep it. Since the pile was tucked away in someone's office, it took until this afternoon for me to remember to ask for it.

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind has heavy meaning in my life. It's why I make lists.

Anyway, the pile o' mail was just FULL of illness notices. Here's what we missed during the four weeks we were gone:

Pink Eye
Strep Throat
Head Lice
Rubella
Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease
Croup
Pink Eye (again)
Fifth Disease
Chicken Pox
Rotavirus
Scabies
The Flu

Good Lord! Talk about a cesspit. I don't know what the heck happened in San Diego over that four weeks to cause such an outbreak, but I'm ever so thankful to have missed it.

Out of all of those things, I'm especially happy to have avoided the lice and scabies. I will gladly take puke and puss over bugs any day.

Maybe it's a good thing that Gabi refused to go to preschool in Brasil. Who knows what their list of common childhood illnesses would consist of. If there's a country where creepy crawling things the size of a pen head are considered normal, it's there.

If Exercise Is So Great, Why Does It Hurt So Much?

2009-04-03T16:57:00.000-07:00

My muscles finally gave out on me in Costco. I knew it would be coming, but I thought I had a little bit more time. I slumped against the cart, holding myself up by the handlebar, and begged God for just a little more strength. Just enough to get through my shopping trip and back home.

Because I'm pretty sure if you fall in Costco and can't get back up again, they would insist on calling an ambulance. I could see myself trying to explain the situation to the EMT as I was being wheeled out on a stretcher.

EMT: Ma'am, do you know what happened? Anything you tell us could be helpful.

Me: Um, well, actually, it's pretty simple? I was just at the gym? And I had my first workout with a personal trainer? And now my muscles won't work?

(I tend to turn statements into questions when I'm embarrassed.)

Thankfully, God heard my prayer, or saw the ambulance scenario running through my mind and decided to spare me, and I was able to keep going.

Six hours later, the shock to my system has worn off and I'm starting to experience some serious pain. I'm trying to tell myself it's GOOD pain. Like, oh, yeah, it's hurts so GOOD. But I'm a wimp, and it's bad!

There is only one other time I've felt like this. Our plane arrived at JFK late and we only had five minutes to get to another terminal for our international connection, no time to wait for the stroller to unload. Gilberto took off running so he could hold the gate, and left me with our four carry-ons and a two year old. I ran as fast as I could, and about half way there started sobbing because I didn't think my legs were going to hold me up anymore. They didn't hurt, they just turned into goo.

Well, I've left the goo phase and have moved on to the not wanting to move an inch phase.

I can't believe I scheduled another appointment for Monday. My trainer knew what he was doing when he got me to the appointment book immediately after my session, before the full force of our workout hit me.

The rebel in me just can't help herself, though. My plan for pain control? An sedentary evening in front of the TV with a never ending glass of high calorie Jack and coke.

Hellooooo, Jack.

And We're Off Again

2009-03-12T09:42:00.000-07:00

Someone kept farting on the plane. Nine and a half hours of the worst smell ever.

Then on the second plane, we were in the very back row and were subjected to that disgusting airplane bathroom smell for five more hours.

Other than that, though, everything went incredibly well! Once at the airport in Sao Paulo, the bus driver helped me load a cart with all of our luggage, and I was able to slowly push the cart to the next terminal without dumping it or losing anything to thieves.

It was so wonderful to finally get back to San Diego! I've been away long enough to really appreciate how beautiful and clean our city is. And the chilly breeze felt like heaven after the heat and humidity of Brasil.

Gilberto was supposed to leave for a business trip to Phoenix on Sunday, but he told his boss he hadn't seen me for over a month and wouldn't be going. So they moved his departure date to Wednesday. We had Tuesday night together before he had to leave.

The funny thing is that we were going to go to Phoenix for a family reunion this weekend anyway. Instead of waiting until tomorrow night, I'm heading over today at noon and will be staying in his hotel with him. Room service here we come!

I can't believe I can just jet off without any major decision making. Not having a job has been awesome in this regard. It was also so nice to not have to go back to work the day after getting back from Brasil. I'm usually a zombie for at least a week, but am already recovered after only a few days. I could really get used to this freedom!

