Long story for another post, but we will be heading back to DC sometime in 2014 (hopefully summer). I'm late to the bidding game and I'm trying to make it all work now, but I find myself ultimately unapologetic for ignoring the HR aspects of my job.
My husband is in Afghanistan.
My son is awash in school and therapy and sensory-seeking extracurriculars.
My daughter is a pip who, for the first time, isn't constantly being overshadowed by all that is her brother.
For once I am not taking a work call in my office with a sick kid screaming in the background. I'm not taking a work call at home while putting PJs on an exhausted toddler. I speak to my child's teacher every. single. day. I volunteer in his class once a week.
I'm not apologizing.
This LWOP undoubtedly dinged my career a bit and, given my very strong bent toward ridiculously competitive and the Foreign Service's emphasis on ridiculously competitive, that's a bit hard to swallow.
I'm not apologizing.
With any luck, this year plus in Colorado will make it less likely that I'll be scrambling for childcare for my suspended child. It will make it slightly less likely that I'll be blamed for putting his needs on the backburner for too many years. (I say slightly less likely, because I'm not naive enough to think my children won't blame me for most things.)
I am not apologizing.
I have to keep telling myself that.
On that note, before I delve into the logistical nightmare of bidding on short notice with no access to the State system and a number of timing issues, I am going to focus on Boy, and what we find to be helpful, as there may be another stressed parent of a high-needs pugilist out there.
Here's what we've tried:
Hoping it will just go away: FAIL.
Soccer: FAIL. Boy was quite good at soccer, but couldn't handle the sensory input of a gaggle of kids rushing toward him and a ball and a whistle. There were tears more often than not.
Swimming: WIN. Did you know Boy can freestyle across a small pool? He can. He could not do that a few months ago. The first time we took him to a pool this summer, he screamed and pantsed himself because he didn't like the sensation of wet swim trunks grabbing his legs. So we went to SwimLabs (for FS families: they have a location in Vienna, VA!). The pools are small, very warm, and have an adjustable current. They also have a small class size (max 4) and a camera with monitors in the waiting room for parents and in the corners in the lab. Even at Boy's young age, teachers discuss technique with their students using video footage.
Gymnastics: WIN. For sensory seeking kids, the jumping, climbing, pushing, rolling is heaven. It helps that Boy's teacher is a middle-aged tough guy. Boy relates to that well.
Group Behavioral Therapy: WIN. Boy has been going to a school skills group for several months now, and has a vocabulary and context for discussing things that do not come naturally to him, not even in the slightest. Body space, volume, sharing, conflict resolution: it's all been invaluable.
Sensory Camp: WIN. Boy attended sensory camp this summer. He learned about body speed and control and I learned about intervention techniques. He's always used a weighted blanket, and indeed one is in his classroom for him when he flips out, but they expanded my toolkit to include a variety of deep pressure techniques.
IEP Process: We'll see? The special education coordinator needs six weeks to monitor his academic progress and his classroom behavior, and then we jump knee deep into meetings upon meetings with the nurse, psychologist, occupational therapist, speech therapist, the works. Best case scenario is he no longer qualifies for an IEP because all the rest is working. That would be great, but I'm not holding my breath.
LEGO club: WIN. Boy does LEGO Engineering after school once a week. He is exhausted when he's done, but he is so genuinely enthusiastic to have 90 minutes when he just excels, no qualifiers. He is a savant of building, and he needs that weekly success.
Kindergarten: WIN (so far). Oh, oh, oh. How thankful I am that we are back. There was no good kindergarten option for him in Estonia--he's too high needs. He's one of the youngest in his class--if not the youngest--but he's already taking off academically. He went from writing only a few of his letters to writing sentences and starting books in about four weeks. His teacher runs that classroom so tightly it's a bit intimidating, but it's what he needs. He needs rigid boundaries, constant assignments, and a challenge. I've volunteered a number of times, and I am almost always shocked at how on task he is. "On Task" isn't normal on Boy's resume. He's easier at home, he's proud of his work, and he's simply rising to the occasion.
To be clear, he's already been sent to the principal's office. But only once!
I worried at first about overloading his schedule. He wakes up so early (4:44 this morning) and is so frenetic that he's beat by 6:45 most nights. He is responding well to physical, individual activities that meet his sensory needs. He enjoys having a club where he is a star (and I enjoy outsourcing complex LEGO projects, because that's not on my resume). His iPad time chart has been changed to reward good behavior at school. I'm afraid to jinx myself, but after a year of this, we should be set.
I am not apologizing.
Showing posts with label Foreign Service. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Foreign Service. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
Turn Turn Turn
The Byrds are in my head. Or Ecclesiastes, depending on your bent. My favorite "Season" song is by The Zombies, but that doesn't capture the trudging through, the holding on, the letting go. For obvious reasons, it lacks the Biblical gravitas and comfort.
R&R number two has come and gone, and though it seems to Husband that he's been there forever and seems to me that time has both gone ludicrous speed and crept to a trickle, we are only halfway through this tour. Or maybe: hooray! we are halfway through this tour.
I feel strange claiming "we" are halfway through anything. As I looked around my kitchen this morning, surveying all the dishes that weren't magically done overnight, I sighed, acknowledging in that breath that it's all on me again. It's all on me, in Denver, with the kids, in our house. With restaurants and grocery stores and family and a friend here or there. I can't complain. I even have a personal trainer. Egads, my life is horrible.
But Husband, in his tiny room, with his kids far away...but Husband.
We've done this before, but the raw and inescapable truth is that leaving your one year old for a year is quite difficult, but leaving your two- and five-year-old for a year is a horribly cruel thing to do to yourself or have done to you. We ask this of diplomats, soldiers, Marines, airmen, and sailors. We've asked this of Husband and I note with no small amount of guilt that we have not yet asked this of me. The sad truth--the pitiful truth--is I don't know if I could. It's sad because it's my job, yes, but it's even sadder because Husband's been asked twice. Girl still wants Mommy above all things and...I can't. I can't tear away. Husband can barely do so, and it is only because of his commitment to so many things and above all else to our family that he did.
It was an R&R marred by epic rainfall and a long and lingering stomach virus all around. It was a vacation into the ordinary, with school pickups and swim practice. As he was gathering his things and his wherewithal to return to Afghanistan, Husband admitted that no amount of sunshine, no surfeit of good health, not even a new motorcycle or a million margaritas would have changed what had to happen. He went back, as he must, and he will trudge on.
And we will be here, waiting.
R&R number two has come and gone, and though it seems to Husband that he's been there forever and seems to me that time has both gone ludicrous speed and crept to a trickle, we are only halfway through this tour. Or maybe: hooray! we are halfway through this tour.
I feel strange claiming "we" are halfway through anything. As I looked around my kitchen this morning, surveying all the dishes that weren't magically done overnight, I sighed, acknowledging in that breath that it's all on me again. It's all on me, in Denver, with the kids, in our house. With restaurants and grocery stores and family and a friend here or there. I can't complain. I even have a personal trainer. Egads, my life is horrible.
But Husband, in his tiny room, with his kids far away...but Husband.
We've done this before, but the raw and inescapable truth is that leaving your one year old for a year is quite difficult, but leaving your two- and five-year-old for a year is a horribly cruel thing to do to yourself or have done to you. We ask this of diplomats, soldiers, Marines, airmen, and sailors. We've asked this of Husband and I note with no small amount of guilt that we have not yet asked this of me. The sad truth--the pitiful truth--is I don't know if I could. It's sad because it's my job, yes, but it's even sadder because Husband's been asked twice. Girl still wants Mommy above all things and...I can't. I can't tear away. Husband can barely do so, and it is only because of his commitment to so many things and above all else to our family that he did.
It was an R&R marred by epic rainfall and a long and lingering stomach virus all around. It was a vacation into the ordinary, with school pickups and swim practice. As he was gathering his things and his wherewithal to return to Afghanistan, Husband admitted that no amount of sunshine, no surfeit of good health, not even a new motorcycle or a million margaritas would have changed what had to happen. He went back, as he must, and he will trudge on.
And we will be here, waiting.
Monday, August 5, 2013
AWOL
Fear not, Loyal Reader (seriously, there's just one of you), I am alive, as are Husband and The Brood. I have some very good reasons for being quiet this summer. If you want to maintain the tiny bit of respect you have for me, I suggest you stop reading after reason #4. If you want to test your love and respect in the face of reality, read through.
Reason #1: Boy was accepted into a number of therapeutic programs at once. For the past month, he's had some activity or another every week day (swimming, behavioral group therapy, sensory integration camp). Yes, that last one is a thing, and it was fantastic. This week we have only group and the start of pre-school doctors appointments. First up, 5 year well-child, followed by eyes and teeth.
Reason #2: YES I SAID FIVE. Good Lord. He's five. Lots of celebrating, coming on the heels of my 32nd birthday, which involved lots of adult time and fun for me over several days. So no blogging.
Reason #3: I had a visitor. An honest-to-goodness visitor! Aunt C, blogger extraordinaire, Godmother The Most, College Roomie The First, graced Denver for a few days. It was lovely to have her and I'm sure all y'all would enjoy a visit too, so get on it.
Reason #4: My mom et al moved to Denver.
Reason #5: Candy Crush.
Reason #6: The batteries in the mouse died, and I considered waiting until Husband is home in September so he could remedy the situation. Can't blog comfortably on an iPad and even if I wanted to, please see Reason #5.
Summer is summer is summer. Lots of sweaty days. A few mad dashes to the ice cream truck while dogs escape and coins fly from my wallet, trying to appease the two children who seem not to hear me when I speak to them from two feet away, but who can detect an ice cream truck if it rings its bell in Kansas. PS--an ice cream sandwich is now $3.50; no $0.25 packs of candy cigarettes. My childhood weeps.
One trek to my cousin's wedding several hours from here, across the mountains. There were unironic cowboy hats. Everything is ironic on the East Coast, so this was very exciting for me.
One bid list. Zero ideas. For the past seven years, my mind wandered over the possibilities of Burundi or Beijing, wondering if the consular high of a post like CJ was worth the stress. Yes, over the past seven, even when it wasn't our bidding season. Now it all seems oppressive. We aren't ready. Boy isn't ready. We won't know anything until he's settled into school and an IEP is in place, so overseas is out. DC is always a possibility, but if this school year doesn't go well--or if it goes very well--we'd hate to move and both be back at work full-time, managing the many services our son needs with a Washington cost of living and a Washington work day. Hawaii is a possibility for Husband, but not me, but it's too expensive to do on one salary. Kansas could happen for Husband with a commute to Denver on the weekends, and for me--who knows? More LWOP? What I want is a magical little 03 or 02 job at Aurora. I've inquired about such things, but I haven't heard anything. It's a stretch, a potshot, a chance to stay in a career I've dreamed of since I was 16. It's a job that--so far--doesn't exist.
Possibly an 81 mile commute to NORAD for Husband. We'd take it, though, and figure out the rest later.
So: summer. There is something romantic about the long hot days of summer. Of ice cream trucks and sweat and sidewalk chalk. Of bidding and lobbying and dreaming of far-off places. Though there was a chill one day--one rare rainy day--and I immediately longed for a DC autumn, for brilliant trees and morning frost and hot cider.
Opportunity costs.
Reason #1: Boy was accepted into a number of therapeutic programs at once. For the past month, he's had some activity or another every week day (swimming, behavioral group therapy, sensory integration camp). Yes, that last one is a thing, and it was fantastic. This week we have only group and the start of pre-school doctors appointments. First up, 5 year well-child, followed by eyes and teeth.
