We've been ROBBED!

I woke up feeling naked. Oh wait, I was naked. Because the movers took all my clothes and squirreled them into boxes alongside my Kitchen Aid Mixer and my husbands running shoes.

OMG. What the hell just happened? It was whirlwind of tattooed fury running about, wrapping everything in sight in brown paper! My cousin Hillary, who kindly took Adela off our hands, commented when she dropped Adela back off, "I love how they packed yesterday's newspaper into the box." We laughed. Oh, how we laughed. OMG. They packed yesterday's (well, now the day before yesterday's) newpapers into a box? Did they also pack full garbage cans and dirty underwear? Probably.

Note to self: don't look at your husband midday while breastfeeding your 6 week old baby and say, "I am going to take a Buddhist approach to this move and just let it happen." That was when things really went wrong.

I had piles of things I had hoped to reserve for use over the next days after the packing had begun. Piles of things, like, clothes. Ooops. Those are gone. So, uh, I went to Dunkin Donuts this morning with my coat pulled closed over my shirtless torso.

I don't really have words. I don't know what to say or do. I foresee us re-buying a lot of things we already have because we have no idea which boxes they are in.

First Trailing Spouse test: FAILED.

Pack-Rats don't do Pack-Outs.

So, it's Monday and the packers/movers are coming on Wednesday. I have scheduled my next two days such that I hardly have time to organize. This morning, we're off to the vet, which is roughly an hour away. We will be making a 40 minute detour to pick up my stepfather, so he can sit with the girls while I deal with the "boys." Of course, on the way back, I will have to drop off my stepfather and run the boys on the golf course where he is the superintendent. I will visit with my mom and give the girls some lunch. Then I have to stop at IKEA ("stop" at IKEA! hah!) to get some vessels in which to organize our clothing and personal belongings. I will get home around 5PM most likely. That leaves on hour before the bedtime routine begins. Nice.

It gets worse because tomorrow, I have two appointments in the city; one is at the OB-GYN (tmi?) to ensure that I don't have THREE children in three years and the other is at the dentist to finish a crown. I will gone all day and will likely be in pain upon my return home. My husband was born to be a Foreign Service Officer, but I don't think I was born to be a Trailing Spouse. I suck at this stuff. I am terribly disorganized and thoroughly devoted to accumulating "stuff." I am low on motivation and hate to clean. I am a world-class procrastinator as evidenced in the fact it's Monday and we're moving Wednesday and all I've done is blog about it!

A Shot in the Dark (and a plea for help from my new FS hommies):

So, I was quite disappointed to learn that the orientation for FS spouses/partners is scheduled for an 8-hour, regular workday. There is no childcare available. While an exception can be made for Tiny Flora (thank goodness because if she gets too far away from my boobs, she turns into a pumpkin- or so she seems to think), Toddlersaurus Rex is not welcome. So, lemme get this straight: we're not permitted to move into our new "home" until May 8th. Stefan starts full-time training on May 10th. And without knowing a SOUL in the Falls Church area, I am supposed to find a babysitter who I trust with my FIRST BORN by 8AM on May 13th!!! That really pisses me off.

Anyway, I would really like to go to the orientation. I would also really like to find a babysitter who can come three days a week in the mornings and as needed on the weekends and evenings. I would also like a yacht, a limitless, no-interest credit card, a size 4 heinie and a diamond headband. I doubt I will ever have any of those things. I think it's so important for me to attend the orientation (and not the inferior online option) because I'm sorely unimformed about every aspect of Foreign Service life and because I would really like to mingle with my fellow trailing spouses.

Does anyone out there know where to find a perfect babysitter in Falls Church, VA? By perfect I mean, available and 1000% trustworthy (and available all day on May 13th)?

I'm mad at the State Department already

So, this was the scene: Poor, sweet little Addy at the mercy of two, crazed, needle-wielding phlebotomists. No amount of marshmallows or lollipops could calm her. Her father had to hold her tightly against himself to keep her (and her stubborn little veins) from wiggling away. I, of course, was wearing baby Flora (in the Ergo, not the sling), so all I could do was watch from a safe distance. Heart-breaking. So, I'm mad at the State Department for making my first born endure the battery of blood tests that are required for her to be medically cleared. Hmph. Not nice. Mommy no likey.