Which is why I'll need to start my job search the day I get back. If I wait any longer, I might not want to work again!

Finally On Our Way

2009-03-09T08:04:00.000-07:00

The bags are packed!

Including a few things from my MIL to her beloved son...

-Four huge bags of crunchy coconut flavored cookies
-Five boxes of wrapped chocolates (like bon bons)
-Five bags of farinha (manioc flour, which Brasilians love to sprinkle on their rice and beans)
-Six cans of flavored condensed milk
-One squishy bag of cheese (called Caitupury)

My FIL insisted I put the farinha in a carry-on so that the airport police don't think I'm transporting cocaine.

I also have stuffed in my suitcases a bunch of toys that were given to Gabi as gifts, including two dolls (won't that look great on the x-ray machine) and five new bikinis. And a pile of clothes that Gilberto's cousin accidentally left here the last time he visited.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to pay the overweight luggage fee.

Though first I'm going to have to get everything to the Delta counter. We're taking a bus from Santos to Sao Paulo, and I have to lug two huge suitcases, a stroller and three heavy carry-ons without losing track of Gabi from the bus all the way across the airport (we get dropped off in a different terminal).

Usually Gilberto is with me, so I'm a bit nervous to be doing it all on my own. I'm a sitting duck for thieves. At this point all I can do is look like I know what I'm doing (and I've been working on my deadly glare). Wish me luck!

Where's The Underwear?

2009-03-08T09:38:00.003-07:00

My MIL finally asked me where my underwear was.

She usually asks much sooner, right around the one week mark, and every time we have a verbal tug of war over my undies. Because there is no way in hell I'm going to hand over my underwear for her to wash and then hang in plain sight of the dinner table.

Every Brasilian house has a little wash room off of the kitchen. This is where you'll find the washer, and where clothes get hung to dry. Gabi could care less if her Curious George undies are on display for the neighborhood and dinner guests to see, but MY underwear will never hang there.

And now, after four whole weeks have gone by? Did she really expect me to willingly hand over 30 pairs of underwear after going to all the trouble to hide them for a month?

I actually brought 38, just to be on the safe side. And every single pair is going home with me to be washed in MY washer.

But my MIL doesn't know that. I told her I'd been throwing them away, just to make sure she didn't try to find them on her own.

On A Hot Day You Head To The Mall

2009-03-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

It was 40 degrees Celsius today, people. That's 104 degrees Fahrenheit, and totally unbearable when you factor in the 90% humidity. Even Brasilians were in hiding today. The few that we did see out walking were soaked in sweat.

We decided to escape to the mall, since I had a few things to pick up before we leave on Monday.

After getting my sister's birthday present (a teeny tiny bikini that I don't think she'll ever wear, but at least she can say she has one!), I headed into the bookstore because I say a display in the window that I just couldn't walk away from.

It looked like this.

And I walked out with this.

I'm so excited to have Twilight in Portuguese! I plan to read it with my dictionary as soon as I get home.

Our next stop was at the toy store for Gabi. The dolls here in Brasil have the weirdest little tufts of hair.

That last one with the long braids actually freaks me out a bit! Luckily, Gabi doesn't like tufts, so I don't have to worry about having any of these around the house.

Since Gabi was hungry, we went to the food court and got her some McDonald's, much to my MIL's dismay. But once Gabi saw the Golden Arches there was no way she was going to eat anything else. I might've also had ulterior motives in agreeing to dine there, because I knew they had Coke Zero. Not exactly the same as a Diet Coke, but close enough.

They also had this.

Banana pies. Like the famous apple pies, but banana. You just can't escape the banana here.

On our way out of the mall, we stopped at Carrefour, a huge supermarket. I figured it was now or never if I wanted a picture of the huge lines, and pulled out my camera.

Here's the line, though it was about half the size that I usually see. It comes down on the right, then turns back around on the left (the guy in white with this hand on his mouth is where the line u-turns).

The reason the lines are so long? The cashiers take their precious time checking people out. Maybe it's because they're nice and comfy in their chairs?

The one thing that they're fast at is getting something if you ask for it. Like you discover you have cracked eggs. No problem- the runner on rollerskates will skate over to the eggs and get you a new carton lickity split.

We took the bus home because it was just too hot to walk. Here was some graffiti across the street from our bus stop.

