Howdy!

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Holy Chinoli!

One of our favorite things about the DR so far has been the chinola juice. We didn't know what it was at first - especially because "chinola" is a Dominican Spanish word and not something we could look up in our handy Spanish-English dictionary, but we knew that we loved it. Even after we were told that it was passion fruit, we had to trust that our local friends because neither of us had seen it in its original form. We were buying the juice "fresh" for several weeks before our housekeeper said that it was "easy" to make. I wouldn't exactly call the process "easy." Chopping an orange in half and then using a juicer is "easy." This is definitely more involved. But is it worth it? Definitely. Click the picture to check out this slide show (with captions) and then decide for yourself. Better yet, come for a visit and you can taste for yourself!

A peck = 8 quarts or 1 Dominican meal

One of our favorite past-times is to play "If This Was a Sitcom." We interrupt our conversation to explain what would happen if our life... were a sitcom. Ahh, you get it. It is really very simple. For example, if MH were to say, "Did you see? I fixed that shelf!" Then he would add, "ITWaS, the shelf would crash down behind you." Then I would say, "No, no. It would be like a Rube Goldberg machine and the shelf would slide down on one side and the dishes would land on the toaster oven but they wouldn't break. The toaster door would pop open and trigger a spoon that would act as a see-saw and fling a pea across the room. You would slip on the pea and crash into the shelf breaking all the dishes."

Or when I asked a woman if she had a boyfriend and she answered hesitantly and awkwardly, ITWaS, I would realize that this woman was dating my husband. Next thing you know, to make ends meet, my children and I would rent out the extra rooms in spacious brownstone to a couple of Marines who would act as father figures and comic relief in stark contrast to my chaotic life. My tween daughter would harbor a secret crush on one of the Marines, and if our series continued another five seasons, she would actually end up with the Marine she always considered to be like an older brother. We'll call him Hank.

As fun as ITWaS is, my mind sometimes gets sucked into its sad and strange sister-game... "If this was a Crime Drama." So when I noticed that our housekeeper rarely eats the dinner she prepares for us, my mind started writing scripts. It makes perfect sense. She makes simple but incredible meals... okay, mostly rice and beans (or beans with rice), but it tastes so good we gladly eat twice as much as our stomachs can hold.

It didn't take long for me to realize how she was going to slowly kill us. None of that pesky yet traceable cyanide. Hey, I've seen Dateline. Our housekeeper is going to slowly kill us by salification. After her first week with us... that's 5 meals, I noticed that she had used an entire container of salt. Keep in mind that we have a box of salt that a friend left at our house in 2001 or 2002 and we're nowhere near close to finishing it. I calculated that, over the course of two years, she would use 26 pounds of salt in our dinners. When I pointed out to Mary that I was onto her devious plan she rolled her eyes and said, "Americans don't use salt." What does that mean? But more importantly, how do I keep her from killing me yet encourage her to make more of that lovely eggplant (with rice and beans)?

"It is a true saying that a man must eat a peck of salt with his friend before he knows him."
- Don Quixote

I kinda DO resemble Nicholas Cage.

It really could be soooo much worse. At least we have electricity and a nice house. We have very few ants (so far) and the kids are happy running around the house pretending to be police officers. My injured foot is hanging over my head, though (almost literally after I tripped on my way to the dry cleaner), and I have to get some help in place and the kids in school so that I can go back in January for surgery. I keep telling myself that we need help. Now.

We tried to interview two maids this weekend. One thought our house was too far away to come for an interview. I told MH to forget it because if our house was too far for an interview it was going to be too far to come for work everyday. The other one asked for a ridiculous amount of money when she has little experience. I don't know how she asked it and kept a straight face. MH wanted to hire her based on the fact that she understood us and we understood her Peruvian Spanish.

Someone recommended another housekeeper and said, "Just put in her contract that she has to wear a shirt." What? Seriously? I have to request that? We're not in the middle of the Congo or anything. We're in a large city. Apparently she makes wonderful kebabs, though, so we are definitely considering her (with or without her shirt).

