tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50560449194498247742024-03-13T14:47:18.296-07:00DevonnaireA Mother of two living, eating, cooking and writing as a Foreign Service Trailing Spouse.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-91166962604919654552011-07-16T23:16:00.000-07:002011-07-18T00:32:23.384-07:00"To Work or Not to Work?" and "Edible Distractions... "Well, I have been seriously considering the possibility of adding to my already too-long list of shit to do, by maybe getting a job... something that doesn't involve changing diapers or praising people for using the toilet. As such, I was contacted a couple of weeks ago regarding an open position for a "cook" in the Marines' residence here in Brussels. It was a "part-time" job, which is what I am after since I made a conscious decision to stay home with my kids until they go to school (which is getting terrifyingly close, by the way). The job requirements included making dinner for 16 Marines daily and breakfast and lunch per order, as they make their way out of the house for a day of dutiful service to our country. At first, it sounded perfect, but then, I started doing the math and it sounded less and less perfect. Of course, even though it technically is part time, at five hours a day, five days a week, it felt more like full-time to me. Having to be there at 7AM each day would mean leaving long before the girls the got up and getting home at 1PM would mean I would return just in time to put them down for their midday nap. They nap for about 2 hours, sometimes more, sometimes less, so I would only see them awake for about 4 hours a day, those hours between naptime and bedtime. Ultimately, my momma emotions got the best of the decision. This time in their lives is too fleeting and since my husband's career choice has afforded me the considerable luxury of actually being able to be home with them, I think I will take advantage, at least for now.<br /><br />But this whole process did get me thinking about what kind of job would actually work for me and I returned to a time in my life when I was my own boss and in charge of my own destiny-- when I was running a small, but lucrative, catering business out of my home in Northern California. Stefan has mentioned my career history to Ambassador Kennard (a good subject for awkward small talk) and he suggested I throw my name and credentials into the pool for catering embassy functions while I am here. At first, I thought: nah, I want to take advantage of being in Europe and work with Belgian chefs and learn from them and see how they handle the topsy-turvy service life here in Brussels. But now that I know a thing or two about service in Belgium, I think I might be better off sticking close to the embassy, at least in this regard. So, that's what I have decided to do: this week, I will get in touch with the Protocol Office and let them know that I'd like to be considered for future events. It will interesting to manage event planning in a foreign country and I hope it works out.<br /><br />Speaking of catering and event planning, I have become completely addicted to the outdoor markets here in Brussels, particularly the huge one in Stockel at Place Dumon. I have made it a custom to take the girls there on Friday mornings, under the pretense that we are getting waffles for them. My friend, Eve, who many of you may know from her <a href="http://fromthebackofbeyond.wordpress.com/">foreign service blog</a>, has been having a torturous time trying to acclimate to an inclement post and as such, has been asking her nears and dears to share their food experiences, so she can daydream, wistfully, about life after Luanda. I was hesitant, at first, because I feel shy about touting the many blessings of life in Brussels to my friend who was posted to Angola at the same Flag Day. It doesn't feel fair, but since she asked, I did and I told her the following story about the World's Best Waffles:<br /><br />On Friday mornings, I have made it my habit to go to a 10AM yoga class at my gym and then quickly retrieve the girls and run for Stockel Market before it closes, or more likely, all the goods have been picked over. Its an awesome outdoor market, open three days a week, but Friday is its best day. The produce here rivals California, if you can believe it (in quality, if not variety) and right now, the place is loaded to gills with tiny, sweet-like-candy-Belgian strawberries, all manner of lettuce (peppery arugula, lush watercress, bitter dandelion greens, little gems!), sweet, tart grape and cherry tomatoes (of course, the big mommas aren't ready yet). Its a wonderful market and has everything you could possibly want or need for your basic grocery shop, which is awesome, but the REAL reason for going there is for the Jean Gaston Waffles, literally the most amazing waffles I have ever conceived of, let alone eaten.<br /><br />Now, I know you asked for pastry porn, but anyone can give you that. Who else but me can describe the way these little babies come off the iron with a perfectly caramelized exterior, having been lovingly sprinkled with extra large crystals of turbinado sugar before being placed on the hot, 100 years old iron where they are then turned constantly to ensure the perfect, crispy, toothsome outside will make way for the steamy, sweet, doughy interior. They sell them "chaud" or "froid," depending on when you plan to eat them, but the girls and I can't save them for later, so I always order "4 gaufres chaud" and hope there's at least half of one left for Stefan when he gets home later in the day (yeah, right). Then we walk through the market, talking about food and flowers and sometimes, monsters and elephants (depending on who is leading the conversation) and we will pull apart our perfect, steamy, sticky waffles and eat them bite by bite, never wanting it to end, licking our fingers of gooey caramel between bites. Before Jean Gaston, I didn't know what a waffle was. I though it was just some dried-out alternative to a pancake. But now that I know how delicious a waffle can be, I may never be able to leave this place. I wish they traveled so I could send you a bunch. They are, after all, the best substitutes for friends, family or community I've managed to find here. When I'm eating one of these waffles, I completely forget all my troubles and think that life is just perfect, if only for the five or so minutes its takes me to devour that perfect dough ball of love.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-46414363169485219572011-06-28T22:26:00.000-07:002011-06-29T07:29:26.887-07:00Human ClassMy husband is very good at finding creative ways to put the travel rewards he earned at his last job to good use in this life. Last week, we said goodbye to the girls and hopped on a train to London, where we celebrated our fourth anniversary at the River Cafe and slept in a free suite at Le Meridien Hotel in Picadilly Circus. Then, we flew for free to New Jersey, where we celebrated my cousin Meghan's wedding to Fred Storz. The real trick Stef pulled, though, was the free First Class, British Airways return flight.<br /><br />When I say that I don't know if I have been happier than I was when I put on my free pajamas and slid into my super pod, I am not lying. There is something about that seat, the way the staff trips over themselves to answer your call button, the available entertainment and the edible food that just made me feel complete and as if I may never be able to fly coach again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOTpPDruVKtmVgzCAg4FNXvzJOvpOMErzNk_TyB8Yjipa3J5HDh09n2asXdngZwlQcFbrfYb4Pl1L3MQzigzZVX0NRh1rY7XmmncWChSdzpJca1lZ2HKuHhcvzGk8UaXSZSXULBmWSEdI/s1600/IMG00174-20110626-1914.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOTpPDruVKtmVgzCAg4FNXvzJOvpOMErzNk_TyB8Yjipa3J5HDh09n2asXdngZwlQcFbrfYb4Pl1L3MQzigzZVX0NRh1rY7XmmncWChSdzpJca1lZ2HKuHhcvzGk8UaXSZSXULBmWSEdI/s400/IMG00174-20110626-1914.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623647063639951474" border="0" /></a><br />I have been lucky to fly International Business Class many times in my life for my own business travel, but trans-Atlantic First Class is a completely different animal and the only bad thing I can say about it is that our flight was too short. That's how awesome it was: I actually wish that it had been a 16 hour (or more) flight. That way, I could have had Stefan over to my pod for dinner, then asked him to go so I could watch two movies and eat my "midnight snack" before having the flight attendant "make my bed," so I could get a full night's sleep. Instead, I had to rush through my aperitif and dinner, skip dessert and watch half of a (terrible) movie in order to get three hours of sleep before waking up for my three course breakfast.<br /><br />Now, I realize that First Class is a bit over-the-top indulgent and I recognize that it isn't possible for every seat on the plane to be a super-pod, but experiencing this luxury really made me realize how horrendous the conditions in the "back of the plane" really are. In addition to the complete lack of personal space and the third class amenities, the flight attendants literally treat you with contempt. I actually fear asking for a bottle of water when my throat is so parched dry that I can hardly speak the words, "please... water... please..."<br /><br />In addition to the comfort of the actual flight, First Class offers lounges on both ends of the flight. On the departing end, we enjoyed a small, gourmet snack and two glasses of dry Reisling (ordered from a lengthy wine list that had no prices on it), and followed up with some DirectTV on a 62 inch flatscreen and the Sunday New York Times. We got to talking to the manager of the lounge who regaled us with stories of the A-list celebrities and top Government figures who usually prepare for their flights in these lounges (If we had only traveled the night before, we could have swapped parenting stories with Matt Damon and his wife... damn!) Upon arriving in London, where we had some hours to kill before our train to Brussels was due to depart, we indulged in a shower (multi-head super-shower) and had some more breakfast (capuccinos, waffles, eggs to order and sausages) just because we could. We were so tired so we also took a nap in the lounge before heading out to the streets of London for a delicious lunch at Barrafina in Soho.<br /><br />Now, the actual price per ticket for this experience is roughly $10,000.00 EACH so it's fair to say I won't be enjoying the glory of International First Class anytime soon (unless Stefan travels a whole hell of lot more and works his magic again), so I am going to continue to reflect on this last trip as one of my best and say, with confidence, that it was a worthy 4th anniversary present. Funny- we are so broke that we opted out of anniversary (or birthday or Mother's Day or Father's Day) gifts, but we flew back to Europe in a style usually afforded to celebs and world leaders. It's so typical of us- living the good life without the goods... and having a lot of fun doing it.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-69446001217689988182011-06-14T23:21:00.000-07:002011-06-16T05:43:00.138-07:00Downward Dogs<span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Life in Brussels is pretty much business as usual, save for the occasional moments when I say to myself (inside my head or out loud, depending on the day I am having): Holy </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Shi</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">*! I live in Brussels!