I LOVE Brasilian graffiti, at least in Santos. It's so colorful.

I'm lucky I made it onto the bus. You have to go through this turnstile.

It's TINY. I'd say about a size 12. I am not a size 12. But I squeezed through, thank goodness. Can you imagine if I'd gotten stuck in the turnstile?

Spending Some Time With Free Brasilian Healthcare

2009-03-03T09:41:00.000-08:00

One of the nice things about being Brasilian is the free healthcare.

We got to test it out last night when we took Gabi to the community hospital. Her fever had come back with a vengeance, and along with her cold and vomiting, we just wanted to make sure that it wasn't something else. Like malaria or meningitis.

(A mom's mind wanders to things like malaria when in a foreign country with a sick child!)

We walked up to the registration desk and got Gabi signed in. Not even a minute later we were ushered into the back to see a pediatrician. She sent us for x-rays, which were immediately developed and handed to us to take back. After looking at the x-rays, a prescription was written, and we were on our way! In all, about 25 minutes.

My BIL told me it's different for adults, who often have to wait 8 hours or more to be seen. But children are considered top priority and seen right away. It's why my in-laws also have private health insurance and get to go to the swanky hospital.

Despite the great care, it was still shocking to see the condition the hospital was in. Plaster was peeling off the walls, used paper towels that hadn't made it into the trash bin were scattered on the floor in the exam room. The lighting was terrible, and there wasn't a computer in sight.

It was also strange to see all the hospital workers, including the doctors and techs, wearing street clothes. The pediatrician was even wearing flip flops!

But free is free. If we hadn't been satisfied with the care there, we had planned to go to my in-laws' hospital and pay out of pocket. I'm so glad that wasn't necessary.

At the pharmacy, we got Gabi's three prescriptions (an antibiotic for her sinus infection, a fever reducer and an expectorant for all the snot inside her) and I had to make a chart when we got home to keep track of when to give her each one and how much! One is every eight hours, one is every twelve, and the last is every six, each with different doses.

Gaib is already feeling much better, and I can now relax knowing she didn't pick up some mosquito transmited tropical disease while we were at my BIL's beach house. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that she's free of snot by the time we get on the plane to go home next Monday. Planes and sick kids do not mix well.

Market Day

2009-02-27T17:34:00.000-08:00

Today we went to the feira (outdoor market). It comes to a street near my in-laws house every Friday.

Gabi, who's feeling much better, wasn't too happy with the way it smelled, but I loved every minute of it. Especially since the sun was hiding behind clouds and the day wasn't nearly as hot as usual.

I'm planning to go next Friday by myself so I can look around without a little girl loudly begging to leave while plugging her nose.

Paradise Found

2009-02-26T16:59:00.001-08:00

My father-in-law stood on the deserted beach, breathing in the fresh air with his eyes closed, and said, "This, my dear, is Paradise."

And that first day, I believed him. Just LOOK at this place.

The sand is so fine it feels like silk and the ocean water is as warm as a bath.

It's not an easy place to get to. We drove for four hours, turning from one country road onto another, some barely marked, some unpaved and dusty, before arriving at a ferry crossing.

Vendors along the side of the road were selling refreshments to the people waiting to cross to the other side. Milha verde (green corn) seems to be a pretty popular snack in Brasil.

The ferry took us across a slow running river to the tiny town of Jureia (which I can't for the life of me find on a map). The town's cobbled streets soon turned to sand, and then suddenly we were driving on the beach!

It's the only way to access the homes that are located on this stretch of beach. Speed limit 40kph.

10 minutes later we found our turn off and finally arrived at the beach house.

I was pleasantly surprised! Electricity, running water, a flushing toilet. And screens! You don't come by screens very often in Brasil. It reminded me of the quirky beach houses my family used to rent along the Oregon coast while I was growing up.

It was nothing at all like my MIL described. My BIL and his wife had it pretty decked out, actually. With bikes, fans, a radio (that blasted Top 40 the whole time we were there- kind of surreal to be out in the middle of nowhere with Jason Mraz and Rhianna) and boogie boards.

During our four days there, we spent a lot of time laying in hammocks (which are very easy to get into, but not as easy to get up out of), eating massive amounts of food, and, of course, lazing on the beach.