And then I flip flop... do I really need a housekeeper? Uh, yes. Yes, I do. I had 6 phone calls today and 4 of them were about the phone company coming to hook up our phone. The ironic part is that they hooked up our phone last week and were calling me on said phone. I tried a variety of ways to explain that we didn't need that appointment and was about to resort to a singing telegram (reminds me of Grampa Joe's favorite joke, "Your sister Rose is dead!"). I have a friend who would say I probably used my "Doylestown voice" but I am not rude when there is a communication breakdown. I just repeat myself in exaggerated slow Spanish and ask them in exaggerated slow Spanish to repeat their questions and speak slowly. I swear they start speaking faster and louder. I feel like a French patisserie owner and they are the stereotypical ugly Americans, "Why does everyone here speak French?" You know what I say to that, "No croissants for you!" Then this lady from the Embassy called to tell me the phone people were outside and I said, "My Spanish is not that bad!" She said, "Well they didn't understand you." So yes, I need a housekeeper to answer the phone and teach me how to speak Dominican.

So if you are counting, I had two more non-phone-related calls left this morning before 9 am. The last two calls were wrong numbers or they were asking for my godfather. I am actually considering calling him to see if he can help us although as far as I know John doesn't speak any Spanish dialects.

But it could be so much worse, right? MH could have a job identifying heads. Snakes. We could have snakes. Or pirates. I keep telling myself, "Snap outta it!" a la Cher.*

*I wanted to put a longer clip on this post but because of our Internet I can only watch 18 seconds of youtube at a time.

Letter of the Day

Today's Letter of the Day is C sponsored by The Dominican Republic.

Choriza meatballs: Someone stocked our fridge with ready-made meatballs that taste like chorizo. I haven't knowingly had chorizo since 1998 when I, against my better judgment, read the ingredients at the commissary at Fort Sill, OK. And I'm all for eating local cuisine, but I just couldn't stomach these. I don't have to worry about leftovers, though, because The Girl had 6 meatballs in less than 24 hours. She calls them "sausage balls." The less said, the better.

Cuba: For some unknown reason the phone company here has scheduled wake-up calls for everyone in the country at 8am on Saturday and Sunday and 3:06pm on weekdays. The only way to get it shut off is to call the operator. It has been suggested to us that it is a Cuban plot. That makes about as much sense as scheduling an unrequested wake-up call.

Cholera: Because of the recent outbreak of cholera in Haiti, we've been warned to brush our teeth with bottled water and bleach the rinse water for our dishes. Lucky for us we've been doing that since our friend traced his intestinal distress in Bolivia to his teeth-brushing activities. And I thought we only had to worry about the Cockroaches and Car accidents.

A Very Un-settling Weekend

That song from Alice in Wonderland keeps running through my head, but instead of "A very merry un-birthday to you, yes you," I am singing, "A very un-settling weekend..." We had a long week trying to get out of VA with a few little bumps including needing to find a new renter and a free washer and dryer. Then we had to figure out how to get everything into our 8 suitcases and 7 carry-ons. The most difficult part was figuring out how to get all of that (plus a stroller and 2 car seats) from the rental van to the American Airlines counter. We're in a temporary house for the time-being (the main reason we don't feel settled) and hope to move to our permanent house in the next 10 days. We've been living out of suitcases for two weeks and we can do it another two (but I'm not sure how much longer than that).

And granted, we encountered a lot more roadblocks (literally) when we made the move to Bolivia in 08, but after a year of health issues for The Boy (and me) and all the renovations we made on the townhouse, last week seemed to be one of the most difficult. We were looking forward to our tropical paradise!

So far it is everything that was promised. Hot. Humid. Blue skies. Creepy-crawlies. The Kids' favorite thing to do in the morning after breakfast is to go out front and search for lizards. Then we go out back to see our never-quiet bird and more lizards, skinks, and wild animals. On the way out of the house today we saw a roach or small rabbit (I couldn't tell but Jack was sure we were looking at an exoskeleton) being devoured by an army of ants. Apparently the same situation is occurring in our downstairs bathroom (says our sponsor) but we have yet to check it out. With 4 other bathrooms we haven't felt the need.

The Kids are doing great. The Girl spent the past month asking everyone she was alone with if they were going to "the Minican Republic." I think she was worried that we were going to forget her. She also made the transition from the crib to a bed so it has proven difficult to contain her first in the hotel and now in this giant house. The Boy is anxious to go to school and keeps asking me to translate everything into Spanish. When I don't know a word he says, "I wish that you knew the whole language," which makes me feel pretty lazy and stupid. I was disappointed that he didn't seem at all impressed when someone from the embassy came to check our generator this morning. I couldn't get the door open but I could tell the man, "No tengo mis llaves. Un momento, por favor." But I imagine The Boy expects me to know where the keys are as well as every word in the Spanish language.