Reason #2: YES I SAID FIVE. Good Lord. He's five. Lots of celebrating, coming on the heels of my 32nd birthday, which involved lots of adult time and fun for me over several days. So no blogging.
Reason #3: I had a visitor. An honest-to-goodness visitor! Aunt C, blogger extraordinaire, Godmother The Most, College Roomie The First, graced Denver for a few days. It was lovely to have her and I'm sure all y'all would enjoy a visit too, so get on it.
Reason #4: My mom et al moved to Denver.
Reason #5: Candy Crush.
Reason #6: The batteries in the mouse died, and I considered waiting until Husband is home in September so he could remedy the situation. Can't blog comfortably on an iPad and even if I wanted to, please see Reason #5.
Summer is summer is summer. Lots of sweaty days. A few mad dashes to the ice cream truck while dogs escape and coins fly from my wallet, trying to appease the two children who seem not to hear me when I speak to them from two feet away, but who can detect an ice cream truck if it rings its bell in Kansas. PS--an ice cream sandwich is now $3.50; no $0.25 packs of candy cigarettes. My childhood weeps.
One trek to my cousin's wedding several hours from here, across the mountains. There were unironic cowboy hats. Everything is ironic on the East Coast, so this was very exciting for me.
One bid list. Zero ideas. For the past seven years, my mind wandered over the possibilities of Burundi or Beijing, wondering if the consular high of a post like CJ was worth the stress. Yes, over the past seven, even when it wasn't our bidding season. Now it all seems oppressive. We aren't ready. Boy isn't ready. We won't know anything until he's settled into school and an IEP is in place, so overseas is out. DC is always a possibility, but if this school year doesn't go well--or if it goes very well--we'd hate to move and both be back at work full-time, managing the many services our son needs with a Washington cost of living and a Washington work day. Hawaii is a possibility for Husband, but not me, but it's too expensive to do on one salary. Kansas could happen for Husband with a commute to Denver on the weekends, and for me--who knows? More LWOP? What I want is a magical little 03 or 02 job at Aurora. I've inquired about such things, but I haven't heard anything. It's a stretch, a potshot, a chance to stay in a career I've dreamed of since I was 16. It's a job that--so far--doesn't exist.
Possibly an 81 mile commute to NORAD for Husband. We'd take it, though, and figure out the rest later.
So: summer. There is something romantic about the long hot days of summer. Of ice cream trucks and sweat and sidewalk chalk. Of bidding and lobbying and dreaming of far-off places. Though there was a chill one day--one rare rainy day--and I immediately longed for a DC autumn, for brilliant trees and morning frost and hot cider.
Opportunity costs.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Metro Revisited
I sat in the handicapped seats, suitcase between my knees, trying to remain out of everyone's way and keep a continuous scan going in case someone with a legitimate need for the handicapped seats showed up. The metro was filled with metro sounds--on a June Saturday that's usually kids and their parents, the sounds of fanny packs planning outings to the Smithsonian. The first stop after I got on was National Airport, and my neighbors glanced first expectantly and then in confusion at my suitcase as I remain seated. I stayed there, headphones in, picking up the ambient noise in between songs on my playlist. I was hunched over, hand cautiously on the suitcase, arm tattooed, nose ring in. No wedding ring on. It occurred to me in that moment that people might make certain assumptions about me: probably that I was younger than I am (thanks, Muse Salon), that I was aimless. I wanted to hold a sign announcing that I am a mother, a diplomat, that this is my one chance to have headphones in, and that on another Saturday two years ago I would have brought my own roiling cacophony onto the train, also headed to the Smithsonian while wondering why my day off felt like so much work. No fanny pack, though. No tattoos yet.
I paid inordinate attention to the landscape in front and then below us when the plane took off from Denver. The front range stretched before me, snow marking the famous fourteeners. The dips and marks of the ground stayed within view for several thousands of feet. God's own country, no doubt. I felt in awe and thankful that--for now, anyway--I can call this place home.
Coming in over the Potomac pulled a different string. Washington always was and always will be my true north. I saw the neat rows of headstones in Arlington and the glittering water and placed a tick mark in the D.C.'s pro column. I stepped into an immediate soup of humidity--not bad by local standards but brutal after a few months in Colorado. One tick in the con.
Friends, acquaintances, classmates, alums wanted to know where my brood was, and I answer that they were in Denver. I'd loved to have shown them off, but I was relieved to have my headphones in, to process the whats and the what nexts on my own. We video-chatted in the middle of a reunion event, Girl blowing raspberries and Boy inserting "poop" between words. I bought a new Georgetown shirt. I lamented the removal of the my favorite tree, the one that I would climb instead of attending Western Civ. I wondered if I would ever step foot in FSI again, if I would ever write another EER, if I would ever keep up with the amazingly talented people I know and love from college. I wondered if I wanted to keep up.
And then No Diggity came on, and I danced. A lot. Class of 2003: Word.
I paid inordinate attention to the landscape in front and then below us when the plane took off from Denver. The front range stretched before me, snow marking the famous fourteeners. The dips and marks of the ground stayed within view for several thousands of feet. God's own country, no doubt. I felt in awe and thankful that--for now, anyway--I can call this place home.
Coming in over the Potomac pulled a different string. Washington always was and always will be my true north. I saw the neat rows of headstones in Arlington and the glittering water and placed a tick mark in the D.C.'s pro column. I stepped into an immediate soup of humidity--not bad by local standards but brutal after a few months in Colorado. One tick in the con.
Friends, acquaintances, classmates, alums wanted to know where my brood was, and I answer that they were in Denver. I'd loved to have shown them off, but I was relieved to have my headphones in, to process the whats and the what nexts on my own. We video-chatted in the middle of a reunion event, Girl blowing raspberries and Boy inserting "poop" between words. I bought a new Georgetown shirt. I lamented the removal of the my favorite tree, the one that I would climb instead of attending Western Civ. I wondered if I would ever step foot in FSI again, if I would ever write another EER, if I would ever keep up with the amazingly talented people I know and love from college. I wondered if I wanted to keep up.
And then No Diggity came on, and I danced. A lot. Class of 2003: Word.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Recuperation
Husband is en route for his first trip home.
THANK THE SWEET BABY JEEBUS.
Originally we were aiming for mid-June, three months after he arrived at post, but four after he left Colorado. The Timing Gods smiled on us in some ways, and it worked out that he could come home now. The theory was he could help me finish off the to-do list for the house (some things just go better with two people, like building a swing set and getting the master bedroom even slightly organized), but everybody involved just needs a break as well. He needs a break, I need a break, the kids need a break.
I had planned to surprise the kids with his arrival, but I envisioned their disappointment every time a trip to the grocery store or the zoo didn't end with a surprise appearance from Dad. That would be a long three months and while they lament their father's absence every day, without fail, I don't think I could bear the gnashing of their terrible teeth and rolling of their terrible eyes when he didn't show up in the dairy aisle. It would not only be heartbreaking, but it would also send me over the cliff of insanity. I am perilously perched on the edge these days. No need to push myself over. New plan: surprise them when he returns for good.
I've stocked up on good wine, ready to resume our late night mutual bitchfests. We preach to each other's choirs about politics, policy, and--I am certain about this--Benghazi and guns specifically. I've always been surrounded by other FSOs--colleagues, friends, and my spouse--but without them I have no safe place to pull my hair out about the former. That's about as much as I can safely type on a blog at this point, because it's not my lane and I'm not a total idiot career-wise (writes the woman sitting in pajamas in Denver on a workday--winning!). As far as guns, I'm sure our complaints will center around a) that Congress is not able to begin to pass a bill supported by 90% of Americans even with a majority of votes in the Senate because of the unholy intersection of the NRA and the filibuster and b) guns marketed to small children because what. the. hell.
It's just been me and Jon Stewart for 3 months. I need my husband back.
THANK THE SWEET BABY JEEBUS.
Originally we were aiming for mid-June, three months after he arrived at post, but four after he left Colorado. The Timing Gods smiled on us in some ways, and it worked out that he could come home now. The theory was he could help me finish off the to-do list for the house (some things just go better with two people, like building a swing set and getting the master bedroom even slightly organized), but everybody involved just needs a break as well. He needs a break, I need a break, the kids need a break.
I had planned to surprise the kids with his arrival, but I envisioned their disappointment every time a trip to the grocery store or the zoo didn't end with a surprise appearance from Dad. That would be a long three months and while they lament their father's absence every day, without fail, I don't think I could bear the gnashing of their terrible teeth and rolling of their terrible eyes when he didn't show up in the dairy aisle. It would not only be heartbreaking, but it would also send me over the cliff of insanity. I am perilously perched on the edge these days. No need to push myself over. New plan: surprise them when he returns for good.
I've stocked up on good wine, ready to resume our late night mutual bitchfests. We preach to each other's choirs about politics, policy, and--I am certain about this--Benghazi and guns specifically. I've always been surrounded by other FSOs--colleagues, friends, and my spouse--but without them I have no safe place to pull my hair out about the former. That's about as much as I can safely type on a blog at this point, because it's not my lane and I'm not a total idiot career-wise (writes the woman sitting in pajamas in Denver on a workday--winning!). As far as guns, I'm sure our complaints will center around a) that Congress is not able to begin to pass a bill supported by 90% of Americans even with a majority of votes in the Senate because of the unholy intersection of the NRA and the filibuster and b) guns marketed to small children because what. the. hell.
It's just been me and Jon Stewart for 3 months. I need my husband back.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
She's Here Too
Boy seems to be getting all the attention in this space, no? That could extend to other spaces as well, although Boy would probably point out that he gets all the negative attention. He wouldn't be wrong on our worst days. The Service gets almost no attention at all. I don't know what to say. I'm not used to thinking about the Department from the outside. Husband missed being in the wrong place and the very wrong time a month ago, but the officer in me reminds myself that we never know when the wrong place and the wrong time were a misplaced set of keys, a search for a purse, a last minute phone call away from striking us. Here in Denver. There in Kandahar. Maybe I'm a fatalist, but the other option is to obsess over all the things that could be happening to him at this very moment, and that doesn't seem like a wise choice either.
Girl, though, is here and well and is blooming in that way that nearly-two-and-a-half year old children do. Everyday she's more the child, less the baby. I don't know precisely when it happened, but she became the Great Communicator, mimicking everyone (for better or worse) and verbalizing her needs and wants (trust me: for better or worse). We are starting potty training, though we are still on that awesome stage where she tells me she needs the potty the second pee starts puddling on the floor. Nailed it! Today she made it to the bathroom three times, so we are making progress. In the meantime, she's nothing short of hilarious.
She's mastered the preteen Awww. The one that follows your announcement that no, she cannot play outside because it's bath time or no she cannot have a cookie. Awww.
She calls me by my first name.
She's mastered the preteen histrionics. I no want to take a nap. I no take a nap ever. I no do it. Not ever. (Followed almost immediately by a three hour nap.)
Our bedtime routine goes likes this:
Lights out.
Girl: Cuddle me! For one minute!
Me: Okay, but then I have to go clean. [often not true]
(a couple of minutes later)
Me: Okay, Girl, I have to clean now [still not true]. I love you.
Girl: I love you too. I see you in the mornin'!
Me: Sweet dreams.
Girl: Sweet dreams!
Me: Thank you, Girl.
Girl: Oh, you're welcome!
She's made a little friend across the street. Her friend speaks only Spanish; Girl only English, save for the occasional Mis on? or kampsun. They get along great, seeking refuge from the stressors of older brothers.