</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />There's the usual morning dog walk, the place where we devotedly get our croissants (</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Yasaki</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Sasushi</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> has the best Pain </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">au</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Chocolate in the city, if not the world and I am not the only the one who thinks so: http://www.life-in-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">brussels</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">.com/article-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">yasushi</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">sasaki</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">et</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">le</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">meilleur</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-pain-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">au</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">chocolat</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">de</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">bruxelles</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-44066295.html), the five weekly trips to the </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">healthclub</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> (I have said it before, but I will say it again, </span><a style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://http//www.royallarasante.be/fr">Royal La <span style="background-image: none; background-repeat: repeat; background-attachment: scroll; background-position: 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Rasante</span></a><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> is a life changer), and everything that happens in between like grocery shopping, picking up the dry cleaning, taking the kids to the playground or on a </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">playdate</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> with new friends. As exotic as this life may have sounded at one time (and still does to those who only know of it from a distance), it's really not all that exotic. It's life... only someplace weird you never thought you'd live without any old friends or family nearby to hold your hand through the rough spots.</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />And just like when you live in a familiar place, there ARE rough spots. Life is just as hard in terms of the mundane, day to day, things here as it was anywhere we've lived as a family. Money is tight, marriage is incredibly challenging, the children are demanding, the dogs are a huge additional responsibility, and housework is still detestable (albeit unavoidable).</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />So, what's a girl to do?<br /><br />Just like I often did when I felt like the walls were closing in on me and that I couldn't handle all the things I had going on and was responsible for when we lived Stateside, I have, once again, found comfort, balance and fitness in the form of a daily yoga practice. </span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Unlike in the states, yoga is not THE thing to do here and you can't find a yoga studio on every other street corner. There are few studios and fewer teachers. I was baffled by this until I started to look into doing my own teacher training program (prompted of course, by seeing the obvious need for more teachers) and I discovered that in Belgium, it takes four years of active training to become a certified yoga instructor. That's funny, because in the states, most (</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">flakey</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">) certified yoga instructors lose interest in teaching yoga after four years! Perhaps, that's the idea. Needless to say, I can't become a yoga teacher in Belgium. I simply don't have enough time...</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Fortunately, La </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Rasante</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> has three very good yoga teachers: Sash (</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Kundalini</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">), </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Evelyne</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> (</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Hatha</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">) and </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Stanislava</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> (</span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Ashtanga</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">). Most of the time, I can find my way into one of their classes and avoid paying more for classes outside of the gym membership that is already crippling us financially. When I am really looking for a change in the routine, I head over to the Yoga Loft in </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Woluwe</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-Saint-Lambert, which is run by a Bay-area transplant and her (incredibly handsome... did I just write that? Sorry, </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Stef</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">) Belgian husband. It's a funny place- an apartment, in a mid-70's style apartment building, where they've transformed the bedroom and living room into zen retreats, complete with big-bellied Buddha statues, billowing drapes and burning incense. I recently started a 6-week </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Ashtanga</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> workshop there that has proven to be worth every one of the 95euros it cost to sign up. I have managed to perfect my downward dog, warrior and triangle poses and even (and this is the big, big news for a fat, lazy </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">mamma</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">) managed to do a real handstand (against the wall, of course) and hold it for over a minute of intense breathing and concentration. It's an empowering way to spend a few hours each week and even more than that, it's a great way to feel connected to a community of like-minded spirits at a time when I am otherwise feeling very, very lonely.</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />The other benefit of this newly-stoked passion of mine is that it's paying off in terms of my physique. I have never been a particularly fitness-minded person. I don't like running, sweating, bouncing around to house music or watching myself lift weights in a mirror. Therefore, getting fit after having two babies in two years has been a challenge for me. But, doing yoga 5 or 6 days a week has proven to be just the thing to get me back to </span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">pre</span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">-Adela weight. Oh how I have longed to be able to close the button on my pants without saying a prayer beforehand, to just simply get dressed in the morning, without trying 32 different combinations of things in an effort to hide everything but my head and hands (without looking like I am trying to hide everything but my head and hands), and to go into a store and try things on and have them actually fit (being 5'10" and a size 12 in Europe is not, like, super awesome; being 5'10" and a size 10 is little more manageable.) </span><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Best of all, I have finally, after 4 years (next week!) of marriage, persuaded my husband to join me at a few classes. Having an hour or so, every once in a while, when we're not changing some one's diaper, feeding some one's appetite or averting a disaster of some kind, is really quite novel for us. While having these children is rewarding beyond anything either of us ever imagined, it is unbelievably hard and finding time to nurture our marriage is seemingly impossible most days. But, side by side, in perfect downward dogs, sweating, breathing deeply and just being together is a perfect, momentary escape. In lieu of counseling, or better yet, a monthly weekend getaway, I highly recommend a few sun salutations for bringing levity back to a marriage that is largely all about hard work.</span><br /><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"></span>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-15780944845156688502011-05-23T07:27:00.000-07:002011-05-23T07:30:13.417-07:00Hey, it's none of your Strabismus!No one ever wants to admit that there is something wrong with her child. So, when our local Belgian pediatrician took one look at Flora two months ago and said, "there's something going on with her right eye," I was miffed and momentarily convinced that the doctor was a mean sadist who liked to hurt people. But, of course, after I pulled myself together and gave it some real thought, I had to agree that there was something "going on with her right eye." I dutifully gave Stefan the name and number of the pediatric ophthalmologist and asked him to call and make an appointment right away. My French, though getting better, still isn't good enough to navigate a hospital switchboard.<br /><br />Right away turned out to be two months later, this past Monday. While we waited for the appointment, we told ourselves many stories about how this was something she would grow out of. "It's a developmental thing. She'll be fine." But in the backs of our minds, we were fearing that the something "going on" was a lazy eye or as the medical community calls it, "<span style="" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Strabismus</span>."<br /><br />When our Monday appointment finally arrived, we were thrilled to be able to at last dispel our fears and move on. Unfortunately, after what was the most horrendous and unpleasant doctor's appointment my children or I have ever had, we found out that she does, indeed, have <span style="" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">strabismus</span>. Her right eye is severely far-sighted, so much so that the strain of trying to see out of it has forced it to turn inward. Poor little peanut can't see and we really had no idea. Of course, now we know why she has refused to walk more than 6 or 7 steps before stopping, sitting down and reassessing the route. It's a bummer, but at least we know that there isn't something more sinister at play.<br /><br />It's funny how life works. When I was living in San Francisco, trying to get a catering business off the ground, I doubled as the personal assistant for the former president of the International Council of Ophthalmology. He was and is one of the most well-respected and forward-thinking doctors to practice in the field. He also has spent the better part of his retirement working to put an end to preventable blindness in developing countries. You know what one of the most common causes of otherwise preventable blindness is? <span style="" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">Strabismus</span>. So, of course, after being largely mistreated by a very nervous student doctor who spoke badly broken English, I immediately sent my old boss and friend an email, asking him every question under the sun about this condition, its treatments and prognosis. Of course, he searched his vast Rolodex for the foremost pediatric ophthalmologist in Belgium and got us an appointment for a few weeks from now. We will be seeing the HEAD of Pediatric Ophthalmology at University Hospital Ghent (there's the opportunity to return to Ghent we've been waiting for...)He also assured me that with proper care (glasses in the best case, surgery in the worst), the prognosis for both vision and appearance are excellent.<br /><br />So... now we are just waiting, for the glasses to be made (apparently, this "special" corrective lens takes a very long time to make... but I think it's just the Belgian way of doing things: very, very slowly with little concern for customer experience. That's another blog post all together, however) and for our next <span style="" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">ophthalmological</span> appointment. Unfortunately, I am assuming Flora will face another grueling exam in which she's held down, kicking and screaming, for upwards of two hours. While I am looking forward to having a competent doctor evaluate her condition, I am not looking forward to that.<br /><br />When the glasses are finally ready, I will post pics of my little bespectacled Flora May. If anyone can pull this off, it's her.