A Year to Remember

A year.... a year! This week we will have owned our house for a whole year. So much has happened that it is no wonder that I rarely update this blog and when I do it is just a few photos. We're in the midst of starting our next adventure. In less than 3 weeks we will be on another plane headed for another foreign country. We're excited that we won't need to cart a Pack 'n' Play through the airport because after a mild accident involving The Girl's neck and the crib she is now sleeping in a big girl bed. But we wouldn't mind carting the dog kennel so much. The Boy is constantly telling us that he needs a dog.

This will probably be my last post until we get settled (or at least packed-out and settled in a hotel room!). Here are some pictures of September and October followed by some of our trip to California in August (Hey, you're getting pictures. Who cares if they are in consecutive order?!).

It's Magic AND Good for the Environment!

I have found the cure for constipation and irregularity. Call Grandma in from the other room. We converted to cloth diapers right before we left for Bolivia in 2008. We shipped a bunch of disposable diapers, however, to use on vacation and when we got lazy. Then we shipped them back from Bolivia when we left. On Monday I started using our cloth diapers again (because I am sufficiently organized and settled enough to add 2-3 more loads of laundry/week) and ever since Monday she has gone every day. Every day. Every day I have to clean a cloth diaper with poo. She used to go every 2-3 days and if she went much longer than that we spiked her drink with Miralax. Imagine if we had put cloth diapers on The Boy when he first started having his issues. Imagine if we had left all those disposable diapers in Bolivia and shipped back our 90lb housekeeper instead.

I'm just saying...

The Nuts and Bolts of My NEW New Year's Resolution

So my original New Year's Resolution was to get all of our boxes unpacked and have everything in its place by the end of January. MH's extended trip south of the equator and our delay in CA due to Snowmaggedon in DC have shot that plan all to hell. As a result, I've had to push back my mission completion celebration to at least April 1. I was going to change the date once more upon returning home from CA last night and enduring The Boy's interrogation about my unpacking deadline. Okay, maybe "interrogation" is a little strong. He is only 4, but his sigh and "Are you going to get rid of these cardboard boxes" comment almost put me over the edge. Then I remembered his comment in the crowded airport van about my butt being waaaaaay too big to fit between his and The Girl's car seats, and I decided that he can deal with a little cardboard. Brown is the new black anyway. I tried to play it cool like it was ironic that he was saying my butt is big because it is so tiny and adorable and oh, don't kids say the darndest things? And then he hits me with the cardboard box comment. Is it wrong to want to have revenge on a 4-year-old? Probably not. I've met some 4-year-olds who deserve my wrath (Carlitos, I'm talking about you!), but revenge against your own blood (who happens to be 4)? That may be a little dramatic. Instead of revenge, my unwillingness to organize our house will now be a lesson in flexibility.

So now that that resolution is out the window... I was at a loss. Then it hit me as I was reading one of the greatest season's greetings newsletters ever written. My friend's teenage son earned (is that the right word? I mean, I would have loved doing it as a teenager had my parents sent out letters like that but let's face it, I don't think I was a typical teen) the privilege to write the annual family newsletter. He took it to a new level... none of that BS about all the wonderful achievements made and hurdles overcome by each individual family member. Nothing about why you should be jealous of them. Nothing preachy (although it seems vegetarianism is taking over the household). Just the nuts and bolts: Dad cuts the grass. Mom plays on facebook. I loved it. It totally made my day! And then I realized how selfish I have been! My New Year's Resolution shouldn't be about me?! It is about bringing something more to your life! So in order to improve your life, my new and improved NYR is to get back into the groove and focus on the mundane activities of my family and then report on them here on my blog.

So, "Happy New Year" and "You're welcome."

Thirtysomething 2.0

OMG, we're adults. Wait, we're adults so I have to type that out. Ohhh my God! Wait, real adults would say, "Oh my goodness graciousness, we have achieved adult status!" Today we closed on our first ever home. Wow. We've made it this far into our 30s with the most expensive possessions being a car (or two) and a couple carpets... and the kids (I guess they aren't expenses, but they sure incur a lot of them).