Thank Goodness for the Beave:

In the midst of all this movement and panic, there's this lovely little lake community that remains a constant (in our hearts and in our lives) and that will continue to, no matter where Stef's job takes us. I was thinking about Beaver Lake, NJ this morning and trying to figure out how to ensure we have a rental house there every summer going forward. I can't imagine there are very many places like Beaver Lake (in the world) and I think returning every summer will keep the Whitney family sane and connected to the people who matter most.

It's a small lake, as far as lakes that are large enough to support a community of people go. There's a limit on the size of the motor boat engine one can have, so everyone cruises around on the these jenky aluminum vessels with 6 horse power motors. When time allows, we opt for canoes or kayaks instead (after 5PM, there's a requisite "Jolly Roger"-- a cocktail taken along for the ride). There's a "General Store" type of place where you can pick up a copy of the New York Times and an egg sandwich in the morning and then grab an ice cream cone and a game of ping-pong in the afternoon. The center of activity for those of us who have small children is the "Kiddie Beach," which is essentially a patch of sand nestled in between the "Community House" (where the Barn Dance is held) and the boat house for people whose homes are on islands. There's a strict "Board," who most people complain about, but without whom the rules that keep this place the way it is- humble, honest, close-knit- would be broken. The best part, and the part that makes Beaver Lake so important to a family such as ours is that the place is overflowing with family and friends-- people who have been a part of my life for as long as I have been alive to enjoy them.

When I was a toddler, I learned to swim by jumping off a Beaver Lake dock with abandon. When I was 6 or so, I dutifully attended Beaver Lake Day Camp and made necklaces out of macaroni. When I was 13, I hung out at the "Big Kid Float" in the middle of the lake, coating my skin with baby oil and listening to Blues Traveler. It's safe to say I drank my first beer, smoked my first cigarette and had my first crush at Beaver Lake too. Now, I am 32 and I am anxious to watch my girls grow up here (except for the beer, the cigarette, the baby oil and definitely NO Blues Traveler).

P.S. (to today's earlier post):

How can I NOT follow this man around the world?

Parting is such... sorrow.

(Please forgive this very long and self-indulgent post)

Last night, reality actually set in. You might wonder- three years of passing tests and gaining security clearance and knowing that our new life in the Foreign Service was imminent wasn't enough? To that I will say, I have been in a long coma of denial and have been so consumed with making babies and nesting (in a temporary home) that I didn't really face the facts. We are LEAVING... For a LONG TIME. And the craziest part- we don't know WHERE we are going.

There are other bloggers out there who write about how much they long to feel precisely what I am feeling. They are in some early stage of the process or they are deeply invested, but have yet to receive an invitation and when I read their (your) posts, I feel guilty for feeling the way I do. Like, I know, I am really lucky. My husband is really lucky (and smart). My kids are going to be terribly interesting people. We are going to see the world and there will be so much fodder out there, I won't even have time to write everything down. I know all these things, but I also know how lonely I will be and how much harder it will be for me to find my own way professionally and how little things-- like going grocery shopping or taking my aging dog to the vet-- will become extremely difficult in a country where I don't speak the language.

And then there's the really hard part and the one that sent me running to my mommy after dinner last night. I won't have my family, as crazy and dysfunctional as it is, around to help me... when I have a migraine, when the babies are driving me nuts, when I need to talk about an argument with my husband, when I just need to be with the people who love me no matter how much I screw up or disappoint them. It breaks my heart to the core to consider the daily absence of these people-- my mom, my Elliott, my friends, my aunts, uncles, cousins and now elderly grandmothers, my brother and stepmother, my father. It's this kind of thing that makes me wonder-- what's really most important in life?

I guess that's the whole thing-- this experience (already) has me asking the difficult questions about my life and the people in it and the kind person I want to be. I won't be able to take anyone (or anything familiar) for granted. I have to reflect on all the things in my life with care and consideration and that has got to be a good thing.

While it might not be my dream to enter the Foreign Service, it's my husband's lifelong dream. And seeing how much joy he gets from realizing it, makes it worthwhile and has taught me what a real partnership is. This is my time to suck it up and sacrifice so he can have what he's always wanted. It's going to be very hard, at times, but I know he'd do the same for me. He's my man. Seeing him happy means as much as anything and oh boy, do have the ultimate in leverage when my times comes!

Slingadingdong: What to do?

