Perspective

I keep waiting for something embarrassing or amusing to happen around here, so I'll have something to write about, but have you seen the news lately?  However, write I will, today, because it's my mom's birthday, and I mostly wrote for her. Happy Birthday, Mom. I miss you every day.

My nine year-old daughter walked into my room earlier this week, where I was sitting on the bed, staring in shock at the news on CNN of the attacks on the American Embassies in Cairo and Libya. She curled up next to me and it took me a minute to notice tears streaming down her face. I took her downstairs to the giant map we have on the wall, and pointed out where the Middle East was in comparison to Brazil, and how faaaaaar away it was from us.  I also reminded her how amazing and smart her Daddy is, and how the reason we are even here in Brazil is so he can make our embassy even safer.

Still, tears.  "Olivia, why are you so sad today?" I asked.

"Because it doesn't even matter if it's Brazil or that other embassy where the people died. Somebody's Daddy probably made that embassy safe, and the bad guys still got in." Oy. I spent another fifteen minutes or so trying to soothe her fears, and she finally calmed down and went to school, where easy distractions are at the ready. Meanwhile, we turned off the news and stopped talking about the horrible events of the week in front of the kids. We feel very safe here, but the degree of separation is small in the Foreign Service. Google tells me about the four Americans who lost their lives, but not of who their families were and how they must be suffering right now. After losing my mom this summer, I feel their pain acutely, but I can't fathom being able to accept such senseless acts perpetrated on my loved ones.

A few years ago, my biggest external threat seemed to be the raccoons getting into our chicken coop or a random coyote wandering onto our property. I never locked my front door, I left my purse in the car so I would never forget it, and my wonderful extended family was in relatively easy driving distance. I could make a doctor's appointment and completely understand what they said to me, and I could park my car there, too. When Henry grew up, he wanted to be a food critic. Jack wanted to be independently wealthy so he could have a mini fridge built into a recliner that was attached to his xBox, Olivia wanted to be an Animal Petter (Totally a job! They had one where we boarded Seamus last year), and Grace wanted to be Lady Gaga.

Shortly after we arrived in Brazil (the kids fresh from their "Security Overseas" Seminar at FSI), Olivia skipped out ot the bus and noticed a fat envelope sticking out of our mailbox.  In her singsong-y voice, as I buzzed her through our tall, zombie-repelling security gate, she said, "We got a lettah bomb!" Of course, it wasn't a letter bomb, it was an add for bikini-and-ass waxing or some such.  But that is our life now. We are cautious out in public.  Leaving my door unlocked now is not even an option. And lately, Mitch and I have been going over our plans to stay safe, collect the kids, and stay in touch if the unthinkable happens.

So, do I regret doing this? Nope. Not at all (just don't ask me that in the first week of our next tour).  My kids have friends from all over the world, and their lives are forever changed.  Henry still wants to be a food critic, but an international one. Jack wants to go into global affairs, and Olivia wants to be a veterinarian "but with monkeys and stuff".  Grace still  wants to be Lady Gaga.  And even though I grew to love Brazil kicking and screaming all the way, I eventually got there.

If anything, the attacks on the American Embassies this week make me feel even stronger that we are doing the right thing.  I love that my husband is committed to keeping Americans safe overseas, and I love being surrounded by the kinds of people who are also committed to keeping Americans safe, even if it means putting themselves in harm's way to do so. And as much as I loved not locking my door and only worrying about the raccoons, I know now that the sense of security I felt back then was thanks to the many that work to keep America safe, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, Sean Smith, Glen Doherty, and Tyrone Woods.

Mostly, this lifestyle has taught me that I fracking love America. I just didn't really know it until we left.

The Rodent Hunger Games

The Tributes

From District 1: Forty-something year-old architect.
Weapon of choice: Cell phone

From District 2: Thirty-two (shut up, it's my story) year-old housewife.
Weapon of choice: Blood-curdling screams

From District 3: Sixteen year-old gangly boy/man. Special note: Boy/man is a VOLUNTEER
Weapon of choice: Bow and arrow. Also wields a mighty sarcastic tongue.

From District 4: Eleven year-old boy.
Weapon of choice: xBox ("What? we had a rat?")

From District 5: Nine year-old girl.
Weapon of choice: Compassion for the cute widdle rat, combined with worry for the tribute from District 7.