Only a month or two after calling every color blue, she's mastered the rainbow, showing her grandparents via Skype Candyland cards as they request a hue. Green pink blue red orange, they say. Okay, I try to, she says. Nails it. This time for real.
Girl really isn't ignored. She gets much more attention than she did when I was working. If we have to spend 15 hours a week focusing on Boy's, er, challenges, then we do that even if we only have 20 waking hours with Girl. But now I have all the time in the world. Not all the patience, not all the energy, and not all the confidence, but all the time. And I don't worry anyway, because I know when she's feeling a bit left out, she'll burst in the bathroom and when I ask for privacy, she'll shake her head.
No, I just want to watch.
Kids. If they weren't cute, they'd be total creepers.
Girl, though, is here and well and is blooming in that way that nearly-two-and-a-half year old children do. Everyday she's more the child, less the baby. I don't know precisely when it happened, but she became the Great Communicator, mimicking everyone (for better or worse) and verbalizing her needs and wants (trust me: for better or worse). We are starting potty training, though we are still on that awesome stage where she tells me she needs the potty the second pee starts puddling on the floor. Nailed it! Today she made it to the bathroom three times, so we are making progress. In the meantime, she's nothing short of hilarious.
She's mastered the preteen Awww. The one that follows your announcement that no, she cannot play outside because it's bath time or no she cannot have a cookie. Awww.
She calls me by my first name.
She's mastered the preteen histrionics. I no want to take a nap. I no take a nap ever. I no do it. Not ever. (Followed almost immediately by a three hour nap.)
Our bedtime routine goes likes this:
Lights out.
Girl: Cuddle me! For one minute!
Me: Okay, but then I have to go clean. [often not true]
(a couple of minutes later)
Me: Okay, Girl, I have to clean now [still not true]. I love you.
Girl: I love you too. I see you in the mornin'!
Me: Sweet dreams.
Girl: Sweet dreams!
Me: Thank you, Girl.
Girl: Oh, you're welcome!
She's made a little friend across the street. Her friend speaks only Spanish; Girl only English, save for the occasional Mis on? or kampsun. They get along great, seeking refuge from the stressors of older brothers.
Only a month or two after calling every color blue, she's mastered the rainbow, showing her grandparents via Skype Candyland cards as they request a hue. Green pink blue red orange, they say. Okay, I try to, she says. Nails it. This time for real.
Girl really isn't ignored. She gets much more attention than she did when I was working. If we have to spend 15 hours a week focusing on Boy's, er, challenges, then we do that even if we only have 20 waking hours with Girl. But now I have all the time in the world. Not all the patience, not all the energy, and not all the confidence, but all the time. And I don't worry anyway, because I know when she's feeling a bit left out, she'll burst in the bathroom and when I ask for privacy, she'll shake her head.
No, I just want to watch.
Kids. If they weren't cute, they'd be total creepers.
 |
| Boy makes bubbles. Girl catches bubbles. |
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Like a Boss
Wow. Three weeks, no blogging. This isn't good, but our brand of groundhog day is unlikely to be particularly thrilling reading material, so maybe it's best. If you don't have anything interesting to say, don't say anything at all.*
This post is full of Foreign Service Top Tips. I bet you are super excited.
We've been settling in and we were doing alright--our behavior management plan is making life so much better for Boy and me--until a week ago. We had already received our license-plate-free cars and on Wednesday last we were eagerly anticipating our HHE, scheduled to arrive at our doorstep between 8:00 and 10:00 a.m. I received a call from the driver, saying they had another delivery and wouldn't be at our house until noon or so. I asked if there would be sufficient time for a full unpack and in response received the typical, "Oh? You wanted a full unpack?"
NOTE FOR FS NEWBIES: When in America, insist on your full unpack. The companies receive a lot of taxpayer dollars to do it for you, and will often try to wiggle out of it.
So I decide to continue tidying to prepare for the avalanche, hurricane, other weather-disaster-related metaphor of stuff that was about to rain down on us (see what I did there?). And I promptly fell down the stairs and destroyed my tailbone. I took one car for emissions testing and the garage door wouldn't close and Boy had a huge meltdown at the testing station and my butt really hurt and at one point I might have sat in the driver's seat, slammed my hands repeatedly against the steering wheel and screamed, "I hate my life!" Might have.
Our stuff arrived at....drumroll please...at 4:30 p.m. and was unpacked the next day. Once it was unpacked, it was clear that our 1890 sq. ft. house was not equipped to handle all our crap. I despaired for another day.
The village descended. My stepmom flew in from Washington and her sister and brother-in-law who live just a mile from my house became Team Awesome, sorting and tossing and organizing. There was even a margarita in there. I had to choose between Percocet and the margarita, and I chose the latter. More satisfying. In order to make my life easier, I ordered a storage container from 1-800-Packrat, which is now sitting in my driveway and holding all of the stuff that will go on Craigslist or in a yard sale. Super cheap, totally worth it. Consider this a Foreign Service Downsizing HHE Processing Top Tip.
Monday was the Like a Boss day. Emissions testing, VIN verification, registration of two cars? Driver's license? Nailed it. Taxes? Done. Paid. (If you have household staff, like we did for the first 6 months of 2012, you pay a lot come April 15.) Rental car? Returned. IN THE SNOW. LIKE A BOSS. Computer desk? Assembled.
Only Foreign Service Officers and their families might appreciate the atrociousness of international relocation, but its awfulness cannot be overstated.
Tuesday was also successful, though not as much in the conquering of Bureaucratic Forces Designed to Make Citizens Cry. I made it to the gym and did a good lower body/upper body workout. (No sitting though, so in order do bench presses from the balance ball, I had to flop somewhat fishlike on it. Trainer was amused.) Then I showered (! I know!) and took Girl to an affordable, well-reviewed preschool to secure the remaining spot for September enrollment. It's only for three half-days a week, and she pouted the whole way home because she wanted to go to preschool right then (there were bunnies, so can't blame her), but it's a win. It's two blocks from Boy's future school, which we will tour this morning if I can successfully cover up the fact that he's been up coughing all night long.
I'll cover the impossibility of securing an appointment with a behavioral psychologist in our network (at least a three month wait unless I go to the pediatric psych ER and get him admitted), the near miss for our family in Kandahar, Boston, and all things glum some other time. For now, our life is mundane, but each task conquered is a task conquered, so I'll take it.
Oh, also got a haircut for the first time in six months and a dye job to deal with this gray hair. LIKE A BOSS.
*Never stopped me before.
This post is full of Foreign Service Top Tips. I bet you are super excited.
We've been settling in and we were doing alright--our behavior management plan is making life so much better for Boy and me--until a week ago. We had already received our license-plate-free cars and on Wednesday last we were eagerly anticipating our HHE, scheduled to arrive at our doorstep between 8:00 and 10:00 a.m. I received a call from the driver, saying they had another delivery and wouldn't be at our house until noon or so. I asked if there would be sufficient time for a full unpack and in response received the typical, "Oh? You wanted a full unpack?"
NOTE FOR FS NEWBIES: When in America, insist on your full unpack. The companies receive a lot of taxpayer dollars to do it for you, and will often try to wiggle out of it.
So I decide to continue tidying to prepare for the avalanche, hurricane, other weather-disaster-related metaphor of stuff that was about to rain down on us (see what I did there?). And I promptly fell down the stairs and destroyed my tailbone. I took one car for emissions testing and the garage door wouldn't close and Boy had a huge meltdown at the testing station and my butt really hurt and at one point I might have sat in the driver's seat, slammed my hands repeatedly against the steering wheel and screamed, "I hate my life!" Might have.
Our stuff arrived at....drumroll please...at 4:30 p.m. and was unpacked the next day. Once it was unpacked, it was clear that our 1890 sq. ft. house was not equipped to handle all our crap. I despaired for another day.
The village descended. My stepmom flew in from Washington and her sister and brother-in-law who live just a mile from my house became Team Awesome, sorting and tossing and organizing. There was even a margarita in there. I had to choose between Percocet and the margarita, and I chose the latter. More satisfying. In order to make my life easier, I ordered a storage container from 1-800-Packrat, which is now sitting in my driveway and holding all of the stuff that will go on Craigslist or in a yard sale. Super cheap, totally worth it. Consider this a Foreign Service Downsizing HHE Processing Top Tip.
Monday was the Like a Boss day. Emissions testing, VIN verification, registration of two cars? Driver's license? Nailed it. Taxes? Done. Paid. (If you have household staff, like we did for the first 6 months of 2012, you pay a lot come April 15.) Rental car? Returned. IN THE SNOW. LIKE A BOSS. Computer desk? Assembled.
Only Foreign Service Officers and their families might appreciate the atrociousness of international relocation, but its awfulness cannot be overstated.
Tuesday was also successful, though not as much in the conquering of Bureaucratic Forces Designed to Make Citizens Cry. I made it to the gym and did a good lower body/upper body workout. (No sitting though, so in order do bench presses from the balance ball, I had to flop somewhat fishlike on it. Trainer was amused.) Then I showered (! I know!) and took Girl to an affordable, well-reviewed preschool to secure the remaining spot for September enrollment. It's only for three half-days a week, and she pouted the whole way home because she wanted to go to preschool right then (there were bunnies, so can't blame her), but it's a win. It's two blocks from Boy's future school, which we will tour this morning if I can successfully cover up the fact that he's been up coughing all night long.
I'll cover the impossibility of securing an appointment with a behavioral psychologist in our network (at least a three month wait unless I go to the pediatric psych ER and get him admitted), the near miss for our family in Kandahar, Boston, and all things glum some other time. For now, our life is mundane, but each task conquered is a task conquered, so I'll take it.
Oh, also got a haircut for the first time in six months and a dye job to deal with this gray hair. LIKE A BOSS.
*Never stopped me before.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Falling Short
Boy opened the front door yesterday to throw out his apple core, "so the bugs can eat it," and I added a compost pile to my growing list of domestic aspirations. Like many Washingtonians, I strive to overachieve, and though I fall short regularly and spectacularly, I cannot stop pinning DIY detergents and fabric organizers and memory books.
When Husband and I were debating how best to handle this massive shift to one stay-at-home parent, he told me that I needed to direct his ambition. That he was going to be ambitious was a given, but I had to tell him whether I wanted him to have career ambition or stay-at-home-dad ambition. I am similar, and so I strive to can, and sew, and generally make a home.
I haven't added "grow kale" to my list, but I figure with a sleeve of tattoos and at least one bird-print dress, I'm one pin away from growing some in a repurposed crate. I know my children will eye a kale smoothie with intense skepticism, as would I, but it seems to be what I should be aiming for, so aim I shall.
It would be great if I could pretend that's not how this ambition works, that I'm not competitive with myself and the world, but that would be a lie and you all would know it, so let's just dispense with such notions now.
Stepping back from the Service is harder than I thought it would be. I squeezed in a few precious minutes to read the Washington Post the other day, and as I read "Secretary Kerry" over and over again it hit me that the Department moves on without me. His first day was my last, and that was just one of many changes that will surely come. I know when I return the software will be different, the procedures will be different, and--possibly--immigration and nationality law in itself could be different. My friends and colleagues will be promoted over me. We are an intensely competitive service, staffed with people who genuinely like their work and each other, but who all aspire to superstar status. I am that way by nature, but I've had to step back for my kids. Even if Boy were your average child, I can't work 14 hour days with two small kids at home and a husband with a full-time job. So I end up in a life were I spend most of my day giving not-quite-enough at the office, and the rest of it giving not-nearly-enough at home. It's tough on your soul.
