fishing

Yesterday afternoon we went fishing with my friend Deena and her son K. Here is R., trying his hand with the reel.

One of the things I love about Deena is that she always has a Big Idea, whether it's teaching a yoga class on the beach, or organizing a New Years' luau at a big hotel, or opening an American school like the one where we teach (only better), or ocean fishing.

We didn't end up catching anything, but it was a beautiful late afternoon at the beach nonetheless.

Only E. was disappointed; he had really been expecting us to bring home dinner.


He got over his disappointment, though. Here he is acting silly with his good friend K.

When we left to get Ju home in time for supper and bed, Deena and K. were still casting out, beneath a beautiful pale slip of a full moon.

of broomsticks, babás, and bad behavior

R. has really been testing our parently mettle lately. (So what else is new?) But while it's one thing to get frustrated and feel at a loss about how to get him to listen, his behavior with Dete in particular concerns me or, to be honest, makes me kind of ashamed.

Not because it's different than the way he behaves with me and Dan, but because it isn't.

Yesterday R. hit Dete on the back with a wooden broom.

She reprimanded him--gently in my opinion, given the severity of the offense--then came to tell me. (I was outside with Ju.)

I spoke to him very sternly, and put him in a time out, then made him apologize to her, and promise he wouldn't do anything like that again.

I often feel like punishments make no impression on him. He doesn't have the maturity to understand long-term punishments or having privileges revoked. Only immediate consequences have any effect at all, and even then, it's only to make him cry, you're being mean! Don't talk angry to me! That's bad behavior!

But when he acts this way with Dete--hitting her, demanding treats, calling her names--it's hard not to see it in the light of the way our kids' classmates behave.

Their drivers drop them off at the gate, and the babás walk behind them, carrying their backpacks.

They speak to the nannies (and other adults, too) like servants. At E.'s soccer practice this week, one boy decided to sit down beside the field and start eating cookies from his lunchbox, completely ignoring both the coach and his babá when they suggested that he go back to play.

It's not so much that I think R. is picking up this attitude at school. (Although there's a disturbing thought.)

It's just that the class circumstances in Brazil are so different that it's hard not to see R.'s acting out through this lens.

Dete is remarkably forgiving about it. Oh, it must be the full moon, she says. Or, he must be tired today.

She's told me stories about how the kids where she worked last would demand their shirts ironed immediately, or their dinner brought to them in front of the TV, or say, you have to do what I tell you. That's why we pay you.

Yuck. Talk about shameful.

I try to tell myself that this is different--R. is much younger, and doesn't know what he's doing.

But when will he figure it out? And how can we help him get there?

boys of summer, in their sungas

school woes

We've had a week off from school for Carnaval, and it's been a really nice break. I've been meaning to post about the growing discontent that we've been feeling with the school--not so much for us, but for our kids.

It's become the daily routine. R. wakes up, eats breakfast, throws himself on the sofa and flails as Dan tries to wrestle him into his uniform on, R. screaming, I don't want to go to school! I'm going to stay home with Dete!

E. at least is more low key. Do I have to go to school? he sighs, reclining on the couch, finger-picking a riff on his small guitar.

E. has always loved school. In fact, it almost used to hurt my feelings, when he'd ask if he could go to school even on weekends and days off, as though staying home with me were some kind of punishment.

This is R.'s first experience with formal education, and in his case there is definitely an element of resistance for its own sake (he's a pro at that).

But there are other things that give us pause. Like how quickly certain Portuguese words roll off his tongue--estúpido, cala boca, cara de cueca (stupid, shut your mouth, underwear face). Maybe innocent three-year old teasing, sure.

But after winter break, when Dan took E. to his first after-school soccer class, E. turned around crying and refused to go. He finally confessed that these kids had been making fun of him, laughing at his sneakers and the kind of food he brings for lunch.

His sneakers? I mean, for God's sake, he's in kindergarten! What five-year old notices the brand of sneakers someone else is wearing?

Apparently, wealthy Brazilian private-school kids.

We talked to both boys' teachers about the situation, and both teachers were understanding. We've been really happy with the teachers, actually--they're caring and smart and wonderful with the kids.

Part of the problem is the class size--23 in preschool, 25 in kindergarten--which is way too big.

Another part is cultural. Portuguese is the language spoken on the playground, and while they're learning, E. and R. are obviously much more comfortable with English.

I don't know how much they pick up on other cultural differences, too, by which I guess I mean class differences. Like the fact that their classmates all have chauffeurs and expensive boxes of chocolate milk for their snacks and light-up sneakers.

Then there's the school culture itself. Apparently it's the norm for non-Brazilians to be shunned and made fun of. I was aware that this went on in middle school, but I guess it starts as early as preschool.

Despite all this, E.'s teacher assures us that he's well-loved by his classmates, and part of the reason they tease him is because they're jealous of him. Perhaps.

And perhaps it's pretty mild as these things go. I just hope it doesn't sour the boys on school so early.

Can't we at least wait for middle school for that to happen?

before and after

One of the advantages of living in a walled condominium is the freedom that the boys have. E., at six, and R., at almost four, head out the door sometimes as early as six in the morning. They play guitar under the tree, kick a soccer ball, collect rocks and sticks.

The freedom has its disadvantages, too, though. These involve the sometimes questionable judgment of a six- and four-year old.

Yesterday, R. came home looking a little uneven.

Any attempts to play off his strange appearance were foiled by the large pile of brownish blond curls by the side of the driveway.

Apparently another 6-year old in the condominium had, at R.'s urging, taken a pair of scissors to R.'s locks. (The friend had obviously done some experimenting on himself as well, evidenced by several bald patches on his own head.)

R.'s curls disguised the damage pretty well until this morning. After a night of sleeping on it, though, it was clear we'd have to do something about the situation.