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-8482761113400032902011-04-19T23:07:00.001-07:002011-04-20T06:40:29.417-07:00A Long Update after a Very Long Hiatus:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGidVwMkrhgytHLXcDnQ6g_NoGCz9XuatPDOgU6buh2XxrtJkuVixGvUfivBF0Eh6kIj9KUeyQJHkCiw4W0FElMjdbFFmrDpqa1A9nAYhWX3lQmr95f4_jEv2DaL3nZ40BJsTzGsVjJtk/s1600/P4170100.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGidVwMkrhgytHLXcDnQ6g_NoGCz9XuatPDOgU6buh2XxrtJkuVixGvUfivBF0Eh6kIj9KUeyQJHkCiw4W0FElMjdbFFmrDpqa1A9nAYhWX3lQmr95f4_jEv2DaL3nZ40BJsTzGsVjJtk/s400/P4170100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597656537858561138" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KFbXh1CDggLiXZYEtFFWHlxXjQYDispvTR8595eRfEILirLzcdC_OOnNZbGrgPmYtTqRKlR2G0G3ZNWrP6j2u-eUVzAjLRArcDTF32JTLywxUxCstnLis533vikAC6n5u2c_giDN_zk/s1600/P4170107.JPG"><br /></a>I mentioned in my last post (a long, long, long time ago) that I was having computer problems. Well, I still am. So, I haven't been blogging. I have gotten a few emails saying, "are you okay? Is everything all right?" I am okay. I just haven't wanted to risk permanent damage to me or my computer from electrical shock. But, of course, now so much time has gone by, I don't even know where to begin (I'd such high hopes for consistency too).<br /><br />I will start with a basic update:<br /><br />Well, I must confess that I'm surprised there haven't been more songs, poems and novels written about springtime in Brussels. For, it is an absolutely extraordinary time. When the grey clouds parted and the endless damp of winter gave way to blue skies, sunshine and explosive blossoms, something magical happened here... and to me.<br /><br />The spring has brought hours of outdoor play-time, early evening meetings with daddy in our neighborhood playground on his way home from work, and multiple introductions to new friends- both natives and expats alike. It would seem that as they keep their coats fastened firmly closed in the winter months, so do Belgians keep their hearts. Now, with the warmth of spring, there is a new openness and willingness to engage in conversation with this sometimes shy American mother of two.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYLEOd8lKEji7IszV6vZnzzsTN1A_4wRIGU4APLagW7RwRqUWVaBMOkDGZ118sqrmky7wqKvK1NBBqXbHfP1yTtplv1fKzDMr6wizJnfL-NQ8VziD_piS_b6_7Yk-I-N0D2l-knQmq-4/s1600/P4170080.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYLEOd8lKEji7IszV6vZnzzsTN1A_4wRIGU4APLagW7RwRqUWVaBMOkDGZ118sqrmky7wqKvK1NBBqXbHfP1yTtplv1fKzDMr6wizJnfL-NQ8VziD_piS_b6_7Yk-I-N0D2l-knQmq-4/s400/P4170080.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597547472880369474" border="0" /></a><br />I've made some good friends and I feel like this place is starting to feel like a home. I have a much better understanding of the geography and I'm able to go places, both on foot and by car, without spending hours trying to then find my way home. My French lessons have paid off (and will continue for the duration of my time here). I'm proud to report a complete, courteous and jovial conversation with a fellow canine-lover in the dog park a few days ago. I was able to tell her the ages of both Otis and Rudi when she asked, ask about her dogs and even make a joke about the size of her 7 month old St. Bernard puppy. It is precisely this type of mundane exchange that I could not have had four months ago, when we arrived, that made me feel so lonely and isolated. My biggest struggle now is with the children in the playgrounds who steal Addy's beloved bucket and shovel. I've asked my teacher to prepare a lesson on playground etiquette so that I can protect Adela's considerable interests there without offending or mistreating the unwitting Belgian thieves.<br /><br />For friends and family who are interested, I have this to say about my lovely children:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5xo5Atd54vLi9ntK6QVMaSvn4DGfuXQerTCeW07b1F2n87mqTt4gQwCfLCrzbKvpQsNVJqMbviPJg-UXUb0NXIAFT92F2Y0sBhv8f0LtJ8DYgxPkq262qn3N_M55DItGvjRRCvmQip4/s1600/P4120059.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5xo5Atd54vLi9ntK6QVMaSvn4DGfuXQerTCeW07b1F2n87mqTt4gQwCfLCrzbKvpQsNVJqMbviPJg-UXUb0NXIAFT92F2Y0sBhv8f0LtJ8DYgxPkq262qn3N_M55DItGvjRRCvmQip4/s400/P4120059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597655697126106514" border="0" /></a><br />Adela is a star. She's funny, kind and agreeable these days. Her vocabulary has exploded to include such benign expletives as, "Oh my gosh!" and "oh, goodness, mommy!" Somehow, against all the odds, she's not using her parents' preferred expletives and expressing herself in ways that would get us booted from English-speaking playgrounds. She's very tall and very lean (her waist is smaller than her sister's, but more on that in a moment). She makes me incredibly proud everyday because she is unassuming in her interactions with other children, deferential to her little sister and quick-witted in her exchanges with me. I couldn't ask for a better two and a half year old.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcKa-ompB_zs41-uoi37u-GyFV5SGhv-jpKL-_F0G8tqNX0iichNzTCp8I9eYKX1Fhj88nSEJacJ9QF0isDZUFS8k53reeOmgMuErmEwOahWGMm2eM3mu-9RFVQ0m7a-mlthcBnTDbGOw/s1600/P4170102.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcKa-ompB_zs41-uoi37u-GyFV5SGhv-jpKL-_F0G8tqNX0iichNzTCp8I9eYKX1Fhj88nSEJacJ9QF0isDZUFS8k53reeOmgMuErmEwOahWGMm2eM3mu-9RFVQ0m7a-mlthcBnTDbGOw/s400/P4170102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597656919953986690" border="0" /></a><br />Flora is our demure flower. Notice I didn't say: "demure, little flower." She's enormous. I mean that in the nicest, most loving way. She weighs nearly 28 lbs., 9 more than Addy at the same age. She's wearing clothes cut for a two year old. She has a voracious appetite. She also is utterly charming and easy-going. I am so grateful for her even temper, because mothering two such young children is no easy task. She makes very few demands of me, but stands her ground all the same. She literally stands her ground, but is not yet walking. I'm guessing this has something to do with her size (although she's hardly behind the average age, she is behind her two, little embassy pals who are the same age). I probably could work harder to get her to walk, but I'm really in no rush. They grow up way too fast on their own. No need to push it along any faster.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxn1X91ypuIXQkVMTZQliLToRoTYPGa_lXWp10Wdzqu2C_ANAzSTi9RwNpYFFZkVi4Ntq0zXPfIJvJGZeLTcgbP9rRKn7XjEQAzSyvyDA0mQHoIiWcsjujOdQ_ERma6fy1icp4lnyuF8/s1600/P4090033.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTxn1X91ypuIXQkVMTZQliLToRoTYPGa_lXWp10Wdzqu2C_ANAzSTi9RwNpYFFZkVi4Ntq0zXPfIJvJGZeLTcgbP9rRKn7XjEQAzSyvyDA0mQHoIiWcsjujOdQ_ERma6fy1icp4lnyuF8/s400/P4090033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597547116299879858" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-30149583445267415462011-03-20T00:58:00.000-07:002011-03-20T01:30:11.225-07:00Happy Belated Birthday to My Little Flower:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZJUykfkTur-kiolq1DCzeaxL9EFBhHCtyWbcd4UmLgIjYpEFl5XZskAVCWLeX9GgaRkIRHKnkzQ_lZSLCSudFvCjHPlvKvyM5d1hqzevcgJous6_Ol6mXqCxn54DgjuOtMgRCWxOJd4/s1600/Foto+4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZJUykfkTur-kiolq1DCzeaxL9EFBhHCtyWbcd4UmLgIjYpEFl5XZskAVCWLeX9GgaRkIRHKnkzQ_lZSLCSudFvCjHPlvKvyM5d1hqzevcgJous6_Ol6mXqCxn54DgjuOtMgRCWxOJd4/s400/Foto+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586071837027295522" border="0" /></a><br />Flora celebrated her first birthday while we were in Austria. So, there was no big party, no bells and whistles, no big presents. It was just us- Mommy, Daddy, Sissy, Kerstin, Puppa and the "boys." Adela had a big, first birthday party with ALL the bells and whistles, so I feel a little sad that we didn't do the same for Flora. She would have no memory of the party (and neither does Adela), but I know she's going to put it together someday, when she's looking through old pictures (or reading this blog). She'll see the big "hurrah" her sister had and how she was surrounded by a huge group of friends of family and how she ate cupcakes that I made with my bare hands. I really hope when Flora looks back, she knows that she only missed the party and that she was no less loved on her first first birthday.<br /><br />Flora is the world's most easy-going child (and I used to say that about her older sister, but I was wrong. I hadn't met Flora yet). If she ever complains, it's for a darn good reason. The rest of the time, she's happy to laugh at life and take what she gets with gratitude. She's just a doll and I am so grateful to have her shiny, happy spirit to keep things in perspective when her sister is wreaking havoc on me and my surroundings. So, Flora, if you're reading this, 25 years from now, I hope you're not still working out your sibling rivalry issues and I hope you're not pissed that we didn't throw you a first birthday party (or a Christening party). You are so very loved-- I think of you as I close my eyes at night and as soon as I wake up in the morning. If Addy is my clone, then you are my foil, which is arguably more important. The first year I had you in my life was the best yet. I love you. Happy Birthday!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2qcUAb6tVzKGfLZ95X5XCDQGAt5jE2mJbi8ndEj3fMpmtiw-33WiE2Zm1LRSMFhNm-b_BjBnWk4xTUJMXoJ7Oxjtx8Y6NixeLWsvBd6tpx7cw-JtfPCRXuf0Jb6rrFHdxDGHCsjq6wI/s1600/Foto+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2qcUAb6tVzKGfLZ95X5XCDQGAt5jE2mJbi8ndEj3fMpmtiw-33WiE2Zm1LRSMFhNm-b_BjBnWk4xTUJMXoJ7Oxjtx8Y6NixeLWsvBd6tpx7cw-JtfPCRXuf0Jb6rrFHdxDGHCsjq6wI/s400/Foto+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586071455838502466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18x9GNE62U-DuCzHFgYjq6ejwqcwcmvhE6_eLK51SkJJaN5H4XrNm92Nb6ZKcTHGoiBY9YdacD_wu8sFidUdT-TwIejSTyfMgRgUVjtO6ryBzBjBulxEuQUPBxQhq1h5jQVc9aJkbomU/s1600/Foto+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18x9GNE62U-DuCzHFgYjq6ejwqcwcmvhE6_eLK51SkJJaN5H4XrNm92Nb6ZKcTHGoiBY9YdacD_wu8sFidUdT-TwIejSTyfMgRgUVjtO6ryBzBjBulxEuQUPBxQhq1h5jQVc9aJkbomU/s400/Foto+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586071233094682514" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-57443175091688868702011-03-18T00:15:00.000-07:002011-03-18T15:12:10.060-07:00Our First Ever "Family" Ski Trip, Part 1: Introduction and Overview<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span>I have been having a hard time writing this blog. First, I am having major computer problems these days. My beloved MacBook Pro is no longer holding a charge and occasionally, packs a rather forceful electrical shock. Second, with all that's happening in Japan, I feel like talking about my awesome, middle-class ski vacation is a little insensitive. And finally, a big part of me feels like I should be writing about the fact that Congress wants to take food and toys away from my children because that's a truly "hot topic."<br /><br />But, right now, my computer isn't giving me electroshock therapy. My perspective on the Japan disaster is probably of little interest to you and I know there are people and bloggers out there who are much better equipped to handle the subject of Congressional budget cuts and how they will impact those of us in the Foreign Service. So, here goes:<br /><br />Our First Ever "Family" Ski Vacation, Part 1 (Introduction and Overview):<br /><br />Last week, the Whitneys packed up the whole clan and headed for the Austrian Alps for a week of skiing (snowboarding) and family fun. We left Brussels with the car packed full of babies, dogs, skis, snowboards and all the clothes and toys we need to get through 10 days without access to laundry (brother!). We picked up "Puppa" (Stefan's aunt, Henriette, and our saintly babysitter on the trip) in Bonn and then continued through Munich, where we grabbed Kerstin (Stef's cousin, Puppa's daughter). 8 1/2 hours and several tantrums and pee breaks later, we made it to Mayrhofen, Austria- a little Tyrolean village in the valley surrounded by giant, craggily, snow-covered peaks.