stationary

Up today on the Blog Challenge: best stationery.

Stationery? Huh?

Instead let's go with stationary.


(Thanks, Allison, for the playpen!)

happy hour

Today's topic on Best of 2009 Blog Challenge is "social web moment." Since the phrase kind of makes me want to gag (I can't even bring myself to write it without quotation marks), instead I'll share a social moment that is decidedly non-"web"--last day of school happy hour.

aha

Continuing with the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge, here is my "aha" of the year.

On April 24, at 10:53 am, Ju was born at our home in Pennsylvania, in a tub of water.

With the late morning sun pouring in the window, and the coaching and support of an amazing experienced midwife, he was born into his father's hands.

I've had a hospital birth, a birth center birth, and a home birth (all natural and drug-free), and I can tell you there is no comparison.

It is not just the lack of narcotics and epidurals and beeping monitors.

Nor is it some masochistic fringe practice, as certain medical personnel would have you believe.

Especially here in Brazil, when I hear other women's birth stories--many of whom wanted natural childbirths, all of whom ended up with unnecessary cesareans or other traumatic experiences--it's easy to get really angry.

I could get into the statistics and evidence, and get all fired up about the anti-homebirth propaganda.

For the moment, though, I'll leave that to Ricki Lake.

Instead, I'll just tell you how thankful I am that my family and I got to experience this--birth as at once awe-inspiring and ordinary, a powerful rite and a seamless part of the rest of our lives.

gift

The best gift I got for myself this year was this painting.

I bought it in Pelourinho, the touristy historic area of the city. I was shopping for decorations for my office, and fell in love with it. I had been expecting the school to reimburse me, but apparently the receipt I got was the wrong kind.

It looks great in my office, though. (And in our living room, where it's hanging during the break, while they're doing construction on the school.)

And I have to admit, I was actually kind of glad that the school didn't pay for it. Because now it's mine to keep.

learning experience

Learning experience for 2009: in Brazil, you don't stop and ask the cops for directions.

We should have known this. In retrospect, we felt pretty stupid. What happened was, we were driving out to a barbeque at the American Society (which I wrote about here).

It turned out to be farther than we thought. We passed a police checkpoint--they have these random checkpoints on the highway here, with orange cones set up that you have to drive around--and our first instinct was to stop and ask if we were headed in the right direction.

Basically, it's like asking to be pulled over.

Pull over, the cop predictably said.

Dan pulled off to the side, where another officer asked to see his documentation. At this point, I was shaking in my flip flops. We've all heard stories of what can happen when you're at the mercy of the police in Latin America, right?

Plus, we don't have Brazilian driver's licenses. Luckily, Dan did have his PA license with him (which he rarely does).

You know you're supposed to also have a translation of this license, the policeman said, looking at it.

Dan stuttered something in an exaggerated gringo accent. (Thinking, I guess, that this would elicit sympathy. Or pity. Or something.)

The officer stared at the license some more, turning it over in his hands, lecturing Dan sternly on the laws and what could happen.

He could keep us there and make us wait by the side of the road. He could take the documentation into custody. (And of course, what he didn't say, but what we were thinking, he could demand to be paid off.)

But after a few minutes more of chastising us, he peered into the back at the three boys sitting there, and said, well, since you have kids, I'll let you go this time.

Lesson learned. We now carry our driver's license translations at all times. And will not be asking the police for directions again any time soon.


Here's a picture of the countryside we were driving through.

For obvious reasons, I don't have any photos of the cops.

skype

Web tool of the year for me (what's a web tool? I'm not sure, but I think this counts) is Skype.

Living abroad, it's really the only way to stay in touch with family and friends. Yes, sometimes I prefer to talk on the phone without a picture (and you can do that with Skype, too), but with kids it's the best way to hold their attention.

The boys have put on capoeira displays for their grandparents and uncles, shown off their school uniforms, and introduced their friends. They've seen the seasons change in their grandparents' yard, watched the falling leaves and the recent snowstorm.

One favorite application is sharing food. R. loves to feed my parents bites of his mucunzá via the camera. In return my mom offers him bites of her yogurt or a cookie. (R. is still somewhat baffled when he doesn't actually taste it.)



Here is my mom being beamed in for Ju's first taste of solid food.

It's not the same as being there. But it's still pretty cool.