So, when the CPSC first warned of the dangers associated with baby slings (March 12th), I had JUST received a beautiful, hand-embroidered "Market Sling" from Serena and Lily (http://www.serenaandlily.com/Sling-Prague-Market-Sling). I vowed, this time, to have a fashionable sling to wear to social events and the like. While I love my Ergo Baby Carrier, it can really bring down an otherwise great outfit with its unsightly black straps and various snapping closures. So, I found this sling on sale and snapped it right up. It arrived and about 10 minutes later, I read the warnings about babies dying in slings. YEARGH. It's was FINAL SALE. Doh!

So now I have this great sling. I also have a great pouch-style sling from Kangeroo Korner, which Adela loved and so does Flora. It's like instant cozy for the little ones. They go right to sleep in the faux womb. Addy lived in it for the first four months... precisely the amount of time the CPSC suggests they not be in a sling. It made a lot of things that wouldn't have been possible, possible. At first, I thought, "what the hell? Women have been "wearing" their babies for centuries." In fact, the Ethiopian restaurant, Mesob, around the corner from our house, has hundred year old antique papooses on display that look very much like the ones I now own. My initial reaction was that I am a responsible mother and I pay close attention to the babies I "wear," so there couldn't be a real problem with the slings. But then I wore the sling out in public and the looks I got from complete strangers made me rethink the whole thing.

I don't know how middle-aged men know about the warning, but I do know that people feel compelled (and comfortable) to tell me how much of a risk I am taking when I use the sling. It's like such a buzz kill because now, with the amazing convenience of the sling, come scornful glances and contemptuous glares.

Maybe people in other parts of the world haven't heard the warnings or feel less entitled to tell strangers how to best transport their infants. That's the most I can hope for, at this point. For now, I am feeling too much shame to take Flora outside of the house in the sling, which means I look really, really good wearing Flora in that lovely "Market Sling," as I walk around my own house.

As much as I whine...

... I really did get so lucky. Flora is approaching 5 weeks and she has consistently given me 6-8 hours of sleep every night since she was 2 weeks old. I'm not so foolish as to think it might not change, but I'm grateful, regardless. My hat's off to the mothers (and fathers?) who manage my same set of circumstances with little to no sleep. How do they do it??? HOW?

Travel Orders:

So, yesterday, Stef forwarded me an email which contained our "travel orders" (which is basically the official record of where we are going, where from and how much we will be fiscally compensated for our journey). I have to confess something. I don't understand it. I guess it's good that Stefan is the FSO and I am the Trailing Spouse because I clearly don't speak the language of beauracracy. I mean, I kept reading it over and over and over and all I kept thinking was: why can't they just write it in clear, comprehensible English? Like this:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Whitney,

Welcome to the Foreign Service. This is a just a little note to say we are looking forward to your arrival in Washington, DC on May 10th and we do hope you enjoy your time at the Oakwood Temporary Housing in Falls Church, VA. Below, we've made a note of your anticipated expenses. All the best on your journey to America's capitol city!

Thanks,

The People at the Foreign Service Place

Hmph. Wouldn't that be better? Maybe there IS a career for me at the State Department after all...

So, it would seem any chance of me waking up from this dream (sometimes nightmare) has evaporated. We are really doing this. And we are really going to do it under these absurd circumstances.

Calgon! Take me AWAY!!!!

I actually have reached a point in my life when I understand those Calgon commercials.

This is SO HARD. I think of the people who work tirelessly and have such difficulty getting pregnant and I know I shouldn't complain. I am blessed with these little angels from heaven, but sometimes, they don't seem like angels.

Yesterday morning, I found myself sitting on the floor in my kitchen, crying and praying to a god I have never even been certain of. Addy was throwing a complete tantrum (the reason for which I've completely forgotten), Flora was screaming bloody murder for yet another feeding (she'd live attached to my boob... ouch) and the GD dogs were following me around the house, panting and clickety-clacking their nails on the hardwood (hoping that in the midst of the hysteria, I was going to take them to... the park?). As I sat on the floor praying for grace in this moment of complete chaos, I thought of a time in my life when I had virtually no responsibility-- college.