<br /><br />I have skied (snowboarded) all over the Rocky Mountains and the East Coast, but I had never been to the Alps before and had, of course, always wanted to go. It turned out to be everything I had always dreamed it would be. While the ski conditions weren't the best I have ever experienced (it's been warm and there hasn't been a ton of precipitation), the charm of the villages, the breath-taking vistas and the divine Austrian fare made up for that 10-fold. The trip was so incredibly interesting that I decided to break my blogging about it into three parts ("Introduction and Overview", "Tyrolean Cuisine", and "Lessons Learned While Traveling with the Whole Family").<br /><br />"The View From the Top" (taken from the tippy-top of the Hintertuxer Gletscher, one of the three ski resorts we hit while staying in Mayrhofen):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTZgGVtR258WwIu7yRIkZR98UpQb2SNPTv9AW63KzYN9ZllZWJkt6UA8cJGPFsMyN_4EfThPHLMQ9oVlFw_UBFDG9ZjhilbZqjwLZ5KlEt8xsLe1HREV2oTDsSunglC2z-iEs0R3uhno/s1600/Foto+1%25282%2529.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTZgGVtR258WwIu7yRIkZR98UpQb2SNPTv9AW63KzYN9ZllZWJkt6UA8cJGPFsMyN_4EfThPHLMQ9oVlFw_UBFDG9ZjhilbZqjwLZ5KlEt8xsLe1HREV2oTDsSunglC2z-iEs0R3uhno/s400/Foto+1%25282%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585319086360128178" border="0" /></a><br />"The Whole Crew" (minus the dogs, eating dinner in the Neue Post Hotel Restaurant):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMUGMDf0U-yY7BC8T3fRSR2RSrUpHVpDd0v2DvUC69pmx8qkVWrzIWNjMQ_8Tpz5syZ7-34S1Oa6nJho53nh8-VnyhD4NAa8SA7TRH2NODR_v4snIYQLB7HvrL1Afa629b16btVMhCF4/s1600/P3100144.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMUGMDf0U-yY7BC8T3fRSR2RSrUpHVpDd0v2DvUC69pmx8qkVWrzIWNjMQ_8Tpz5syZ7-34S1Oa6nJho53nh8-VnyhD4NAa8SA7TRH2NODR_v4snIYQLB7HvrL1Afa629b16btVMhCF4/s400/P3100144.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585318113324421618" border="0" /></a>"Happy Again" (Stef and I are never happier than when we are skiing and snowboarding together):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5theASDE3_OeTeZIMrcFY_J0zix0aTJ5G5TRZYKDu5N32A-OtJokHdM6CulfIYbDQwPiljPNCKRdegXZyQML5TD_g2wS-BWj8Rn-RVtwapvKITKuc719SVthJAV3YmbcNaZpGLNcSi6s/s1600/P3110188.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5theASDE3_OeTeZIMrcFY_J0zix0aTJ5G5TRZYKDu5N32A-OtJokHdM6CulfIYbDQwPiljPNCKRdegXZyQML5TD_g2wS-BWj8Rn-RVtwapvKITKuc719SVthJAV3YmbcNaZpGLNcSi6s/s400/P3110188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585317821399963906" border="0" /></a>The Skiiers (Kerstin, Stef and I were able to ski 5 out of 6 days thanks to Puppa's willingness to hang with the toddlers):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAYK1O0Nmh1RRk-1eQgMWOsUWhOhMC5MfcDPwuc-4RZBIAYAb6AaZNjFH1ykK7oW8iYQWp8a81y6zCmuZrHmqYhEl3EDQZpqmVBhHY3q9U8TDFtnngYUGOLSfxVc2iK70KdsimIT7WPI/s1600/P3100141.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAYK1O0Nmh1RRk-1eQgMWOsUWhOhMC5MfcDPwuc-4RZBIAYAb6AaZNjFH1ykK7oW8iYQWp8a81y6zCmuZrHmqYhEl3EDQZpqmVBhHY3q9U8TDFtnngYUGOLSfxVc2iK70KdsimIT7WPI/s400/P3100141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585317659999063778" border="0" /></a>Action Shot (Mommy, the "shredder"):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-s90ZlZzkRbNgFEarK6U8pQaPwzTGcvliPrKETcYSvQfMCHLpbXRGLO5XEO_lJ4I7WMPOQKUoGe7456UWn82j2YfsVImXcZoxkx5lfKDhnA7aghDjYKDjDSDNekCGqC40IjKw-EXR8pY/s1600/DSC_0997%25282%2529.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-s90ZlZzkRbNgFEarK6U8pQaPwzTGcvliPrKETcYSvQfMCHLpbXRGLO5XEO_lJ4I7WMPOQKUoGe7456UWn82j2YfsVImXcZoxkx5lfKDhnA7aghDjYKDjDSDNekCGqC40IjKw-EXR8pY/s400/DSC_0997%25282%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585317300483102018" border="0" /></a>Action Shot (Daddy catching some "air"):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicyxMsK4H0a9VHxOmNphdgJIgqKYvOW88I5go3eT2QZ-8DWzBkpcneouzn5UnVD5wsriccxzXp1ayYNrPrymOgBp1FIpAq-HbNPEGimuaDJ7AEGd958ioBhnsPl7qYE9MfLvJlnWsO-f0/s1600/DSC_0961.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicyxMsK4H0a9VHxOmNphdgJIgqKYvOW88I5go3eT2QZ-8DWzBkpcneouzn5UnVD5wsriccxzXp1ayYNrPrymOgBp1FIpAq-HbNPEGimuaDJ7AEGd958ioBhnsPl7qYE9MfLvJlnWsO-f0/s400/DSC_0961.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585317141978993378" border="0" /></a>"Someday..." (Flora and Addy trying on our "Brain-buckets"):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLc5Q0jS_XFNsN_gFW6HoDpNZ0VUdGq0mlxf_CLzGdi_veAWMMCIgQJvHR7083GEaDSaUNOr7YX7E8gYiLtwWYbYw75i5ncTqRRgS41-n-UDcAPxoRNGAMbxOXCX-SX4XxZCNq-tW5nU/s1600/DSC_0822%25282%2529.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLc5Q0jS_XFNsN_gFW6HoDpNZ0VUdGq0mlxf_CLzGdi_veAWMMCIgQJvHR7083GEaDSaUNOr7YX7E8gYiLtwWYbYw75i5ncTqRRgS41-n-UDcAPxoRNGAMbxOXCX-SX4XxZCNq-tW5nU/s400/DSC_0822%25282%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585317041017875570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmDqakHP4drWi_iWC6jbyfRofc2vTtk2ZAkSpsvqf3uW33N8ds4XTQFUtQxF_dK8AYbKGmqNKwZjIArnuDoWyEeHUI64ek1sE2idosukSrcM0SB-y14YKUB7YVcIFI_27U9Cr0yfUvRjQ/s1600/DSC_0820.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmDqakHP4drWi_iWC6jbyfRofc2vTtk2ZAkSpsvqf3uW33N8ds4XTQFUtQxF_dK8AYbKGmqNKwZjIArnuDoWyEeHUI64ek1sE2idosukSrcM0SB-y14YKUB7YVcIFI_27U9Cr0yfUvRjQ/s400/DSC_0820.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585316941122495890" border="0" /></a>Addy and I on our terrace, enjoying the view:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1igYNR_39RSS9WuiN3fo6LsU9fdn3WtOkcoKP7kgoRh9oZmAMvKMuMz13FI9Q_n5TWVZTtOAGadx-elwD9kiN7Fch2OZUSMr9BvJp1BVDhCnF9wzFLUEKTMd-6gz84BSR4pxBixryyp0/s1600/DSC_0794.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1igYNR_39RSS9WuiN3fo6LsU9fdn3WtOkcoKP7kgoRh9oZmAMvKMuMz13FI9Q_n5TWVZTtOAGadx-elwD9kiN7Fch2OZUSMr9BvJp1BVDhCnF9wzFLUEKTMd-6gz84BSR4pxBixryyp0/s400/DSC_0794.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585316851155278834" border="0" /></a>Just one of the death-defying rides up to the top of the mountain:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cbwZ4LlmnU28jj2ZZ9vKB-JAlsaqI0lLsgIGqMmoLrcfmCr6N2yXq49mBkfUPJgOsPROTRQwIXoi1qN0nIt6zMRmsfDF6BQ7B6EMt3PxU9NO_C9oGNSLwWqNhT3aAkWOUTSpgklF3sQ/s1600/P3110182.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cbwZ4LlmnU28jj2ZZ9vKB-JAlsaqI0lLsgIGqMmoLrcfmCr6N2yXq49mBkfUPJgOsPROTRQwIXoi1qN0nIt6zMRmsfDF6BQ7B6EMt3PxU9NO_C9oGNSLwWqNhT3aAkWOUTSpgklF3sQ/s400/P3110182.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585316336629952562" border="0" /></a>Riding up to the top with 30 other enthusiasts:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqDE-CfCQoXssg5y96TjhzaZPFFbQH4hatqr93T_YPiViKINc65Y3gaRtnnzuV3_dEZUZFWf0SnUJTDMCmegOqlIHuqyeOBF-5i2cQ6rvuX5nilTAUNSk_SGhe0tDw34ry9sb05wORUXA/s1600/P3110181.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqDE-CfCQoXssg5y96TjhzaZPFFbQH4hatqr93T_YPiViKINc65Y3gaRtnnzuV3_dEZUZFWf0SnUJTDMCmegOqlIHuqyeOBF-5i2cQ6rvuX5nilTAUNSk_SGhe0tDw34ry9sb05wORUXA/s400/P3110181.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585315891977423634" border="0" /></a><br />So, that's "Part 1." Stayed tuned for Parts 2 and 3. I gotta run; my computer is telling me so.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-72806401219902280782011-02-28T12:31:00.000-08:002011-02-28T21:46:41.686-08:00A Very, Very Important Visitor:When I was younger, I was very fortunate to do a lot of world traveling. I had the benefit of a high school which promoted travel and organized annual trips to Europe and the Far East. Then, in college, I took advantage of every opportunity to travel with friends, one of whom had a family home in a little town in Provence where we went almost every summer to wander around Southern France drinking Rose and flirting shamelessly in horrendously broken French. I also did a semester abroad at Oxford and used that as a springboard for even more travel around the UK, Ireland, France and Spain. Just after graduation from college, my father, stepmother, brother and I went to China along with my stepmother's parents and our very dear family friends, Bob and Fernando.<br /><br />When I "grew-up," I continued to travel as much as I could possibly afford to and I eventually got a job writing and producing corporate videos, which sent me on more overseas trips than I can count, one of which was actually a true "around the world" adventure-- 9 cities in 17 days; we went from China to India to multiple stops in Europe to Baltimore and back to California.<br /><br />With all this travel and all the exposure I was so very, very lucky to have, there was a quiet and deeply emotional sentiment that I carried with me; my mother and my stepfather had never been outside of the United States of America. And as much as they may have thought (and still might) that all I was thinking about was my own selfish enrichment, I never stopped thinking about how much I wanted to change that fact. It was not something I could have easily done at any point in my life before now (in spite of the rather glamorous story I am currently telling, I was always squeaking by with absolutely nothing left to spare). So, every time I have been in a brand new foreign city, looking at some incredible landmark or piece of artwork that can only be seen in that place, I think to myself how much I wish they both could be seeing it with me. I vowed many years ago, that someday, I would make it happen and they would see at least some of the incredibly beautiful and interesting things I have seen outside of the continental USA.<br /><br />Well, just over two weeks ago, half of my dream came true. As some of you might know from previous posts and from knowing me, my mother is much too ill to make the journey from New Jersey to Belgium. But my wonderful, amazing stepfather and dear friend, Elliott Lewis is not! And he came, thanks to the many miles Stefan accumulated from business travel in his last job. He came for 5 days (a short trip for some, but the absolute maximum amount of time he could bear to be away and that my mother could survive without him).<br /><br />We had a wonderful time. It was a brilliant combination of much-needed family time and adventures around Belgium. In addition to some local sightseeing within Brussels, we went to Bruges and to Ghent, both of which were beyond beautiful and exceeded all expectations. People have said many times that Bruges is so beautiful, picturesque and clean that it feels like a movie set. It really does. When you close your eyes and imagine what an ancient European city should look like- Bruges is it. If you find yourself in Belgium and you've not been to Bruges, you absolutely must go. It's gorgeous. Ghent is also outstanding and it has one thing over Bruges-- it doesn't seem to have the emphasis on tourism that Bruges has, so it's a little more authentic in that way. Go there too. It's totally awesome and I can't wait to go back. To shop, to eat, to meander around giant, monolithic temples to medieval torture (those ancient "Belgians" were sadistic bastards, btw).<br /><br />Anyway, having my stepfather here was a much needed dose of family love and I am so glad we were able to make it happen. The only thing better than realizing that longtime dream of showing him the world, was actually having him here.<br /><br />On that note, here are some pictures from our adventures (taken with a real camera, not my blackberry, Eve ;) ):<br /><br /><br />My super-awesome Stepdad, skipping around Bruges:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpiGL5_E80YSk22W0zirXBWhuY1ie0b-PTlPriyJSjA8PLNLIriZqWlq4glNCETfUoJP49uwknImKRKLlB0an2rX4R2zPQ-HubZ_5wAB1x6KfJ00xMPwH_dWdymOyLlSseIGM_zwuVeI/s1600/IMG_6789.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpiGL5_E80YSk22W0zirXBWhuY1ie0b-PTlPriyJSjA8PLNLIriZqWlq4glNCETfUoJP49uwknImKRKLlB0an2rX4R2zPQ-HubZ_5wAB1x6KfJ00xMPwH_dWdymOyLlSseIGM_zwuVeI/s400/IMG_6789.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578862822794024770" border="0" /></a>The gals just kickin' it in one of the oldest operational Town Halls in all of Europe:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWj8fmmkwM-C5oFhSIVWh1pmt22o0EuP781qBRVXt0BFAGdl78dikXLUkQYDwFk6SOACGsvGyl6u6gQhK6RbCTqHH541UOSiVpNRQgmCICzFf9aLv59fjqKFhcMbMx5TWxgOjhQyGqQ4/s1600/IMG_6846.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWj8fmmkwM-C5oFhSIVWh1pmt22o0EuP781qBRVXt0BFAGdl78dikXLUkQYDwFk6SOACGsvGyl6u6gQhK6RbCTqHH541UOSiVpNRQgmCICzFf9aLv59fjqKFhcMbMx5TWxgOjhQyGqQ4/s400/IMG_6846.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578863797177442978" border="0" /></a>The View from the Belfry in Bruges (ever see the movie, "In Bruges"?:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcqjqXhAocEmEv7zw9FSjmNHxr0YAAqPpfTMIvAGW7AopWiBNlW8wn_R1qAjmiWfkvdHyZD8p2uwd7zJqdseuEPQn06y7hy-Zpx7qlfodxBnVYighyphenhyphenzrBIbeKXA7ISNLcG2an_75T5M4/s1600/IMG_6859.