From District 6: Nine year-old girl
Weapon of choice: No weapon, but an amazing ability to climb onto the back of white sofas while wearing dirty shoes.

From District 7: Seven year-old Wheaten Terrier
Weapon of choice:  Teeth, man.

From District Hell:  A frucking rat
Weapon of choice: What weapon? He's a RAT. He holds all the cards.

The Arena

Guest bathroom in main part of an embassy house, Brasilia, Brazil

The Battle

Tribute from District Hell is trapped underneath bathroom cabinet by tribute from District 7.  Tributes from Districts 2 and 6 are screaming and climbing on top of furniture.  The tribute from District 4 beats a level in Minecraft.  The tribute from District 5 is wringing her hands but holding back, worried that an arrow will ricochet off the tile and harm the tribute from Distrist 7.  Tribute from District 1 is frantically dialing the facilities maintenance people at the embassy getting ready to kick some ass. An alliance is formed as the volunteer from District 3 wolfs down his morning Cheerios, grabs a bow and begins shooting arrows under the cabinet at the tribute from District Hell, who is flushed out just as the school bus arrives. Volunteer from District 3 rushes out to the bus while tribute from District 7 makes his move and...... CRUUUUUNCH.  The tribute from District Hell falls just before the Peacekeeper from the embassy arrives, armed with a trap and poison. Tribute from District 1 disposes of the fallen tribute while the tribute from District 2 takes a full Silkwood Shower.

The Victor

And may the odds be ever in my favor that there is no sequel.

R & R Wrap-up

I know I haven't posted in ages, but I wanted to throw some pictures out there of our last month of R & R. 

We rented a heavily-stenciled-but-largish house on Deer Lake, just outside of Spokane for the month.  Mitch arrived back in the States and joined us for the final three weeks.  After the first day the kids and I were there, Henry came downstairs, all sleepy, and said, "Mom, can you call Dad and have him bring my sheets? I'm pretty sure these ones aren't even cotton."  I don't know where he gets it.  Despite the crappy sheets at the rental house, the kids  had a blast swimming, fishing, playing with cousins and friends, and doing nothing in particular. We had family and close friends visit us, which was lovely. I had intended to meet up with a bunch of old friends, but I just didn't feel like leaving my cocoon.

 Many, many water fights.

 Would you want to leave this? I will say that the lake claimed one fishing pole and three chairs.

 It was a three mile round-trip walk to the little country store from our cabin and the girls walked it nearly every day to get ice cream cones as big as their heads. And yes, I let them go by themselves.  Hell, when I was nine I'm pretty sure I was rafting down the river behind my house and hitchhiking back home by myself.

On the Fourth of July, the kids took part in the local kids' parade.  Unfortunately, every kid was on a decorated bike and our girls were the only walkers. For the price of a cup of coffee, though, I was able to convince a local fireman that he needed two lovely assistants to help throw candy out of the firetruck:

 Score!

 The geese quickly learned which house to visit for snacks.

My husband thinks I turned into a bit of a redneck on that lake:

I did get a Bic lighter working that I picked up out of the water, but I wouldn't think that would make me a redneck.

 What the?  Um, that's not my recycling.  Hey, at least it wasn't boxed wine. See, I'm still klassy.

We really did have a good time, just being together, hanging with our families and friends, eating, and, um, drinking a tiny bit.  I wasn't sure how I'd feel coming back to Brasilia, and as I was driving home from the airport, I didn't feel at all like I was home. However, five minutes after walking inside our house, I was filled with happiness.  My 500 thread-count sheets! My thirsty towels! My knives! My coffee cup! Best of all, my dog!

The kids are thrilled to be home. Henry's exact words were, "home is where the good sheets are".


And the requisite first day of school photo:

R&R

We've been in Washington for a month. I'm not ready to write about my mom's passing, but here are a few things the kids and I have been up to lately:

Hiking at Riverside State Park:

Spotted: the elusive American Teenager hanging back, too cool for ice cream or photos.

Oh, Henry.

.

The girls and I had planned an awesome American Girl birthday/outdoor movie party for before we left Brazil, and they were such troupers about it getting cancelled for our swift trip to the States. They spent their Ninth Birthday at the hospital with an ice cream cake my sweet aunt brought them.

