tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25904644072930907192024-03-04T23:30:36.286-08:00Is it better than a brownie?I am a mom, wife, Foreign Service Officer who loves fashion, food, and travel. I am allergic to both wheat and chocolate and thus can never eat a brownie again. Since brownies are my favorite dessert bar none, I compare everything in life to how amazing and wonderful I remember the experience of biting into a brownie was. I have three children and a Husband whom I will occasionally write about. Oh, and The Dog who loves me but whom I don't really like very much. Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.comBlogger205125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-16244313880700882412020-11-29T01:37:00.001-08:002020-11-29T01:37:47.029-08:00Simply not having a Christmas time<p> Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday of all. I would start cooking Wednesday night--pies, stuffing, sweet potatoes, fried onions--all the delicious things! I cooked from scratch mostly. Thursday morning, the children and I would watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in the morning while finishing up all the sides and putting the turkey in. The turkey would be BIG. I preferred an 18 pounder so we could have lots and lots of leftovers. Turkey sandwiches for days! So yummy.</p><p>Last year, all of the children were home plus Child 1's fiance. It was amazing. The day after, we went to Black Friday sales and stocked up on wedding supplies for Child 1's spring wedding and we decorated for Christmas. It was lovely, and it was the last time that will ever happen. Because first Covid hit and we didn't have a big wedding, although we did use all the tulle and pearls and candles we bought, so that was good! And then Child 3 decided she wanted to grow up AND LEAVE ME AND GO TO COLLEGE!!! Ugh! So this Thanksgiving Husband and I were alone in China. We had dinner with friends and didn't go Black Friday shopping at all because that is not a thing here. And I didn't cook. And we didn't watch the parade and I didn't eat Doritos and French onion dip while making stuffing. </p><p>And now it is time to decorate for Christmas and I literally can't. Literally. Because our things have still not arrived even though we packed out in June and I have zero Christmas decorations. I keep dreaming that I am decorating for Christmas and then I wake up and remember that I can't because I have nothing to decorate with. OK, I have a "not zero number" of Christmas decorations, which is one. This one that I bought today at the saddest Christmas market ever:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnq7YeJsGNUPY_w8wF4d0468sS7eO5_Dr3uWnt-IDOPHHiUsWnj6jUvrZA7IoyWAKPiR8ELr9rYhF2kkNura1iHp0PGWUYM5fzPekFe2TePHBSbcgfyX4r6NDii_ti_ZsKPJDFyqrxwH-/s1440/Christmas+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnq7YeJsGNUPY_w8wF4d0468sS7eO5_Dr3uWnt-IDOPHHiUsWnj6jUvrZA7IoyWAKPiR8ELr9rYhF2kkNura1iHp0PGWUYM5fzPekFe2TePHBSbcgfyX4r6NDii_ti_ZsKPJDFyqrxwH-/s320/Christmas+2020.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>I know. It's not bad and it was made by underprivileged children, but if you were ever wondering whether Christmas bazaars in China are as good as the ones in India, they are not. Even with the food poisoning we got at the first German School Christmas Mela in New Delhi, that bazaar was better by miles! Although the food poisoning was seriously not fun. The next year we just didn't eat the food and only shopped which solved the problem. But at this one in Beijing, it was mostly food I can't eat and too expensive jewelry. So I bought one thing and came home and put out my only Christmas decoration.</p><p>So that pretty much sums up the 2020 Holiday season. The children aren't coming home for Christmas because there are no flights because of Covid, and I am spending all my free time playing Animal Crossing and crying, sometimes at the same time. And you know what would be better than a brownie? If people would actually social distance and wear masks so we can get rid of Covid in the US so I can see my children! And so that people can celebrate next year with loved ones who are still alive because their neighbors cared enough to mask up.</p><p>And confidential to the children, please subscribe to my blog and comment that you have read it. If you do, I will blog more. If you don't care, then I don't either.</p><p><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-40183690299693019362020-10-06T04:40:00.000-07:002020-10-06T04:40:01.270-07:00No, there is too much. Let me sum up.<p>So a world-wide pandemic that has killed over 1 million people is not better than a brownie, but you knew that already. There is too much to explain what you don't know, so let me sum up. Child one is married and graduated with an MPA. Child 2 and Child 3 are both studying different kinds of music at the same university. Husband and I spent a year+ studying Mandarin in Virginia via Zoom. And now we are in quarantine in Beijing where we should be studying Mandarin, but it is a holiday week so I am binge watching Netflix shows I downloaded before we came and playing on my Nintendo Switch. Husband is slowly going crazy because he has no one to talk to but me and I don't talk to him because I am busy playing Animal Crossing New Horizons like my life depends on it. And it does! Or at least my 5 star Island rating does and my neighbors have come to expect expensive presents and I still haven't learned how to catch scorpions without getting stung a million times. They team up on you and when you finally catch one, you still get stung!<br />But I digress.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX_fyh5eATciEDQ9IOEX_KQ2izpF69PHzcVIh789ReaVyuanGgENL_J8JRhPlASrr63-BipYsZAXEntFOHp2XKM7mZCYANKv2EsasJEBVCwTccKnrSAWgZuztfnciiuGM7t6ecWjAm-iq7/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX_fyh5eATciEDQ9IOEX_KQ2izpF69PHzcVIh789ReaVyuanGgENL_J8JRhPlASrr63-BipYsZAXEntFOHp2XKM7mZCYANKv2EsasJEBVCwTccKnrSAWgZuztfnciiuGM7t6ecWjAm-iq7/" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>You are now possibly wondering how long one can play ACNH without stopping and the answer is 11+ hours if you have a charger. Listen, it is quarantine in China and I had no internet access until yesterday and also I made 580,000 bells in ACNH two days ago by selling scorpions, so don't judge me. But I have been doing other things as well, like blindly ordering groceries via an app. Yes, I know I am supposed to be able to read Chinese, but although I know the characters for terrorist and violent crimes, the Department hasn't thought it important for me to learn the words for detergent or lemon juice, so I order by picture and sometimes am surprised. For example, whatever you think is spinach in China is definitely not spinach. And also lemon juice and dish soap look a lot alike. You cannot use dish soap as a substitute for lemons, if you are wondering. But I finally did find a photo of a lemon and I clicked on it and the next day I had two lemons delivered and something that looks like pork which I thought was chicken but is still edible. So success!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>If you are wondering how I am adapting to life without the children and The Dog at home, the answer is terribly. I miss the children. I only know how to cook for 5 people so we have a LOT of surprise pork leftovers. And my kitchen floor is an unholy mess because The Dog isn't here to clean up spills. Yes, The Dog is just fine. She now lives with Child 1 and Son-in-law and is happy as a clam trying to steal their food and sleep in their bed. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9xFMaFAC4CCJSOg__BPAWDiVhHGj9fGMZwdw-GzG94JaUPjcl7oe1KrikCXtrrdGlBMuFfoGiZjsJt1KDN-M15gsKIiuAODN71vKqjAvwdiQ9x1ZcSS4u5T7GQQvda_JTuyuBAc23CP7/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9xFMaFAC4CCJSOg__BPAWDiVhHGj9fGMZwdw-GzG94JaUPjcl7oe1KrikCXtrrdGlBMuFfoGiZjsJt1KDN-M15gsKIiuAODN71vKqjAvwdiQ9x1ZcSS4u5T7GQQvda_JTuyuBAc23CP7/" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>See? She is just fine and I don't miss her at all. Nope. I don't dream about her and I never mistake a pillow on the floor for her and I didn't even cry at all when I said good-bye to her. Nope. Not crying now either. That's just my eyes watering from too much lemon scented soap. </p><p>I know, I know your final question is how is it learning Mandarin via Zoom? And the answer is definitely better than a brownie because you can cheat! Don't judge! I am too old to learn how to read again and if I didn't cheat, I wouldn't remember a single thing. Well technically, I'm not remembering so much as looking stealthily at my notes which are off camera. But you try learning to write Chinese characters in your old age and see how well you do! I can now write 100+ characters, so only 49,900 to go! Sigh. Maybe someday I'll actually be able to do it all without cheating, but I'm not holding my breath.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-44490971008773353182018-09-29T06:19:00.000-07:002018-09-29T06:19:27.178-07:00To the Good Men of America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Good American Men,<br />
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I am writing to ask you a favor. But before I get to that favor, I want to explain some things, so please listen.<br />
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Men are not like women. I know that we want to erase the lines and I know that I would have been just as fine a Navy pilot as most men and that men can be terrific knitters if they want to. But our experiences in life are really, really different. For example, here are some ways in which our worlds are different.<br />
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>You've never had a fight with your underwear</b>. In fact, I bet your underwear has never tried to kill you. Don't believe me about deadly underwear? Corsets can restrict breathing so much that a woman can suffocate. And hoop skirts and bustles had a tendency to knock over oil lamps and catch on fire. Now, I don't wear a corset or a hoop skirt very often, but I have two words for you: Spanx and underwire. Seriously, ask your women friends to explain how long it takes to put on a pair of Spanx and how much fun it is to go around all day with a wire stabbing you in the armpit.</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>You can reach stuff we can't</b>. You are on average taller than us. And did you know that a man's arm span is usually 2 inches longer than his height? Guess what? The average woman's is only 0.5 inches longer. I discovered this when I let my 6'2" husband unpack the kitchen in our first apartment. He put the plates on the top shelf. I had to get a stool every time I needed a plate. Husband said well, you didn't give me any instructions, which is true. So I do now. Every time we unpack a house, which is very often because the State Department moves us a lot, I say, Husband, stay away from the kitchen stuff! </li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>You know how when you go to the movies with a woman and we want to sit on the aisle and you want the middle and so we put our purses on the seat next to us and you say that's rude and we're taking up extra seats? Well, it's not only because we don't want to put our purse on the floor. It's also so that Bad American Men don't sit next to us. Oh, y<b>ou've never been groped by a stranger in a movie theater </b>and were traumatized by it and are still afraid decades later? Good for you! That is another way we are different.</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When you go on a date, you just throw on nice jeans and a shirt. You don't usually try on ten different dresses and reject them all and then try jeans and a nice top and then have to decide between the shoes that will hurt but look sexy, or the shoes that you can run away in. Oh, <b>you don't dress defensively</b>? You don't know what that is? Well, that is dressing in a manner so complicated and hard to get off so that your potential rapist just gives up like a parent trying to get Barbie out of the package on Christmas morning who just hands it to their crying child and says--that's not packaging--that's her force field! It's supposed to stay on!</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>I bet that <b>you don't know what hat pins are for.</b> Women don't wear hat pins anymore, we have rape whistles and keychain sirens and pepper spray instead. But back in my grandmother's day, she wore hats and she used a pin to keep them from blowing away in the wind. But she also made sure she had one on every date so she could jam it into a man who was attacking her. My grandmother. In the 1930s. Her own mother born in the 1800s taught her that. Bet you didn't know your great grandmother also had to fight off Bad American Men and her only weapon was a hatpin and maybe a hoop skirt on fire.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Now, there is a way that we are exactly the same which you might think isn't true but it is. And that is when really bad stuff happens, we don't want to talk about it. Oh, I know you think that women want to talk about everything. You think that women just want to talk and talk until they have talked you to death. But you are a Good American Man and you know that really that is just our way of processing things--we need to hear it out loud. But some things are too painful to process, and so we push them down, lock them up, and hide them away until they ooze out and rise up like smoke under a shut door and signal to everyone that something is on fire.</div>
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Oh, you might not think that we are the same in that way, but we are. I've seen it. Men don't like to talk about things that hurt them. You know how when you have a rotten day at work and your boss yells at you and you just want to quit your job or punch someone but you need the job so you come home and slam the door and your woman says what happened and you say I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! And you don't ever talk about it?</div>
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How about when something embarrasses you like the time you were giving a presentation and your pants had split and everyone could see your underwear and nobody told you until after you were done speaking to an auditorium of 500 people and when your woman brings it up years later, you say THAT NEVER HAPPENED! And you pretend it didn't?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Well, here is the thing. Those were events that were painful and embarrassing and you don't want to talk about them. Now, I finally get to the favor. I want you to imagine that it was something so bad that you thought you were going to die. In fact, you'd been lectured your whole life by adults who meant well that you SHOULD die rather than let it happen to you. And it does happen, and you want to die, but you don't and you just want to go to sleep and pretend it never happened. And so you do. You shower and throw away the dress/skirt/shorts/bathing suit/prom gown you were wearing and shove it way down in the garbage can and you never talk about it again. And when someone brings up that pool party/dinner/football game/prom night years later, you almost say something. But you still really don't want to think about it. So you just smile and say oh, I don't remember that night. But you do. You remember every single second of the event and it changes you forever. And you never trust anyone the same way again. Imagine that. Something so painful that you CAN'T talk about it because it feels like it will rip you in half if you do.</div>
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Now, look me in the eye and ask me why didn't the woman report it to the police. Can you still do that after thinking about it from her perspective? If you really can imagine being hurt that way, by someone much bigger and stronger with a longer arm span who doesn't care if you are having a good time or not and is willfully hurting you for their own pleasure, you won't be able to. And if she is braver than most of us and she does tell someone, could you please believe her? And not accuse her of lying or threaten her and her family or say that she's only doing it for the attention? Because I promise you, she knows what kind of attention speaking out will bring her and none of it is good.</div>
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If you could just listen and support her and not judge her for coming forward, that, well that would be <i><b>better than all the brownies in the world</b></i>. Because by not judging her, you will change the world. And we really, really need you to do that so that our daughters no longer have to carry around hat pins.</div>
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Sincerely,</div>
<div>
Women</div>
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<div>
(Please note that I realize men of color, and transgender men, and gay men have different perspectives. But this is a plea to men who live most of their lives being believed and not being persecuted or stalked and are only ever in dangerous situations that involve sports or driving very fast which they can choose to do on purpose. They are the ones I need to listen. Thanks.)</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-72567212132455675912018-05-13T03:49:00.000-07:002018-05-13T03:49:20.619-07:00Transcontinental traveling--I'm doing it wrong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's 6am on Mother's Day and I'm across the world from my lovelies and am sitting in the airport lounge in Newark looking at they NYC skyline and wishing my family were here with me. Child 2 is only a 1 hour flight away, but sadly, I'm not going to see her. I'm on my way to Knoxville, TN for work; long story short, just accept that someone who works for the State Department in India actually has a good reason for going to Knoxville for work.<br />
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It's a cloudy day in Newark, but I can still see the Freedom Tower ascending into the clouds and the lights on the George Washington bridge blinking in the foreground. Each time I see this view, it's like a sharp needle to my heart. When I was little, my parents thought it might be fun to go to NYC and walk between the towers of the World Trade Center. I was afraid to look up so mostly I saw gum and cigarette butts on the sidewalk. Now that I am no longer scared of heights, I would love the chance to do it again. But they are gone, and a piece of m childhood and my heart with them.<br />
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However, lest you think this is going to be a sad post, I am not really melancholy; I just have a raging headache and I hurt all over from being 14 hours on a plane and not sleeping. I used to do that every time I traveled, mostly because when the children were small, one of them would always be awake and whining that she was bored. One awful flight across the Pacific, (this was in the days before personal entertainment screens in the seatbacks,) they showed <i>Hellboy</i> as the movie and totally freaked out Child 2. Who then woke up Child 3 who immediately started screaming and woke up Child 1 who yelled at everybody to shut up. And of course, I was completely outnumbered because Husband had flown back to Korea the week before and I was alone with three kids, none of whom would sleep. The entire 747 hated me. And that was my worst flight ever--until last night.<br />