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcqjqXhAocEmEv7zw9FSjmNHxr0YAAqPpfTMIvAGW7AopWiBNlW8wn_R1qAjmiWfkvdHyZD8p2uwd7zJqdseuEPQn06y7hy-Zpx7qlfodxBnVYighyphenhyphenzrBIbeKXA7ISNLcG2an_75T5M4/s400/IMG_6859.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578863509943520178" border="0" /></a>My super-duper little family, of which I couldn't be any prouder!:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixF8HgGB-LbQtLsG-GTuBI3VLp5gHC0zgGA9geE7hFohtqqtMthwzZ2_4CxmEP0PyTSISg1XwdG7HdQOieURSu-jdw8dwsiBfbXpyAVtgPUGMrCNgA71uDtV5AjqfG1wC4I9pU0XG2sUc/s1600/IMG_6817.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixF8HgGB-LbQtLsG-GTuBI3VLp5gHC0zgGA9geE7hFohtqqtMthwzZ2_4CxmEP0PyTSISg1XwdG7HdQOieURSu-jdw8dwsiBfbXpyAVtgPUGMrCNgA71uDtV5AjqfG1wC4I9pU0XG2sUc/s400/IMG_6817.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578863232868982674" border="0" /></a><br />A funny picture of Adela that has nothing at all to do with my Stepfather's visit, Bruges, OR Ghent, but I that I thought was worth sharing:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyVq6wXeH8PPaNiOcIyLL7AFGEpHlpCsZV0wX14tbEGD6-ITVfnVvzh7lkptbaClpYHnwwDA35dUoNqMZwbHuKQ9eqkuMYOePP5RIZSzPEQnR3OMyCsa-eKPLRMfjNVaGdCyg-TKFh64/s1600/IMG_6873.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyVq6wXeH8PPaNiOcIyLL7AFGEpHlpCsZV0wX14tbEGD6-ITVfnVvzh7lkptbaClpYHnwwDA35dUoNqMZwbHuKQ9eqkuMYOePP5RIZSzPEQnR3OMyCsa-eKPLRMfjNVaGdCyg-TKFh64/s400/IMG_6873.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578868688891336770" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-66521786714923686852011-02-09T06:08:00.000-08:002011-02-09T07:15:48.835-08:00Why Blog?Recently, someone said that they think I share too much on-line.<br /><br />I paused when I heard this because I realized that I probably do share a bit more than is comfortable for some.<br /><br />When you're part of the Foreign Service "<span style="" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc">blogosphere</span>", you get real cozy, real quick. There are so many of us and we are, without exaggeration, a family of sorts. It's easy to think of that particular audience and feel safe sharing your feelings without hesitation. You know that there is this special group of people out there, literally speckling the globe, who understand your deep, deep need to feel a part of something. When you're so isolated, as we all are, it's huge relief to be able to vent to people who can relate to the lonesomeness and to our very unique struggle to find connection.<br /><br />For instance, the minute you/your spouse joins the Foreign Service, you are catapulted into a life defined by uncertainty. First, you are uncertain about what your temporary life in Virginia will be. Then, you are caught in the purgatory of waiting to find out where you will be posted and then of course, you have no idea what to expect once you get to post. No amount of travel literature, personal post reports or even correspondence with people at that post, can create a clear picture of what your individual life will look like. We all try very hard to imagine, but there is no possible way to uncover the specifics until you arrive at post and begin to peel away the many layers of a new place for yourself. And that's just the first time around. For many of us, we will go through this process as many as 10 or 15 times in a lifetime! So, what do we do with all this uncertainty? Well, we think a lot... we speculate a lot... we talk a lot... and of course, some of us blog a lot.<br /><br />The sheer number of bloggers out there are proof enough that it is part of human nature to want to share our feelings and experiences. And the range of what people will share online is literally staggering-- bloggers share everything from our sexual proclivities to our strategies for saving money at the grocery store to our political views to our failings as parents to our favorite restaurants and on and on and on. There are as many different blogs out there as there are personalities to write them.<br /><br />So, add to this obviously very natural desire to share our feelings, the unique characteristics of Foreign Service life and it's no wonder that so many of us do it--- if for no other reason than it feels completely natural and fills an ever-widening void in our hearts. We are a lonely group (particularly the trailing spouses among us) and we spend most of our time, online and off, looking for people who can understand how we feel.<br /><br />This is why I blog. I blog to feel a part of something and I blog to feel that people actually care about what I have to say (because in my physical life, there aren't very many people around to listen). And for those people out there who think I sometimes go too far in exposing my intimate feelings on everything from my mother's illness to my insecurities about my marriage to the sense of loss I feel at the sale of my family home, I want to say this: if anyone actually spends the time to read what I have written, then I firmly believe that they are worth sharing it with.<br /><br />From what I can tell, there are two basic groups of people who read our blogs-- the friends and family who love us (and want to understand what our lives look and feel like) and our Foreign Service families-- hopeful members of the community and actively serving members. Those are two groups that I feel very good about and I don't much care about the people who think I am doing something wrong or inappropriate. This is what I need to do now, to get through, to get by and to feel like I am part of something beyond the walls of this house that isn't mine, in a country that isn't mine.<br /><br />(and of course, as with every blog I write, this is just another unabashed plea for validation... )Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-49721915932630930132011-02-06T23:12:00.000-08:002011-02-07T00:33:27.037-08:00Big, Big, Big News:On Saturday, Stefan and I went to Cite du Dragon in Uccle. A friend of ours is in town for training on a new job and offered to stay with the girls (in exchange for staying in our guest room). I am pretty tired of the standard Belgian menu-- moules, frites, steak tartare, waterzooi, etc.-- and we'd passed this wild looking place before and had read it was good. So, date night took us to a giant, traditional, Belgian mansion turned Chinese banquet hall.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjEmwRE_4jftkfGs3Mu7_PfDOrGGcWAOPFkw8lOwDbo5DTmmoUbO3EcOtEw1gNPPTs3iUBRMXbKj4t0EiiVHyWSBUsmzZN0MRcDReXqj1fABqM4UvCui4zQFAcbmOKFstFxqDTipBaRLY/s1600/IMG00360-20110206-2221.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjEmwRE_4jftkfGs3Mu7_PfDOrGGcWAOPFkw8lOwDbo5DTmmoUbO3EcOtEw1gNPPTs3iUBRMXbKj4t0EiiVHyWSBUsmzZN0MRcDReXqj1fABqM4UvCui4zQFAcbmOKFstFxqDTipBaRLY/s400/IMG00360-20110206-2221.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570842729212392050" border="0" /></a>It was incredible-- like nothing I have ever actually seen in real life before. There must have been 300 people eating in the mansion's many dining rooms. There were traditional Chinese sculptures everywhere and loads of pink and blue florescent lights. The floor in the main dining room was clear and underneath it, swam giant, over-fed Coi of all shapes and colors. There were fountains spouting recirculated water into ponds covered in footbridges. It was ostentatious, gaudy and decadent, all the while having a certain self-effacing charm.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7J0o1K6n-4LtvhO5EI6GYLdkUA2q38-DqJUGVj4WW_wF-pdCWuDsR_6mjqDi_PpM1cfVpxAvquiz9NeEqN2x1h4nI5wXnqK38jJIL0R5rDW2_iwEIyGWF67L2MydY9R3lJNr93xgG4w/s1600/IMG00357-20110206-2216.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7J0o1K6n-4LtvhO5EI6GYLdkUA2q38-DqJUGVj4WW_wF-pdCWuDsR_6mjqDi_PpM1cfVpxAvquiz9NeEqN2x1h4nI5wXnqK38jJIL0R5rDW2_iwEIyGWF67L2MydY9R3lJNr93xgG4w/s400/IMG00357-20110206-2216.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570842545630206338" border="0" /></a>It is not a stretch to suggest that Cite du Dragon is a perfect metaphor for our Foreign Service life-- it was once a perfectly proportioned, Belgian mansion, snuggled into the charming Flemish commune of Uccle and now, it's a huge, outrageous Chinese banquet hall where families come to mange on endless buffets of dim sum, sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, lychees and tapioca.<br /><br />You're probably scratching your head and wondering what the hell I am talking about. Well, on Friday night, I returned home from an evening walk through the park with the dogs and Stefan handed me his blackberry and told me to read the message entitled, "Assignment Notification: Whitney, Stefan." My jaw dropped. We had only sent in our bid list on January 27th. How could we possibly have been assigned already? But sure enough, I opened the message and it read, "Congratulations, we have carefully reviewed all bidders... and we have selected you for the following position: SHANGHAI, CHINA 10/2013."<br /><br />So, we are going to Shanghai next! For those who don't know, Stefan had CNL (Critical Needs Language) points for Mandarin, Chinese when he joined the Foreign Service and we are therefore obligated to serve in a Mandarin designated post on one of our first two tours. Knowing this, we strategically bid on Western European and South American posts the first time around. Shanghai, while not a total shock, is still incredibly exciting because we easily could have been going to a more remote, industrial Chinese city instead. We have dodged yet another bullet and we are going to another beautiful, exciting and relatively easy to acclimate to city. Yippppppeeeee! The super-lucky Whitneys strike again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadsHjnCImesSipo5uj07_gTvMFeJ3EhAGJAxVHS9KrbrqOLcd8_cb1vRF0WZf87w5D90hezw8QgaaPuhNsqgoJHbdgb1CLj7BmgawoyZtCNLJhsBAKdm7blOVVTRIvHwATA82g3LcC5o/s1600/IMG00356-20110206-2215.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadsHjnCImesSipo5uj07_gTvMFeJ3EhAGJAxVHS9KrbrqOLcd8_cb1vRF0WZf87w5D90hezw8QgaaPuhNsqgoJHbdgb1CLj7BmgawoyZtCNLJhsBAKdm7blOVVTRIvHwATA82g3LcC5o/s400/IMG00356-20110206-2215.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570842384737937026" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-5839789955378772762011-01-23T23:52:00.000-08:002011-01-27T05:45:59.261-08:00Au Revoire Aft Cabin:My father and stepmother are in the process of getting divorced. It's a hard time for all of us. This past Friday, they sold our family home in Sagaponack, NY (a little village in the middle of the "Hamptons"). They built it 23 years ago. I remember walking the empty field that would become that property and imagining all the possibilities for what it would someday be.<br /><br />It became an enclave for our family. A safe haven. A little bit of something to call our own. My little bother learned to walk on the grass there and learned to swim in the pool. My stepmother tended to a vast rose garden in the south-eastern corner of the lot. My father cooked giant steaks on the grill. I hosted my classmates for an after-prom party when I was seventeen. I had countless friends from college there to go to the beach, swim in the pool and BBQ on the lawn. And perhaps, most importantly, my husband and I were married there four years ago.<br /><br />It was a shingled beach house with an out building that we called the "Carriage House." The lot was flag-shaped and immensely private. It was lined with giant privet hedges and when you sat on the long front porch that was the dominant feature of the house, you could feel perfectly alone with your thoughts, isolated from the madness of the Hamptons. You could hear the waves in the distance. My most favorite time of the day was sunset, with a glass of Chardonnay-- the goblet frosty with perspiration; the warmth of the sun, giving way to the crispness of evening. It was that very feeling that I wanted to recapture and share with all my friends and family when Stefan and I decided to have our wedding on the front lawn.