I'm hoping to enjoy this break from paid employment, however long it will be, as a break from the pressure and competition and, in my case, the omnipresent sense of inadequacy. I am still me, though, and as I finished re-upholstering our dining room chairs, I put out a cloth and called the kids over to paint embroidery hoops for Girl's room (pictures will soon explain). I whipped up some pumpkin bread this morning, and after the kids wake up from their nap, my mom and I will caravan to the other side of the city to pick up some great mid-century modern vintage vinyl chairs for my porch. I joined the local food co-op this morning, I bought kids chalk for their new chalkboard wall, and I even took a shower. It sounds great, right? I'm somewhat productive, I'm nesting, and I'm even clean.
All I can think is I haven't planted any kale and I haven't been anybody's staff assistant. And so my list keeps growing, passing aspirational and approaching delusional, as I calculate not how I can have it all, but how I can do it all. I'm still hoping that some day, in some way, I'll finally walk on water.
When Husband and I were debating how best to handle this massive shift to one stay-at-home parent, he told me that I needed to direct his ambition. That he was going to be ambitious was a given, but I had to tell him whether I wanted him to have career ambition or stay-at-home-dad ambition. I am similar, and so I strive to can, and sew, and generally make a home.
I haven't added "grow kale" to my list, but I figure with a sleeve of tattoos and at least one bird-print dress, I'm one pin away from growing some in a repurposed crate. I know my children will eye a kale smoothie with intense skepticism, as would I, but it seems to be what I should be aiming for, so aim I shall.
It would be great if I could pretend that's not how this ambition works, that I'm not competitive with myself and the world, but that would be a lie and you all would know it, so let's just dispense with such notions now.
Stepping back from the Service is harder than I thought it would be. I squeezed in a few precious minutes to read the Washington Post the other day, and as I read "Secretary Kerry" over and over again it hit me that the Department moves on without me. His first day was my last, and that was just one of many changes that will surely come. I know when I return the software will be different, the procedures will be different, and--possibly--immigration and nationality law in itself could be different. My friends and colleagues will be promoted over me. We are an intensely competitive service, staffed with people who genuinely like their work and each other, but who all aspire to superstar status. I am that way by nature, but I've had to step back for my kids. Even if Boy were your average child, I can't work 14 hour days with two small kids at home and a husband with a full-time job. So I end up in a life were I spend most of my day giving not-quite-enough at the office, and the rest of it giving not-nearly-enough at home. It's tough on your soul.
I'm hoping to enjoy this break from paid employment, however long it will be, as a break from the pressure and competition and, in my case, the omnipresent sense of inadequacy. I am still me, though, and as I finished re-upholstering our dining room chairs, I put out a cloth and called the kids over to paint embroidery hoops for Girl's room (pictures will soon explain). I whipped up some pumpkin bread this morning, and after the kids wake up from their nap, my mom and I will caravan to the other side of the city to pick up some great mid-century modern vintage vinyl chairs for my porch. I joined the local food co-op this morning, I bought kids chalk for their new chalkboard wall, and I even took a shower. It sounds great, right? I'm somewhat productive, I'm nesting, and I'm even clean.
All I can think is I haven't planted any kale and I haven't been anybody's staff assistant. And so my list keeps growing, passing aspirational and approaching delusional, as I calculate not how I can have it all, but how I can do it all. I'm still hoping that some day, in some way, I'll finally walk on water.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Real Estate by Skype: A Buyer's Guide
Another FS blogger wondered how to go about buying a house sight unseen. When I put something on the Facepage in January about putting in a bid on a house we've only seen by Skype and experiencing a heart attack waiting for the seller's response, a lot of dips wrote that they've done the same thing. One friend noted he's still never seen a place he bought several years ago. Another noted he and his wife went straight through closing without ever seeing their house. Such is the expat life.
Here are my tips. Keep in mind that I know really nothing about buying a house, but I am currently occupying one and no one has sent the police over to tell me I did the whole thing wrong and I'm actually a very well-established squatter. I mean, I just painted, so that would be awkward.
1) Get a good agent. We love USAA and naturally took them up on their MoversAdvantage offer. As part of the program (well, as all of the program, really), they set you up with a broker in your market. If you close with that person, you get cash on closing. It's a nice sum of cash in any other situation, but in the context of buying a house, it's not a lot and it's certainly not worth maintaining the client-broker relationship if you aren't comfortable. For a number of reasons, the realtor USAA selected for us wasn't the best fit. Husband's friend from college recommended her broker/next door neighbor and I checked out his agency's website (Green Door Living, for those in the market for a house in Colorado). They were absolutely perfect for us.
What does that look like? Well, in our first conversation Christian told me about the current Denver market and what to expect (low inventory, booming demand, bidding wars). He spoke directly with our lender to make sure everything was going well. He spoke knowledgeably about each neighborhood, each street, and house construction. He was up for the long-distance buying process and understood our urgency. When we narrowed it down to seven or eight houses in two different areas of the city, he took my aunt and only Skyped me from two of them. He felt confident in our needs enough that he ruled out others for being too small, too structurally unsound, etc. We found this house on their first day of looking, but I had a couple reservations about the block. He drove back over to the house, called me, walked the block, and talked about everything he saw. He looked into the vacant house next door and found out that it was purchased in December. It made me feel really comfortable with putting a bid in long-distance and once we did put in an offer, he stayed on top of the seller to get a quick response. He held my hand through the buying process. Just everything about our broker-client relationship was great and that trust is imperative when doing all this sight-unseen.
Can you tell I like my broker?
2) Skype or Facetime into showings and the inspection. Use Google Streetview to get a sense of the neighborhood and surroundings, but keep in mind that it might not reflect changes on flipped properties, depending on when it was last updated. I am an idiot, and I kept wondering why our block was so gloomy and rundown compared to the surrounding blocks. Um, that's because it was a stormy day when Google Maps was on your block, and normal Colorado sun on the other blocks, you moron. Really, I'm that dumb.
3) Ask questions that normally don't need to be asked, because you would normally be there to see the house. How far is it from busy streets? What do the neighboring properties look like? What's the closest restaurant? Whatever matters to you, ask.
4) Ask your broker as early in the process as possible how contracts will work in your state. Can you do electronic signatures? Do you need access to a scanner or fax on short notice? Be prepared to hustle once you want to put in a bid. We were frantically signing things electronically to beat out another offer, but had we been required to sign and fax, we would have hired a sitter and camped out in the office for the night.
5) When working with your lender, consider whose income to put on your application. Many FS families have one consistent bread-winner. We had two until this month, but only put Husband's income on our application. They check your employment about a week before closing to confirm nothing has changed and nothing will change, and it would have derailed us entirely if they had to ask about my LWOP. If you work at the Embassy but don't have a job lined up for when you return to the States, consider whether you should put your current income on your mortgage application (this may be common sense for most people, but it wouldn't have occurred to me to not mention my employment until we went through this).
6) If you are going to buy from overseas, or anywhere really, go onto Employee Express, check your TSP address, change it to your actual mailing address (or a trusted friend or relative's, for quicker delivery). If you don't have your password, request one after your address has been changed. It took forever to get a new password, which meant it took forever to provide our lender my TSP statements.
7) If you are doing a TSP loan for your down payment or any part of the housing process, fill in the application online, print it, have your spouse sign it, and fax it in BUT ONLY ONCE. It will delay the process a bit if you do it more than once (speaking from experience). If you aren't sure whether they got it, call them later to follow up. But have your phone PIN. Please see number 3.
8) Ask your broker for a trusted EVERYTHING and join Angie's List. I'm not established in Denver. I know about five people here. I didn't know where to begin to find a good painter or fence company or anything. My broker hooked me up with our painters, who gave me a good deal because of the referral. Angie's List has a small annual fee, but you can get reviews on companies, which is how I found my fence guys.
9) If possible, stay with family or use cash for temporary quarters if you are coming home before closing. Don't charge a month of a corporate stay on your card even if you will pay it off every month, as your lender will check your credit several times once you are in escrow. I had to rent a car, get a cellphone (requiring a credit check), etc., but I stayed with family so at least I didn't have that expense. Credit checks and a change in your debt-to-limit ratio could scare your lender.
10) Lastly, in the hullaballoo of an overseas move, it is always helpful to have family swoop in and lend much-needed hands. I found this to be extra true when buying a house instead of renting. Because we came back to the country so soon before closing, I had to do everything at once. My mom, aunt and cousins have helped me pick up furniture, build furniture, accept shipments, unpack, distract kids, find a blinds company, go to Home Depot (really, I'm there almost every day), etc. I have vendors coming in and out several times a day, and having another adult or four around has been very helpful. Our window coverings salesperson (that is a thing!) was amused to walk into a house with four children and five adults and three animals, but that's how we got things done. I told my young and strong cousin and her fiancé that their wedding present would double in niceness for every piece of furniture they assemble. I'm not sure I was kidding. It takes a village.
Here are my tips. Keep in mind that I know really nothing about buying a house, but I am currently occupying one and no one has sent the police over to tell me I did the whole thing wrong and I'm actually a very well-established squatter. I mean, I just painted, so that would be awkward.
1) Get a good agent. We love USAA and naturally took them up on their MoversAdvantage offer. As part of the program (well, as all of the program, really), they set you up with a broker in your market. If you close with that person, you get cash on closing. It's a nice sum of cash in any other situation, but in the context of buying a house, it's not a lot and it's certainly not worth maintaining the client-broker relationship if you aren't comfortable. For a number of reasons, the realtor USAA selected for us wasn't the best fit. Husband's friend from college recommended her broker/next door neighbor and I checked out his agency's website (Green Door Living, for those in the market for a house in Colorado). They were absolutely perfect for us.
What does that look like? Well, in our first conversation Christian told me about the current Denver market and what to expect (low inventory, booming demand, bidding wars). He spoke directly with our lender to make sure everything was going well. He spoke knowledgeably about each neighborhood, each street, and house construction. He was up for the long-distance buying process and understood our urgency. When we narrowed it down to seven or eight houses in two different areas of the city, he took my aunt and only Skyped me from two of them. He felt confident in our needs enough that he ruled out others for being too small, too structurally unsound, etc. We found this house on their first day of looking, but I had a couple reservations about the block. He drove back over to the house, called me, walked the block, and talked about everything he saw. He looked into the vacant house next door and found out that it was purchased in December. It made me feel really comfortable with putting a bid in long-distance and once we did put in an offer, he stayed on top of the seller to get a quick response. He held my hand through the buying process. Just everything about our broker-client relationship was great and that trust is imperative when doing all this sight-unseen.
Can you tell I like my broker?
2) Skype or Facetime into showings and the inspection. Use Google Streetview to get a sense of the neighborhood and surroundings, but keep in mind that it might not reflect changes on flipped properties, depending on when it was last updated. I am an idiot, and I kept wondering why our block was so gloomy and rundown compared to the surrounding blocks. Um, that's because it was a stormy day when Google Maps was on your block, and normal Colorado sun on the other blocks, you moron. Really, I'm that dumb.
3) Ask questions that normally don't need to be asked, because you would normally be there to see the house. How far is it from busy streets? What do the neighboring properties look like? What's the closest restaurant? Whatever matters to you, ask.
4) Ask your broker as early in the process as possible how contracts will work in your state. Can you do electronic signatures? Do you need access to a scanner or fax on short notice? Be prepared to hustle once you want to put in a bid. We were frantically signing things electronically to beat out another offer, but had we been required to sign and fax, we would have hired a sitter and camped out in the office for the night.