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I normally don't mind flying alone because I discovered when you don't have children to worry about, <i>you can actually sleep!</i> So I was all set in my Economy Plus seat on the aisle with easy access to a bathroom. I got out my memory foam neck pillow and put on my noise canceling headphones and went to sleep.<br />
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Now, some things to keep in mind about me. 1) I usually travel overnight in a maxi skirt because I discovered that the weight of a skirt and slip on my legs feels like a blanket and I sleep better and then I'm not tempted to use the icky airline blanket which after seeing one swabbed on the news about e.coli bacteria being everywhere I refuse to touch. Also, no zipper or digging waistband. 2) I have lots of food issues, and even though I ALWAYS request a gluten-free meal, about 50% of the time they don't have one for me. So I play Russian roulette with the airplane food and guess which one I think won't have wheat gluten or dairy in it. So last night, no GF meal so I asked for the chicken and mashed potatoes with tomato gravy. Big, big mistake. Huge! Because about an hour after I went to sleep, I woke up feeling something was really wrong. I was so groggy, I had a hard time pinpointing that I was really nauseated. So I got up to go to the bathroom, and of course the ones near me were all full. And then my slip fell off. Literally just slipped off and fell right to the ground around my feet. I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been my skirt.<br />
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But the problem with a slip on the ground is that you have to bend over to pick it up, and that did it. Up came my entire meal. I climbed over some people and ran to the back of the plane where the only open bathroom was, holding my slip in front of my face trying to keep everything down. But no luck. I vomited all over the slip and the bathroom and myself. Ugh!<br />
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Because I am a mother, though, I could <b><i>not</i></b> leave the bathroom that way, so after I was done making a mess, I tried to clean it and myself up. I must have been in that bathroom for 45 minutes. (Sorry everyone on that flight!) Also, I always carry an extra shirt, so I could at least change that. The slip was a lost cause, though. I just put it in an airsick bag, sealed it up, and threw it away.<br />
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I discovered that flight attendants are extra super nice if you have already cleaned up the bathroom when you tell them you were just sick in it. But that was the end of my sleeping on the flight. So now I am exhausted, and have a raging headache, and am a little smelly sitting in the airport by myself looking at NYC and wishing I had enough energy to get up and go walk around. For breakfast, I had a GF Rice Krispie treat and some ginger ale. So happy Mother's Day to me! I had planned a nice day of brunch and shopping, but now all I want is a shower and a long nap.<br />
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To my children, thank you for making me a mom. To my mom, thank you for keeping me alive all those years. (It was harder than one might think.) And to all my friends for whom Mother's Day is awful, please read this and laugh and think about me trying to only stand in front of walls all day so no one can see through my skirt because I have no slip. I assure you, I'm having a worse day than you, and I hope your day is better than a brownie. I should not think about brownies. Now I'm nauseated again. Anyone know where you can buy a slip in the Newark airport?</div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-66873630592543656682017-12-01T09:31:00.002-08:002017-12-01T09:40:47.947-08:00Back to the basics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">I'd like to clear up some confusion. This is a person.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for mad men don draper" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/28/e9/ca/28e9caba691fe3bc01cc270038d277a2.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="621" /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is also a person. I know, it's confusing, but she is actually a person. Really. Women are people.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Image result for Mary Tyler Moore" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://www.trbimg.com/img-588939cb/turbine/la-et-st-mary-tyler-moore-appreciation-20170125" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="321" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A talented person.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for gabby gymnast" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://media.vanityfair.com/photos/54ca8fc951062027081e20d8/master/pass/image.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="588" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A brave person.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for Malala" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://www.pakistankakhudahafiz.com/pkkhnew/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/b8649f28-6139-11e3-916e-00144feabdc0.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="709" /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not a person. Mermaids are not people and dolls are not people.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for Barbie" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71LYvJ2juKL._SY550_.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="255" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Definitely not a person. People are not made of stone. This is a statue.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for venus di milo" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/2e/cd/6a/2ecd6a07bb2d3d8a261b4e36226cf10b--roman-art-louvre-paris.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="190" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Adorable person.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for baby girl" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://cdn.skim.gs/images/d07uhyty3q0ue7br5xhb/irish-baby-girl-names" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="710" /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Person with feathers? (Actually, not a person.)</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for chick" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://www.giftsofcompassion.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/Chick.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="399" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">OK, got it now? Let's try something harder. Each person has their own feelings. Some of those feelings might be different than yours but that's OK.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This person likes Muppets. I like Muppets, too.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for Jim Henson" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://www.trbimg.com/img-5739cac8/turbine/la-me-jim-henson-20160516-snap" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="415" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This person likes traveling at very fast speeds. I do not think I would like traveling by rocket, but I'm sure she would ask me first before taking me somewhere in a rocket.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for mae jemison" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://www.biography.com/.image/t_share/MTE1ODA0OTcxODY2MjkzNzcz/mae-jemison-9542378-1-402.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="399" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This person hates broccoli. I like broccoli, but if you don't like broccoli, that's OK. I would never force you to eat broccoli.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for george h w bush" class="irc_mi" height="400" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0f/George_H._W._Bush%2C_President_of_the_United_States%2C_1989_official_portrait.jpg/220px-George_H._W._Bush%2C_President_of_the_United_States%2C_1989_official_portrait.jpg" style="margin-top: 73px;" width="346" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I do not know if this person likes broccoli or not. But you can be sure that if I asked him if he wanted some broccoli and he said no, I would not try to force him to eat it. And if he put some on his fork and went to taste it and then decided it smelled bad so he didn't want to eat it, then nobody should force him to eat it. The best thing to do to find out if he likes broccoli and might want some is, and this might be a revelation to some people, the best method is <i>to ask him and listen to what he says. </i>And although it might be intimidating asking him, you would definitely hear and understand him if he said no, he hates broccoli and don't ask him again.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for terry crews" class="irc_mi" height="350" src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2016/09/terry-crews.jpg?quality=100" style="margin-top: 22px;" width="650" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is an extremely smart person. If I wanted to know if she liked broccoli, I should ask her. I shouldn't assume she likes broccoli because she looks like a person who might have had vegetables once.</span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for Ruth Bader Ginsburg" class="irc_mi" height="640" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/76/Ruth_Bader_Ginsburg_2016_portrait.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="495" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is a brownie. It looks delicious, doesn't it? I <b>love</b> brownies. But you shouldn't assume just because I've said that I love them that I would eat one if you offered it to me. I wouldn't, because it would make me very, very sick. I might ask you to let me smell it, though. </span></div>
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<img alt="Image result for brownies" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://d2gk7xgygi98cy.cloudfront.net/4-3-large.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="599" /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some people don't like brownies. I might think they are crazy, but I would understand what they mean when they make this face. If you are confused, it means this person <i><b>does. not. want. a brownie!</b></i></span><br />
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<img alt="Image result for disgust" class="irc_mi" height="399" src="https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/man-disgusted-picture-id627798010?k=6&m=627798010&s=612x612&w=0&h=OGXQGOTE8JJhRolrMNykk36nF45oAXmIVcK0G7NZ8Uc=" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="568" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You know what would be even better than a brownie, though? If we didn't have to explain this to grown-ups in 2017, for crying out loud! </span></div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-76640920878571233682017-10-04T08:22:00.000-07:002017-10-04T08:22:00.248-07:00When home isn't<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was all set to write an awesomely funny post about traveling around the country without children and all the beef I ate over the last month. But the world has made me sad again. I really, really wanted to be funny, but I can't in the face of so much preventable sadness and heartbreak in Las Vegas. And why what happened in Vegas ended up in my heart 1/2 way around the world begins with a story.<br />
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You see, many years ago, more years that I would like to admit, I had a friend whom we shall call Missy. Now, Missy and I both lived in the same town in Texas and went to the same school. We had the luck of having the same homeroom teacher in 6th grade and when we realized how close we lived to each other, we became best friends. You see, when the only public transportation in your town is your own feet plus a pair of roller skates that you are supposed to share with your sister, proximity is hugely important. Missy lived down the street and two blocks over--practically on my way home if I went a couple of blocks in the wrong direction which I did almost daily. There were other kids in our neighborhoods, but they were mostly boys, so ick! Missy and I stuck together like glue. Plus, Missy had her own room and only one annoying little sister. I had two, plus a brother and an older sister and I had to share my room with Sister 3 who was 3 years old at the time and had this super embarrassing habit of stripping all the Barbies naked and throwing them up onto the roof of our house. Ugh! Seriously, Sister 3, what WAS your obsession with undressing the Barbies and why in heaven's name did they need to be on the roof?<br />
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So anyway, Missy's own room with actual decorations and matching furniture meant that we spent a lot of time at her house. Plus, she had Connect 4 and Operation. And Toss Across! And plus she had super nice parents. That's a lot of plusses so you can see why I liked hanging out at Missy's. Her parents were the kind that invited you to sleep over and fed you McDonald's and bought ice cream and laughed at all your jokes. Missy's dad and mom both smoked like chimneys, but this was in the days before we cared about smoking and sometimes, I wouldn't wash all my clothes right away after spending the night so I could smell them and remember all the fun times at Missy's. Her parents felt like my parents and I loved them.<br />
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Then a couple of years later, I was in the living room while my parents were watching the news. (See, Children, before the internet and cable, you had to tune into the news at 6pm or wait for the morning paper to know what was going on.) And I saw Missy's mom crying on TV and I stood up. Because I knew. Because grown ups didn't go on TV and cry for fun. And what was important was not that she was now famous for being on TV, <i>but that she was crying</i>. Sobbing actually. And then they showed a list of the victims' names, and her dad, whom we'll call John, was on the list. But it couldn't be him because he went by Jack, and everyone knew that. He told me I should call him Jack which was the coolest thing in the world but made me uncomfortable so he was Mr. Jack. So it wasn't him and I had missed the beginning of the newscast, so I wasn't even really sure what he might be a victim of.<br />
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But then there was Missy's mom on the cover of the newspaper the next morning and there was no doubt that it was very, very bad. A disgruntled employee had gone into the office and shot 9 people, including Mr. Jack. Six of them died, including Mr. Jack. And at 14 years old, I learned how grief can crush you and make you stupid. I felt so dumb and helpless and numb and stupid and helpless. And it wasn't even my own loss--it was Missy's dad, not mine, but even now it still hurts! I think my mom took me over to Missy's. I don't remember walking. I do remember being there and just sitting there while well-meaning people dropped off casseroles that no one was going to eat and Missy's aunt who came down from Chicago wrapped them in Saran Wrap and stacked them in the fridge. I remember the flowers everywhere and the people talking in whispers like Mr. Jack's death was a secret they didn't want us to find out. But we knew! Oh how we knew. And we felt that loss like 14 year olds do like the world was ending because we thought it must be. Something that horrible had to be the end of the world.<br />
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I stayed by Missy's side through the wake (we weren't allowed to go) and the funeral (I got the day off from school) and we sat together numb for hours and hours even after Missy came back to school--we'd still get off the school bus at her house to sit in her room. Doing nothing. Just listening to the radio. And occasionally talking about Luke and Laura and I wasn't a Luke fan and Missy was and that was the beginning of the end--the first little wedge to nudge us in opposite directions. We slowly drifted apart as teenage girls sometimes do, with thankfully little drama. Missy changed (how could she not?) and I changed and we both discovered that boys weren't so icky and the sand that was the foundation of our friendship slowly washed away until we were just acquaintances and the smell of stale cigarette smoke just made me sad. We were still kind to each other throughout high school, but we ran in different circles. Things are different, now. If we were teenagers now, we probably never would have been allowed to walk home alone, and after-school activities wouldn't ever involve looking through tabloids for news about General Hospital. Plus who needs sleep-overs when you have FaceTime and SnapChat? Oh, and cigarettes are regulated now because they are deadly; isn't <i>that</i> ironic?<br />
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Every once in a while I wonder about Missy and how she is, most often when shootings like Las Vegas happen, which is way, way too often. In fact, that event which was so central to my life and my nightmares for so long barely even warrants a Wikipedia page. Weapons have become deadlier and body counts have skyrocketed and six people dead would barely cause a shrug and maybe not even a mention above the fold. Except to those six people and everybody who knew and loved them. To us, each new mass shooting is another tear at a wound that can never fully heal and a news story that links us to too many other people who bear that same awful burden of violent loss.<br />