<br /><br />The sadness I feel at knowing the house is gone is only eased by knowing that there was no room left for good memories there. When my parents' marriage began to unravel, it became a dark place. Not just because they were angry and disappointed, but also because the money had run out and the house began to show signs of neglect. It was like watching a beautiful woman age rapidly right in front of your eyes. The shingles started to fall from the roof, the fences began to wilt and crumble. You could hear the echoes of happier times-- see children running around on the lawn, adults skinny-dipping in the pool late at night under the cast of the moon. These were ghosts though and inside the house was a groaning sound-- a longing, a deep, unsettling absence of these very moments.<br /><br />I guess I had hoped my own children would become part of this house's memories, but by the time they both arrived, there was no hope left. It was already too late and that oddly makes saying goodbye easier, but no less final.<br /><br />It's gone and I think the new owners are going to level it and build something bigger and more glamorous. They will have their own stories and their own memories and they will be layered over ours. I guess this must happen a lot, particularly in America where everyone wants something of their own-- something new and untarnished and without history. I vow right now, to never "level" a house. I never want to wash away the very things that make a place special. Maybe I am just angry, but I think it's a terrible waste.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-33550728912112198002011-01-11T22:36:00.000-08:002011-01-14T05:49:10.229-08:00And so Life Begins...We are really here now. We aren't waiting for anything else to come to make it official. We have a car. We have our things. All of our holiday guests have gone... really, this time. Now, it's us in Brussels and our daily life has begun to take shape. I feel like things are coming together in a natural and pretty livable way.<br /><br />I started French class yesterday, which was great, if only because I now feel like I am taking some real responsibility for learning to communicate here. I miss the daily exchanges that make life as a stay at home mother tolerable. I have the perfect set-up: an incredible butcher, patisserie, bookshop and coffee-shop all within three blocks. These are the unsuspecting people who would otherwise become my easiest contact with the outside world, but alas, I can't talk to them in anything other than well-rehearsed grunts and sign language. I promised my butcher that I would speak to him in nothing but French by March, so here's to hoping that Madame Tuchsznajder can make that happen.<br /><br />This week also brings the start of two baby/toddler classes. We would have started Music Together this Friday, but our teacher apparently suffered the loss of a family member and has put it off until next Friday. However, we do start the Belgian version-- <a href="http://www.bebemaestro.com/notre-equipe/qui-sommes-nous/">Bebe Maestro</a>-- as a family, on Saturday evening. I am looking forward to suffering through the embarrassment of singing and dancing with my co-parent by my side. This class is entirely in French and I am hoping it will help both Adela and I get a little more comfortable with hearing the language spoken in a context we can both relate to (Addy will be going to a French preschool in the fall and I hope to go to work in the local economy at the same time).<br /><br />I joined an incredible Health Club,<a href="http://www.royallarasante.be/fr"> Royal La Rasante</a>, shortly after we arrived here and it is proving to be my saving grace on so many levels. I've begun calling it my "Personal Urban Wellness Retreat," which is actually not hyperbole because in addition to the fitness facilities, it also has a full-service creche (the french word for "daycare"), a beautiful holistic day spa, tons of yoga and fitness classes, tennis courts, pools, a restaurant (with booze!), a steam room, sauna and best of all, two "relaxation rooms" (which in my case are actually "nap" rooms). I can go there, drop off the girls and hit the gym, have lunch, get my eyebrows waxed and then take a shower, steam and nap. It's heaven... truly.<br /><br />Perhaps the best part of life here is the <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/place?oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=parc+woluwe+brussels&fb=1&hq=parc+woluwe&hnear=Brussels,+Belgium&cid=7328233445970625853">Parc de Woluwe</a>. It is two blocks from our house and it's so dog friendly, I can't believe it. I feel like it's a little taste of nature in an otherwise very concrete jungle. The dogs can run off-leash and Adela can walk, at her own pace, through the park's many trails and closed roadways. I find it's the perfect place to reflect on my new life. It also reminds me a lot of Brookdale Park, which we left behind in Montclair, NJ. So, it also has a transcendent effect on me-- it takes me home, if only for a few moments.<br /><br />A nice day in Brussels is one when it doesn't rain. The sun shines maybe once a week, so getting outside when it's not raining is essential. Here are some pictures of this morning's walk through the park:<br /><br /><br />A woodland seat, carved from a stump:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFapTi4POoGRURIzVtGqdFOFW04USCXiGDV7SlcKdc5LWOwhNTCVlRya572F1epCSfGsI342lC8VnMoPrYPkpXvwn6GwnpFQoG8-J58c_rWyiLl9xS4uCYB6F9ZdxfXNEL3swa5fe1I0/s1600/IMG00292-20110115-1143.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFapTi4POoGRURIzVtGqdFOFW04USCXiGDV7SlcKdc5LWOwhNTCVlRya572F1epCSfGsI342lC8VnMoPrYPkpXvwn6GwnpFQoG8-J58c_rWyiLl9xS4uCYB6F9ZdxfXNEL3swa5fe1I0/s400/IMG00292-20110115-1143.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562032449104162402" border="0" /></a>Addy, enjoying her favorite "Lait" flavored lollipop on a bench carved from a fallen tree:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uqjPNJYTTE7DBoV-vylXgcxfP4Fm3diCteGa59XZ-078TG1Hp0VMDgpml3trwvP0o3EL_wHgUC1QPNtRWnDhin2e_awPYAF_wx0c6ijaInTOdFyAxrUOCMf1kNu0aRNekXcivp7cKvI/s1600/IMG00290-20110115-1141.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uqjPNJYTTE7DBoV-vylXgcxfP4Fm3diCteGa59XZ-078TG1Hp0VMDgpml3trwvP0o3EL_wHgUC1QPNtRWnDhin2e_awPYAF_wx0c6ijaInTOdFyAxrUOCMf1kNu0aRNekXcivp7cKvI/s400/IMG00290-20110115-1141.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562032255557158178" border="0" /></a>Taking her time, meandering through the woods:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBTBRf7XNAqYZmp9KuNU1X5aqzhAUs32i0JZznEBlke4qHreZ0HNj62L7QCRGQmXML2BzdJ-yWPtwgdgh2udm_Rz3wO4XcuyqDBzD2Zv-Rbm0_DWhZyteSulYtLJiD24p6j_jmAZj8sY/s1600/IMG00291-20110115-1142.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBTBRf7XNAqYZmp9KuNU1X5aqzhAUs32i0JZznEBlke4qHreZ0HNj62L7QCRGQmXML2BzdJ-yWPtwgdgh2udm_Rz3wO4XcuyqDBzD2Zv-Rbm0_DWhZyteSulYtLJiD24p6j_jmAZj8sY/s400/IMG00291-20110115-1142.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562032361016125746" border="0" /></a><br />My sweet girl and lately, my absolute best companion and partner in crime:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzghix3UauNfmdpXdHx4j3cM3v38jMs2JlnuvpEHUKtc7idHqY_o5XnKDgCSwm4iVfPdCAwBMpB7ExSfXhEjGeWzIUhQ7RBQHR5bs83xskPBQMOGi7t2f6mfUrp0mnnNft3XB2FTWB374/s1600/IMG00288-20110115-1133.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzghix3UauNfmdpXdHx4j3cM3v38jMs2JlnuvpEHUKtc7idHqY_o5XnKDgCSwm4iVfPdCAwBMpB7ExSfXhEjGeWzIUhQ7RBQHR5bs83xskPBQMOGi7t2f6mfUrp0mnnNft3XB2FTWB374/s400/IMG00288-20110115-1133.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562032157395444306" border="0" /></a><br />All in all, with the rhythm of our lives taking shape, I feel back in control of my proverbial helm. I see the next two years as a time of great discovery and growth. We have gotten the bid-list for our next post already, and even though we've only been here for little over a month, I already feel a tug at my heartstrings when I remember that this is a finite experience and Brussels will only be mine for a short time. I want to enjoy every minute of my time here and I hope I can keep the lonesomeness at bay, so it doesn't define the entire experience. Here's to hoping I make some friends... SOON!Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-44078130137368805832011-01-07T01:38:00.000-08:002011-01-07T02:09:38.616-08:00Our House in Pictures:So, this post is dedicated to:<br /><ul><li>Our friends and family who are interested in seeing where and how we live. </li><li>New Foreign Service families who have yet to go to post and are curious about what an FS house might look like. </li><li>Foreign Service hopefuls who want to know what an FS house might look like. </li></ul>Of course, I recognize that there is a great deal of variability and I make no claim that our house is standard State Department housing. I really have no idea how it compares to housing outside of Brussels, but from what I have seen, it's pretty standard for here and for a family of our size and rank. It is a clean, spacious house and we love it. It's so much nicer than anything we've lived in before and has everything we need, including an additional refrigerator to compensate for the miniature European one in our kitchen. I'd say if I had any complaints at all, it would be the size of the appliances, but I am managing just fine and feel very lucky to have such a nice place to call home for the next two years:<br /><br />The Living Room:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8qS9qtZxR5FEIS-LemFv_VhmU3c9n2FKhw6FIZDBO1AuGK17k0gqgIZ6zz_20gqabnv9vp9TkQaO27pIOMPWywWGK77mvCnzCErbopbyirQ0COHIOE7KI6JyyENxiJk8onIZogaFcCc/s1600/IMG00272-20110108-0826.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8qS9qtZxR5FEIS-LemFv_VhmU3c9n2FKhw6FIZDBO1AuGK17k0gqgIZ6zz_20gqabnv9vp9TkQaO27pIOMPWywWGK77mvCnzCErbopbyirQ0COHIOE7KI6JyyENxiJk8onIZogaFcCc/s400/IMG00272-20110108-0826.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559376278997673970" border="0" /></a>The Dining Room (table is set without the two leaves that make it banquet-worthy... it's enormous!):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7K8lRZAfnc45E28L0T6E4jCOx9IJfn5zn5Xlv6zWgNZCUxNCZFK6lgxMAxTMqoAtmfLvVoGw1GcbMvC8P9r-iAPwHMwIrzwWqPeIiR_SGTo9oRcehlBobTNuAmcp_Wx88_xF01zzpLzI/s1600/IMG00267-20110108-0821.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7K8lRZAfnc45E28L0T6E4jCOx9IJfn5zn5Xlv6zWgNZCUxNCZFK6lgxMAxTMqoAtmfLvVoGw1GcbMvC8P9r-iAPwHMwIrzwWqPeIiR_SGTo9oRcehlBobTNuAmcp_Wx88_xF01zzpLzI/s400/IMG00267-20110108-0821.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559376172505851458" border="0" /></a>The Kitchen:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit95jPSd57ncv63gQ5-dyX3uWPf7tUnJtxJlvTP3paMS_5_uv9wHXtKKLomrR8dG2om4e__v_nrnwe-UIArHRnZrDDKzpJKyIJL3V1IRr8razwwKvYNDW2SJ-pWT5TVz5eO2IBTkjdocg/s1600/IMG00274-20110108-0827.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit95jPSd57ncv63gQ5-dyX3uWPf7tUnJtxJlvTP3paMS_5_uv9wHXtKKLomrR8dG2om4e__v_nrnwe-UIArHRnZrDDKzpJKyIJL3V1IRr8razwwKvYNDW2SJ-pWT5TVz5eO2IBTkjdocg/s400/IMG00274-20110108-0827.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559383682386464706" border="0" /></a>The Reading "Nook" (just off the kitchen, so I don't have to cook alone):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwelQSieEVG0YVwNFg6qePS9-QtBi5Si_89d60qXFCWKs8wVIXpuYZ1mFVThLIwznwKsHhVO5wTGXYKoD7Vayerm0FKYKJYWjh_m7tt0H6fuBrB67NgdoWQcGOIS6Z2GpuDKirZEyfzkk/s1600/IMG00273-20110108-0827%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwelQSieEVG0YVwNFg6qePS9-QtBi5Si_89d60qXFCWKs8wVIXpuYZ1mFVThLIwznwKsHhVO5wTGXYKoD7Vayerm0FKYKJYWjh_m7tt0H6fuBrB67NgdoWQcGOIS6Z2GpuDKirZEyfzkk/s400/IMG00273-20110108-0827%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559383233546411186" border="0" /></a>The "Fun" Room:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWB0LkqV22uroqc1-5tP0QcbYZOMTA_92FeX2hCoi3UO-9FQI4jCDM_CMyn8Pa_MVRDh1KElKoK_SGqcCTHReZOaRSB67SjDLTSRpBuptuK-iwuUwz_vrfY4u_J92n3O0JndPXKMBGCNo/s1600/IMG00276-20110108-0829.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWB0LkqV22uroqc1-5tP0QcbYZOMTA_92FeX2hCoi3UO-9FQI4jCDM_CMyn8Pa_MVRDh1KElKoK_SGqcCTHReZOaRSB67SjDLTSRpBuptuK-iwuUwz_vrfY4u_J92n3O0JndPXKMBGCNo/s400/IMG00276-20110108-0829.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559376469589935234" border="0" /></a><br />Adela's Bedroom:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHSzJ5-89vOE7wjn-ETMX28vF92Z4aEUboNCRhWEQhj78PPaJAV3Nq0TtHMW6cEVfcE04Ke38bDVckF6SvGu0tY3W_Ylfmt3i1eWLWd7RH0qoafScM7bb80daqceHCIkr583g5xifQZY/s1600/IMG00277-20110108-1022.