We're planning on moving in at the end of the month when a few construction projects are done. Check out the front of the townhouse and the view from the back yard. And then register for your Spring visit.

My Hero

I am sitting on the bathroom floor with The Boy at my feet. He's watching Thomas the Tank Engine on a portable dvd player and he's set up to spend the next 3 or 4 hours here. Is this some new parenting technique? Have I completely lost it now that I am nanny-free? No, this is part of The Boy's new regimen.

I don't write this post in the hopes that someone will send me some magic key, some profound advice like, "Have you tried prunes?" Instead, I am sharing this for two reasons 1) I think it is important to document what a trooper The Boy is. He is absolutely amazing, brave, and strong. I am so proud of him and wish that he understood how proud I am. 2) If you know anyone whose kid starts "withholding" or is constipated, I encourage you to encourage them to see a GI... a good GI and start the kid on stool softeners or something. The worst that can happen is that the kid loads his diaper versus what happened to us.

We've been told too many times that this situation is "normal" and for that reason it went on too long and now The Boy has a condition called megacolon. There are many causes and thankfully, The Boy's is not related to any type of disease. It appears that he formed a blockage when he was a baby and for the past 2 years his intestines have been stretching as the blockage got bigger and bigger. Our doctor in CA told us that his rectum and intestines are 40% larger than normal and for that reason we use adult suppositories and laxatives. His intestines and sphincter are so stretched that they can't communicate and perform correctly which is why The Boy has such difficulty going to the bathroom. It takes him so long to go, as well, because his intestines are like a giant cavern and they just keep filling up with poop because the exit is blocked.

We recently visited UVA to meet with specialists in this area. It is a two-and-a-half hour drive but we are pleased with the aggressiveness of the doctor so the trip is worth it. The Boy is getting a daily enema for 1-2 weeks until he is completely cleaned out. He also gets three tablespoons of Miralax per day. At the end of this phase, we'll do weekly enemas or as needed.

The first few times he got the enema he screamed bloody murder and popped blood vessels in his face and neck and had bloody noses. He is doing a lot better now than with the suppositories, however, and only screams during the administration of the enema. The poor guy has such bad diaper rash (because after the enema he goes constantly for several hours) that we can't use wipes and we have to rinse him in the tub every time we change his diaper. Through it all, he is patient and chipper and the sweetest boy ever.

The Boy's chipper and sweet - even while he waits for his enema to work.

There's Nothing Quite Like McDonald's

So, I was going to go to my grave with this story. No particular reason, I just thought that no one needed to know the story. Then the Gods went and played with my funny bone and now I have to share it with you. So much for good deeds.

Since The Boy is on his clear liquid diet for the day, The Babysitter and I have had to try to keep any solid food eating to a minimum or at least out of eyesight of The Boy. True, he loves "Popsicle and Jell-o Day!" and I am probably going to have to do it once a month from now on, but eating a nice turkey sandwich in front of him when he's polishing off his 7th cup of Jell-o would just be cruel. So instead, I took The Girl to McDonald's.

Besides being the first time The Girl has eaten Micky D's, the outing should have been uneventful. I was along for the ride, however, so it promised to be a good one from the start. As I was walking into the restaurant, a gentleman seated by the door with a bunch of dimes and pennies spread in front of him asked if I could spare some change so he could get some food. I told him I didn't have any change on me, and honestly, I didn't.

As waited in line, I thought of my friend Julia in Bolivia. When we went out to breakfast on Fridays, she would buy little pastries as we paid our bill and she would give them to the pre-teens that wait outside to shine shoes or guard the parked cars. I didn't realize what she was doing the first time and I thought it was pretty cool that she was low-key about it. So I decided that I was going to do a good deed, as well, and buy the change guy lunch.

So I ordered the Double-cheeseburger Mini Meal and I must say, even now that sounds delicious. My mouth is watering. Those of you who know me well (or have been present when I have talked about food) know that I am not exaggerating, I had to wipe my mouth and swallow when I typed "Double-cheeseburger Mini Meal." There I go again.

Focus.