When I was in college, at Boston University, my biggest decisions were those involving which classes I was going to take. I would scan the course guide for hours, imagining the possibilities. I thought it was HARD! Second biggest decisions were: what I was going to do on Saturday night and what I was going to wear to the class with the cute guy. Ugh. As trivial as it now seems, life seemed hard then. Life seems hard now. Logic is getting to me a scary place right now: am I going to look back someday at this time and laugh because the really hard stuff is yet to come??? Oh god, no (there's that mystery god again). I don't think anything could be harder than raising a toddler and a newborn simultaneously while planning an overseas move and coping with a sick mother and an alcoholic father, but of course... that's how I see it now.

Ahhh.... give me grace to get through this day... just this day...

Things I love about Montclair, NJ:

Now that I am leaving this lovely suburban retreat, there are things that I already know I will miss... possibly forever, because as we all know, businesses come and go and what might have seemed solid at one point might quickly become desolate and obsolete years later.

We have only lived here for 18 months- not long in the scheme of things, but for my life, it's the longest time I've been at one address since I graduated from college. That's nuts, isn't it? It makes our life in the Foreign Service (moving every two or so years) seem luxurious. Since we got here, I have walked by a little door with a paper sign reading, "Today's Raviolis and Today's Cookies." Corso 98 on Walnut Street is a restaurant that we have yet to try, but their tiny little ravioli and cookie shop located next door represents a time and culture warp that I never could have imagined at first glance.



One evening a couple of weeks ago, the first of the warm days of spring, I walked the girls to meet Stef at the train as he arrived home from work. As we walked up Walnut Street, I pointed out the paper sign and asked if we could stop in- I've always wanted to, but at 20$ a box, we've been unable to take the plunge (raising two children on one income in the NY Metro area is a very delicate balancing act). Alas, the first of March meant bonus time, and we've been letting our hairs down so we went in. Nothing could have prepared us for the absolute perfection we found beyond that little door with the paper sign.

There is actually a little Italian lady inside working on a long, well-worn butcher block, rolling out perfect little pillows of pasta filled with anything from braised rabbit to radicchio and walnut to classic four cheese. She delights in talking about her raviolis and in feeding babies her handmade biscotti and pignole cookies. It's a wonderful little place with the perfect balance of comfort and deliciousness. We went home and cooked the ravioli and despite the considerable price, they are well worth it. The little Italian lady with the carefully pressed toque might well have been enough, but the raviolis are perfection- delightfully toothsome and packed full of fresh, flavorful stuffings. The perfect way to take a break from cooking dinner without sacrificing a fabulous food experience.

I will miss this.


96-98 Walnut St.
Montclair, NJ 07042
Tel: 973-746-0789
Fax: 973-746-6488

News that I have long been waiting to share:

It's been a long time since my husband got the news that he passed all the requisite exams and clearances for his new job working at the State Department and I have long waited to share the details of our exciting new lifestyle. It's been hard to keep it to myself, especially since if there's anything in my life worth blogging about (aside from my beautiful daughters), it's the fact that I will soon become what is referred to as a "Trailing Spouse" (charming title, no?).

On May 8th, we will be moving to Falls Church, VA for Stefan to begin his training and there we will be until we are relocated to our first foreign post. It's a daunting and exhilarating new beginning and one which my dear husband has always dreamed of. On some level, I have always fantasized about living abroad and of having fabulous stories to share at adult dinner parties about my unusual and intriguing life. I guess I never thought I would be doing it with two such small children and two giant dogs in tow, but life is never quite what we imagine it will be.

I hope to take the opportunity to turn this blog into a place where our friends and family can follow our adventures and where other fledgling Trailing Spouses can take refuge, but that remains to be seen. For the next couple of weeks, we will be packing up our lives and putting our earthly belongings into distinct categories: that which is coming with us to the Oakwood temporary housing and that which will be locked away in a distant storage unit not to be seen for many many months (or more likely, years). Woes me... for all the lovely little things I have accumulated-- artwork, enamel pots, collectible post modern furniture-- it's all become meaningless for now and my identity becomes only what I can portray in person. I feel scared, naked and incredibly excited, for my husband is giving me a life that most can only imagine or read about.

Maxin' and Relaxin'

Flora, she knows how to get down to the business of sleep. In fact, she sleeps all night long, which makes my life pretty good let alone possible. I'm psyched. Zzzzzzz....

My baby girl smiles!

Flora is lovely, happy and healthy. She's growing stronger and longer by the day. She's moments away from holding her little head up and laughs at my goofy faces and bad jokes just like her big sister.