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHSzJ5-89vOE7wjn-ETMX28vF92Z4aEUboNCRhWEQhj78PPaJAV3Nq0TtHMW6cEVfcE04Ke38bDVckF6SvGu0tY3W_Ylfmt3i1eWLWd7RH0qoafScM7bb80daqceHCIkr583g5xifQZY/s400/IMG00277-20110108-1022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559376614131012738" border="0" /></a>Flora's Bedroom:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6yGqRgcpAHOtifLpotInNMT71jeE_aemM2eIARRY9ZaymIfVDZahAi1UguYD2WA5vE3X31Tg91Dl1AEjVkhQKAYTJvYJ0ETICZcjjN7WA9vIY139bPu7k3v_VhHYr4uPlq1KMmURfiQ/s1600/IMG00278-20110108-1023.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6yGqRgcpAHOtifLpotInNMT71jeE_aemM2eIARRY9ZaymIfVDZahAi1UguYD2WA5vE3X31Tg91Dl1AEjVkhQKAYTJvYJ0ETICZcjjN7WA9vIY139bPu7k3v_VhHYr4uPlq1KMmURfiQ/s400/IMG00278-20110108-1023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559376741613650578" border="0" /></a>Guest Bedroom:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKk5Yv6BZA3r4cE8J19htSWb1K0i74Pqal6ZX2igpKI9l96QS6XwiZruTSmrqXWpilwq0vLCYCFwXimBEioHG_ptOFoawaNXxQyI37sL5DADONDLJdHPE8Qrx8O5VNpDzWNLMl21nOhA/s1600/IMG00280-20110108-1027.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKk5Yv6BZA3r4cE8J19htSWb1K0i74Pqal6ZX2igpKI9l96QS6XwiZruTSmrqXWpilwq0vLCYCFwXimBEioHG_ptOFoawaNXxQyI37sL5DADONDLJdHPE8Qrx8O5VNpDzWNLMl21nOhA/s400/IMG00280-20110108-1027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559376887281474098" border="0" /></a>Our Bedroom:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_9FTiZBXHzWtIWOmIrO20JSK5hE105livTT8f94AIS-vgHvynVndgd8kyP7dX95XsLs2cU1hSoAS5n0HfSQOqtt0aMHFNXaeQv-PoSCYJEYpea7jY079BxxlmOuT6TAuMPVJ6xcH2BVs/s1600/IMG00279-20110108-1025.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_9FTiZBXHzWtIWOmIrO20JSK5hE105livTT8f94AIS-vgHvynVndgd8kyP7dX95XsLs2cU1hSoAS5n0HfSQOqtt0aMHFNXaeQv-PoSCYJEYpea7jY079BxxlmOuT6TAuMPVJ6xcH2BVs/s400/IMG00279-20110108-1025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559377038903672610" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-47474817494662704042011-01-02T09:43:00.000-08:002011-01-05T00:40:09.048-08:00The Big, Belated Holiday Update:So, our stuff arrived pre-Christmas as hoped. Unfortunately, it came sans Christmas ornaments, which admittedly made me very sad at first. But, not for long because I am learning to count my blessings. Our stuff came and the only thing that didn't come were the bits and baubles we needed to make our home Christmas-y. But everything that did come made our house "home," which is vastly more important. Now, as I sit here on my huge, luscious, cushy couch and I look at my cookbooks and candlesticks and artwork and I know that when I go to cook dinner, everything I need will be there, I feel... elated. Now, we LIVE in Brussels and so many of the things that seemed daunting and miserable three weeks ago now seem exciting and accessible.<br /><br />Life is good.<br /><br />But, I would be lying if I didn't say that while the last two weeks have been incredible and heart-warming in ways unimaginable, they have also been really, really hard.<br /><br />A list:<br /><br />Dec. 22, 2010: Our shipment of household goods arrive! My husband's cousin and aunt from Germany arrive too.<br /><br />Dec. 23, 2010: Unpacking continues. My mother and father-in-law arrive too.<br /><br />Dec. 24, 2010: Christmas Eve. Unpacking continues. Christmas Eve is celebrated (both in Europe and at the senior Whitney household, Christmas Eve is the "high" holiday). We ate homemade Sauerbraten, Braised Red Cabbage, Potato Dumplings and for dessert, homemade "German" Christmas cookies. At night, after the children went to sleep, we built a miniature IKEA kitchen, a toddler-sized table and chairs and wrapped some miscellaneous kitchen accoutrement. Most of our gifts didn't arrive in time for Christmas, due mostly to poor planning and really, really bad weather).<br /><br />Dec. 25, 2010: Unpacking continues. Christmas morning is celebrated and my brother and stepmother arrive. We all (10 of us) head out to the largest Christmas market in Brussels at St. Catherine's Place. We drank <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Gluwhein</span> while Addy rode the awesomest Carousel ever. Then we slogged through the slush and snow to get home. I made truffle totoloni, followed by Leg of lamb with mint sauce, pureed Parsnip and Roasted Purple Potatoes. We bought two heavenly Buche de Noel from our local (Japanese) Patisserie. Next year, I vow to make them myself, but this year, corners HAD to be cut.<br /><br />Dec. 26, 2010: Christmas is over but the entertaining continues.<br /><br />Dec. 27, 2010: My brother and I decide to make good on an earlier conversation to go to Amsterdam together. He's 19 to my 33 and in his first year of college. I decided. given my constant proximity to the Netherlands (2.5 hours by train), that I would defer to his agenda. You can imagine what that included. Here's the thing: we snuck out of the house in the wee hours, before the babies were up and came home long after they'd gone to bed. Therefore, I didn't really care what we did. It was so nice to feel light and free and without responsibility, if only for a 15 hour day. No, we didn't see the Van Gogh museum and we didn't see Anne Frank's Huis. The Rembrandt Museum was closed. But instead of those more culturally demanding activities, we walked all around town together chatting and bonding, with snowflakes falling on our heads and shoulders, taking in its charm and beauty-- the canals, the architecture, the incredible design shops! Then we ate Chinese food (I know- huh? I had a craving, what can I say?) We finished the day by walking some more and eating a local favorite-- Dutch Pancakes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOuwwSA6FpMr2293fdjhmBYTtm9Bp6dmWDbun4eXdexLeGoQA56BgbGzE7RpnQhhLxRBsOtrR_Su1yy0nGAqfAuWLHHYa0cjcMsG1rwsDvuI0Ynbmp2pzVoAzgrwiwZF_fR3MGL3yaiM/s1600/IMG00248-20101228-1644.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOuwwSA6FpMr2293fdjhmBYTtm9Bp6dmWDbun4eXdexLeGoQA56BgbGzE7RpnQhhLxRBsOtrR_Su1yy0nGAqfAuWLHHYa0cjcMsG1rwsDvuI0Ynbmp2pzVoAzgrwiwZF_fR3MGL3yaiM/s400/IMG00248-20101228-1644.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558599435381272082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was a good day. And a blessing to get to spend that amount of uninterrupted time with my brother, during a period when we both need to be reminded of the importance of having one another. Though so many years separate us, our experience is much the same and there is no substitute for a sibling. I love my little brother very much and I am sorry that his life is hard.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3y9eaeiKsgAwudbLgUX6gUad_SD8cw9QIikC3ck3aTkc3V51hyKsy7kK6w4Y3RJREIuLJImUikj3FHTHRh9AQWeqMSS4R3XKJ7kFxfIR2i7mIG1FTF2BcELXbb1CU9id1dGVHGw6kiY/s1600/IMG00247-20101228-1611.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3y9eaeiKsgAwudbLgUX6gUad_SD8cw9QIikC3ck3aTkc3V51hyKsy7kK6w4Y3RJREIuLJImUikj3FHTHRh9AQWeqMSS4R3XKJ7kFxfIR2i7mIG1FTF2BcELXbb1CU9id1dGVHGw6kiY/s400/IMG00247-20101228-1611.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558599952349740994" border="0" /></a><br />I could keep going with the list, but you get the point. It's been a very busy time-- lots of guests, lots of activity and very little time for quiet reflection. So when New Year's Eve rolled around and we hadn't any plans, I had no problem whipping up a a quiche and a salad and drinking wine instead of Champagne with my husband and stepmother. It was quiet, but lovely.<br /><br />As 2011 unrolls, I feel I have a lot to be thankful for, but I also feel I have a lot of work to do on myself. I suppose there will always be that-- a list of things you want to change and/or improve. But for me, this year, that list seems particularly long and I think it's because this lifestyle really highlights some of my biggest shortcomings. I am disorganized and bad at keeping in touch with the people I love when they are far away. To those of you who might be reading this and have been the victim of my terrible correspondence, I want to apologize and acknowledge that I will do better. That's my resolution. Well, one of them.<br /><br />Most of the boxes are unpacked and the house is coming together. As soon as I get the final pieces put away, I will photograph the entire house and post the pictures. When we were contemplating the Foreign Service, I searched every blog I could for pictures of the housing and now that I have my own Foreign Service housing, I want to share. Stay tuned for that.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-77184421806728748132010-12-20T10:43:00.000-08:002010-12-20T10:44:00.978-08:00The Tale of the Mysterious Cameroonian Housekeeper:<span style="font-family:georgia;">(WARNING: very long post. no pictures. read at your own risk.)<br /><br />It's no secret that I have been a little overwhelmed with my responsibilities here and as such, I made it a top priority to find some domestic help STAT. I set about looking for the world's perfect domestic helper, one who excelled at both housecleaning and childcare and who could speak both French and English fluently. I secretly hoped she might also be very likable and could double as "my friend," but that's another story entirely.<br /><br />Knowing little about how such people are located here, I went to our trusty "xpats.com," which is a kind of craigslist for expatriates living in Brussels. It's an amazing resource and I found many ads for women (and men) looking for just the kind of job I was offering. I quickly set about emailing all of them (literally), hoping to found one I liked. I got a few responses, not as many as I'd hoped, but a few was enough to find "Anny."<br /><br />Anny and I corresponded over several emails. I learned that she was young, 26, and she was originally from Cameroon. She had loads of experience "child-minding" and cleaning and she also "loved to iron" (huh? really? okay.) Her written English was superb. It was very, very formal, yet instilled a sense of total calm. I felt her words formed a warm embrace around me and said, "I will save you. I will make your life livable. I will coddle your children, iron your bed-linens, cook along side you and sing haunting, west African lullabies all the while." She seemed perfect.<br /><br />We set a date to meet: 6:30PM last Monday evening. I was so excited. I had found the solution to all my problems: out of control children, disaster of a house, wrinkled duvet covers, lonesomeness. I spent all of Monday preparing the house (weird, I know) and setting the stage. I wanted to say, "We need you, Anny, but we're not totally out of control." I lit candles. I dressed the children. I coached Stefan. Then, we waited. And waited. 6:30 came and went. 7:00 came and went. I scratched my head and defended her to Stef, "Perhaps, she's gotten lost. She's never been here before after all." Right. 7:15 arrived and I decided to call her, "Anny? It's Devon. Just wondering... are you still planning to come... I hope?" Her creamy, smooth French/African voice sang, "Yes, Devon. I am just getting off the bus. Should be there momentarily."<br /><br />She arrived at 7:45. It was admittedly sort of ridiculous to be over an hour late to a job interview, but it's ridiculousness sort of made it all right. I was also very desperate. The interview went well. She had a strong maternal presence despite having had no children of her own. She had gentle eyes and a soft voice. She was confident in her interactions with the girls. She answered our questions thoughtfully, if not a little bashfully. She was willing and eager to do all the things we asked and ready to start immediately. Phew. Fabulous. We left it that she would start on Wednesday, as long as her references came in and were up to snuff. They were. Well, it was.<br /><br />I sent emails to the three references she gave me and I got one back in response. It was glowing and included passages such as this:<br /><br />"With regard to the quality of her work, one word summarises her output- superb! She tended to the general cleaning and tidying up of the house and that she did remarkably well! With respect to childcare, she cared for our kids as she would her own-- with sheer kindness and affection. The kids simply loved her, and would mimic and sing the new songs she taught them."