DcMM... okay, so The Girl and I went to a table and The Girl thoroughly enjoyed a cheeseburger. It was a pleasure to watch her. She kept stopping mid-chew, smiling, thumping her chest with her ketchup-covered hands (like Tim the Toolman Taylor) and squeezing her eyes shut. No, I don't think she was choking. She was in Heaven. Can you blame her? I haven't really had McDonald's much (once a year, maybe?) since it made me pass out in high school, but I am the first person to admit it is Mmmm Mmmm Good.

As we were enjoying The Girl's burger, I started to worry that my friend might not be outside when we finally finished our meal. What in the world was I going to do with a DcMM? I searched the front of the restaurant and saw a woman outside talking to someone on the ground. Good, he was still there and no one did the (good) deed before me. Then I noticed that there was another man outside of McDonald's sitting in one of those motorized chairs. Reflecting back, he had been there for quite a while. As I watched, a woman opened the door and let him in. He scooted over to me and The Girl and watched the table for a couple of minutes. I smiled and realized that he wasn't looking at us, but he was kind of scoping out the table. I am not sure he even saw us and it looked as if he had some kind of physical impairment. So, I said, "Hungry 18 month old be damned. Let's clean up and get out of here so we can do our good deed and another one by letting this gentleman have our table." No need to hurry, however. The man parked his scooter behind The Girl's high chair and then struggled to climb out of his scooter, around her chair and into the chair next to her. There he sat staring at us.

Under different circumstances I probably would have engaged in some kind of pleasantries, but my good deed was getting away outside. He was... gone! Oh no!... Oh no, he wasn't. He was just moving because... because there were two cops there trying to shoo him away! Wait, I have a Double-cheeseburger with your name on it! So I left our new lunch buddy, grabbed the chewing baby, and headed off to do God's work.

With one foot out the door I realized that this might not be the best time to approach the change guy... you know, as he's being run off by the police. In for a dime, in for a whole damn mini-meal, I guess. The cops looked like they were just about to pounce on him. He apparently was taking his sweet ole time leaving this fine establishment's front stoop. Either that or he saw me walking around with an extra bag of food. Was this the good deed I should be doing? Would the cops rough me up for being an accomplice?

Apparently my confused and dare I say statuesque.... okay statue-like... stance alerted the three to my existence. I didn't know how to slink away, so I thrust the bag at the man who said, "Thanks girlfriend," adding for my benefit (?), "God bless." It made me chuckle. The cops, on the otherhand, did not find this quite so heartwarming. They glared at me. I guess I understand, but don't they know that I was doing a good deed? Shouldn't I be encouraged? Then again, I think encouragement was exactly what they were against...

And the hits keep coming...

As if we don't have enough to keep us busy... The Boy took a spill at my mom's last night. It was a gusher. I think I was a little in shock because I could only follow my sister's directions to get ice, water, etc. She was amazing.

We visited the dentist today (our goal is to benefit all medical specialties in the Bay Area) for an exam and (more) xrays. The prognosis: his tooth may turn a different color (we're hoping for Penn State blue if we can't have white) or it might fall out. Given that it will eventually fall out, we're not too freaked. No more riding Gigi's lawn cart, though!

Here he is after we cleaned up all of the blood. What a toughie!

Sea Level, Baby!

Yeah. That's what I am talking about. The Girl has gained 5+ pounds in the past 4 weeks. Here she is at 26 whopping pounds. I love it, although carrying her is no fun.

And here she is after she took off her diaper and rolled in her own poo. She had it all over the back of her head, all over her face, and under her finger and toe nails. It took two baths and over 30 minutes of soaking to get her all cleaned up and back to a precious little sweetie.

Not to be outdone in silliness and bodily functions... The Boy soaked his diaper and it exploded all over the high chair in the middle of breakfast. Okay, really that's my fault.

Beef... It's What's for Dinner? Along with Rice, Potatoes, Chicken, Fruit, Veggies...

The Girl makes eating an art form. No, that's not right. She takes it seriously, like it is her job. Her full time, high-paying, great benefits, corner office job. She's incredible. We all know that the altitude plays a huge role in our drastic weight loss and her lack of weight gain, but after less than 3 weeks in the States, she has gained a whopping 4 pounds. She's gone from 10% to... well, a lot more than 10%!