And she got to see this classic first-bite face--the grabbing for the spoon, then the surprised disappointment: Are you kidding me? This is what I've been waiting for all these months?

coconut girl

In choosing a startup of the year (today's topic on Best of 2009 Blog Challenge), I thought I'd direct you to my friend Whitney's new website, Coconut Girl.

Whitney's mission is to help moms who are struggling with postpartum depression. Or just struggling with the ongoing challenge of being a parent, especially to a new baby.

Whitney was in my group of friends in Charlottesville, five or six women who all had our first babies within several months of each other, and muddled through those initial months together, lugging our babes around in bucket carseats, meeting at the coffeeshop or library or park, bleary-eyed and sometimes on the verge of breakdown.

I didn't realize at the time the extent of what Whitney was going through. I'm sure she didn't know that I was dealing with my own form of melancholy. (Not quite postpartum depression; that would come later, after my second son was born.)

But the point is, I think postpartum depression is still something that's really hard to talk about, and that most women suffer through alone.

So, thanks to Whitney for her lovely site, and for trying to make the journey a little less lonely.

project

My project for the year is:


OK, so it's a project that will probably keep me busy for more than a year.

I've actually been surprised by how uncommon it is here to have more than one or two kids. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe just because kids are expensive.

Whenever people find out we have three, the typical response is, coragem! You're brave.

I noticed the same thing when we lived in Philadelphia. I didn't know anyone in the city who had more than two kids. In the suburbs, though, three was the norm. I guess that's where everyone moves if they have a third.

Are the Brazilians with more than two kids living in a different part of the country? More rural?

I'm sure it's partly socioeconomic as well. My small sampling includes mostly middle and upper middle class friends and acquaintances, although it's also been true of poorer people that I've met.

Is it a generational thing? Are people having fewer children nowadays?

Have you noticed this phenomenon (in Brazil or elsewhere)? What do you think?

person of the year

Continuing with the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge, the new person who came into my life this year and changed it for the better is...


Dete!

I've written about her here before. Where would we be without her?

Certainly hungrier, wearing wrinkled clothes, and living in a dirty house.

But more than that, Dete is in many ways the person closest to me here aside from my family. We often spend an hour or more together each day, commiserating about our kids, gossiping about the neighbors, talking about the latest disturbing story in the news.

I love to see her interacting with my boys, too. She totally gets them, and appreciates each of them for who they are.

R., who can be prickly and defiant (as you may have gathered), feels comfortable enough with her to hit her and call her stupid, which is what he does with us when he's frustrated.

He's also started calling her Detinha and Detita, which is really cute.

I see, she says. When I make bolo de milho, it's Detinha, huh?

Yesterday, we went to a feijoada at a friend's house in the condominium. Dete was cooking for another family here that she used to work for. When you want to eat, bring me Ju and I'll hold him, she said. And I did.

But later, when I wanted to take a break from the party, I found myself standing in the neighbor's kitchen with Dete, talking.

She's like family, really. I'm pretty sure she feels the same way about us. She sometimes mentions how she has six kids now--her three and my three. Once I overheard her telling Ju that when he grows up and comes to visit, she'll have an extra room in her house just for him.

Raising kids can be so hard. It makes it less lonely to feel that there's someone else who cares about your kids that much, who's not only there to hold the baby so you can eat, but also to laugh at a something funny that E. said, or to remark on R.'s progress with Portuguese.

I feel lucky indeed to have her.

car ride

Best car ride of the year? Any during which all passengers under the age of six fall asleep.




The most memorable, though, if not the best, was a drive up the coast to our favorite beach, Itacimirrim. It was quiet in the back seat. Suspiciously quiet.

Then the baby let out a scream. Dan and I turned around and said in unison: R.! What did you do?

R. did not respond.

The baby kept screaming.

He bit Ju's toe, E. offered.

Sure enough, there was a ring of red toothmarks around his big toe.

R. admitted his transgression, and was duly berated by his parents. Ju cried the rest of the of the way there.

But I have to admit, as upset as I was with R., there is something enticing about Ju's toes. So plump and juicy, like little fingerling potatoes. Just asking to be nibbled.

tropical coco

The topic for today's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge is best store. Here's mine. Tropical Coco.

They have the best coconuts, cold and sweet. And it's on the way home from school. R. always begs to get one. If he hasn't fallen asleep by the time we pass it, we usually pull over.

2009 in a word

break

coffee is the new tea

Today's topic on Best of 2009 Blog Challenge is tea. I used to be a tea drinker. I hadn't really had coffee at all in almost six years, having kicked the habit the first time I was pregnant.