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I'm older now. I've totally lost track of Missy. I hope she is well and that she is happy. I hope she has amazing children of her own. We are older now than Mr. Jack was when he died. I didn't realize that until just now because Missy's parents have stopped aging in my head and I regularly forget exactly how old I am. And Child 3 is the same age as I was when it happened. So tonight I'm going to hug her until she whines and be grateful that it wasn't her watching the news and finding out that someone she loves just had the world ripped away from them. This time. And I will pray that it never is her. And I will write every. single. effing. lawmaker who will listen to me until my fingers bleed until we as a nation do something to make sure that it never ever is. Because action on keeping assault weapons out of the hands of killers, well I would have given up brownies years ago if it would have led to that. And I love brownies more than anything--except people.</div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-64027746088700592232017-08-27T19:55:00.000-07:002017-08-28T21:36:41.774-07:00NBD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Child 2 is leaving me for college. We have planned for this day for many years, but I'm still a little bitter that the rewards of doing my job well is that I will no longer have that job. I put so, so many hours into playing Disney Princesses and watching Pokémon movies and singing Veggie Tales songs. And now, instead of a nice big fat bonus check, I get the privilege of paying about $90,000 <i>so that she can leave me forever! </i>Whose great idea was this because I'm pretty sure it wasn't an actual mother who thought that paying to send children away for university would be a good thing. Shouldn't the university pay me for the privilege of educating my beautiful, intelligent, and fun children?<br />
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But I'm so excited for her. She's at a great school in a great major AND we get in-state tuition, otherwise that figure would be closer to $300,000. The only bonus in this whole scenario is that at least she picked somewhere that I like to go where we have lots of friends and some family. Child 1 picked Hawaii (great choice) and Child 2 picked Virginia. Now all we have to do is get Child 3 to choose another great vacation spot and we're all set! I'm open for suggestions. I, myself, like Denmark or Australia. Is there a good university in the Bahamas? Listen, if I'm paying $100,000 it had better be a place I where I can enjoy watching my money go to meal plans that include Starbucks and Panda Express.<br />
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Before I dropped her off at school with approximately 1/2 of all the available goods in Target, Child 2 and I drove down to South Carolina with our friend Batman, and saw the total eclipse.<br />
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I know, I know. You are tired of hearing how amazing the eclipse was, but it truly was! There are a few things that you can see in real life that live up to the hype: a Hawaiian beach, the Taj Mahal, and a total solar eclipse are three of them. We were actually lucky enough to have purchased eclipse goggles and binoculars so that we could look at the partial without damaging our eyes. Child 1 says they made Child 2 look like a mad scientist, which is totally the reason I ordered those kind! Double duty, right? They looked not unlike this.<br />
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So not only did we see the eclipse with someone whom I believe actually may be Batman, but we looked crazy while doing it. So awesome!<br />
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I should now mention, in case you hadn't divined that from context, that we are all fine. The riots in India didn't affect Husband or the children. The burned train car only meant there were fewer people in Amritsar so they had a better view of the book at the Golden Temple and the Wagah Border crossing ceremony when they went this weekend. That's India and Pakistan shaking hands right there in the coolest border closing ceremony that has ever existed and I'm totally not exaggerating.<br />
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And I'm fairly certain my family in Texas is all fine since they are out of the path of the storm. I have not heard from Artemis since before the storm, but if she is not fine, then I will drive down and rescue her on Tuesday when I arrive in Texas. Artemis, let me know if you need me to bring a boat! (Update: just heard from Artemis and she evacuated to a place with delicious German food, but she hates German food so she is bored and hungry. Somebody send her some bulgogi!)<br />
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We've had a lot of near misses since we've been in the Foreign Service--disasters at a place we just left, earthquakes just one country over, riots on the other side of town. We've had a small number of actual emergencies as well--almost dying from e-coli, Husband caught in an explosion in Afghanistan, overnight currency invalidation that left us with almost zero cash to spend and no way to get more. But these are things we expect overseas. We practice for them and prepare go bags and fly away kits. I've called people on the phone in Libya to tell them to get to the dock because the evacuation boat is leaving. I've received frantic calls from parents whose children were missing after an earthquake in China. I've calmed people down who were convinced that the radiation leaking from a nuclear plant in Japan could make its way to South Korea and might harm them. Crisis management is part of my job, and I am pretty good at it.<br />
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What I don't expect are disasters at home, both natural and manmade. The photos of the flooding in Texas are frightening and sad and heartbreaking. I'm praying for all my loved ones and their loved ones who are affected. Texas is an awesome place full of people who care for each other and are willing to go out of their way to help strangers. I'm convinced that they will make it through this ordeal. This ABC News photo shows what they're up against, but Texans are tough and also fashionable. Look how awesome she looks while being rescued!<br />
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But what really scares me are Nazis marching by the hundreds in the state that I've called home for over 20 years. To quote Tina Fey, I've seen <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i> and I wasn't confused by it. Nazis are always bad. Did you know that if you are a Nazi, you can't get a visa to come to the United States? Seriously, it's right there in our law. Look it up. In fact, if you are a government official who participates in denying someone the right to practice religion <i><b>today</b></i>, you cannot get a visa. So the fact that my own countrymen would do something willingly that if they were not Americans would make them ineligible to even visit America--well, that hurts and angers me. <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #333333;">We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." That's not just a quaint saying--it's the belief that our country was founded upon. So I pledge to do my part to eradicate racism and religious intolerance. I pledge to be kind to people who are different from me and to learn about the history of Americans who were excluded by the Declaration of Independence when it was written (all men meant all white, land-owning men. People of color and women and indentured servants were not considered to have been created equal, in case you hadn't learned that in school.) I vow to remember that I can always learn something from anyone and that my experience is not universal. I promise to accept people of all faiths into my home and to be respectful of their beliefs. There are lots and lots of other things we can do, which I am too tired and sad to think of at the moment. So I invite y'all to join me and comment on things you will pledge to do to make sure that the word "American" is never used as a descriptor for "Nazi." If you do, that will be better than a brownie, by far.</span></span></span></span></div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-55293803780833579092017-05-30T09:09:00.001-07:002017-05-30T09:27:36.122-07:00A Thousand Pounds of Joy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's transfer season for the Foreign Service. For those of you who think there are only four seasons, you are correct. They are EER (employee evaluation report which is the State Department's way of making sure we all have inferiority complexes) season, transfer season, bidding (when we beg for jobs) season, and the season where you could get a lot done but everyone is taking vacation that they couldn't take during the above three seasons and then it's Christmas and then New Year's and then we're back to EERs. I'm only joking a little. I actually get a ton of work done during EER season because that's when I do everything awful that I've put off for months but would rather do than my EER. Like cleaning out my file drawers or reorganizing my paperwork by color, or working on everyone else's EERs.<br />
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But transfer season is really the worst of the four. Seriously. You're either doing the work of the 1/3 of the Foreign Service who are moving this summer in addition to your own regular duties, or you're actually moving which really is the worst. Seriously. I got so stressed about moving next year that Husband and I extended and are staying in India another year just to avoid it. OK, also because we love India, but even if we didn't really love it, we might still extend because sorting and supervising the packing probably has sucked away years from my life. Every spring, I have my annual running from a tornado dream which comes from growing up in Texas and living in Tornado Alley. Now every summer, I also have a nightmare about packing and moving in which I am trying to supervise the movers and the pile of stuff keeps getting bigger.<br />
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Every year, a bunch of helpful people give everyone else suggestions on how to reorganize their homes in time for the big move. Like you should put all your jewelry in Saran wrap (that would require a huge amount of Saran wrap for me) or you can build crates for your antiques out of the bookcase you made from the crates your stuff was shipped in and isn't it wonderful that you can just recycle the wood again? And here is their 5 page labeling system that you only need a label maker, 17 different colored dot stickers, and a degree in theoretical physics to figure out. I can just see us now: Babe, can you pass me the cerulean dots? No, not the azure ones. I said ceruuuulean!<br />
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But this year, the helpful people keep posting about Kon Mari and how they got rid of 5,000 pounds of stuff because they picked up each object they own and if it didn't "spark joy", then they threw it out. There are a few problems with this method, the first being that I happen to have a lot of stuff that is extremely useful, yet will never spark my joy. For example: tampons. Now, some people might get joy out of a huge box of super-size tampons, but they are sick, so we aren't talking about them. We are talking about me and I find nothing about tampons to be joyful, but I have three boxes of them because when you are moving to a foreign country, you buy tampons in bulk. And do not try to get rid of them or I will spark your joy right into next week!<br />
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The other problem with Kon Mari is that people who follow this method want a room that looks like this:<br />
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Now, aside from all the sharp corners and the white couches which are just begging to have a toddler write all over them in pink highlighter, there a couple of other things I don't like about this room. One is that they only own two books. And another is that if you think that is the kind of furniture that the federal government purchases for the Foreign Service, then you don't know your federal government very well. What we have is more along the lines of this:<br />
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Now imagine having to create a room around that and you can see that minimalist is NOT the way to go. Husband is actually a minimalist and believes that we should get rid of a lot of stuff because our home should be clean and sparkling like in the white photo above. And he complains that we have too much stuff all the time. But my style is more like this:<br />
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Which now that I think about it, rather explains my strange and insistent desire to have red couches when we moved to India so that now our living room looks like this:</div>
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The blur is because I suck at taking photos with my laptop, especially when I have to duck out of the way and get the angle right AND click on the stupid icon all at the same time. Our post has this amazing slipcover program, so that's why my couch isn't the usual mustard color. But you can see that I own more than two books. I own more than two of most things because of scarcity. For example, I have two green stripey skirts. Because my green stripey skirt is my favorite and I wear it all the time, so when I saw another green stripey skirt, I bought it because someday my green stripey skirt will wear out or get a hole in it and THEN WHAT WILL I WEAR WHEN I WANT TO WEAR MY GREEN STRIPEY SKIRT AND I CAN'T?! Because being in the Foreign Service is a little like having to shop to prepare for a famine of things like good spatulas, or green stripey skirts, or elephant throw pillows, for example. When you see the Cheerios, you buy the Cheerios because next week they will not be there to buy and we had a whole year in China without Cheerios and I don't want to relive <b>that</b> again. So when you see a beautiful tiger vase, <i>you should buy it</i>, hypothetically. Or literally since now we have a tiger vase in our dining room which I bought on Saturday.<br />
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So the very best piece of advice by the Kon Mari person is that you should hold each of your possessions in your hands and ask yourself if each one sparks joy and that is the stupidest suggestion ever because OF COURSE they spark joy <i><b>or I wouldn't have bought them</b></i>! And also, I have so much stuff that it would take at least a month if I did nothing else but hold each sock or string of pearls or decorative dish in my hand and ask if it sparked joy. (Answer: No, but you still have to have socks. Yes, and DUH!)<br />
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I know you think all of those things in that living room couldn't possibly spark joy, but let's go through a few, shall we? That's the collected works of the Brontë sisters on the shelf which Husband gave me for my birthday after Child 1 was born because she was named for two of them. And that olive green bowl is the one I made with Child 2 when her 5th grade class went on a field trip to the celadon factory and it is filled with ammonites which we bought by the kilo in China and we still love to look at and know we're holding 100 million years of history in our hands which I'm totally not exaggerating because I googled it. Child 3 still loves to sift through them to find the baby one. The handmade bowl of ammonites is sitting on the doily of Belgian lace that I got on the best TDY ever to Brussels.<br />
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Those paintings on top of the bookcases? My grandfather bought those in Germany in 1932 and they hung in his house for years and I loved them and wanted to go there and see Rothenburg ob der Tauber in person and then Husband and I actually did. And that globe in the middle is the one we gave Husband for Father's Day one year which is inlaid with semi-precious stones and everything is spelled wrong because we got it in China which is why it sparks so much joy and giggles when we take it down and read it. And that chest on the left is called a bai fu gui (百 富 柜 ) which is literally covered in 100 different Chinese characters for the word "Fu" which means both bat and rich and apparently 98 other things. That cabinet sparks joy in me every time I see it.<br />
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So the way I see it, we can either live with the thousands of pounds of joy we have collected over the years and still enjoy them, or we can erase my memory so I don't remember why the fishbowl full of chopsticks brings me joy. Since the latter is not very desirable because nobody will ever find anything in the house ever again if I can't remember where they last put it, it will have to be the former. I'll take my thousand pounds of joy over that sterile white room any day. Gerald the giraffe which I got as change in the Congo is way better than a brownie and I'm not giving him up.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-76875715630634606882017-05-04T08:51:00.001-07:002017-05-04T08:51:09.328-07:00More than prayers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I realize it's been a long time since I blogged. I'm not going to apologize, but I will explain a little. As many of you know, I'm a Foreign Service Officer for the U.S. Department of State. I worked very hard for many years to realize that dream and I'm extremely proud of my service to my country. The following is purely my personal opinion and does not necessarily reflect the views of the Department of State. But I would like to tell my personal story of why I became a Foreign Service Officer, so you can understand what I do and why I do it.<br />
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Although many of my relatives and former neighbors in Texas might not believe it because I committed the sin of leaving Texas, I am a very patriotic person who is very loyal to my country. As a young girl, I dreamed of serving my country as an adult. I thought seriously about the military, but at the time I was becoming an adult, women weren't allowed to serve in combat positions. I had wanted to be a Navy pilot, but when I learned I couldn't fly off of carriers, I thought well what is the point, then. A few years later, I learned about the Foreign Service. Some of my friends were taking the exam and asked if I was going to as well. I didn't even know what it was. I knew I wanted to do something international and up until that point, my goal had been to be an interpreter at the United Nations. When I found out that you could serve your country by working in embassies overseas, I thought that's for me! So at 19, even though I was too young to take the exam, that became my dream. I majored in International Relations. I got an MA in International and Area Studies. My thesis was on the Role of NATO in Bosnia (see the military theme still at work?) I studied German and French. I became fluent in Norwegian. The Norwegian hasn't helped me so much because I am never successful at getting a job in Norway, but it did take away my fear of lesser-known languages.<br />
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When I met Husband, the very first thing I learned about him was that he, too wanted to be a Foreign Service Officer. And then he smiled and I was hooked line and sinker. Not long after we were married, work took us on a trip to Washington, DC. We were invited to dinner by friends to their town house in Virginia and we knew that was the life we wanted--to be employed by the Department of State and own a townhouse in Virginia. And a couple of decades later, here we are. I still have to pinch myself sometimes that I'm living my dream. I get to serve my country AND live in India. It's the best of all worlds.<br />