Today, she had half of a Baja Fresh quesadilla for lunch with rice and applesauce. I thought for sure she wouldn't be hungry for dinner until 6pm. At 5:30 she started crying and climbing into her seat. When I finally served dinner, she wolfed down two meatballs and two bowls of spaghetti plus corn and a little bread. She topped it off with 12 ounces of milk. At one point, she gave me and The Boy a startled look like, "When did you two sit down?" Seriously, she's incredible.
I have thought about cutting her off and making her get down from the table, but she usually cries or tries to steal food from the other kids. So far, she hasn't puked... okay, just once... but she had a ridiculous amount of food that time (in Tarija - but everyone eats a ridiculous amount of food in Tarija!).

Here's a picture of her and her mush. Click the picture for more of our adventures here in Cali in the past week.

June

This is what the kids look like when I don't have a nanny. I don't know their up from their down... Click the picture for more from June.

Vacation? Ha!

So, the other night, after the boy's 4th laxative (an Exlax chocolate square), I decided to take a shower for the first time in 36+ hours. Not a long shower, just a shower to clean off all the grime from taking care of 5 kids (my sister's and mine while she was in the hospital having her 4th!!). Even though I wasn't going it alone, I think I deserved a shower.

Apparently, the noise from across the apartment woke The Boy (who never sleeps very well with laxative in him, but really, can you blame him). In the middle of my shower, I heard a voice from right next to Violet's bedroom door (okay, it is really a closet, but she doesn't know any better) saying, "Mommy, I want a towel." That's The Boy's code for: I am about to flood this place with poo...

Usually, The Boy doesn't like to come in the bathroom when the shower is running because it is loud and the one time he opened the shower door back home he got doused (we also use that technique on annoying cats), but in he came and my "spa weekend" was kaput. After fooling around with the cabinets and the toilet, he got curious and kept peeking in the shower asking me about "why the water comes out up there" and "Why is the soap up on that shelf."

Not to put scary images in your head, but I was very careful to keep my bum pointed toward The Boy so as not to shock him with his first (conscious) glimpse of the (adult) female form. That lasted about 3.5 minutes when I didn't move fast enough and he peeked in from the other end of the shower. He asked me, "What's wrong with your stomach." At first I was horribly insulted thinking, "Uh, YOU and your sister. That's what happened to my stomach." Then I took a look at the boy's startled face and he was holding out his shirt in two peeks right under his shoulders. I explained that everyone's body is different and girls have breasts and mommies have bigger breasts.* Then, with a horrified look on his face, he pointed downward and said, "What's that?"

So that brings me to the point of this post. If another person tells me that my little trip to California here must be a nice vacation, I am going to flip out (like Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire - or actually, like Tom Cruise in real life). Did they not hear the part about the laxatives? The not showering? The lack of privacy? I guess I have to admit that my real life is kind of like a vacation what with not having to wash dishes (sometimes I do), or doing laundry (sometimes I do), or making my bed (I never do this, but I do pick up the dog poo outside to compensate), so maybe I deserve a glimpse at what other people have to go through (except the laxative thing, no one should have to go through this). I guess what I am saying is that I don't need a vacation, I need to go home so I can relax.

post-bathtime (for the kids)

March Pictures

Click the picture to visit the Kodak site.

February photos

Here are some pictures from The Boy's birthday party (at the school he no longer attends), our trip to Arica, Chile with our friends that have since left us (sniff, sniff), and day to day stuff.

You had better look at these pictures, or else!

Now you won't want a nectarine...

An update on The Boy...

We came back to the States to see docs about The Boy's poop (or lack thereof) condition. Since last Monday, we've had 4 appointments, a urinalysis, an hour-long ultrasound, and endless stress. Yesterday and today, The Boy had 4 doses of laxative (each day) including Miralax and Exlax. By late this afternoon he still hadn't made any progress toward a poop, so we called the doc and he suggested a suppository so that The Boy doesn't have to be admitted to the hospital on Monday for a clean-out. 20 minutes after the suppository, The Boy released a cannonball turd the size of a nectarine and about a cup (you asked... okay, maybe you didn't, but other people did. Stop reading if this is too much information) of poo-fluid. I could tell that the "nectarine" had been in there a long time. Great! So next week he gets an x-ray and some blood word and on the 26th, we meet with the GI to see what the next step is. And believe it or not... that's the cleaned up summary!