5) When working with your lender, consider whose income to put on your application. Many FS families have one consistent bread-winner. We had two until this month, but only put Husband's income on our application. They check your employment about a week before closing to confirm nothing has changed and nothing will change, and it would have derailed us entirely if they had to ask about my LWOP. If you work at the Embassy but don't have a job lined up for when you return to the States, consider whether you should put your current income on your mortgage application (this may be common sense for most people, but it wouldn't have occurred to me to not mention my employment until we went through this).
6) If you are going to buy from overseas, or anywhere really, go onto Employee Express, check your TSP address, change it to your actual mailing address (or a trusted friend or relative's, for quicker delivery). If you don't have your password, request one after your address has been changed. It took forever to get a new password, which meant it took forever to provide our lender my TSP statements.
7) If you are doing a TSP loan for your down payment or any part of the housing process, fill in the application online, print it, have your spouse sign it, and fax it in BUT ONLY ONCE. It will delay the process a bit if you do it more than once (speaking from experience). If you aren't sure whether they got it, call them later to follow up. But have your phone PIN. Please see number 3.
8) Ask your broker for a trusted EVERYTHING and join Angie's List. I'm not established in Denver. I know about five people here. I didn't know where to begin to find a good painter or fence company or anything. My broker hooked me up with our painters, who gave me a good deal because of the referral. Angie's List has a small annual fee, but you can get reviews on companies, which is how I found my fence guys.
9) If possible, stay with family or use cash for temporary quarters if you are coming home before closing. Don't charge a month of a corporate stay on your card even if you will pay it off every month, as your lender will check your credit several times once you are in escrow. I had to rent a car, get a cellphone (requiring a credit check), etc., but I stayed with family so at least I didn't have that expense. Credit checks and a change in your debt-to-limit ratio could scare your lender.
10) Lastly, in the hullaballoo of an overseas move, it is always helpful to have family swoop in and lend much-needed hands. I found this to be extra true when buying a house instead of renting. Because we came back to the country so soon before closing, I had to do everything at once. My mom, aunt and cousins have helped me pick up furniture, build furniture, accept shipments, unpack, distract kids, find a blinds company, go to Home Depot (really, I'm there almost every day), etc. I have vendors coming in and out several times a day, and having another adult or four around has been very helpful. Our window coverings salesperson (that is a thing!) was amused to walk into a house with four children and five adults and three animals, but that's how we got things done. I told my young and strong cousin and her fiancé that their wedding present would double in niceness for every piece of furniture they assemble. I'm not sure I was kidding. It takes a village.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Being Half of Something
Praise Jeebus, I have internet. My eyes and fingertips were near death following a few weeks of ferocious iPhone-ing. As of today I had used 90% of my monthly data allowance (with two weeks to go), mostly Facetiming Husband, who is in Fakistan, aka Indianastan, aka Fake Afghanistan. Hashtag FirstWorldProblems HashtagOhMyGodThisIsntTwitterStopHashtagging.
We bought a house. I signed a lot of documents, twice. They didn't like my finely-honed squiggle of a signature, so I had to write out my full name, and Husband's Full Name by My Full Name as Attorney-in-Fact, about a million times. Still easier than getting my TSP password. HashtagFedProblems HashtagStopIt.
Observations about Denver: WHERE HAVE ALL THE CYNICS GONE. East Coasters please come visit. Also: seriously, they talk about the powder on the radio. The local weather has a segment just for skiing conditions. I'm fairly certain a genuine Mountain Man was driving the luggage truck when we arrived at the airport. Pony sightings: zero, but I still have high hopes. Unlike Mumbai, there are no cattle in the street, but there are cattle in every other advertisement. These people love their beer.
Observations about being a homeowner: Window coverings are hugely expensive and you'll have never seen the price tag coming. Your happiest day will not be closing, but the day internet is installed. Buying a loft bed for your son to preserve usable space in his small room is smart. Adding a slide (yes, really) to it negates the space savings. Don't worry, he can slide into the closet (yes, really). Even if you are just putting up a swatch of paint to test the color, put tape on your moulding.
Observations about the SAHM transition: I almost can't think about my career right now. It's like a break up with someone you love intensely, but you know you can't make it work. Put the blinders on and move forward, lest you become overwhelmed with self-doubt. I'll tackle the Having It All and Doing It All and Being It All or Being Half of Something another day.
Observations about The Children: They both speak with Estonglish grammar, meaning slightly Yoda-like. I thought Girl couldn't count, but turns out she just can't count in English (well, she can, but she starts with five and can only get to eight). She'll easily do an üks, kaks, kolm, neli, viis, kuus, seitse, kümme. Yes, Estonian speakers, she does all that in a perfect Estonian accent, but she still skips eight and nine because they make no freaking sense. Even Girl knows this.
Observations about the Menagerie: Out of the clink and pretty well adjusted. The cats are troopers and expert travelers, and the dog is just too dog-like to get overworked about being in a new place.
As I tackle the main project here, which is Boy, I'll share some of the highs and lows and what works and what doesn't, but I'm trying to do so in a way that protects his privacy. I hope against hope that someday the outbursts and pugilism and mood swings will be unrecognizable behaviors, but I don't want him to stumble across this a few years down the road and think for half a second that I only focused on what's wrong. There's a lot right with him, and I will share that too. That is a narrow and difficult line to walk, but with time I will figure it out.
Onward.
We bought a house. I signed a lot of documents, twice. They didn't like my finely-honed squiggle of a signature, so I had to write out my full name, and Husband's Full Name by My Full Name as Attorney-in-Fact, about a million times. Still easier than getting my TSP password. HashtagFedProblems HashtagStopIt.
Observations about Denver: WHERE HAVE ALL THE CYNICS GONE. East Coasters please come visit. Also: seriously, they talk about the powder on the radio. The local weather has a segment just for skiing conditions. I'm fairly certain a genuine Mountain Man was driving the luggage truck when we arrived at the airport. Pony sightings: zero, but I still have high hopes. Unlike Mumbai, there are no cattle in the street, but there are cattle in every other advertisement. These people love their beer.
Observations about being a homeowner: Window coverings are hugely expensive and you'll have never seen the price tag coming. Your happiest day will not be closing, but the day internet is installed. Buying a loft bed for your son to preserve usable space in his small room is smart. Adding a slide (yes, really) to it negates the space savings. Don't worry, he can slide into the closet (yes, really). Even if you are just putting up a swatch of paint to test the color, put tape on your moulding.
Observations about the SAHM transition: I almost can't think about my career right now. It's like a break up with someone you love intensely, but you know you can't make it work. Put the blinders on and move forward, lest you become overwhelmed with self-doubt. I'll tackle the Having It All and Doing It All and Being It All or Being Half of Something another day.
Observations about The Children: They both speak with Estonglish grammar, meaning slightly Yoda-like. I thought Girl couldn't count, but turns out she just can't count in English (well, she can, but she starts with five and can only get to eight). She'll easily do an üks, kaks, kolm, neli, viis, kuus, seitse, kümme. Yes, Estonian speakers, she does all that in a perfect Estonian accent, but she still skips eight and nine because they make no freaking sense. Even Girl knows this.
Observations about the Menagerie: Out of the clink and pretty well adjusted. The cats are troopers and expert travelers, and the dog is just too dog-like to get overworked about being in a new place.
As I tackle the main project here, which is Boy, I'll share some of the highs and lows and what works and what doesn't, but I'm trying to do so in a way that protects his privacy. I hope against hope that someday the outbursts and pugilism and mood swings will be unrecognizable behaviors, but I don't want him to stumble across this a few years down the road and think for half a second that I only focused on what's wrong. There's a lot right with him, and I will share that too. That is a narrow and difficult line to walk, but with time I will figure it out.
Onward.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Time Management
We packed out last week. Husband and Boy were to take the dog to Colorado on Tuesday, and Girl and I were to follow with the cats on Wednesday. That didn't happen. OF COURSE.
I didn't have orders until early evening, Tuesday. OF COURSE. Too late to ship my car or confirm the ticket.
But more than that, Boy was in the hospital overnight on Tuesday. OF COURSE. Because that is how we do.
I could have sworn he had the flu, as he was the only one of us without the vaccine and had a crazy high fever (105.4 degrees, FTW). He didn't, but there is a virus circulating that mimics the flu in almost every way except there is no vaccine. At any rate, no more fever, but we do have a surly preschooler with a persistent cough. This might be warping into bronchitis, which means the next few weeks will be fun.
Husband and Girl and Dog left this morning and should be landing in Atlanta soon. Girl is healthy and was so excited to travel that she had an outright fit before bedtime last night. Somehow she was convinced that we were supposed to go to America right. then. and that Husband would leave without her. She was crying and kicking, screaming I wanna go Amurica! because it's just cuter that way. I finally persuaded her that the pilot wouldn't let her on if she didn't sleep. I then persuaded her that I couldn't stay in bed with her because I had to clean the kitchen. Total lie, of course. I had to split a bottle of wine with Husband and eat some cheese.
Boy and I leave tomorrow. In the meantime, he is asleep, as he has been for most of the day, and I amcleaning out all the glurge and leftover stuff from our house blogging.
I'd feel sad and liberated, stepping onto a whole new (temporary) trajectory toward stay-at-home-parenting, unencumbered by responsibilities at work. I still haven't finished my EER, though, so mostly I feel irritated and sad. Liberated will have to wait, if it ever comes.
I didn't have orders until early evening, Tuesday. OF COURSE. Too late to ship my car or confirm the ticket.
But more than that, Boy was in the hospital overnight on Tuesday. OF COURSE. Because that is how we do.
I could have sworn he had the flu, as he was the only one of us without the vaccine and had a crazy high fever (105.4 degrees, FTW). He didn't, but there is a virus circulating that mimics the flu in almost every way except there is no vaccine. At any rate, no more fever, but we do have a surly preschooler with a persistent cough. This might be warping into bronchitis, which means the next few weeks will be fun.
Husband and Girl and Dog left this morning and should be landing in Atlanta soon. Girl is healthy and was so excited to travel that she had an outright fit before bedtime last night. Somehow she was convinced that we were supposed to go to America right. then. and that Husband would leave without her. She was crying and kicking, screaming I wanna go Amurica! because it's just cuter that way. I finally persuaded her that the pilot wouldn't let her on if she didn't sleep. I then persuaded her that I couldn't stay in bed with her because I had to clean the kitchen. Total lie, of course. I had to split a bottle of wine with Husband and eat some cheese.
Boy and I leave tomorrow. In the meantime, he is asleep, as he has been for most of the day, and I am
I'd feel sad and liberated, stepping onto a whole new (temporary) trajectory toward stay-at-home-parenting, unencumbered by responsibilities at work. I still haven't finished my EER, though, so mostly I feel irritated and sad. Liberated will have to wait, if it ever comes.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Emotional Escrow...
...financial escrow.
Life is nuts right now, so let's throw a bunch of stuff at the wall, shall we?
First things first: Ankara. Digger's post over at Life After Jerusalem has gone a bit viral on Facebook, and deservedly so. She nails something that saddens me now and pained me (and others) throughout the Benghazi hullaballoo. For those of us in the field, the safety of American employees is not a higher priority than that of our local staff (in some respects Ambassador aside, for obvious reasons). We're all one team and--as is true in places that experience suicide bombings on regular places--security guards are often the first line of defense, and the most likely victims. Mourn Mustafa Akarsu, please.
Onto less important things: We beat a cash offer and are under contract. At our broker's urging, we wrote a letter explaining what that house would mean to us, and the seller supposedly liked it enough to go through the expense and time of closing on a very-much-so-not-cash deal.