There were two ways to get to the beach from the house. The first was by the road.

Past the house that sells honey...

Down the road...

And onto the beach!

The second way was by a path that lead through the mangrove swamp.

Through the trees...

Past the clubhouse (where the locals gather to play music and drink)...

Over a bridge...

Through a small cluster of houses...

And onto the beach.

I had an amazing time. But paradise it was not. At least not for me. Not with the monstrous mosquitoes and biting flies. Gabi and I are still covered in red, itchy bumps.

The highlight of the trip was getting to go into Jureia on Sunday night for Carnaval! It was only small town style, but sometimes I think that's the best way to experience things. They had the main street blocked off, with booths along the side selling silly string and flashing neon headbands.

After three beers I joined a conga line! And Gabi danced the night away with the best of them. Samba is most definitely in her blood.

The parade kicked off at about 11:00. Lots of small groups were dressed in different themes, and it was so cool to see all the costumes. Best of all, a naked transvestite with a boob job brought up the rear, right in front of the truck carrying the band and singers.

We left on Tuesday, a day early, because a storm came through, and what's the point of staying at the beach if you can't be on it?

We left in the middle of a downpour, barely able to see out of the windows. The tide was really too high for us to have left. We had to drive fast enough not to sink into the wet sand, and slow enough not to run over the driftwood that had washed up on shore. It was actually pretty scary for a while, especially after a large wave came out of nowhere and hit the car, but we made it off the beach alive!

I hope I get the chance to go back someday. With lots of bug spray. And maybe without my FIL's speedo (called a sunga), which he walked around in all day long, for four days straight. I'd really rather not experience that again.

Summer Storm

2009-02-25T08:42:00.000-08:00

We came back from the beach house a day early due to torrential rain. The car almost got swallowed by the sea when we left (more on that later), so I was so thankful to be back in Santos, alive.

We had out driven the storm, and it finally reached us after dinner.

Once in bed for the night, Gabi and I laid awake for a long time listening to the thunder. I have never heard anything like it before in my life.

I'm used to distant booming sounds. This thunder was loud and crackling, like it was tearing the sky apart. It's boom rattled the windows and I could feel the force of it in my chest. It would then roar away into the distance, and I imagined it like a massive tumbleweed of wind eating the air as it traveled.

After we'd gone to sleep, a clap of thunder startled me awake sometime in the night, and it took me a moment to realize that the burning on my arm was from Gabi's head. What a night to have a fever.

She's still sick today. Coughing, sneezing, fever, and throwing up. And wanting me to hold her every second. So coming soon: the post about our trip to the beach house, and how I was able to be a part of Carnaval after all!

The Bikini Lady From Sao Paulo

2009-02-20T13:00:00.000-08:00

The women at my MIL's gym like to reward themselves for all their hard work by congregating outside to gossip immediately after an exercise class.

They bring little cups of coffee from inside and pull out cigarettes like they're going to die if they have to wait one more minute to have one. When the coffee is gone, they drink regular Coke from two straws, eat potato chips from a communal bag and smoke more cigarettes.

It's the funniest thing I've ever seen.

By the time everyone says goodbye about an hour later, they're probably worse off health wise than when they arrived!

Today was no different. Except the Bikini Lady from Sao Paulo came by with her giant bag of little bikinis. The women quickly swiped all the cigarettes and Cokes off the table and started going through the bag with excited high pitched squeals.

(The masseuse is the woman on the right in white. And, yes, I had another massage today, with reflexology!)

My MIL kept holding up the smallest sizes, which looked like they could fit Gabi, and tsking that they were just too big. She finally found two that she liked and then settled back to ooh and ahh amongst a sea of voices yelling So Cute! and Get That One, It Looks Delicious!

By the end the table looked like it had been mauled, but everyone was very happy, including the Bikini Lady who had sold quite a few bikinis.

Since I'm showing you the gym, let me take you on a little tour of the club.

It has a lovely chapel, near the snack bar, in case you have a sudden need to be close to Jesus and The Mother Mary.

The view from the Chapel shows off the covered basketball court on the right, and to the left is the park that I take Gabi to while my MIL is in her exercise class.