However, the hospital is no place to spend a birthday, so we hit the road to Seattle to spend a little time with some friends and finally see the American Girl Store. 

The bathroom stalls have doll holders!

 Here is Kanani enjoying the, uh, view.

 How do you like Olivia's face? You should see the sidewalk. It didn't stand a chance.

 A girl after my own heart: hitting the shoe department first.

You know what two things don't go together? Eleven year-old boys and the American Girl Store:

Nope, he's not stepping foot through that door.

While we were dollin' and moping it up, Jack was busy with trapeze school, courtesy of his best bud's mom:

Seattle was f-f-f-f-freezing, that is, until we all bought jackets and the sun instantly came out. Right as we were leaving town.

 Crab and shrimp fettucine at the Fisherman's Terminal.

We stopped at the Wild Horses Monument at the Columbia River Gorge on the way back to Spokane.

Oh, Henry.



My Mom

Thank you for all the sweet notes and emails. For those of you who don't know, I've been in the States with the kids for the past few weeks.  My mom has passed away, but we were incredibly lucky in that we got to spend time with her before she left us. I'm too sad to write anything else.

Peace.

Camping? Um, Ew.

It's been an eventful week here in Brasilia, and I'm not talking about the entire case of Italian Wedding soup I ordered that exploded in the Diplomatic Post Office. Mitch and I had events on both Friday and Saturday night, and we hired our favorite babysitter, Jack. The younger kids LOVE it when he babysits, because he's not allowed to act like their brother or he doesn't get paid his allowance for the week. Anyway, Jack was arguing with me about letting the girls watch a PG-13 movie that was billed as a cross between 'The Blair Witch Project' and 'Cloverfield'. I finally said, "Not one more word. I refuse to discuss it."  This is the point Jack called me a "Hater of Reason".  I loved that so much I sat down to change my Facebook name to Kate Hater of Reason, and he was all, "You'll spend 20 minutes figuring out how to change your Facebook name but you won't spend five minutes hearing me out about the movie!?"  Yep. A Hater of Reason doesn't need to be reasonable, after all.

Friday night was a charity "Ruby Ball" and we didn't get to bed until 2:30. Here we are all grumpied gussied up:

That's Mitch's pre-drink "I don't wanna talk to people and go out in public" face, but we did have a great time. I was feeling said great time all day yesterday, so I asked the kids to be quiet while I took a nap (poor Mitch had to work all day). Anyway, I woke up two hours later to a silent house. The kids had washed the dishes, folded the laundry, and done all their homework, and I hadn't even asked them to. I KNOW!!!! I was heaping praise on them when Henry gave me his most angelic face and said, "Can you buy us this video game so Jack and I can play it together?"  Ahhhh ha. I saw how it was. And hell yes, I bought the little operators a video game. That was an awesome nap.

I was looking at my pose in that photo, and remembered a photo I came across the other day of a trip to the Nutcracker from several years ago. Notice Grace's pose. Like mother like daughter. Red patent shoes should be noticed, dammit.

Today I let Jack have my  hour when Vagana (the 'g' is a hard 'g', fortunately) arrived to do our massages and the girls and I headed out to a fair to do a little shopping for gifts to take back home next month. We came home with no gifts, but we were all sporting some lovely new jewelry for ourselves.

Treat. Yo. Self.



We came home to find this set up in the backyard:

That's right. We're getting ready for a big camping trip next weekend. Considering that my idea of camping is staying in a hotel that doesn't have room service, my camping list probably won't surprise you:

This little doll won't be going with us, but now that his eyebrows are growing back in, I thought I'd show you how he's getting cute again:

I'm pretty freaked out about camping in a Brazilian jungle, but I'm told there are showers and whatnot, and it's supposedly a real campground, so we'll see. What you may not know about me is that I'm a disaster magnet. The other night I was at a friend's house and we ran out of firewood for the little firepit, so some ladies were pulling dead branches out of the palm trees to burn. They got all they could reach and asked me to get some since I'm the tallest. "No," I warned them, "Nothing good will come of that. It'll end in tears."  Well, they cajoled me and I pulled out a branch. A giant bug fell on me, but I shook it out of my hair and was fine. They cajoled again. "Pull really hard and get a big one!" they encouraged. So I did. I got a huge dead palm leaf and dragged it over to the fire. I leaned over to pick up a big chunk of it (it was very dark out), and I noticed that the chunk was swarming. I had pulled down a huge wasps' nest. There was screaming and running and a brave lady who speared the nest and dropped it into the fire, saving all our lives. The next day, the girls came home from school (I hadn't told them about the bees) and were all, "MOM! Is it true that you pulled a bees' nest out of a tree with your bare hands? Everyone was talking about it at school!"  The moral of this story, children, is don't rely on me to save you if the ship's going down, because it's probably sinking from something I did. But generally with the best of intentions.