TSP denied our loan for cash for down payment, etc. DENIED. And then, in that very TSP way, the only explanation online was a non-explanation. They sent the real explanation to our address on record, which will of course arrive long after we've left. You can call and ask, but you have to have your PIN, which we do not. This is not the same as your internet password, which we do have but can never lose, as that too will only be sent to your address on record. Why is it harder to get into your TSP account than it is to buy a gun?
At any rate, I'm hoping the problem was that I faxed the app multiple times, as I didn't get a confirmation sheet. This is my hunch, as an hour after it stated we were rejected, a second, newer message said we were in process. If that is the case, I'll bet you $50 they deducted the $50 application fee for each faxed application.
We have assignment notifications, but not orders. I may have to cost-construct to Denver, since as an employee on LWOP I'm assigned to Washington, though once I'm on LWOP, I'm entitled to ISMA as an EFM for all intents and purposes. Don't know! No one knows! This may actually be the first time this has happened (tandem, curtail, one to LWOP not-in-DC, other to Afghanistan, things to ship under both names, kids in there somewhere).
Boy was a bit distraught today packing up his Legos in order to prepare for packout. He doesn't want to leave Estonia. But just in case we're going to make him leave anyway, he put together a Polyvore with his ideal bedroom.
And somewhere, in all of this, I have moments of extreme sadness. I never thought I'd want to stay home with the kids (oomph, that sounds awful). It never occurred to me to do so until fairly recently, and even then it was appealing because it is just so difficult to help Boy from the office. Right now I plan to come back on duty, but we are open to the possibility that--should life work better in the U.S., should Boy do better with a parent home--we'll have to figure out how to make this change permanent. Chances are I'd end up working and Husband would stay home, at least for a while, but I don't know what I'll do for a living if I don't do this.
But! One step at a time. My suitcase is packed so it doesn't end up in a sea shipment, and it's filled with cardigans and knit jersey and leggings. Not a blazer in sight.
Life is nuts right now, so let's throw a bunch of stuff at the wall, shall we?
First things first: Ankara. Digger's post over at Life After Jerusalem has gone a bit viral on Facebook, and deservedly so. She nails something that saddens me now and pained me (and others) throughout the Benghazi hullaballoo. For those of us in the field, the safety of American employees is not a higher priority than that of our local staff (in some respects Ambassador aside, for obvious reasons). We're all one team and--as is true in places that experience suicide bombings on regular places--security guards are often the first line of defense, and the most likely victims. Mourn Mustafa Akarsu, please.
Onto less important things: We beat a cash offer and are under contract. At our broker's urging, we wrote a letter explaining what that house would mean to us, and the seller supposedly liked it enough to go through the expense and time of closing on a very-much-so-not-cash deal.
TSP denied our loan for cash for down payment, etc. DENIED. And then, in that very TSP way, the only explanation online was a non-explanation. They sent the real explanation to our address on record, which will of course arrive long after we've left. You can call and ask, but you have to have your PIN, which we do not. This is not the same as your internet password, which we do have but can never lose, as that too will only be sent to your address on record. Why is it harder to get into your TSP account than it is to buy a gun?
At any rate, I'm hoping the problem was that I faxed the app multiple times, as I didn't get a confirmation sheet. This is my hunch, as an hour after it stated we were rejected, a second, newer message said we were in process. If that is the case, I'll bet you $50 they deducted the $50 application fee for each faxed application.
We have assignment notifications, but not orders. I may have to cost-construct to Denver, since as an employee on LWOP I'm assigned to Washington, though once I'm on LWOP, I'm entitled to ISMA as an EFM for all intents and purposes. Don't know! No one knows! This may actually be the first time this has happened (tandem, curtail, one to LWOP not-in-DC, other to Afghanistan, things to ship under both names, kids in there somewhere).
Boy was a bit distraught today packing up his Legos in order to prepare for packout. He doesn't want to leave Estonia. But just in case we're going to make him leave anyway, he put together a Polyvore with his ideal bedroom.
And somewhere, in all of this, I have moments of extreme sadness. I never thought I'd want to stay home with the kids (oomph, that sounds awful). It never occurred to me to do so until fairly recently, and even then it was appealing because it is just so difficult to help Boy from the office. Right now I plan to come back on duty, but we are open to the possibility that--should life work better in the U.S., should Boy do better with a parent home--we'll have to figure out how to make this change permanent. Chances are I'd end up working and Husband would stay home, at least for a while, but I don't know what I'll do for a living if I don't do this.
But! One step at a time. My suitcase is packed so it doesn't end up in a sea shipment, and it's filled with cardigans and knit jersey and leggings. Not a blazer in sight.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Thump
I've told anyone who would listen, and at least three who wouldn't, how I was certain I was going to have a heart attack today. Just fall over and that would be it. Why else would my left arm hurt, my heart thump wildly, my thoughts race?
I even walked into the nurse's office and declared Welp, sorry, probably going to die on you today. Don't worry, I'll make sure they call you. She offered me some magic drops that would do something magical, but considering I had decisions to make regarding border security and some of our taxpayers to meet that night, I declined. Seemed irresponsible to do otherwise.
We submitted an offer on a house tonight and we're awaiting the answer. So far this experience of trying to buy a house--our first--has felt uncannily like having a horse step on my chest. I've googled a lot of things about buying a house and while I'm proud I finally understand what escrow is (kinda), googling "horse stepping on chest" and "earnest money" yields few useful results.
In order to have the best chance of a successful offer, we wrote a letter to the property owner, per our excellent agent's request. It took me only a few minutes to tap out our reasons for the house. We've lived everywhere, we've lived together, we've lived apart. We have a child with special needs and Husband's going to Afghanistan. We need sun and support and a community. Please please please take our offer.
So we'll see. We have no orders, no firm flight plans. Boy is hanging in there, though last week he came home from school and declared that he bit "lots of people." Today, though, we learned that he drew this:
During his IQ test in Baltimore, the only task he performed only at the 4 year old level was drawing a person. I maintained it was because he doesn't actually like people and has no interest in drawing them. Check out his sense of perspective on the airplane. That little omega-looking thing is a mouse hole. Look closely and see a little tail and mouse bottom sticking out the right side. His cat is already better than mine.
No orders, no firm flight plans. But possibly a house, and definitely some hope.
I even walked into the nurse's office and declared Welp, sorry, probably going to die on you today. Don't worry, I'll make sure they call you. She offered me some magic drops that would do something magical, but considering I had decisions to make regarding border security and some of our taxpayers to meet that night, I declined. Seemed irresponsible to do otherwise.
We submitted an offer on a house tonight and we're awaiting the answer. So far this experience of trying to buy a house--our first--has felt uncannily like having a horse step on my chest. I've googled a lot of things about buying a house and while I'm proud I finally understand what escrow is (kinda), googling "horse stepping on chest" and "earnest money" yields few useful results.
In order to have the best chance of a successful offer, we wrote a letter to the property owner, per our excellent agent's request. It took me only a few minutes to tap out our reasons for the house. We've lived everywhere, we've lived together, we've lived apart. We have a child with special needs and Husband's going to Afghanistan. We need sun and support and a community. Please please please take our offer.
So we'll see. We have no orders, no firm flight plans. Boy is hanging in there, though last week he came home from school and declared that he bit "lots of people." Today, though, we learned that he drew this:
During his IQ test in Baltimore, the only task he performed only at the 4 year old level was drawing a person. I maintained it was because he doesn't actually like people and has no interest in drawing them. Check out his sense of perspective on the airplane. That little omega-looking thing is a mouse hole. Look closely and see a little tail and mouse bottom sticking out the right side. His cat is already better than mine.
No orders, no firm flight plans. But possibly a house, and definitely some hope.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Don't Know Nothin' 'Bout Nothin'
I grew up in Virginia--southern Virginia. Taaahdwahter. Well, that's partially true. I spent ages 8 to 18 there, but those are some pretty formative years.
I always attended Catholic school. Always. The habit was hard to break, so even grad school was a former Catholic college.
The nuns hated, absolutely hated, when we said "ain't." Which we did. A lot. It was a struggle to get me in shoes and to actually shower regularly.* My neighborhood friends and I spent our afternoons playing in the ditch that ran behind our cul-de-sac, catching tadpoles, minnows and snails, and not paying nearly enough attention to the location of water moccasins and--of slightly less concern--muskrats. Of course I said "ain't." My dad's dad, who lived in Chicago and wore a suit to church and on a plane and would never say "ain't," regularly accused me of being a downright hillbilly when I ran around the house barefoot.
I was always barefoot.
I started wearing paddock boots when I finally got to spend all my free time with horses.
This did not improve the condition of my feet.
I stopped riding horses when I went to college andI had to pay tuition and Georgetown rents instead of show fees my folks had to pay tuition and Georgetown rents instead of show fees, but I went back to being barefoot as much as possible, often while sitting in a tree. I lacked a certain gravitas. Still do, most days.
After college, I kicked my way to a black belt to alleviate stress, lose weight, and feel bad-ass. This did not improve the condition of my feet either.
Today Girl catches sight of my feet and points, exclaiming in horror, "Boo boo!" This tickles husband to no end, although that quickly ends when I punish him by putting my foot on him. Oh, the squeals! Delightful!
This was going somewhere.
Oh yes. Virginia to ain't to hillbilly to barefoot to horses to college to Tae Kwon Do to parenthood to Don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. The nuns wouldn't have liked that one either, but it surely seems to apply as we navigate the purchase of our very first (as of yet unidentified) house. I would get into the specifics that confuse me, but I don't understand them so I can't.
In the meantime, I pop up to take a deep breath and realize the colossal reality shift we are about to experience. Husband will be back in a War Zone and I won't have to wear shoes. It seems so unfair for him and both so delightful and terrifying for me. Do I really have to do this all on my own? No housekeeper this time? Does he really have to Skype his kids every night? With a bigger time difference? Can we really just take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson? I mean: Can we really just find a pet sitter and then take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson?
Am I ruining Girl? Will she resent this some day? She reportedly stood at the door of her daycare this evening, waving goodbye to each child, declaring Homseni! ("Until tomorrow!") She loves school and is quite good at it.
On the other hand, she was the first child in and the last child out. That can't be good either.
I can't even begin to list the questions I have about Boy. I really hope I don't mess this up.
Oh, the opportunity costs. That's how I'll sum up all of this. Every single bit.
Oh, the opportunity costs.
*Pre-puberty. Figured it out in middle school. Unlearned it in parenthood.
I always attended Catholic school. Always. The habit was hard to break, so even grad school was a former Catholic college.
The nuns hated, absolutely hated, when we said "ain't." Which we did. A lot. It was a struggle to get me in shoes and to actually shower regularly.* My neighborhood friends and I spent our afternoons playing in the ditch that ran behind our cul-de-sac, catching tadpoles, minnows and snails, and not paying nearly enough attention to the location of water moccasins and--of slightly less concern--muskrats. Of course I said "ain't." My dad's dad, who lived in Chicago and wore a suit to church and on a plane and would never say "ain't," regularly accused me of being a downright hillbilly when I ran around the house barefoot.
I was always barefoot.
I started wearing paddock boots when I finally got to spend all my free time with horses.
This did not improve the condition of my feet.
I stopped riding horses when I went to college and
After college, I kicked my way to a black belt to alleviate stress, lose weight, and feel bad-ass. This did not improve the condition of my feet either.
Today Girl catches sight of my feet and points, exclaiming in horror, "Boo boo!" This tickles husband to no end, although that quickly ends when I punish him by putting my foot on him. Oh, the squeals! Delightful!
This was going somewhere.