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Now, some Americans believe that I must not love America because I keep leaving it. Some of those Americans are related to me and have said exactly that. I assure you, that is as far from the truth as you can get. I am reminded daily of what a blessing and a privilege it is for me to be an American. I am constantly humbled by the faith and trust my nation has placed in me to represent my country overseas. The only thing I can give my country in return is my gratitude and my very best efforts. Most of the Foreign Service Officers I know feel the same way. We work very hard at what we do for long hours and in places many Americans are afraid to go with very little recognition. We are there to serve our fellow citizens and when they need us, we do not ask first whom they voted for. If you are American and you need us, we will be there for you. Period.<br />
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So here is my prayer and my pledge to my fellow Americans. I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America and I will do so with all my might, mind, heart, and strength.<br />
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I hope with all of my heart that you are never a victim of a natural disaster while you are traveling overseas. But if you are, I will do everything in my power to find you, make sure you are safe, and help you find a way home.<br />
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I hope your business is never seized by a foreign government for no reason other than you are becoming too successful. But if it is, I will do everything in my power to help you fight to get it back.<br />
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I pray that you will never be the victim of a violent crime while living overseas. But if you are, I will go with you to the police station and hold your hand while you make your statement. And as a bonus, I will even lecture the local authorities if they ask you inappropriate questions like what were you wearing that provoked the attack.<br />
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I want you to live a long, happy, prosperous life in America. But if you die unexpectedly and your family is overseas, I will come in on the weekend to print their visas so they can make it to the funeral.<br />
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I truly hope that you will never travel to North Korea and be detained. But if you do, and you are sentenced to hard labor, I will do everything in my power to get you out. I will even fly to Pyongyang to meet with officials to beg for your release. (OK, I won't but Husband will and has. And his Korean is much better than mine, anyway.)<br />
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I hope you are never robbed by a taxi driver on your first day in a foreign country. But if you are, I will help you get in touch with your family, and make sure you have a place to stay and food to eat until they can either get more money to you or get you a flight home.<br />
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I pledge to be the friendly face in your time of need, for whatever reason. I will let you cry on my shoulder when your prematurely born baby dies, or laugh with joy as your adoption of a child is finalized, or help you negotiate confusing marriage regulations in the country you chose for your destination wedding.<br />
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I promise that I will visit you regularly if you get sent to prison for drug smuggling or soliciting prostitutes or for taking photos in the wrong place at the wrong time, or for speaking your mind like Americans can do back home but the local government thinks is treasonous or blasphemous. I will carry messages from your family and I will bring you magazines and books and I'll update you on the NBA championships, the SuperBowl, or the Oscars. I'll discuss whatever you want and I will keep coming back even if you refuse to see me, just to let you know that someone from home cares what happens to you.<br />
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My fellow Foreign Service Officers and I do care. We care deeply about our country, and all of our actions are meant to help the United States and its citizens. This is only a short list of what we do, based mostly on my own experience. If my FSO friends want to comment on some of the things they do to keep America great, they are welcome to.<br />
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And if my fellow Americans would remember that I am also one of them, and not a faceless lazy bureaucrat bent on destroying the American way of life, but rather a girl from Texas who loves being American and loves adventure and is proud to serve her country, well, that would be way better than a brownie.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-52116412510927638312016-11-02T18:26:00.001-07:002016-11-02T18:26:11.788-07:00It's good for the soul<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A dear friend of mine recently wrote and thanked me for "teaching her how to mom." And while I love her with all my heart for saying that, I have to say to her publicly ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND?! First, because she was already an awesome mom and second, she must not know me at all. Because I am not the kind of mom like the ones on the Mother's Day cards who are all sweet all the time and never say a harsh word and I have never made anything in my life that is Pinterest worthy and I can't sew a buttonhole and last year I tried to feed my friends and their children raw turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. And when someone asked me to write down all our house rules, well, the only one I could think of was no sticking out your tongue except at King George, which is not exactly Great Mom material. What I think she meant was that by watching me, she knew she couldn't be all that bad, so in that spirit, here are some other horrible parenting mistakes I have made which will make you all feel better about yourselves and your parenting skills.<br />
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I let my children choose and sometimes make their own Halloween costumes. That means that sometimes they are later embarrassed by how strange their costume looks. But it also means they looked like this on Monday:<br />
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I know! Pretty amazing and almost Pinterest worthy, yes? But there were a couple of moments when they were ironing on the reflective tape when they said are you actually really not going to help me with this and I replied no, it will be good for you. What I meant was I was still waiting for that story to load on Facebook so I could comment on it, but whatever.<br />
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It also meant that Child 1 and her best friend looked like this, which if you can't tell are the kids from "Stranger Things". And she nailed it so hard that the actor she is dressed like actually liked her photo on Instagram. So parenting success right there! And the best part was I didn't have to do a thing except listen to her whine for years about how she was the only princess without a wand and a crown because, and I know this from Harry Potter, princesses don't have wands! Witches do and when she was Hermione Granger for three years in a row, I knit her a scarf just like the one in the movie and then when the stupid producer changed the pattern in the third film, I knit her a new one. Ugh. I still hate the third film for that very reason.<br />
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I never taught the children to read. Not even one of them. I just threw the books at them and they picked it up on their own. Well, not literally threw them, but just about. With the first two, when the teacher asked how long had she been reading, I actually replied she can't read! Both times. With the third, I finally figured it out and said oh for about a year (I had no idea.) I mean, how am I supposed to know she can read when <i>I am the one reading all the bedtime stories</i>! I was sooooo glad when we could stop that routine because I could say no, you read this fabulous Barbie does gymnastics book to me since you can read! And then I could doze off because there is nothing more boring than a Barbie book besides maybe Barney.</div>
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I would not let them watch Barney. I may have also told them Bananas in Pajamas was canceled when it wasn't and that the video store didn't have Bananas in Pajamas any more when it still did. And when one of them wanted to be a Banana in pajamas for Halloween, I may have pretended I didn't hear her and made her a cowgirl costume instead. They were <i>matching</i> cowgirl costumes and did I mention I actually <i>made</i> them? Yep. Probably not Pinterest worthy, but I was also 8 1/2 months pregnant with Child 3, so I should get a medal for those costumes.</div>
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I never once hired a magician or a cowboy or a bouncy castle for their birthday parties. I never took them and all of their friends to the mall to one of those stores where you make the bear or have tea with your really expensive doll and her friends for like $45 per person. I sometimes didn't even buy decorations because one was born near Halloween and one near Christmas, so why do I have to also have balloons and streamers? And sometimes, I would just buy the decorations and leave them in the bag and let the children put them up at the beginning of the party. You know. <i>As an activity</i>. Not because I was too tired to do it myself. I also let them decorate all the cakes because it was funnier, especially the year that Child 2 turned 16 and they made her candles say 61. And they wrote something like Happy Birthday Old Man on it and we laughed and laughed.</div>
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In over 20 years, the only times I've been successful in getting them to go to be on time is when they are sick. Seriously, even during the Barbie reading years they were never in bed before 9 and often later than that. Husband wasn't much better at it than me. I used to work nights and I'd come home after 11 and everyone would still be awake and giggling and would hear me coming up the stairs and would sometimes run and jump in bed and pretend snore. Or sometimes just go jump on my bed which they loved to do. Oh, I also let my children jump on the bed.</div>
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Don't tell Husband, but we also ate in the living room, or the family room, and often during those 365 bad days, in my bedroom while sitting on my bed watching reality TV. About mediums or beauty pageants or housewives or bossy cake makers. Or bridal dress shopping. That one was a favorite. And even though I am a feminist, I encouraged my children to fantasize about big poofy dresses and debate whether or not a sweetheart neckline is the way to go and do they like crystals or lace or crystals AND lace and should you wear cowboy boots. The answer to that last one is yes, if you are having the wedding in Texas, and pretty much no, not ever if you are in New York.</div>
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I have done some things that are right. No really! Give me a minute and I'll think of some. OK, they all know how to open a can of soup. With a manual can-opener. And to pour it in a pot and cook it on an actual stove. They know how to do this because sometimes they say what's for dinner and I say whatever you want to fix because I am too tired. And then they asked how to make soup and I said the directions are right on the can. And since they taught themselves how to read, they could make soup. I rest my case! Oh, and also when we all went to London and saw a painting of King George III, they all stuck out their tongues. Go ahead and give it a try. Feel the rebellion! It's better than a brownie, I promise.</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-2976374118912995962016-10-22T00:46:00.000-07:002016-10-22T00:46:09.061-07:00I'll go first<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One of my blogger friends has a theory that bloggers tend not to write when they're happy. It's hard to find topics to write about when things are going well and much, much easier to write when you need to complain. And that is true. I've been happy in India. I still love the food, the people, the scenery, the elephants. Oh, the elephants!<br />
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" 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But it's also hard to write when you're sick. Last June I finally had surgery to remove my non-working thyroid and the months preceding and following have not been fun. Somedays I can barely remember my name and I can never, ever remember why I got up off the couch and went into the kitchen. I spend a lot of time in the kitchen doorway trying to remember what exactly it was that made me stop watching "Stranger Things" and then I eventually give up and go back to the couch and Netflix.<br />
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Today, however, it is toward the end of the month and that means we're just about out of data, so I'm not watching Netflix, and I'm blogging instead because I have something to complain about. We don't get much election coverage here in India, but we do get enough to know some pretty crazy things are happening. And that one particular interview about sexual assault is all over facebook, along with people saying that women who don't immediately report an assault are lying because you would automatically report something so horrific. Now, I, like many women, happen to be an expert on what being a victim of sexual assault is like and I can assure you that one of the reasons we don't report being assaulted is that nobody takes it seriously because it happens all the time.<br />
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Yep. It happens. all. the. time. I asked Husband if he had ever wondered the other day how old I was the first time I was assaulted. And he named the incident which I won't talk about publicly, and I said no, not that. When I was a teenager. And he said what are you talking about? So I said when I was 13 and I told him the story of how I was in a band practice room and one of the boys came in and turned off the light and grabbed my boob and tried to kiss me. I smacked him so hard, his glasses flew off and as I stormed out of the room, he called me a bitch. Because it was supposed to be a compliment. I was apparently supposed to like him trying to stick his tongue down my throat and him grabbing me. Husband said why had I never told him this before, and I thought about it and I realized that I had never told him because things like that happened all the time. And then I realized that Husband probably had no idea what it was like to have to be ready to defend yourself at all times and that even when you think you're prepared, it can still happen. So to help him understand, here is a brief history of times I was sexually assaulted with some harassment thrown in for good measure.<br />
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11 years old--A man in a truck cat calls me as I'm walking home from school. He tells me I'm going to be hot when I grow up. I'm wearing a pink peasant skirt that reaches down to my ankles and a high necked blouse, so I don't know how he can tell but I never wore that outfit to school again.<br />
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13 years old--I'm babysitting and an obscene phone caller calls over and over and over. I can't ignore the phone because I'm babysitting and what if it's the parents? I don't tell them for fear they won't ask me to babysit again, as if somehow it's my fault.<br />
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13 years old--the practice room incident. I tell a few friends but none of us even think of telling an adult because boys would never get punished for something like that, but I might get suspended for hitting him.<br />
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14 years old--There is a football player named Steve who likes to grab girls' butts. We are supposed to be flattered because he is very popular. Teachers know this is happening, but do nothing. He grabs mine several times and I say nothing.<br />
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18 years old--I'm on a date at the movies and I have to hold my purse in my lap to keep my date from putting his hand up my skirt. I describe the incident to Sister 1 who says he did the same exact thing to her a couple of years ago. The word "octopus" is used several times to describe his wandering hands.<br />
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19 years old in Moscow--I go dancing with a few friends and some disgusting men grab us and try to kiss us and put our hands on their junk. We shove them away and run out of the disco. None of us talk about it later.<br />
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20 years old in Venice--A group of men are harassing me and my friends. One of them grabs me and puts me in a headlock and tries to drag me away from the crowd. I scream and give him a good kick in the shin and manage to get away. Again, we don't talk about the incident later although it still haunts me.<br />
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20 years old in Rome--I am standing alone in the street and a man comes up to me and says "Hey baby, what you looking for? You looking for me?" And then grabs his crotch. I am disgusted from weeks of street harassment and I say no, I'm looking for a mailbox. Inexplicably he knocks off the crotch grabbing and helps me find a mailbox like what he was just doing is no big deal.<br />
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21 years old in Norway--A 40 year old man I just met asks me to be his mistress. He is married, but he thinks I should find this flattering because American women like to have lots of sex, or so he tells me. I tell my friend, but never mention it to anyone else including our male friends who are steps away when this happens.<br />
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23 years old in DC--My supervisor at the non-profit where I work tells me he liked my report better yesterday when I was wearing my tight green skirt. I stop wearing the wool pencil skirt to work. It was my favorite.<br />
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24 years old in Korea--I'm in the hospital deathly ill and a young doctor brings in a group of med students who are all men to watch me have a pelvic exam. I have a kidney infection, so I don't need the pelvic exam, but I am too sick to protest. I try to tell Husband, but he doesn't understand and thinks I'm delirious from my super high fever.<br />