So, stay tuned for tales of our camping adventures.  Meanwhile, I grilled a pizza tonight. It didn't suck. Well, the first two did, but the third time was a charm:

PS. Yes, I DO let Jack eat some of the food.

Must Be a Good Book

Things That Don't Suck

Having someone come to your house and give you each an hour-long massage every weekend to the tune of about $25.



Shhh. Don't tell Mitch I snuck this photo.

Jaguar Reserve

Yesterday was a holiday in Brazil, so there was no school or work.  The CLO at our embassy organized a trip to the NEX Jaguar Reserve, which is out in the middle of nowhere, a few hours from Brasilia. The road to get there was little more than a goat trail with bandaids covering the streams. Some would call the bandaids "bridges", but I wouldn't. The embassy chartered three huge tour buses to get us there, but did we reserve 6 spots on the luxury buses? Hell, no. Because we are hardcore, and not afraid of getting scratches on our car. Anyway, there was a mix-up and the buses were overbooked, so we took three extra kids with us. The poor teenagers had to sit in the way back, and every time we hit a hole or bump, their heads would hit the roof of the car. How I laughed, because they were trying to sleep, and also, I'm mean.

The Jaguar Reserve houses jaguars that have no means of living in the wild. They've been raised as pets, abused, declawed, are blind, etc. They're stories are very sad,  but they are lucky to be where they're at, safe and seemingly well-cared for.

This black jaguar was really aggressive. You could tell she was pissed by the way her ears were flattened back. Just as we were about to leave the area, she took one giant leap and jumped at the fence, and added a nice, healthy cat-scream for good measure. All the kids in front of her needed a change of underwear after that. How I laughed, because I am mean.

The pumas were very, very interested in the toddlers of our group. It was almost feeding time.

After we admired all the cats, the guide took us on a hike, and we ended up here:

Did I have towels or swimsuits for my kids? Hell, no. Did that stop Olivia from diving right in? Hell, no.

I had to pull her out because it was c-c-c-c-c-c-cold. But she went right back in after giving me a cold, muddy hug. I don't know where she gets her meanness from.



Grace was all, "Brrrrrrrrrr. It's too cold. I don't think I want to get in any furthur."

And then, she was all,

Jack and his teenaged friends only got their feet wet, but Henry and his friend were all in:

The hike back was steep, but the scenery was gorgeous. We passed a very large chicken yard with hundreds of chickens squawking about.  We were tired and hungry, but the jaguar place provided a big lunch for us, AND caipirinhas when we got back. After our lunch, it was time for the cats' lunch:

Yum. A wheelbarrow full of dripping meat. The cats had the same thing we had for lunch. Chicken! I kept remembering the chicken farm we passed earlier in the day for some reason.  They wrangled the cats into their cages, then rubbed the meat all over the trees in rocks in their enclosures, finally hiding the meat up high, so the cats would have to hunt for it. It was amazing to watch.

After another hour of watching them feed all the cats, we had coffee and fruit, and the adults got to go play with a jaguar. I'm not kidding. Kids weren't allowed anywhere near it, because they are viewed as food. I stayed with all the kids, and Mitch and Jack went and played with this little kitty:

See my firstborn, petting a Jaguar teenager? I'm pretty sure something like this wouldn't be allowed in the States. Brazil, you win at not worrying about lawsuits!

It was getting late, so we said goodbye to the cats, the parrots, and the toucan.

And followed this roadrunner home. Actually, I'm not a 100 percent sure it was a roadrunner, because it wasn't in cartoon, but it WAS running on the road:

See the little fella, just right of center?

All in all, it was a great day, and no one even complained about riding home in damp, muddy clothes.