Oh yes. Virginia to ain't to hillbilly to barefoot to horses to college to Tae Kwon Do to parenthood to Don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. The nuns wouldn't have liked that one either, but it surely seems to apply as we navigate the purchase of our very first (as of yet unidentified) house. I would get into the specifics that confuse me, but I don't understand them so I can't.
In the meantime, I pop up to take a deep breath and realize the colossal reality shift we are about to experience. Husband will be back in a War Zone and I won't have to wear shoes. It seems so unfair for him and both so delightful and terrifying for me. Do I really have to do this all on my own? No housekeeper this time? Does he really have to Skype his kids every night? With a bigger time difference? Can we really just take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson? I mean: Can we really just find a pet sitter and then take a road trip to see our friends in Tucson?
Am I ruining Girl? Will she resent this some day? She reportedly stood at the door of her daycare this evening, waving goodbye to each child, declaring Homseni! ("Until tomorrow!") She loves school and is quite good at it.
On the other hand, she was the first child in and the last child out. That can't be good either.
I can't even begin to list the questions I have about Boy. I really hope I don't mess this up.
Oh, the opportunity costs. That's how I'll sum up all of this. Every single bit.
Oh, the opportunity costs.
*Pre-puberty. Figured it out in middle school. Unlearned it in parenthood.
Friday, January 11, 2013
On the Other Side
As we prepared to leave for our R&R a year ago, Boy's school said it might be good for him to have a few weeks away from the social pressure of group rules and norms. They were right. While our trip was never easy, really, we all breathed a little better. Some space and a lot of sun did Boy some good.
Somewhere during that trip, or shortly thereafter, we started wondering if we were doing this parenting thing all wrong. Was it worth it to drag our kids around the world? What would we do if we weren't dragging our kids around the world? I, for one, am completely unemployable in the private sector.
I love my job. I do. Along the way, though, I felt like I couldn't do it well or parent well or at least not both at the same time. A small doubt crept in and blossomed into surrender. I'm not cut out for this. Every other officer who is a parent makes it work. What's wrong with me?
Well, as the avalanche of articles on doing it all would attest: no, not every person makes it work. And, for better or worse, many Foreign Service families have one parent at home to work as the family manager and do the heavy lifting when life gets difficult.
We brainstormed and brainstormed, wondered how we could survive on one salary (what salary? at what job?) and eventually decided the best thing we could do is deal with it in summer 2014 as we left Tallinn. No need to rock the boat. Got some tattoos instead.
I made one mistake, though, which is assuming I'd have to seriously consider leaving the Foreign Service after Tallinn to care for my children.
Boy's medical clearance for Tallinn was revoked this week. We knew this was a possibility when MED sent us to Baltimore and we agreed with MED that we would do whatever we had to do to address his needs now, even if there were no viable options in Estonia. That email, though, sent me into a tailspin of guilt. I felt I let Post down, let all of working womanhood down (seriously, Rachel, get a grip), let my friends who are coming to Tallinn to replace Husband down. How? I don't know. By not being a better parent and solving this without turning the world upside down? I should file that under "Would if I Could."
Then, in a moment that was almost embarrassingly emotional, I felt more than anything that I've spent the past two years letting my son down. Buried under layers of guilt is an immense sense of relief: I can deal with this now, and in a way I couldn't if I had to work full time in a foreign country.
The kids and I will go the U.S., and Husband will go on another unaccompanied tour to allow us to do so. Turns out, if you email the Department in December and say you might not be able to stay at post because of your kid, but maybe you'll be able to stay at post, but you don't know so is there anything in AIP* available just in case?, they will find something in AIP.
I hated to tell our front office. I hated to tell Washington. I hated to tell our friends. To a one, they have all been supportive.
Here's the deal: this job is inherently not family-friendly. Potentially long hours, high pressure, lots of travel, increasing amounts of responsibility, no local support network. That's diplomacy, my friends! The Department, however, has shown itself to be incredibly family-friendly on this one. Let's be clear: this is inconvenient for everyone, and not cheap. No one has told us to do anything other than what works for the family. I thought I had to give up this career, but now I know I can hit pause and try again in a year or so. It's not ideal, but that's life. I'm thankful to everyone who has made it possible to be the mom I have to be, so I can ultimately be the employee I want to be.
And now to pack out.
*Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Title Goes Here
Before I get down to business, I am happy share Girl's new (and only) joke:
G: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
G: Diapers! [pronounced dia-puhs]
Me: Diapers who?
G: [belly laughs] Knock knock!
(and so it goes...)
Last year I dutifully came up with twelve resolutions for 2012. That was ambitious and ultimately completely unsuccessful. This follows the trend of the past couple decades of resolutions, so yea for consistency!
I can't come up with 13 resolutions this year. We have too many question marks. A million, per yesterday's accounting.
The good folks at MED and the good folks at the renowned Kennedy Krieger Institute in Baltimore managed to get Boy in for over a week of evaluations and therapy sessions. It's no small feat to get appointments at KKI in just a month and a half. We found out we were traveling only three days before we were wheels-up and we ended up extending our stay once we arrived.
It was excellent and I wish I could have stayed. The behavioral psych therapy sessions were a huge insight into his behavior and how to manage it, and I wish I had one a week or one a month to look forward to, so I could bring our frustrations and confusion to the therapist and have her guidance in developing solutions. We only scratched the surface.
What was clear is that it's going to take incredible consistency from all caregivers to see actual improvements. As promised, it's gotten worse before it's gotten better. In fact, we're still waiting for better.
What was also clear is that he is smart. We always knew that, but man. That kid smoked his development/IQ test. The developmental pediatrician said it's going to be critical to challenge him and for.the.love.of.God don't hold him back from kindergarten a year.
He turns five in August.
So there's a lot. I've only been in the office for 4.5 days since December 6th. I am so far from figuring out how to do right by Boy, do right by Girl, and do right by the Foreign Service that I'm running in circles trying to get started.
My only resolution for 2013 is to figure out what it is my kids need and to give it to them. Stay tuned.
G: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
G: Diapers! [pronounced dia-puhs]
Me: Diapers who?
G: [belly laughs] Knock knock!
(and so it goes...)
Last year I dutifully came up with twelve resolutions for 2012. That was ambitious and ultimately completely unsuccessful. This follows the trend of the past couple decades of resolutions, so yea for consistency!
I can't come up with 13 resolutions this year. We have too many question marks. A million, per yesterday's accounting.
The good folks at MED and the good folks at the renowned Kennedy Krieger Institute in Baltimore managed to get Boy in for over a week of evaluations and therapy sessions. It's no small feat to get appointments at KKI in just a month and a half. We found out we were traveling only three days before we were wheels-up and we ended up extending our stay once we arrived.
It was excellent and I wish I could have stayed. The behavioral psych therapy sessions were a huge insight into his behavior and how to manage it, and I wish I had one a week or one a month to look forward to, so I could bring our frustrations and confusion to the therapist and have her guidance in developing solutions. We only scratched the surface.
What was clear is that it's going to take incredible consistency from all caregivers to see actual improvements. As promised, it's gotten worse before it's gotten better. In fact, we're still waiting for better.
What was also clear is that he is smart. We always knew that, but man. That kid smoked his development/IQ test. The developmental pediatrician said it's going to be critical to challenge him and for.the.love.of.God don't hold him back from kindergarten a year.
He turns five in August.
So there's a lot. I've only been in the office for 4.5 days since December 6th. I am so far from figuring out how to do right by Boy, do right by Girl, and do right by the Foreign Service that I'm running in circles trying to get started.
My only resolution for 2013 is to figure out what it is my kids need and to give it to them. Stay tuned.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Down the MED Rabbit Hole We Go
I exaggerate only slightly when I say that no bureau instills fear in the heart of Foreign Service families quite like MED. I don't mean this as a reflection of the individuals who work in Washington and around the world; in fact I've had generally pleasant experiences with the doctors and nurse practitioners who have the sometimes daunting task of making sure we not only survive even our most exotic postings, but that we maintain a modicum of sanity while we do it.
For the past seven years, I've enjoyed the much-coveted Class 1 medical clearance. All of us must have one to be hired--all new hires must be worldwide available. I was hired as a single person, so it never occurred to me to worry about anybody else's clearance until a few year's later. Husband is similarly healthy and, for our first tour, Boy secured a Class 1 without any problem. Girl followed suit.
Why does your clearance matter after being hired? Simple: it determines where you can serve (or, in the case of dependents, where your family can join you). Not all Class 2 clearances are created equal, so those depend mostly on what services are available at each post for your specific medical or educational needs. A class 2 is scary because it makes what is normally a high stress bidding process go off the charts with hand-wringing. You do your normal lobbying, but then you have to submit a list of bids to MED so they can yay or nay each post for the health concerns of the family member(s) or employee in question. You may have your hearts set on Nowhereistan, but unless Nowhereistan has epi-pens widely available at hospitals, your child with a deathly peanut allergy just can't go, and so on. A class 2 is scary because it happens as soon as it's warranted, whether it's in the middle of your tour or when your on R&R in the States or...
Anywhere.
So, like most FS families would do, when Boy received OT and other services through Fairfax County while we were in language training, we didn't make a big deal out of it with MED. We mentioned it briefly on his clearance update paperwork, and hoped they won't take notice. At the time, it seemed like losing our assignment after language training, etc., would be the worst thing that could ever happen. We were confident he would continue to improve.
Here we are, almost 2 years after his initial IFSP through the county, starting the process all over again.
After our meeting at his school, we had a talk about his needs, our priorities, and what we need to do as parents. Sorry, Taxpayer, though it feels the opposite on some days, I have to remain a parent first, a public servant second. We took a gulp and reached out to the regional psychiatrist, who referred us to the doctor and social worker in charge of the developmental assessments. We have a referral from Boy's school in hand, and I need to submit that together with his initial IFSP from Fairfax County to start the process to evaluate him all over again. And of course I have that IFSP, because what type of parent wouldn't have such an important document? Who wouldn't keep the assessment and services plan for your small child?
Um. Erf. Um.
SO. I have the binder with the county's services. I have the assessment from the counselor. I do not, for the life of me, have a copy of his IFSP, or at least not that I've found. I know we had it. It discussed where he scored on his speech, PT, OT, and social/emotional assessments. It's important.
I'm going to spend the rest of today digging through absolutely everything and, if that is to no avail, I'll email Infant-Toddler Connection and request a copy. No guarantees I won't tell them the dog ate the first one. I fear judgment.
(BTW, if you FS families out there in Fairfax are wondering about their services--they're great! They respond right away once your pediatrician refers you, and I loved our occupational therapist.)
I don't know what this will mean. We've advertised for a new full-time nanny, thinking that worst case scenario he can be taught at home while he matures and those impulse control synapses start firing. Perhaps we'll keep him in preschool part time with a nanny on the other days and some more OT or other services. Perhaps they won't let him come back. I don't know. We'll jump of that bridge once we get there, I suppose.
Until then, here we go...
For the past seven years, I've enjoyed the much-coveted Class 1 medical clearance. All of us must have one to be hired--all new hires must be worldwide available. I was hired as a single person, so it never occurred to me to worry about anybody else's clearance until a few year's later. Husband is similarly healthy and, for our first tour, Boy secured a Class 1 without any problem. Girl followed suit.