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30 something years old in Korea again--I tell Husband I don't want to ride the subway alone any more in the evening because drunk men always are accosting me. He says the subway is the safest in the world. I know this is not true for women.<br />
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30 something in Korea with my children--Another drunk man keeps trying to shove his crotch into my daughter's face where she is sitting on the subway. I try to get Husband's attention to help us get rid of this gross person, but he doesn't understand what is happening. I switch seats with Child 1 and "accidentally" bump into the man with my elbow right into his stomach. He moves after that.<br />
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30 something in Aruangabad, India--I can't go anywhere in public with the children without men taking photos of them. We are harassed so badly at the Ellora caves, that a group of women on the tour with us help us surround Child 2 and Child 3 so that they can't get a good shot. We don't feel flattered by the attention and kind of wish phone cameras had never been invented.<br />
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All of the above incidents actually happened and there are a bunch more I could include, but the list is getting a little long. The only thing I ever lie about is my age (which means those numbers at the end are a little fuzzy) so if Steve the football player ever runs for Congress, you can say you read about him here in my blog. I'm a fairly average girl who grew up in a fairly average suburban community, so I don't think my experience is atypical. And in fact, since I got married rather young, I think most women probably have more stories than I do. But I don't know because even though this is a huge, worldwide problem, we don't talk about it. So here I am telling my story and I will leave the comments open on this post so that you can tell yours if you like.<br />
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Sexual assault is way worse and more prevalent than many people imagine and we need to start believing the women who are brave enough to say it happened to them. It happened to me. The one incident I won't talk about publicly and which is not on this list changed who I am and not necessarily for the better. I don't know how else to prevent it from happening to others than by talking about it and calling it out when it happens. I would like my daughters to grow up in a world where men ask before kissing them and strangers don't grab them on the street and they don't have to travel with bandaids to put over the hotel door peephole. I would love it if they weren't scared if their car breaks down at night or if they could go dancing with their friends and feel safe. And if all the men they interact with treated them like people rather than objects, that would be better than a brownie.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-25088184544389714072016-02-08T08:44:00.000-08:002016-02-08T08:44:31.613-08:00Can I go find myself in India?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I'm having an identity crisis and it's all my friends' fault. See, if you read Foreign Service blogs, then you know that there are basically three types of blogs they write.<br />
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The first blog is the type that gets all into what life is like in their country and they post photos of jack-o-lanterns they carve out of watermelons and palm trees that they turn into Christmas trees and photos of all the local festivals they go to which always look amazing and interesting and colorful.<br />
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The second type of blog is the travelog in which they post photos of all the amazing places they go to and their lives look very much like a Corona commercial and I can't figure out how to get posted in places like that and also I look horrible in a white bikini so that is not what my blog is going to be about.<br />
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<img class="irc_mi" height="360" src="http://c-k.com/app/uploads/2014/04/Corona-Beer-Shoes-and-an-Earworm_640x360.jpg" style="margin-top: 17px;" width="640" /><br />
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Then the third type of blog is the one that I hate the most and can't stop reading because I love them so much: it shows things that people actually make in their actual country that is way, way better than anything I will ever make. These people post photos of amazing furniture and say things like "look at this antique looking bureau that I made out of popsicle sticks, string, and nail polish just by following instructions on Pinterest!" or "Did you know you can make pumpkin pie out of a can of kidney beans?" or "Look how easy it is to make mozzarella out of things you can find in your freezer!" I will never, ever make mozzarella out of anything but a block of mozzarella and my freezer has mostly bacon and gluten free flour and I defy anyone to make mozzarella out of that. Thank goodness my post actually has cheese, not that I can eat it anyway.<br />
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So I read these blogs and I think, that's what I should write about! And then go look at all my vacation photos which are sadly lacking white bikinis and are mostly of my front yard because we actually never go anywhere besides Goa (which is awesome but hard to photograph when you are running from the hawkers on the beach) and I didn't have time to take photos of Thanksgiving dinner because I was too busy re-cooking the raw turkey I almost served to people. And for Christmas we cheated and went to see Star Wars and then to dinner at the chicken place at the mall that the children will not stop asking to eat at. But I don't blame them because doesn't it look delicious? And also it's not raw. But who wants to read about that.<br />
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" 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The problem is, there aren't any blogs out there about the under-achievers like me because who wants to read about a middle-aged woman who never travels anywhere, binge watches Marvel shows, and constantly fights to get her dog off of the couch? I think the only people who would read that are my mother and perhaps Child 1 when she is bored to death and homesick, so do you see my problem?<br />
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Oh, speaking of couches, you will all be happy to know that I won the Great Battle of the Slipcovers and the couches downstairs are a lovely red. Well, they are mostly red. Almost all red, except that they forgot to cover the huge throw pillows which are still an awful greenish gold and clash pretty horribly with the red couches. So I asked the housing officer if I was supposed to ask for the cushions to be covered separately because I thought maybe I did something wrong and she said NO YOU'RE NOT THAT'S RIDICULOUS and I should send her an e-mail and she would fix it. Did I mention that I love our housing officer? She is amazing and I totally am not just kissing up because we have an awesome house (we sooo do). She told me a story about a family who wanted to change houses because they saw a man-sized monkey on their roof, so I told her I felt cheated because there is not a single monkey on my roof and she promised to issue me a man-sized monkey the next time she gets one. And by the way, Happy Year of the Monkey!<br />
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I actually miss the celebrations for Chinese New Year, although I don't really miss the annual breaking of my ankle that usually goes along with it. It's been about 2 1/2 years since my last ankle injury, and I don't want to jinx it so I'll stay away from Chinese New Year celebrations which apparently are dangerous for my ankle. But I'm still jealous that Child 1 went to a Chinese New Year party and got to eat dumplings and noodles.<br />
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But anyway, back to my topic about not knowing what to blog about, I'm just stumped. I feel stuck. I don't have writer's block, I just don't like any of the topics I think of well enough to say anything about them. So instead of writing, I just keep binge watching Marvel shows and playing thousands of games of Solitaire. I'm getting really, really good at Solitaire. OK, actually I suck. You would think that after playing it so much that I might finally get good at it, but I'm so slow because I keep doing things like helping Child 3 with her homework and telling Child 2 that yes that headband goes with her Pokemon T-shirt and fighting with my electronic personal assistant who won't listen to me and likes Husband better. Yes, you heard me right. Husband got me an Amazon Echo for Christmas and she goes by Alexa and she is EVIL and she is going to take over our house and kill us all, I am convinced. She ignores me all the time and yet Husband only has to think "NPR" and she'll tune right in, that little hussy. Oh, she makes me so mad! Why would you want to listen to NPR when there is a whole station with Imagine Dragons? Yet every time I say "Alexa, play Imagine Dragons" she says she can't find a Magic Dragon station and should she create one? <i>Ugh! </i><br />
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Alexa is definitely not better than a brownie. But you know what is? Superbowl commercials! I was unfortunately not awake when this year's game was played, but thanks to the magic of the internet which sometimes works here, I got to see a <a href="http://www.moviefone.com/2016/02/01/heinz-ketchup-super-bowl-ad-weiner-dog/">Weiner Dog Stampede!</a> So adorable. Totally does not make me crave hot dogs at all. Really. Not at all. Um, if anyone in Delhi has a Hebrew National, I will pay you a thousand dollars. (Not really. But I might go for 1000 rupees. Call me!)<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-45045068499088708532015-12-15T07:30:00.000-08:002015-12-15T07:33:13.962-08:00Because who can resist peacock glitter?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sooo much has happened since we moved to India that it's hard to find time to write about it. Or to choose what is most important. Do I write about how we almost served raw turkey to our friends on Thanksgiving? Or how everyone at the Marine Corps Ball got food poisoning? Or my cough that won't go away? I can't decide! So here are some pictures of camels.<br />
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This one is actually a horse if you couldn't tell the difference.<br />
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We went to the Camel Fair in Pushkar and it was amazing. Husband wasn't impressed because of all the dirt and Child 3 hated the smell. But here is a picture of me and Child 2 riding a camel and having a blast. You can tell who the adventurous people are in the family. Once on vacation Child 2 ate snails at a restaurant, just because she had never tried them. When we said hop up on that camel, she said OK! So we rode happily singing all the songs we know about bandits which is exactly one but has the awesome line "Give your ID card to the border guard, your alias says you're Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets, cause they don't speak English anyway." Don't we look like bandits? OK, <i>fashionable</i> bandits.</div>
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And this one is of a Bodo Pre-Christmas festival that Bentley invited us to attend. It was awesome, even though they made me try the dance, which was embarrassing but fun.</div>
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The other thing that happened is the Amcham Ball. Yes, another ball. I never thought I would ever go to so many balls! When I was a very little girl, my mother had a magic walk-in closet. OK, it wasn't magic, but it had ball gowns and silver shoes! My mother and father would dress up and go out to parties and the occasional ball and she would wear her hair up and I couldn't wait to grow up and go to balls. And then I grew up and had my own little girls and the only dress in my closet was denim and there was not a silver shoe to be see anywhere and sometimes when I wanted to dress up I would put on mascara and wear my clogs <i>without socks.</i> I know! So fancy.</div>
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So when we joined the Foreign Service and started going to the Marine Corps Ball every year, which generally doesn't involve the worst food poisoning I've had in years, I started collecting ball gowns. So now, I actually have choices! I have more than one gown! AND lots of sparkly shoes, although that didn't stop me from buying some peacock blue ones at the mall last week. And when the Amcham (American Chamber of Commerce) Ball popped up at the last minute, I actually had something to wear that fit and looked nice and wasn't denim. My life has changed so, so much. And you know what? Owning peacock blue sparkly shoes is better than a brownie, even if they make your feet hurt really super bad so that you can't dance more than one song which is a bonus if they keep playing things like "The Macarena." Balls are not what you think they are, or at least what I thought they were. Still, my shoes!</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-59062959742916767942015-10-27T09:15:00.000-07:002015-10-27T09:16:23.163-07:00Red, yellow, green, whatever. I still don't like them.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One of the lovely things about working for the federal government is convincing the federal government that white is white and green is green and blue is blue. If you let them, some people will tell you that white is orange and blue is magenta and there is no such thing as green. For example, I had the following conversation over and over again for two entire weeks straight.<br />
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Washington federal worker: We want you to run down that path as fast as possible in a straight line.<br />
Me: That path there? The one with the big brick wall across it?<br />
WFW: Yes. That path. Run down it as fast as you can for 10 minutes straight and then come back.<br />
Me: What about the wall?<br />
WFW: What wall?<br />
Me: The big brick one right across the middle of the path that is 10 feet high.<br />
WFW: There is no wall. It's your imagination. Get running.<br />
Me: OK. I ran up to the wall, now what do I do?<br />
WFW: There is no wall. Keep running.<br />
Me: Here is a photo of the wall. It is 10 feet tall. I cannot go over it, or through it, or around it. I cannot run any farther.<br />
WFW: OK. We see the wall. We removed it. Keep running.<br />
Me: What do you mean by "removed"? The wall is still there.<br />
WFW: No, it's not. We removed it. Keep running.<br />
Me: By "removed" do you mean you chipped a tiny little hole in it?<br />
WFW: The hole is big enough for you to fit through. Keep running.<br />
Me: By "big enough" do you mean for my pinkie? Because that's all that fits.<br />
WFW: You are being obstinate and difficult. First you said there was a wall, so we removed it and now you refuse to keep running.<br />
Me: I need a brownie so bad right now.<br />
WFW: Whatever. Just go through the non-existant wall and keep running.<br />
Me: I'm going to sic The Dog on you!<br />
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OK, that last line was just in my head, because unless WFW is a bird or a baby, The Dog would just bark at them. She is useless as an attack dog. Anyway, I got really tired of being told the wall was all in my head so last weekend, I went on vacation to Sri Lanka with two of my friends for a girls' weekend. I highly recommend Sri Lanka as therapy. It was amazingly beautiful. How can you not relax just looking at this!<br />
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Granted, it did take us hours to get to this waterfall in Horton Plains and some of the hike was on a "path" and by path they mean some boulders mixed in with mud and really sharp rocks. But still, it was worth it and I didn't break my ankle even once. We got wet from being rained on which turned out to be the theme of our weekend because when you go to Sri Lanka during the rainy season, they aren't kidding. It was full on monsoon rain with lots of thunder and lightning and we got soaked more than once. But we also saw this:<br />
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Sri Lanka has LOTS of waterfalls. And then we went on safari and saw this!<br />
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I didn't use a zoom--the elephants were this close! Can you see the baby underneath her mother's legs? The photo is so grainy because it was super dark during the thunderstorm that was soaking us. We also saw lots of peacocks in trees, which was interesting because I didn't know they could fly. We also saw water buffalo, lots of storks, and some logs we were pretty sure were crocodiles. But the elephants were the best, because, well, they are elephants. And there were babies!<br />
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We also ate some really delicious food. We went to a spice garden and got an herbal back rub, bought delicious cashews on the side of the road, and stopped for coconut water fresh out of a coconut. Sri Lanka is also home to many species of bananas which all taste just like bananas, so that wasn't my favorite. My favorite discovery about Sri Lankan food was that curry comes with incredibly delicious side dishes, a lot like Korean food does. So when you order curry, you also get beets, eggplant, green beans, etc.<br />
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We did a lot of driving and eating and about the driving in Sri Lanka, the roads are amazing! They are well kept with rest stops and landscaping. And there are peacocks and monitor lizards crossing the road that you have to watch out for.<br />
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I won't bore you with details about our whale watching ride which started out exciting with a boat rescue and then turned into a boring odyssey where the only thing we saw was flying fish. But on our last day, we went to a resort and just relaxed and it was so amazing that for the first time ever, I will post a photo of myself on this blog!<br />
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I'm the one in the hat. And just in case you were wondering, traveling to Sri Lanka with my friends was way better than a brownie.</div>
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-84817163207807161982015-10-15T10:13:00.000-07:002015-10-15T10:13:47.193-07:00At least they were my fancy jammies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am exhausted after a long day of shopping in my living room. OK, I'm not really exhausted. It's rather nice shopping in your living room, and I'm not talking about internet shopping, which I am also a pro at. This is India, and although they have Amazon.in which delivers the next day to your door, and you can call and have groceries delivered by the market down the street, they also have vendors who will come to your house and bring things for you to look at and purchase. So far, I have bough Buddha's wife, two pots--one bronze and one brass, and an elephant statue.<br />