Then we moved to Brazil.

As you probably know, they have good coffee here. That's really an excuse, though, because nowadays they have good coffee everywhere.

I think the real reason I started drinking coffee again is because I have three kids. And a job. (A job where they have thermoses of coffee in the teachers' lounge every morning.) And I'm tired.

It's one thing if you're staying home and don't have to change out of your pajamas. Then maybe tea is strong enough.

Now, I'm not saying that being a stay at home mom is easy. No sir.

But to gather up all the little pieces of myself and turn them into something presentable by 7:30 in the morning--well, that takes something a little stronger than tea.

let it snow

Can you guess what this is that E.'s holding?


Is it: a) the latest addition to our holiday decorating scheme; b) Ju's favorite teething toy; or c) a birthday party invitation?

The answer is: all of the above.

This post is in response to the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge. There's a topic a day for the month of December. (I just came across it today, but will try for daily--or near-daily--postings for the rest of the month.)

Today's topic: best packaging. I'd say this invitation fits the bill.

They make a pretty big deal of kids' birthdays here (to say the least). And extravagant invitations are par for the course.

Earlier this year, before we were cued into this concept, a small bottle appeared in R.'s cubby. It rattled around in his backpack for several weeks, before we uncorked it, and found a professionally designed treasure map/invitation. Of course, by this time, the party in question was long past.

Which didn't really matter, since most of these parties begin around our kids' bedtime and take place at rented party centers on the other end of town, an hour's drive away through rush hour traffic.

This one above, though, is on Saturday evening at the resort across the street from our house, so we're going to try to make it.

According to the card that came rolled up inside the sleigh, the program will include: a choir, a movie screening, an enchanted lake, a house of sweets, and Santa Claus.

If they put half as much effort into the party as the invitation, I'm sure it will be quite the production.

how you know you've been neglecting your kids' religious education

They make a pretty big deal of Christmas at the school here. There's a tree in the cafeteria, and the classes are all singing Jingle Bells and cutting out angels and Santa Clauses.

When E. came home and asked if he could make some Christmas decorations for our house, Dan asked him: Hey, have you told Ms. W. that we're Jewish?

We are? replied E.

We suggested he make some Hanukkah decorations, and E. ran with it. He's always up for a project. Here's one of the results:

(In case you can't read it, it's a little sign that says: Yipyiippeee!!! Happy Chanukah!!!)

mama's little baby loves coconut water

reading gatsby in bahia

One of the things I miss most about the States is the public library around the corner from our house.

The school library here is woefully inadequate. It's a motley collection of castoffs from expats leaving the country, and new young adult novels with flashy covers.

I did find Sherman Alexie's excellent The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian, as well as a picture book called What is Pot, featuring a stoned snail pointing to a sign that says, "pot is illegal."

For the most part, though, it's slim pickings.

Kind of reminds me of the Peace Corps, when one of the greatest deprivations I suffered was being forced, by lack of other options, to read Under the Tuscan Sun.

And I've never been much for rereading, I guess because there's always something new that I want to read.

But last week, combing the shelves yet again, I found Azar Nafisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran. What an incredible book! How did I miss this when it first came out?

In any case, inspired by Nafisi's passionate engagement with the novels she discusses (as well as by the de facto fatwa on my own literary choices), I decided to go back to The Great Gatsby, which I hadn't read since eleventh grade.

I remember liking it, but my only recollection was those green lights flickering at the end of the dock, and the last line, about the boats borne back ceaselessly into the past.

This time around, I noticed how callow and superficial the characters were, even Nick, the narrator. And the plot is totally contrived.

Nonetheless, there's something so poignant about the novel.

Perhaps it's what Nafisi says: "They, the Americans, have a dream: they feel nostalgia about the promise of the future."

As Nick says at the end, "I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all--Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I--we were all Westerners...

"Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio...even then it always had for me a quality of distortion."

For me, the poignancy (and the dream) is this idea that we can move beyond where we come from, to something better, some glistening city across the water, those glowing lights at the end of the dock.

And of course, reading Gatsby in Bahia, I can't help but see the wavering reflection of my own quixotic dream--the women in white dresses, rustling palms, the sun sinking into the Bay of All Saints.

I'm thinking about moving on to Jane Austen next.

And I'm curious: what are your experiences with rereading? Or how where you are influences how you read?

Any other suggestions for me, that a poorly stocked school library might have? Or any books you're done with that you might want to send my way?