I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me sad to say goodbye to R.'s beautiful curls.

Then again, it's only hair.

breadfruit

Yesterday, Dona Miuza, who cleans our house and helps with laundry twice a week, brought us a fruta pão that she’d found near her house. I’d heard of breadfruit before, but had never seen one.

I was curious to see what it would taste like. It’s delicious with butter, she assured me.

You have to cook it before eating it. In fact, it’s the only fruit I can think of that you can’t eat raw. (It's not poisonous, just flavorless, like a raw sweet potato). Dete cut it into sections, removed the seeds, and boiled it.


I was kind of disappointed. It does not, it turns out, taste anything like bread.

It is starchy, more like a bland sweet potato, or the tubers they call yami here.

According to a book I’d read, breadfruit originated in the East Indies, and was naturalized in Polynesia, where it’s purported that people can exist on breadfruit alone.

I suppose it’s possible, but I can’t imagine it would be a very enjoyable existence.

The boys liked it, though.

carnaval

Today is the last day of school before our ten-day break for Carnaval. Although Rio's Carnaval is probably more famous, Salvador's is supposedly the biggest celebration.

The entire city shuts down for almost two weeks. Lots of students have already stopped coming to school. Many of their families go on vacation and leave the country. Even after Carnaval, some don't make it back until March.

Traffic is impossible. Forget trying to make a doctor's appointment, have your phone line fixed, basically get anything done.

Dan and I considered going to see the music and the parades, but finally decided against it. It's expensive (a couple hundred dollars, once you count transportation), and once you're there, you can't leave. I don't do well with crowds or hours of loud music. From what I hear, squalor and sexual harassment are other big draws.

My thinking originally had been, Oh, you're in Salvador, you have to at least see it once.

But the older and more curmudgeonly I get, the more I think, I don't have to see anything for the sake of crossing it off my list. If I know it will be more trouble than it's worth, why bother?

And after the past few weeks we've had, the only thing I want to do during these days off is catch up on sleep. And maybe go to the pool and the beach a few times.

doubts

How to say this without raising the hopes of certain interested parties who may be reading?

We have been having doubts lately--not about the rightness of our decision to move to Brazil, but about our ability to stick it out for the full two years of our contract.

We're currently in the middle of yet another adventure in the Brazilian medical system, this time with E. This is after a nearly two-week ordeal with Ju, involving multiple trips to the hospital.

Although we have excellent health insurance, and there are good doctors and hospitals in Salvador, these experiences have made me realize that I still have an underlying feeling of insecurity about the whole system. This is exacerbated by the fact that I find the city itself unnavigable, that we live so far from the center where the medical facilities are, and that we still have yet to find a pediatrician who will see us anytime before March.

It doesn't help that this is after a slew of nights of very little sleep due to toxic varnish that the neighbors are using, fires in the mata behind our house, and the baby crying indignantly for hours whenever we put him down (admittedly, the last is equally likely to happen in the States).

Finally, we've been having doubts about the school. Both E. and R. have been complaining that they don't like it and don't want to go. E. in particular has been having issues, which I intend to post about soon.

But enumerating these difficulties doesn't quite get at the essence of it, the ineffable sense of alienation--the utter exhaustion I can feel having to express myself in my imperfect Portuguese, the claustrophobia of living in a walled community, my fears, both vague and specific, of various forms of pestilence.

And yes, I know living in the U.S. has many downsides, reasons why we moved here to begin with, and yes, the grass is always greener (or whiter, as the case may be in Philadelphia at the moment).

Then again, maybe this experience, for all its beauty and challenges, is allowing us to appreciate what we left behind.

nanny talk

There was an interesting article in the New York Times this week about the difficulties many mothers have communicating with their children's nannies.

It had the usual, infuriatingly glib tone of the Times style section--that smug, oblivious, assumption that takes for granted that most people have high-power corporate jobs, full-time nannies, and enormous apartments in Manhattan with Mexican tile floors and crown molding.

Beyond that, though, while the article did bring up some good points about why it may be so hard for mothers to speak to the women they employ to care for their children--guilt, honest appreciation and affection, not wanting to alienate them--I thought it overlooked an obvious one: cultural differences.

Although it was clear in the article that the women interviewed came from different cultures than their nannies, this wasn't discussed. Perhaps I'm more attuned to that aspect, since I'm in a foreign country myself, so I'm facing this cultural gap in many of my interactions, not just those with our nanny.

For example, in the article, one mother complains that her nanny toilet-trained her son at 18 months, when she wanted to wait until 2. (Really? That's something to complain about?)

But to me it seemed most likely that the nanny was just taking for granted the fact that a kid of 18 months should be potty trained. (Americans toilet train their kids way later than most of the rest of the world.)

The article also suggested that employers communicate with their nannies in writing. Now, I cannot see this going over well in Brazil--or, for that matter, with many of the nannies from other countries who these women are hiring. It just seems so cold, so clinical, so...American.

I haven't had any such issues with Dete so far. She may not choose to do things exactly the way we do, but she's very respectful of how we raise our kids.

This isn't to say it's not hard for me when I have to ask her to do something. I still feel awkward in the role of employer.

But then again, I also feel that the cultural difference means that I have a lot to learn from her. She's definitely the Brazilian person I feel closest to, and is happy to fill me in on everything from Brazilian holiday traditions to how manioc is harvested and processed. (Here she's showing me how to make cocada.)


And hey, whenever she wants to start toilet training Ju, I'm certainly not going to complain.

kind of funny, kind of sad

On the way to school today, E. looks out the window and exclaims: Hey, there's a man with one leg! Pushing a cart!

R. replies: Oh, yeah. I saw a man havin one leg when Daddy and I went to the meat store.