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Which reminds me that the children have decided that I have an elephant problem. They might be right. In our living room, we have three elephant pillows, an elephant painting, one brass elephant, one bronze elephant family, one soapstone elephant, and two wood elephant bookends. There is a sandalwood elephant upstairs in our bedroom and I have a rosewood elephant bookmark. I promise I'm not a crazy elephant lady. I don't collect elephants, I just like them and so when I am somewhere that has elephants, I get a souvenir. For example, the pillows are from a visit to Bangkok and the painting is from Phuket, Thailand. The soapstone one is from Gabon and the book ends are from Nigeria, and the bronze family I bought from a guy who came to my house and really who wouldn't buy a family of bronze elephants for $10? My bookends are a little more subtle than this, but you get the idea. Nice, no?<br />
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So when the bronze guy came back to the house and said he had lovely matching elephant statues, I resisted because "crazy elephant lady" is not the moniker I'm aiming for. So I bought Buddha's dancing wife instead. I wasn't aware that Buddha had a wife or that she liked to dance, but the statue is lovely and it's not an elephant. I also bought a pot that I don't know what to do with, but I'll find a place to put it. It doesn't have any elephants on it, so it should go just fine in the living room.</div>
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Today's adventure in home shopping, however, was for carpets. The carpet man, who has been buying and selling carpets since age 10, brought about 20 carpets to show us of all shapes and sizes. What we really want is a runner to hide the ugly brown carpeting on our stairs, and we saw lots of runners, but it was a little like Goldilocks and the 20 carpets and I'm not sure that we found the right one. Husband loves the carpet we are fostering to see if we want to buy it. And it's nice, but it's kind of brown and every time I look at it, I think, why are we buying a brown rug to hide a brown carpet? So we'll see.<br />
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The one I <i>really</i> wanted was a beautiful antique Persian paisley rug that the carpet guy said he could probably auction at Sotheby's for $50,000. It was so beautiful that when he unrolled it, it made me want to cry. So of course we didn't buy it. It looked a little like this rug, but with more of a paisley design. I was sad to see it go, but Child 1 would be really upset if she found out that we had spent her college tuition on a carpet. So Child 1, I apologize. You'll have to keep going to school and I'll have to keep looking at brown carpeted stairs.<br />
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So to sum up, shopping in your pajamas in your living room not on the internet is totally better than a brownie. Next up, the wicker man! No, not the one from the really bad Neil LaBute movie--the one who sells something like this.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-69414931345329569712015-10-02T11:06:00.002-07:002015-10-02T11:06:57.154-07:00An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today is Gandhi's birthday, so the Embassy is closed. That is one of the best things about life overseas is that you get to celebrate local holidays as well as US ones, and Gandhi's life is definitely worth celebrating, especially while we are in India. </div>
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For the long weekend, and because I'm tired of looking at boxes we need to unpack still after a month, we decided to drive out to Rajasthan and stay in an ancient fort that is also a hotel. Our room is literally on the side of the mountain because one wall is actually the mountain. Child 2 and Child 3 are really enjoying the novelty of a rock wall in the room and Child 3 was ready to climb up it until she noticed that it was a little dirty, because mountains are made of rocks and dirt. So we're just enjoying looking at the rock wall rather than scaling it. She's going on a zip-line down the mountain tomorrow, so that will have to do. The hotel, in case you are wondering, looks like this:<br />
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That is not my photo, although it's pretty much what the view from our room looks like. I would post my own pics, but I can't get my iPod to connect to the internet because apparently I cannot figure out how they spelled my name which is the wifi password which I need for my iPod, but not my computer, which is pretty typical for India. I'm learning to not ask why because there is no why, it just is what it is. I used to hate that phrase for being trite and circular, but it describes life in India so well--it is as it has always been and will always be.<br />
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Accepting that fact has made some of the differences and challenges of life here easier to take. For example, I've learned to download videos to my hard drive so that when the internet is out for days, I still have something to do. I don't even blink when the lights go out and then on and then out and then on. I eat what is offered that I can eat, and I don't really mind that it's the same thing over and over or is sometimes just rice. After about a month of the same order every time, when I come into the restaurant on the compound, they see me and say "mediterranean chicken with no pita, french fries on the side?" And I nod yes. I walk into the canteen at 9:45 every morning and they automatically get out two Diet Cokes because it's what I order every day. I'm fond of routine, so I don't mind it. India agrees with me in that way.<br />
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Driving in India does not agree with me, so I have refused to get a license and why should I when I have a thing called a wallet and it can pay for my taxi? Granted, taxis are sometimes dodgey, so we have hired a driver whom I shall call Bentley and who is rapidly becoming my favorite person in the world besides Husband and the children. Driving, or rather riding, with Bentley is a treat because he has been driving for Embassy families for 19 years and oh does he have some good stories! Like the time he was driving down from Shimla which is on a mountain and the breaks went out and he didn't want to say anything because he thought it would make madam nervous. Um, I'm thinking he was correct there. And about how he grew up next to the Corbett National Park and used to see tigers on his way to school early in the morning. Bentley is a treasure. He is also a very good driver because he constantly has to avoid other cars, scooters, rickshaws, cows, dogs, small children, and the occasional elephant. Also cars like this that tend to meander all over the road like a slow flowing river just placidly going along oblivious to the rest of the traffic around it.<br />
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<img class="irc_mi" height="393" src="https://notinmanhattan.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/car-with-people.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="524" /></div>
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Now, about the food in India, I think it is actually good for me. I have been healthier here than I was back in the US and I made it 10 weeks without a single sick day, which for me is a record. Although the sick day was yesterday and it was a doozy and I was really worried I would not be able to come on the trip to the fort which is called a non-hotel hotel and I guess refers to the fact that people's rooms are made of mountain. I booked and paid for the hotel in advance, so if I wasn't well enough to go, that really would have sucked, and although I'm sure Husband and the children would have enjoyed it anyway, I would have been stuck at home alone with The Dog. The Dog, if you were wondering, has adjusted well to life in India and has stopped barking at every single thing and only barks at about every third thing. The guards and Bentley have figured out that she is all bark and no bite and Bentley agreed to look after her while we were gone since Husband would be driving us. The Dog tolerates Bentley, mostly, and he says things like "Dog, I am coming, so you can begin barking now!" So when I woke up this morning without a fever and didn't fall over when I tried to stand up, I decided I could leave The Dog and go as long as we did nothing, and that is what I plan to do for the rest of the weekend. This blog post will be as productive as I get.<br />
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Worrying about your children is not better than a brownie, and sending them off to college and worrying that some crazy person with a gun will shoot them is even worse. I can only imagine the <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.vox.com/2015/6/19/8807851/mass-shootings-gun-control-charleston">heartache that the parents in Oregon whose children were killed</a></span> are going through--and in my imagination it is bad enough. To Child 1, I am glad you are safe and that this hasn't happened at your school. But the thing that makes my heart clench is the word I left off of that last sentence: yet. Because until America figures out that the death of children by someone with a gun is unacceptable, it could happen anywhere and that terrifies me. So for Gandhi's birthday, I am praying for peace and sanity and that my fellow countrymen might find the courage and strength to fix this problem before someone else loses yet another child to senseless, preventable violence.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-42196578578467839312015-09-07T08:38:00.000-07:002015-09-07T08:38:18.028-07:00What's so great about a bandwagon anyway?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you follow any other Foreign Service bloggers, then you know that they very often blog about the amazing places they go visit near their overseas posts. These blogs make me so very envious because I could never compete with them. I mean, who wants to read about a trip to the mall, or those three day-weekends when Child 2 made us drive out to the Cracker Barrel in Manassas? (She really, really likes the fried apples and root beer barrels there.)<br />
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I've thought often about blogging about my trips to Africa, but those trips were really all about work and I got to see very little. I did manage to take one or two awesome photos, though. Like this one I took in Senegal of a guy shucking oysters he had just pulled from the Atlantic Ocean. Do Pringles go with oysters?<br />
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Or this one which I love so much of some girls in Cote d'Ivoire who sold me some mangoes. I asked if I could take a picture of the fruit, but they wanted to be in it, too. And I must admit that it's a way more interesting photo with them at the center. After I snapped it, they all crowded around me to have a look and said "tres jolie!"</div>
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But mostly my trips were far to technical to be of any interest to anyone and I mostly saw the inside of the embassies and my hotel and occasional restaurants. But now, I am in India and I live here! I live in India! So I get to travel around and see really amazing places and I went to one this weekend and I promise I will blog about it. </div>
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But first, I want to talk about fashion and State Department workplace attire. I know you are wondering what in the world fashion has to do with workplace attire in the Department and the answer would be nothing at all. Because as people in the Department have proven time and time again, nobody has any idea about what is appropriate work attire, and because no one does, people fight about it all the time and we all end up in a uniform of black pantsuits and flag pins (mine is made of rhinestones.)</div>
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The reason I have been thinking about workplace attire so much is that it is very different overseas than in the Department. In The Building, people are always dressed up--suits, ties, wingtips, and extremely high heels. Pencil skirts and jackets, always jackets. You can wear slacks or a skirt or a dress, but you must have a jacket because apparently it is the jacket that makes you look professional. But in embassies and consulates, it's a little different and it's different still in India. The other day, our office had a training day so the dress was business casual. I put on a really cute, full maxi-skirt that I bought in a store here in New Delhi and I wore a T-shirt with gold beads embroidered around the neck. I also put on jeweled thong sandals which ARE NOT FLIP-FLOPS and I felt very casual yet put together. And Husband said to me I thought it was casual day? And I said I am casual can't you tell by the not flip-flops? And he said no, he thought I looked ready for work. And then I got to my office and my staff said to me oh, you look so relaxed! And so there you have the problem in a nutshell which is that Husband has no idea what women should wear to work. </div>
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To his credit, Husband knows that he is not an expert in women's fashion and freely admits such. He also doesn't feel it is his place to tell women what they should wear after the Great Sweater Incident at the very beginning of our marriage when I firmly let him know I would not be taking his fashion advice, ever. And, also to his credit, he has never really given any since. Other people in the Department aren't so self-aware and without fail complain every summer about attire being too casual, very often beginning with a statement that the Department ought to have a dress code and that there is a deplorable lack of respect of the non-existent dress code at the training center and can't we please have a dress code because they are tired of looking at women in capri pants and flip-flops. No. Seriously, every. single. discussion. When you get down to the bottom of it, it's that they don't like women wearing comfortable clothing in the summer and they want us all to be in the black pantsuit club. And no, sadly they don't mean like <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://storyboardwedding.com/16-wedding-little-black-dress-looks/">this one from Donna Karan,</a></span> although that would be awesome and I would totally pay attention to any woman wearing that in a meeting.</div>
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Can I please just say once and for all that dress codes for diplomats are ridiculous?! I mean, for crying out loud, <a href="http://www.usdiplomacy.org/exhibit/protecting.php">the last time our nation's leaders got together and decided on a uniform for diplomats,</a> this is what they came up with.</div>
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I'm not saying I wouldn't rock that feathered chapeu, and the sword would be really fun to play with during lunch breaks and think how awesome it would be to point at a presentation <i>with a sword</i>! But how would I know that would be in a color that suited me and also there are no darts! I <i>cannot</i> do a single breasted jacket without darts.<br />
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OK, here is really the thing. The thing is, that work appropriate means different things to different people at different times and in different places--and that it is an especially thorny ground to be on when you are judging women's performance by what they wear. You would think that a Department that sends people all over the world would get that, but so many of them don't. So here, ladies and gentlemen, is what you are permitted to tell me and other women about the appropriateness of our clothing for work: (crickets chirping) (leaves blowing in the wind) (an air conditioner kicking on). Did you catch that? If not, let me spell it out for you. N.O.T.H.I.N.G.<br />
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If my wardrobe is actually malfunctioning, then please mention that my hem is ripped, or I have a button on my sleeve that is about to fall off, or I am missing an earring. If you love my shoes so much that you are dying to know where I bought them, ask and I will tell you. If you think that green and purple don't go together and you are appalled by my pairing them together, I don't care, and also you are wrong on two counts--it's inappropriate to mention it and you are wrong. Green and purple are lovely together. And if you think capri pants aren't appropriate for work, then you are sadly lacking in both fashion sense and people skills and I pity you. Capri pants can be very work appropriate. In fact, I just bought a new pair not unlike <a href="http://midnightvelvet.com/">the ones below</a> and I just might wear them tomorrow. (OK, I know, those are actually cropped pants, but I swear to you that the people writing these complaints don't know the difference.)<br />
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Oh, and guess what I wore on my last visit to The Building before I left for India? Yep. Capri pants and (not) flip-flops. But with an adorable white jacket because I am a professional after all. You're welcome.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-73826235149412470512015-08-31T08:56:00.000-07:002015-08-31T08:56:02.865-07:00Where did all these scrunchies come from?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am tired. Dog tired. More tired than The Dog who went to the vet to have her teeth cleaned today. Husband was a trooper and took her over his lunch hour because my lunch hour was taken up by People Who Want Something From Me, which apparently is everyone in the entire Embassy and they usually want it yesterday. In fact, one PWWSFM got upset because I didn't do the thing he wanted on Friday because I couldn't <i>because he didn't give it to me until Monday</i>. I know Foreign Service Officers are supposed to be able to do the impossible, but time travel isn't one of my talents at the moment, and if it were I wouldn't waste it on work. There are way more important things to do than to go back in time and ask someone to give you something to work on that they want and should be taking care of on their own. Just saying.<br />
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Like if I could time travel, I could go back to the moment in high school when I won the argument with my math teacher about the utility of learning about imaginary numbers and whisper in my ear you're right! You will never need imaginary numbers but please pay attention in geometry because it will help you pack your suitcase better. I could also tell my 15 year old self not to get my hair cut like Joan Jett. And I could wipe out a whole decade of too large turtleneck sweaters. See! The humanity! </div>