I think I called it quaint when I mentioned it the first time. You can see why. It's like traveling back in time! Most parks in Brasil are made of wood. At the beach they are entirely of wood, but here in the club's park, there's a bit of metal, too. Not many kids come on site anymore, so they haven't kept it up.

On the way out, the view from the front door is so pretty. The club is on the water and you'll often see people crossing the street with the club's kayaks.

I'm not sure where anything else is, like the pool, though I hear often hear splashing. I might go poking around the next time I'm there.

On an entirely different note, I'm heading to my BIL's beach house in the middle of nowhere for FIVE DAYS. It seems that my family likes to escape during Carnival, so the excitement I had when I found out I would finally get to see this great event in person was all for naught!

We'll be on some island halfway between Santos and Rio, and I'm told we're lucky to have electricity there. I'm imagining something really primitive! I'll tell you all about it when I get back.

A Walk To The Beach

2009-02-19T16:44:00.000-08:00

We've been hitting the beach almost every day since the sun came back out.

My in-laws live about two blocks from the water. Their street, as seen in the picture below, ends right where the entrance to the port (the largest in Latin America) begins. The hill you see in the background is what the ships go around to head back out to sea.

Once there, you have to walk about five minutes along the water to get to the beach.

Along the way we pass the Museu do Mar (Museum of the Sea). The Policia have a small station just off to the side, and Gabi likes to peek in and wave at them.

I love to stop here and get Caldo de Cana (sugarcane juice).

The woman pushes sticks of fresh sugarcane through a pressing machine, and the juice drips down into a tin pitcher.

I like mine with limao (lime). Doesn't that look delicious?

From there we walk a bit on the sand to our favorite swimming spot. Gabi is now the proud owner of four bikinis (thanks to my MIL going a bit crazy), and wears a different one every day.

We watch the ships enter and leave the port from our beach spot.

When it's time to head home we head back along the water, usually with an ice cream cone in hand.

Still Embarrassing Myself In Brasil

2009-02-17T17:54:00.001-08:00

It turns out my mother-in-law's gym is good for more than just torturous excercise. They have an on-site masseuse!

The gym is actually part of a large club that my in-laws are members of. It has a quaint little park that I take Gabi to while my MIL is in her spinning class. Today while we were there playing, my MIL ran back out and asked if I wanted a massage. $14 for a full hour. Heck yeah! And I practically ran back into the gym where the masseuse has her little room.

I probably should've waited until a day when I'd recently showered.

It wasn't until I was undressing that I realized just how dirty I was. The hot Brasilian sun and summer humidity are back, so I've been needing three showers a day. My whole body was covered in a sweaty sheen.

The new black tank top that I was wearing had rubbed black fuzzies all over my sticky skin. I hadn't shaved my legs or armpits (which were smelly and caked with deodorant) since I got here, I had a giant zit on my back and a rash on my ring finger from sweating so much, and the bottom of my feet were black.

I was also wearing white granny panties and a rather granny looking bra (which I had been instructed to keep on).

I stood there for a moment totally freaked out. Brasilian women are very beautiful, and very clean, and I was sure the masseuse was going to be disgusted. But I was already half naked, and really really wanted a massage. So I grabbed a towel and tried to do a bit of damage control, then crawled onto the table and under the sheet.

When she walked into the room, I couldn't help trying to explain myself.

Me, in my stilted Portuguese: I'm so sorry! I have dirty feet. My shirt is new and making my skin black! I have hair on my legs, and look, also here! The sun is too hot for me and making me sweat. What a smell! But I didn't have plans for a massage. If you don't want to give me one, I understand.

I was surprised she still worked on me after my little tirade, but at least I'd warned her. And, oh oh oh, the massage was amazing! Halfway through I started calculating just how many massages I could afford while I was here. By the end I was void of all thought and practically comatose.

As I was getting dressed, I noticed that I was wearing a pink bra, and for some odd reason, it brought me comfort. Like, despite all of my faults, at least my bra had snazz!

On the walk home my feet were so oily I could barely keep from slipping out of my flip flops.

As soon as we got in the house, I took a long, scrubby shower. Not that being clean and freshly shaved now helps the situation any. But I'm hoping she'll be willing to see me again next week, and I can redeem myself.