Why does your clearance matter after being hired? Simple: it determines where you can serve (or, in the case of dependents, where your family can join you). Not all Class 2 clearances are created equal, so those depend mostly on what services are available at each post for your specific medical or educational needs. A class 2 is scary because it makes what is normally a high stress bidding process go off the charts with hand-wringing. You do your normal lobbying, but then you have to submit a list of bids to MED so they can yay or nay each post for the health concerns of the family member(s) or employee in question. You may have your hearts set on Nowhereistan, but unless Nowhereistan has epi-pens widely available at hospitals, your child with a deathly peanut allergy just can't go, and so on. A class 2 is scary because it happens as soon as it's warranted, whether it's in the middle of your tour or when your on R&R in the States or...
Anywhere.
So, like most FS families would do, when Boy received OT and other services through Fairfax County while we were in language training, we didn't make a big deal out of it with MED. We mentioned it briefly on his clearance update paperwork, and hoped they won't take notice. At the time, it seemed like losing our assignment after language training, etc., would be the worst thing that could ever happen. We were confident he would continue to improve.
Here we are, almost 2 years after his initial IFSP through the county, starting the process all over again.
After our meeting at his school, we had a talk about his needs, our priorities, and what we need to do as parents. Sorry, Taxpayer, though it feels the opposite on some days, I have to remain a parent first, a public servant second. We took a gulp and reached out to the regional psychiatrist, who referred us to the doctor and social worker in charge of the developmental assessments. We have a referral from Boy's school in hand, and I need to submit that together with his initial IFSP from Fairfax County to start the process to evaluate him all over again. And of course I have that IFSP, because what type of parent wouldn't have such an important document? Who wouldn't keep the assessment and services plan for your small child?
Um. Erf. Um.
SO. I have the binder with the county's services. I have the assessment from the counselor. I do not, for the life of me, have a copy of his IFSP, or at least not that I've found. I know we had it. It discussed where he scored on his speech, PT, OT, and social/emotional assessments. It's important.
I'm going to spend the rest of today digging through absolutely everything and, if that is to no avail, I'll email Infant-Toddler Connection and request a copy. No guarantees I won't tell them the dog ate the first one. I fear judgment.
(BTW, if you FS families out there in Fairfax are wondering about their services--they're great! They respond right away once your pediatrician refers you, and I loved our occupational therapist.)
I don't know what this will mean. We've advertised for a new full-time nanny, thinking that worst case scenario he can be taught at home while he matures and those impulse control synapses start firing. Perhaps we'll keep him in preschool part time with a nanny on the other days and some more OT or other services. Perhaps they won't let him come back. I don't know. We'll jump of that bridge once we get there, I suppose.
Until then, here we go...
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Lagging
Girl and I returned home from a whirlwind trip to Washington, packed with a leadership course for me, quality family time for both of us, a little bit of spoiling for her, and a wedding for a dear friend. For anyone I didn't manage to see, I'm sorry. I did my best.
It's 1:00 a.m. and we are on our third episode of Dora. Doooora, as Girl says. It's a unique form of torture. Jet lag this direction is particularly hard because work dictates that I must rise before, say, 11 a.m. Waaaay before. While I'm so sleep deprived that I almost don't experience jet lag, Girl does not share that immunity, so here we are. Sleep deprivation + endless Dora episodes = Sad Mommy.
Girl is also alternating between drinking water and spilling it. If I try to take it, she yells, "Mine!" When she spills it, she yells, "Spill! Wet! Derrrryyyy!" I try to take it, she yells, "Mine!" I think you get the picture. It's a fun night.
As for leadership training: as I'm sure all you Foreign Service types out there are dying to know, I'm an ESTP. I was an ENTJ in A-100, but I think this assessment was more accurate. Essentially, I'm an outgoing space cadet who works well with firm deadlines and horribly with theoretical ones. This is not news, but I walked away with a few pointers for staff, boss, and coworkers on how to manage me. First on this list: if you want it done, give me a due date. Second: I think out loud, so don't think I'm wedded to every idea I throw out there. If it sounds looney and half-baked, that's because it is. It's okay if we skip that one. Third: I thrive under pressure, but if you call me to ask for an update on something that's not due for another week, I'll panic. Just trust that I'll get it done. Most importantly: if I'm sitting on something that you need, for the love of Sweet Baby Jesus just tell me. I juggle a lot of tasks at once, and if you need me to focus on one thing so I can hand it over to you, don't be shy.
Because I'm me, I also spent a fair amount of time sitting in class feeling sad about my weaknesses. I don't know why. In fact, I think I'm quite forgiving of others. I pride myself on acknowledging their strengths and putting their flaws in perspective, but I can't do that about my own merits and faults.
Believe it or not, that isn't the thing I'm going to focus on first. My immediate goal is to stick to my own deadlines and/or set deadlines that are more realistic given the nature of my day-to-day. I think I can I think I can.
Well, this has been riveting. Blogging about Myers-Briggs! What a treat for my readers! Doooora #4 just started and Girl is no longer wearing a shirt, having drenched her second one of the night completely. I think that is my cue to read Tom and Lorenzo and anticipate the brutal fatigue that is set to overwhelm me in approximately five short hours. Working Motherhood strikes again.
It's 1:00 a.m. and we are on our third episode of Dora. Doooora, as Girl says. It's a unique form of torture. Jet lag this direction is particularly hard because work dictates that I must rise before, say, 11 a.m. Waaaay before. While I'm so sleep deprived that I almost don't experience jet lag, Girl does not share that immunity, so here we are. Sleep deprivation + endless Dora episodes = Sad Mommy.
Girl is also alternating between drinking water and spilling it. If I try to take it, she yells, "Mine!" When she spills it, she yells, "Spill! Wet! Derrrryyyy!" I try to take it, she yells, "Mine!" I think you get the picture. It's a fun night.
As for leadership training: as I'm sure all you Foreign Service types out there are dying to know, I'm an ESTP. I was an ENTJ in A-100, but I think this assessment was more accurate. Essentially, I'm an outgoing space cadet who works well with firm deadlines and horribly with theoretical ones. This is not news, but I walked away with a few pointers for staff, boss, and coworkers on how to manage me. First on this list: if you want it done, give me a due date. Second: I think out loud, so don't think I'm wedded to every idea I throw out there. If it sounds looney and half-baked, that's because it is. It's okay if we skip that one. Third: I thrive under pressure, but if you call me to ask for an update on something that's not due for another week, I'll panic. Just trust that I'll get it done. Most importantly: if I'm sitting on something that you need, for the love of Sweet Baby Jesus just tell me. I juggle a lot of tasks at once, and if you need me to focus on one thing so I can hand it over to you, don't be shy.
Because I'm me, I also spent a fair amount of time sitting in class feeling sad about my weaknesses. I don't know why. In fact, I think I'm quite forgiving of others. I pride myself on acknowledging their strengths and putting their flaws in perspective, but I can't do that about my own merits and faults.
Believe it or not, that isn't the thing I'm going to focus on first. My immediate goal is to stick to my own deadlines and/or set deadlines that are more realistic given the nature of my day-to-day. I think I can I think I can.
Well, this has been riveting. Blogging about Myers-Briggs! What a treat for my readers! Doooora #4 just started and Girl is no longer wearing a shirt, having drenched her second one of the night completely. I think that is my cue to read Tom and Lorenzo and anticipate the brutal fatigue that is set to overwhelm me in approximately five short hours. Working Motherhood strikes again.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Living Americana
Whoops. Did I manage to go nearly a month without writing anything? Completely unintentional.
Since my last post the following things have happened:
Since my last post the following things have happened:
- a gecko has been acquired
- one fish has died
- two more have replaced it
- one of those two died
- I saw Lady Gaga
- a puppy has been acquired
- and other non-animal-related and non-Gaga-related things as well.
Oh yeah, and I ran-ish a half marathon. There was a slow moving virus that kept me out of work far too long (the kids' virus, not mine) and the arrival of our new Ambassador.
Wait, did I write a puppy has been acquired? I most certainly did! Let the fuzzy iPhone pictures attest:
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| This is not a puppy. This is Girl, who has the makings of a crazy bag lady. |
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| This is a puppy. |
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| This is a cold puppy. It was September 1, after all. Can't expect a small puppy to stay warm all on her own in September. |
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| We can add "puppy" to the list of things these two bond over. Also on the list: Legos and poop jokes. |
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| The cats aren't too sure about this development. Tupelo, the fat orange one, takes a swipe at her once a day for good measure. Klezmer, the fat black one, has never hurt a living thing in his life, so mostly hisses and then runs away, which Dali (the not fat puppy) finds to be great fun. |
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| Nope, not scary at all. |
More than one reasonable person has expressed utter horror at the idea that we added to our daily burden so dramatically. Two jobs, two kids, two cats, a dog, a gecko, and a fluctuating number of fish, all in a foreign country? Crazypants.
Yes, it is crazypants. Everything about us is crazypants. Only crazy people drop life as they know it to take a weird government job with the very real possibility of sending you to Bujumbura. Only crazy people decide to drunkenly adopt a cat when they are just kinda dating and then, very sober, follow up on that decision the next day. Only crazy people get engaged after five months. Only crazy people have a child a little over a year into their marriage. Only crazy people do an unaccompanied tour with one person in a war zone and the other in the developing world. Only crazy people add another child to that mix while trying to learn one of the world's hardest languages.* And only crazy people insert a gecko and a puppy into the chaos in less than a month.
The gecko, it turns out, is not a lot of work.
Husband and I crave a night of good sleep and some free time, but not so much that we will actually pursue it. All joking aside: the dog is something we'd have in the U.S. It's a simple as that. We've been married for over five years, and in this career for 7 (him) and almost 7 (me). Our kids know their grandparents over Skype and Boy thinks he's Estonian. Seriously: try telling him he's American. He does not agree. There are moments--an increasing number of them--when we are desperate for some normalcy. While a few acres in Colorado with a smallish gaggle of livestock (oh! the menagerie we would have!) is out of our geographic reach at the moment and would require a major lifestyle overhaul, a dog is doable. Come PCS time we'll be out a bunch of money and effort, but that's one move a couple years away. What's one more pet to ship?
So forgive me, dear reader, for not writing. A young pup, unlike the gecko, is a whole lot of work.
*Edited to add: oh, and tattoos. We can't forget tattoos.
*Edited to add: oh, and tattoos. We can't forget tattoos.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Change
I walked the aisles of a large chain grocery store today, pulling a few things from the shelves to stock the house of a new family that arrives tonight.
Või
Piim
Sai
Check, check, check
I remember when we walked into our house for the first time on that sunny evening in August and foods that were basic and familiar in almost every sense were alien in their names. I had spent a year learning the language, and while I knew the meaning of the words, this was the first time I had seen actual Estonian (singular nominative, natch) on something I knew as butter, milk, bread.
Või
Piim
Sai
When you PCS, kids or pets or both or nothing in tow, you arrive in a place that is foreign and instantly home and new and familiar and exhausting and comforting all at once. You have known for at least a year--sometimes two or three--that this is your destination, that this isn't a two week package tour or a visit to an old college friend. This is home and it was always going to be, long before you even arrived.
You've probably seen pictures of your housing, or at least heard about it, and unless it's your first tour you can be damn sure you've already seen the furniture. And while you hate the Great Aunt Gertrude gold brocade, it's familiar. You see it and you think...here we go again.
But it's the food that makes you feel like the alien you are, homesick for familiar packaging and ingredients. Butter is butter is butter in most developed nations. Unless it's või or חמאה or a word you can't read but a picture that inexplicably connotes "butter." Maybe it's the obvious--a cow--or the less obvious--a field of flowers or a windmill--but you just know it's butter. And you know that this is what butter will look like, and this is what you will call it, and that in a few years, after you pull your welcome kit back out to sleep on papery sheets awaiting that final PCS flight out, you will stop looking for või and, in all likelihood, you will never look for it again.
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