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Then I would see if I could do something about Hitler and Osama Bin Laden and Air Supply. There really would be so much to do. Can time travelers run out of time? Or can you always just make more like popcorn?<br />
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One other thing I don't have time for, just like work that PWWSFMs forget to give me, is unpack boxes. I so had a plan to do that this weekend and then I went shopping and then I got a migraine so I unpacked three and called it good. That leaves about 8 left in my bedroom that need to be emptied before the rest of the stuff gets here. Because stuff is coming.</div>
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<img alt="Winter is Coming - Brace yourselves! HHE is coming." class="border instance_large_img" src="http://cdn.meme.am/instances2/500x/1625494.jpg" /></div>
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I know you thought we got our HHE already, but remember when I said that was only part of it? Well, it was actually the smallest part and more is coming and I have to find places to put it. But I am so, so very tired at the end of the day, it is all I can do to make it up the stairs and into my pajamas. I'm going to end up like Child 2 and just sleep in my clothes because I'm too exhausted to change and the boxes will never, ever be unpacked. You know that scene in <i>The Incredibles</i> where Helen calls Bob all excited because they are finally moved in and then Bob goes and throws his supervisor through a wall?<br />
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<img alt="Image result for the incredibles unpacking the last box" class="rg_i" data-sz="f" jsaction="load:str.tbn" name="FjpJ_OQlQxv5-M:" 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" 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I know, you're right! It's totally not believable at all because the thing about being in the Foreign Service is you never, ever get that last box unpacked. Punching through walls could happen, but the last box is always there, staring at you until you hide it under a plant. I have boxes in storage that haven't been unpacked since 1996. At this point, they probably shouldn't be. I'll save them for posterity and my great-grandchildren will inherit them and they will look at the turtlenecks and say what on earth made her think that was attractive?!<br />
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So I can't decide if the <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/yellowstone-national-park-train-bears_55df2bdae4b0e7117ba902b8?utm_hp_ref=weird-news">comment card below</a></span> is better than a brownie or not. On the one hand, it's the dumbest idea ever, which makes it soooo much better than your average brownie--just for the entertainment value. And on the other hand, it's the dumbest idea ever and what has America come to? You decide. I'm going to bed and not unpacking boxes. You know, if I could time travel, I could take naps! Gotta get on that time traveling thing.<br />
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<img alt="My friend works at Yellowstone and some guests actually left this with the front desk upon checkout this morning" class="post" id="img-tag" src="http://i.imgur.com/x6Qin6ql.jpg" /></div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-48301402200755573092015-08-20T10:41:00.001-07:002015-08-20T10:41:38.242-07:00I don't care if I get detention!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Years ago, Staples had <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iz56prGBiS8">the best back to school commercial ever</a>. It was a dad dancing around joyously buying school supplies while his kids moped. If you're a parent, you can relate. I love back to school time! After months of whining about how boring our house is and how come everyone else is going to Canada for summer vacation and why don't we have a pool membership and there is nothing to do! After months of that, the kids finally go back to school and you can breathe, at least until homework is due.<br />
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<img class="irc_mi" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8KfKqpkf11-UgtQXeHrgaTPrbkGhX1AhfRcXIGoaTqZ-_lgMFt-l8Q_asX8znr6PQffjNwwPpJNpAqxjwkyvy5KGC730C51jHLNGQWZvkE7kyyo6qhH0SHM-Fk9730cOZzpNW_O6Ikc/s1600/staples-dad-commercial1.jpg" style="margin-top: 17px;" width="445" /></div>
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But as much as I love back to school time, the one thing I hate is Back to School Night. Or as I like to call it--humiliate the parents and make them feel stupid night. Because no matter how many times I do this, I can never, ever figure out the schedule correctly. This year was not as bad as the year Husband was in Afghanistan and I had to split myself in two and go to half and half at the high school. But it was still so bad I made sure to thank Child 1 for graduating and going to college in Hawaii so I only had to go to two BTSNs. Seriously, they make you run up the stairs and down the stairs and across the campus and then back and up the stairs and down the hall and by the time you find the stupid class, the bell rings and you move to the next one.<br />
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Last night at the high school BTSN, I got lost on the way to the band room and totally missed band which was the only class in which I knew anybody. Luckily, I wasn't the only parent lost. There were three of us wandering around in the dark. Then tonight, I lost Husband who forgot which floor was the first floor and was wandering around the second floor looking for the first. And the very worst part of all was the introduction of something called "social hour" which apparently is everyone standing outside in the heat eating foods I can't eat like cookies and sandwiches and socializing because they all know each other from last year except me because I'm new. So I hid inside the auditorium and messaged my friends pretending to be super busy and important so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. It totally worked. Only I told the children about it, so tonight, Child 3 left me a note sending me on a scavenger hunt and admonished me to get out there and meet people for heaven's sake and how did she ever get such shy parents!!? So I showed her! I finished the scavenger hunt without talking to a single parent, and I even skipped gym and hid in the bathroom. So. There!<br />
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We also got a lecture from her language arts teacher on the improper use of run-on sentences and sentence fragments and I completely chose not to pay attention because I am an adult and I can do what I want. Whenever I want. Just because. Hmph! (Just kidding, Child 3. Listen to your teacher. Only grown-ups are allowed to write run on sentences.)<br />
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So going to BTSN isn't better than a brownie, but watching <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/national-security/how-did-these-two-women-become-the-first-to-complete-army-rangers-school/2015/08/19/a745c962-46af-11e5-8ab4-c73967a143d3_story.html">super fierce women break barriers </a></span>is. Two women, Capt. Kristen Griest and Lt. Shaye Haver will graduate from Ranger school--something no woman has ever done before. And something many men have failed at. And they did it all with about a billion cameras taking their photo. So ladies, I salute you. I have carried many a person on my shoulders, but most of them weighed less than 30 pounds and they certainly weren't six feet tall. You are amazing and I hope many little girls will see you and realize they can be all they can be, whether it be in the army or the Foreign Service, or the classroom, or the boardroom. Rangers lead the way! Now someone lead me to my bed because BTSN plum wore me out.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-41312487704800680982015-08-16T10:03:00.001-07:002015-08-16T10:03:48.282-07:00Where the streets have no name<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On Friday, we moved into our new house, finally! And 1/2 our stuff came and it did NOT perish in the train wreck. In fact, it was in better shape than most of our moves, so our packers in the US at least did that part right. Note: these were NOT/NOT the same packers who ruined my high school yearbooks. Note: NOT/NOT is a stupid Department convention that likely stems from the time when cables were actually cables that got transmitted via telegraph wires. It is supposed to read "Not repeat Not" and only old fuddy duddies still use it, or people who like the way it looks for comic effect. I'll let you decide which one I am.<br />
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It is a lot of fun to be in a house with stuff. The only not fun part is the unpacking. Thankfully we had our awesome housekeeper and her niece to help out and the movers had a lot of fun sitting on the floor and unwrapping all our decorative things and kept offering to place them around. I kept turning them down, but maybe I shouldn't have because it might have been fun to see what they would have created. Husband is trying to help, but when he destroyed the Garden of Gethsemane that we've had on the cedar chest since we got married and moved into our own apartment, I banished him from decorating. He retaliated by putting two vases and a globe in the wrong spot on a shelf I can't reach without a ladder. That's what I get for being married to a tall garden destroyer. OK, it wasn't actually the Garden of Gethsemane. It's really only a statue of Jesus and a jade flower tree, but honestly they've literally been together on our table for over 20 years and how. could. he. not. know??! He has NO respect for tradition.<br />
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I know you are all on pins and needles about the washer situation. Our new washer in our new house is American, so we can actually read it and figure out what things mean. It will be a lot less exciting doing the laundry now, but our clothes might last longer. The GSO actually came and replaced the last washer because it turns out it's not supposed to have a pool of water in the bottom that smells bad. When they installed the new washer, it had words! Some words, anyway. What we thought was a pot of spaghetti with noodles sticking out was actually a hand reaching into a tub. So spaghetti was hand wash. Which makes me wonder what the butterfly was. Were we supposed to only put butterflies in the wash? Is a butterfly more delicate than a flower? For those of you who haven't experienced the joy of European washers, here is a chart for you to figure out. The fast-moving snowflake is my favorite. Maybe that's for winter work-out wear? The loaf of bread is also incomprehensible. Come to think of it, these might be the symbols for a stove, which makes it even worse. Why would your stove make a snowflake cry?<br />
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Our stove has gas burners and I love it. Although I'm learning that they use a different kind of gas here that doesn't burn as hot because in order to cook anything, I have to turn the heat way, way up. Also, when you try to make chili without chili powder and substitute Tabasco sauce instead, go a little easy on it. Child 3 was fairly weeping at dinner from the pain and we used a LOT of sour cream and cheese to mitigate the heat. But still, finding almost all the ingredients for chili was a bonus and our kitchen really smells like home. </div>
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The problem with only receiving half our stuff is that the important stuff is in the second half that hasn't arrived yet. So we have only six plates, and seven bowls, but our beer steins from several Marine Corps Balls are here. We have glassware galore, but only one small whisk. We have 5 cases of corned beef, and a LOT of maple syrup, but no hangers. I should have thought this out a little better. We also lack a toaster, iron, ironing board, trash cans, and I REALLY want one of those electric kettles that boil water in seconds because a cup of peppermint tea in the morning is lovely. And bath mats and shower curtains for 5 bathrooms. Yes, you heard me. 5. Don't judge. We now have a bathroom for each teenage girl and it is glorious. I <i>love</i> my new house. </div>
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Unpacking is definitely not better than a brownie, but streaming M*A*S*H on Netflix is, so guess what I'm going to do now? I think I may need to figure out how to make one of these for our house.</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-1537838456692910402015-08-08T09:43:00.000-07:002015-08-08T09:43:10.035-07:00It's a new kind of color blind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I live in India. I know this does not come as a shock to many of you because I wrote months and months ago about how I was moving to India. But it has actually happened! Really. No. Seriously. I'm in India. right. now. I'm writing this over and over again to convince myself that it has actually happened because there were definitely times when I was certain it would not. Like when I had to have my thyroid jammed with very long and thick needles by a frat boy pretending to be a doctor. Or when I thought the pack-out would never end. But it did end and now I am here. Only I'm still in temporary housing.<br />
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Now, a word about Foreign Service housing. It is free, so I don't complain about it much. Only when things go terribly wrong like there is a burst pipe in the bathroom at 3am or a typhoon drops a giant tree on top of it (both true stories.) So I'm not complaining that I'm in temporary housing that is decorated in "early circus tent" or that the washer is completely confusing and impossible to work. It has four settings--flower, upside-down ice cream cone, butterfly, and spaghetti. There are no words, just pictures. There are lots of snowflakes, but if you push a snowflake nothing happens. We've mostly been using the spaghetti setting, and sometimes butterfly. So far the clothes haven't disintegrated, so we're hoping that's the right approach because the average cycle takes 3 hours. And we're also hoping that when we finally get to move into our actual house, then we will have a washer that we can figure out. The dryer is awesome. It has two settings--high, low. You can turn it on or off. I love the dryer.<br />
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I'm not kidding about the circus tent, either. Each room in the house is a different color and some of the individual the walls as well. We have turquoise, saffron, magenta, slate blue, teal, and lime green. The furniture is gold and the rug is red. I hear that the previous occupant said he wanted something cheerful, but it's rather more grimace inducing. I think the living room gives me a headache. It's a little like this only less coordinated.<br />
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We may be moving into our house next week, which would be awesome. It is a charming house with lots of space for our things, which would look lovely in it. However, we're not sure we actually have any things anymore because we got an email from our shipping company saying there had been a train wreck and they would get back to us. Thankfully it was not this accident in which people died. That was an actual tragedy which helps me keep the possible loss of all our things in perspective.<br />
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They told us it was a different accident and the company had sent a photo showing part of the train sunk in water. The ground under the tracks gave way and the train just sunk. They have assured us that our things are not in the water. So we may have things still, if they're not taken off the train by "salvagers" and we may eventually get them if they figure out how to get the train out of the water and back onto a track that is intact. So to my friends who put a Christmas tree in our HHE, I'm sorry that your tree might have perished in a train wreck. Thankfully we have insurance, which I'm pretty sure we're going to need. And here's a trip for the future, if you live in India and are receiving your goods by train and they might have been in a wreck, do NOT Google "train river wreck India." It will give you nightmares.<br />
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So obviously living in India has its challenges, but exploring a new city with places like this is way better than a brownie.<br />
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We've been to markets with spices and jewelry and clothing, ridden in rickshaws, gone to eat at amazing restaurants, and even managed to find ingredients locally for taco night. So even if I never see my beautiful sweaters or my Chinese 100 Fu chest again, it will still have been worth it. I'm a little sad about the baby photos and the Christmas ornaments, though. Those are harder to replace than sweaters, which I'm already looking online for. Which reminds me--it's time to go shopping!<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-30437610639334218472015-06-30T19:11:00.000-07:002015-07-01T05:42:48.457-07:00I didn't say it was a good example<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So our pack out is finished. In order to help anyone else out there who might be moving, I thought I would give a few tips on how to make your pack out go as well as ours did.<br />
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<img alt="Image result for moving boxes" class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSR-S0wqsu-soBBy077OshcSqSsFnsPptaWADfvkATfNTe7TnYe7w" data-sz="f" jsaction="load:str.tbn" name="3PQgULptLhJp2M:" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSR-S0wqsu-soBBy077OshcSqSsFnsPptaWADfvkATfNTe7TnYe7w" style="height: 177px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: -4px; width: 266px;" /></div>
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First you should avoid sorting things for as long as possible. This will make it much more fun when you're trying to decide what should go air freight, what should go via ship, and what should stay in storage. You should also not pack any of your suitcases. More on that later.<br />
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Then you should listen to Husband when he says the moving company called him and told him they only needed two days to pack and won't arrive until Thursday. However, if you do doubt him a little and take off Wednesday anyway, that might be wise. But definitely don't start packing your suitcase until Wednesday.<br />
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Wednesday morning at 8am, do not answer the door! Definitely do not be dressed, and don't have your suitcases packed and try to be in the middle of washing dishes to put in UAB (the air freight) when you do open the door so that you have water spilled all down your shirt. Then call Husband in a panic and accuse him of <i>lying and making things up! </i><br />
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Listen to the movers when they tell you that you were right and Husband is wrong and they are supposed to start that morning, and then go upstairs and frantically throw everything blue into a suitcase and hope it's enough for a month. Then throw all the towels and sheets down the stairs, literally. It's good exercise and way faster than carrying them. Plus if you hit the annoying mover who is opening all your make-up and then saying she can't pack it because it's opened, so much the better. Yell at the mover to stop opening unopened bottles of lotion and pack. them. <b>now</b>. Then call Husband and beg him to come home. Burst into tears in front of the movers at every opportunity.<br />
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If possible, have Husband's completely unsympathetic boss make him travel to an island very far away during what is supposed to be your last day of pack out. Then have the movers send you an e-mail saying they need <i>two more days</i> to finish up your stuff. Call the movers and explain very carefully that there aren't two more days because the renters are moving in on Tuesday and you have to clean, paint, and clean the carpets by Monday. Have the snooty moving company manager tell you they won't do it. Refuse to listen to her and talk to the packers. Agree that they can put all of your things in the garage so they can finish up on Monday and you can still paint and clean. Agree to this just in time for it to flood the next day and ruin all your high school mementos. Try to salvage your yearbook by drying it out with the hotel blow-dryer. It won't work, but you'll feel like you made an effort.<br />
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Miss your good-bye party at work because the stupid pack-out isn't done. Miss a fourth day of work because the stupid pack-out isn't done. Finally get everything done and have Child 2 tell you that you forgot to pack her computer and her shoes so now she only has one pair and it is the pair with a hole in the sole. Tell Child 2 she can just avoid puddles until the air freight arrives and next time she should pack her own suitcase on time and not make it over 80 pounds so you don't have to take stuff out.<br />
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Shut the door to your hotel room and sob uncontrollably from stress. You're done! Now all you have to do is mail all the stuff that the stupid movers wouldn't ship. Too bad most of it can't go in the pouch. Ask all your friends if they would like bug spray or dry shampoo as a present.<br />
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Moving is not better than a brownie. But the US Women's Soccer team beating Germany is! GO USA! I believe that we will win! Plus I needed a win this week because I totally lost to the move.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-31784777482602493622015-06-23T20:09:00.003-07:002015-06-23T20:09:46.246-07:00DC does too count as a Post!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Packout begins tomorrow, so of course I am blogging. I should be sorting dishes, packing my suitcase, and washing all the sheets. But I'm tired and I've had packing nightmares all week so I am avoiding the thing that scares me by thinking about the thing that terrifies me--actually leaving.<br />
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Lots of Foreign Service bloggers have been posting the Top and Bottom 5 Things about their posts. They talk about the culture and the food and the housing and the travel opportunities. So I have decided to join them by writing about my current post--Washington, DC. I know you are thinking that I am really trying hard to procrastinate packing my suitcase, and you are totally right. But indulge me a little. I deserve it after getting no sleep for the past 4 nights in a row. So let's start with the bottom 5 things, shall we? Because the worst is always funnier.<br />
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<li>The GSO at my post sucks. For those of you not in the Foreign Service, the GSO is the office in charge of choosing your housing and filling it with furniture. Now, admittedly, our GSO (me because there is no GSO when you are assigned to DC and you are totally on your own) has awesome taste in furniture and a lovely sense of decor, although she tends to buy too much green. Green is her favorite color and it goes so nicely with all the Korean celadon, so don't be too hard on her. But some of the furniture is very old and she has not replaced the kitchen table in years and it is stained pink with I think what must have been a Kool-aid spill and only seats 6 and isn't expandable. Also it is blond wood, so could someone please go back in time to the 1990s and tell the GSO that particular farm table will look really stupid in her house in the future? And also tell her Assistant GSO that the awful red rug he brought back from Afghanistan doesn't match anything and needs to go?</li>
<li>Facilities is almost worse than the GSO. Facilities, again for the non-FSOs is the office in charge of fixing things in your house when they break and since we own our own house, that would be Husband. Facilities at our post left cracks in the bathroom floor tile and a broke faucet for four whole years and only now when we need to rent it out did he fix them. Oh AND he decided the perfect time to start this project was the weekend before the renters were coming to see the place and therefore instead of helping clean up, he gave the GSO a list of things to do to "make the house look nice" while he went to Home Depot and messed around replacing the bathroom floor. And then he tried to micro-manage the GSO's cleaning of the house. The GSO firmly reminded Facilities that she did not work for him and since when is he an expert on cleaning up the house and he had better get back in the bathroom and leave her alone or Facilities would be sleeping on the couch with The Dog for a very, very long time.</li>
<li>And speaking of the list debacle, staff meetings between the GSO and Facilities are sometimes rather fraught with tension. I won't say there is always yelling, but sometimes Facilities needs to stop tasking other people with things. Just saying.</li>
<li>The housekeeping staff (that would be the children) is completely unreliable and often pretend they don't hear requests and when they do hear them, they ignore them until the GSO gets very angry and starts yelling about why is the GSO the only person who can remember how to turn on the dishwasher and then everyone is grumpy. Seriously, housekeeping, why is doing the dishes so hard?</li>
<li>The Community Liaison Officer is nowhere to be found, so whenever someone wants to do something fun, they have to set it all up themselves. And then everyone complains that this is the most boring thing ever and why are we making them go learn things on their day off and why can't we just go shopping at the mall instead? Seriously, there is a LOT of whining going on at this post. Morale is pretty low to begin with and gets worse anytime you say chore or help or it's your responsibility or check the chore chart.</li>
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So now, the top 5 things about Washington, DC.</div>
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<img class="irc_mi" src="http://disabilityrightsgalaxy.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Mall-Side-Horizontal-Side-of-Full-Capitol.jpg" height="282" style="margin-top: 56px;" width="425" /></div>
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<li>You do get to live in your own house with your own pretty things and people can actually see that you have a decorating scheme and if you don't like the old IKEA furniture, you can get new stuff!</li>
<li>Speaking of new stuff, I have a beautiful bedroom and I love my bed so much, I'm bringing it to my next post. King-size memory foam means it's my favorite place to be at the end of the day.</li>
<li>The travel. Now, when you're posted to DC, you would think that means you just stay in DC, but if you read this blog, you know that is wrong. I almost completely filled up my passport with visas and stamps, and I've traveled to 16 different countries--some of them more than once. I had no idea I would travel so much, but I've loved every trip and it's been amazing. I mean, how else would I get to Ouagadougou?</li>
<li>Learning how the Department works. This was a big one. Knowing whom to contact is half the battle in getting something at the Department and there is no better way to do that than to come back here and work in it. I can not only find my way around HST, I made contacts and friends I hope will last throughout my career if not the rest of my life.</li>
<li>Which leads me to the people. You really get a sense of family at post because you all stick together. You have to because sometimes there is no one else who understands your bad Chinese. It is true that it is harder to get that sense of family from your office in DC, but if you are extremely lucky, as I am, you do. I will miss my crazy, fun, brilliant office mates. There is no one on earth like them, and no one I'd rather work with. Thank goodness for technology so I can continually bug them after I leave or I'd be even sadder than I already am.</li>
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There are lots of other plusses I could name like the food trucks (oh deliciousness on wheels) and the sight seeing opportunities, and not worrying if Netflix will work with your VPN. Also the shopping and being able to find clothes that fit. And the shoes! Oh, how I will miss Off Broadway Shoes.</div>
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Going to dinner with friends is better than a brownie, but not when you have to say good-bye. Leaving really sucks. There is just no way to be happy about leaving people you've grown to love like family. So to my fellow monkeys and pirates, I will miss you with all my heart. Please come visit me in India! If you do, I will take you to see this. It's like the Capitol, only prettier and with less arguing.</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-25457865957100938292015-05-03T07:58:00.002-07:002015-05-03T07:58:35.620-07:00Because I don't have to so I'm not going to<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm in Africa in a hotel that has both air conditioning and WiFi. I think I'm dreaming. I might be dreaming because not only do I have air conditioning and WiFi, I have a whole day to myself with no commitments and nothing to do. So I'm not going to do anything. At. All. I'm going to waste an entire day on reading and napping and watching movies I've rented through iTunes. Yep. You read that right. Not only does this hotel have WiFi, but the connection is fast enough for me to download whole movies! It's like I've died and gone to TDY heaven. I might not ever leave this place.<div>
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You see, for those of you who are veteran travelers, you know that sometimes, staying in hotels overseas can be dicey. No, I know. The US has our fair share of sketchy motels, too. There was one we stayed in I think in Tennessee when Child 1 was a baby and the carpet was so gross, we couldn't let her roll around on the floor and she was so angry with us! Child 1 was very determined, even at 3 months. But back to the hotels, you see the problem with going TDY (temporary duty which usually means a business trip) is that you don't get to choose the hotel--the Regional Security Officer chooses the hotel and decides if it's "safe" which on this trip has meant one room with a door that didn't lock and a broken safe. Although this was the view from the room which I found fascinating and would have spent more time viewing if it weren't already 104 F outside and the air conditioning didn't work that well on account of the electricity always going off. And also there was no water.</div>
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And then in another country, there was one room that was so disgusting I was afraid to take off my shoes and I refused to sleep with the disgusting blankets. Seriously I just googled "bad hotel rooms in Africa" and none of the photos were as awful as my hotel. And I won't even mention the fact that they tried to get me to switch to a different room that was cheaper. I said "No. That is not happening." Ugh. This was the bathroom, so I can't imagine what the cheaper room looked like. The photo simply doesn't do justice to the mildew growing in the shower. It's OK, though because there was no hot water so instead of using the disgusting shower, I just took sponge baths in the sink. With my own wash cloth because the towels were filthy, too. I'm a veteran Africa traveler and I ALWAYS bring my own wash cloths. And pillow, and shawl/blanket.</div>
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I'm fairly certain the RSO didn't actually go into my room when choosing the hotel, because the window didn't lock and it was on the 2nd floor and was just over a portico which even an old lady like me could have climbed on top of to get into the window. </div>
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But this particular hotel I'm in now is as lovely and charming as any bed and breakfast in Paris and it has a pool, a sweet little garden and good food. Also air conditioning that works and WiFi! So excuse me while I go take a nap because afternoon naps are the best thing ever and way, WAY better than a brownie. Even when I could eat brownies, if someone had asked me to choose, I would pick the nap every time. Really. Brownies are delicious, but a nap--a nap can save your life.</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2590464407293090719.post-4931021410879603342015-04-16T19:05:00.000-07:002015-04-16T19:05:16.578-07:00Finished until the next time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I've taken a little bit of a break. OK, a little more than a little. See, the idea was that I wouldn't blog because then I would have time to write my EER because it is that time again. Except that it didn't really work and mostly I just trolled facebook and looked at Buzzfeed all the time and watched re-runs of <i>Big Bang Theory.</i> My favorite is the one where Penny gives Sheldon Leonard Nimoy's DNA for Christmas. Which brings me to this.<br />
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<img class="irc_mi" height="393" src="https://marruda3.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/spock-death.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="546" /></div>
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Leonard Nimoy passed away and I am and always shall be a big fan. I miss him. I really wish Sheldon would get on cloning the DNA already and make us another Spock.<br />
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Here are some other things you missed while I was not writing my EER:<br />
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I have orders! Husband still doesn't because our travel tech, who is the same person for both of us, didn't believe I was an officer and therefore wouldn't issue Husband's orders even though <i>she had already issued mine</i>. Even when he sent my already issued orders to her, she said it wasn't possible for me to have my own orders because his file clearly said I was not an officer. Sigh. I know. It totally doesn't make any sense, but this is the way the Department is--every time you move it's like the first time anyone has ever moved in the history of the Foreign Service. You would think we would be better at this by now, but you. would. be. so. wrong! But still, I have orders! So at least one of us will be moving to India in July. The other one gets to keep The Dog.<br />
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We went to Texas for Spring Break And Child 2 killed lots of clay pigeons and soda cans at Grandpa's shooting range in the garage. Child 3 looked around one day and said Texas isn't a stereotype at all because people actually live like that! Yep. We wear boots and listen to country music and say y'all a lot. And there is lots of good barbecue. We took The Dog with us because my dad actually really likes The Dog, and she's marginally better behaved than when we got her, if by marginally you mean she is less like Voldemort and more like Golem, which I do. She still hates birds. And babies.<br />
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Child 1 is done with her Freshman Year! She comes home on Sunday and I can't wait a minute longer. Sunday needs to get here soon. Did you know that apparently now instead of taking a final you can make a video about what you learned and post it on YouTube? I so wish they had that option when I was in college because I would have rocked video finals.<br />
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And of course the entire family being together means that I leave for Africa for three weeks on Monday. It's my last trip and to several countries I haven't been to before and I'm very excited because I actually really love traveling to Africa, even though I have to fly on airlines like Bob Air which I'm hoping this time has real planes that fly and I don't have to load my own luggage and doesn't look like this.<br />
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And also, my EER still isn't finished, but then you knew that. My supervisor is awesome and offered to write my area for improvement in Haiku. I returned the favor by writing him the least helpful welcome home notes ever. For those of you not in the Department, welcome home notes are basically a list of everything important that happened while your boss was away that you give him when he gets back from wherever he has been. So since nothing really important happened, our notes are filled with things like "Bob is hungry, Sarah had a sandwich for lunch, Victoria got a mosquito bite and thinks she has Ebola." He will love them. And he already finished his part of my EER, so it's too late anyway.<br />
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So you know what is better than a brownie? <a href="http://www.sliptalk.com/fiery-vortex/?utm_source=soed&ts_pid=2&ts_pid=2">Fire tornados in your backyard</a>! OK, not in <i>my</i> backyard, but still you have to admit that this guy was pretty ingenious. Those are fans, in case you want to try to replicate the effect which I am totally <b>not</b> suggesting you do unless the fire trucks are already on their way anyway.<br />
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<img alt="Fiery Vortex | Impressive display of swirling flame." class="size-full wp-image-59018 tie-appear" data-wp-pid="59018" height="225" src="http://sliptalk.s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/11215034/naz7Bk3-Imgur.gif" width="400" /></div>
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No, Child 2, you may not make a fire tornado in the backyard. Save that for Grandpa's garage.<br />
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07522748534258154186noreply@blogger.com0