<br /><br />And also:<br /><br />"Besides, she was punctual, and incidents of timing or lateness were very uncommon."<br /><br />To summarize, these people, for whom she worked for two years, thought she was the second coming. They adored her and had nothing but extraordinarily good things to say about her. Additionally, the woman mentioned timeliness, which had obviously already become a concern, so I felt like this was as good as I was going to do with absolutely nothing to go on. She seemed great. She said all the right things. She seemed like a good fit. And most importantly, Adela seemed to like her immediately. So, I wrote an email and said, as I had mentioned at our first meeting, that I would like her to start on Wednesday morning, at 9AM.<br /><br />Tuesday night, before I went to bed, I checked my email for a final time and she hadn't written back. Then on Wednesday morning, I hadn't heard from her still, so I called her and asked her if she intended to come. She claimed had only just seen my email, but would love to come work for us and she would head right over. She would be here at 11AM.<br /><br />At noon, she came and she made no apologies. Okay. No problem. She hadn't expected to come, but she made it. And she got right to work and began cleaning. And she cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. I was very ill. We were all quite ill, but she cleaned around us... for 8 hours. Much longer than I had asked her to and much longer than anyone would have expected her to. So sick was I that I just kind of let it happen and enjoyed the sounds of the vacuum and mop downstairs. Finally, Stefan suggested that she leave and go home. She had done enough for the day and could finish on Friday when she came. She left us with a mammoth list of supplies that she needed to "do a proper job," and left. We agreed she would come back on Friday and that I would email her the time.<br /><br />The next day, I wrote to her asking her to come at 1PM and thanking her for her hard work the day before. She wrote back and said she would come at 1PM and thanked me for thanking her.<br /><br />Friday at 1PM came and she didn't show. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. By 3PM, I started to worry about her. The weather was bad. It was icy and snowy and Anny, well, Anny is a very large young woman, so I was imagining that she'd taken a bad fall along the way or some other horrible scenario. After all, it would have to be very bad for her not to even call me from her cell phone to explain her absence. I had long since forgotten all the things I needed her to do and was more worried about her well being.<br /><br />At 3:30PM, I got a message. It read,<br /><br />"Dear Devon, I'm deeply sorry I couldn't make it today as earlier agreed, due to my failing health. Worse still, I couldn't send you a mail notifying you about my impending absence (lack of internet connection). I've been bed-ridden the earlier part of the day. Hoping to regain health and vitality back quick enough. Please, accept my most profound apologies for every inconvenience inflicted upon you and your family as a result of my poor health. I'm awfully sorry. Whilst counting on your kind consideration, Regards Anny"<br /><br />Hmph.<br /><br />Now, I ask you, friends and followers, what would you have done? Every instinct I had told me to cut and run… immediately. In this day and age of instant communication, there’s really no excuse for the old “no show, no call,” and in any formal workplace, there would have been nary a second thought. But there is this nagging part of me that still isn’t sure that my immediate dismissal of poor Anny wasn’t just a bit too harsh. Of course, we probably gave her the illness that kept her from coming to work. And I have no idea what her circumstances are at home. So, I feel a little bad and a little sad about the whole thing. Mostly, I just think it’s all a bit weird and when it comes to choosing the people who will help care for your children, weird is something that we all try to avoid at all costs. So, I explained that I need someone I can count on unconditionally and that her not calling to let me know was simply unacceptable and the end of this very long tale is that Anny’s gone and my house is still a mess, my children are still overwhelming and I am still a little lonely... but, just a little. Life has improved immensely. More on that tomorrow.<br /><br /></span><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;" ><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:garamond,times,serif;font-size:16;" ><span style=";font-family:times new roman,new york,times,serif;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></span></span>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-28180725766398892792010-12-12T22:29:00.000-08:002010-12-12T23:20:39.231-08:00My Dramatic Turn-around:Admittedly, my last post was pretty bleak. Perhaps even more so than I intended. When we got here and Stef immediately went to work before we'd had a chance to iron out the kinks in this life, I felt bewildered (I still do to a large extent). Taking care of two babies, 2 and 9 months respectively, along with two dogs and a four bedroom house all alone is very, very difficult. Add to that the unfamiliar city, the lack of being able to communicate with the locals and having NO ONE to talk to or lean on, was a recipe for disaster. I fell apart. I am a little ashamed of myself. I am feeling a lot more normal now. Here's why:<br /><br />This weekend, we walked all over our neighborhood and beyond. I made some incredible discoveries. In addition to our gigantic park, where dogs and children are encouraged to run free (pictured below after a recent snow storm), there's a<a href="http://www.rob-brussels.be/home.cfm?lang=en"> huge gourmet market</a> called Rob within a reasonable walking distance.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTcutZ3-jODAPCluoXs_-gXdI731uFdpHbsbgHi30fXS7ydY6H1kI9jA5Et6fbOGdmBILl6ivTBIj1M36U9bHlFPuv2fUIv4H8YVTe2qp0XJbo0XFYZqSdowGMNY8DpwvpwK2UmzI6RA/s1600/PC040021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTcutZ3-jODAPCluoXs_-gXdI731uFdpHbsbgHi30fXS7ydY6H1kI9jA5Et6fbOGdmBILl6ivTBIj1M36U9bHlFPuv2fUIv4H8YVTe2qp0XJbo0XFYZqSdowGMNY8DpwvpwK2UmzI6RA/s400/PC040021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550056834957855666" border="0" /></a><br />We also found a <a href="http://www.thewshopping.be/en/">fancy European </a><a href="http://www.thewshopping.be/en/">Mall</a> and a <a href="http://www.wolubilis.be/fr/home/">cultural center</a>, as well as a nifty, little place called <a href="http://www.cookandbook.be/index.html">"Cook and Book,"</a> which is a combination book store, art gallery, restaurant and library kind of place. Crazy cool, right?<br /><br />We also went to three, yes three, embassy Christmas parties. All of which yielded a few, like-minded trailing spouses. On Friday, we went to the Embassy Children's Christmas party for a failed visit with Santa. Then on Saturday, we went to a reception at the Deputy Chief of Mission's gorgeous home. And finally, last night, we had chili and fritos with some of our contemporaries at the embassy (one of whom took me to Cora, Brussels' answer to Target, where I bought an incredible Bosch vaccum cleaner that may have played the biggest part in my attitude adjustment).<br /><br />Here's Addy on the stairs at the embassy, post-Christmas Party:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgymhuw33We2rQBAbZXn0gdpaqgRY-h8XVzMLYUxfaI9MU986WCAWf7i86uHteyvu_WEk9NUYNA7WUKyG8Z1ztWyWvoDfX6tDkdA_PKG02XoODLk95NG88MgyE19Oig1U4NccW2z2yBDr4/s1600/PC100050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgymhuw33We2rQBAbZXn0gdpaqgRY-h8XVzMLYUxfaI9MU986WCAWf7i86uHteyvu_WEk9NUYNA7WUKyG8Z1ztWyWvoDfX6tDkdA_PKG02XoODLk95NG88MgyE19Oig1U4NccW2z2yBDr4/s400/PC100050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550059137021994402" border="0" /></a><br />And of course, a holiday weekend in Brussels wouldn't be complete without a stop at one of the city's many, many Christmas markets (pictured here):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5InhirrBp-CN0nFx8KFlXBfOk5vBKy6aHy0mF19AADYcRdl29mhc7wUmMDW-SONXUwqKTETvPvHIT37MENpjopCzhktrJAWQeBhFnk1nMqymD0Y7ivDbBQHfXOEck27_5WBCOJUX5tNE/s1600/PC120054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5InhirrBp-CN0nFx8KFlXBfOk5vBKy6aHy0mF19AADYcRdl29mhc7wUmMDW-SONXUwqKTETvPvHIT37MENpjopCzhktrJAWQeBhFnk1nMqymD0Y7ivDbBQHfXOEck27_5WBCOJUX5tNE/s400/PC120054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550061209172741090" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3s3ALBfgoxtN9fU_bFZ-KkdXhRgBBvXdtE055cEUqzIdJrjC5kvy23EPslWiiNHOQIMjqC3q6wP1aNcMM5Rs8WESF7uPSa2XSJbP-rlNqReH-NA13eqjDyeQuMNy8qndV-EHwUhgDIGc/s1600/PC120055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3s3ALBfgoxtN9fU_bFZ-KkdXhRgBBvXdtE055cEUqzIdJrjC5kvy23EPslWiiNHOQIMjqC3q6wP1aNcMM5Rs8WESF7uPSa2XSJbP-rlNqReH-NA13eqjDyeQuMNy8qndV-EHwUhgDIGc/s400/PC120055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550062030511863794" border="0" /></a><br />And just so you know that I am really quite a bit happier and better adjusted, here's a picture of Stefan and me on one of our many walks around town:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNb1AUlQYLYAJGyhdHhLLbDwxELNMICF5REuOA7KHtnZsoRbSAhJUmczo-B5FNL5U2JQi77ARMlVkl4Bjo4VlCAb9FBXnZDkJ5VkKbU4FHrDU9GtHgCZjN8447XFnXiuCYA11lp3IS990/s1600/PC120053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNb1AUlQYLYAJGyhdHhLLbDwxELNMICF5REuOA7KHtnZsoRbSAhJUmczo-B5FNL5U2JQi77ARMlVkl4Bjo4VlCAb9FBXnZDkJ5VkKbU4FHrDU9GtHgCZjN8447XFnXiuCYA11lp3IS990/s400/PC120053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550059721019937250" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-5586055030278263792010-12-07T05:25:00.000-08:002010-12-08T01:30:27.590-08:00Week One:It's been one week since we arrived in Belgium and so much has happened, it's hard to know where to begin. First of all, I know that pictures are in order and I promise, I am working on that. I promise.<br /><br />In the meantime, I have to purge some of this weight that is building. Everyday that passes here, I feel heavier with new information and more overwhelmed by the scope of my changing perspective. What I have discovered is that while I absolutely love Brussels and I absolutely love our house and our neighborhood, this type of transition is very, very hard. The challenges are so many that it's difficult to even pinpoint each of them in a way that makes it possible to resolve it.<br /><br />Of course, there are the obvious challenges. Our household goods haven't arrived and the "welcome kit" is laughable. Yes, there are sheets, but they are hard and coarse. Yes, there are plates and bowls and drinking cups, but there are only four of each, so they have to be washed immediately after each use and forget about adding a fifth to your dinner table. The same is true of the towels. When someone did the blog round-up with the theme, "What I wish I packed in my UAB," I had nothing to contribute, but boy do I now! I think I would have packed: one small piece of artwork to hang in our home, perhaps a few extra drinking glasses, definitely some wine glasses and some sheets of our own. A sampling of home. A few things that make me feel like I am home, because for now, I am in this weird in-between home with naked walls and cold, uncovered floors. My children are so sick and tired of the same toys they've been playing with for the last month, they look at them with nothing short of contempt.<br /><br />I have my issues with the inside of my new home, which I really believe will all be resolved when that shipment arrives. I know I am very, very, very lucky because I think we might get it before Christmas, making it a 6 week process. There are many other families in the Foreign Service who aen't so lucky and to them I strongly suggest bringing some "pieces of home" either in the luggage you carry or in the UAB that will arrive sooner. But then there are issues outside of the house that are arguably even more challenging. One, I was told by so many people that I shouldn't worry too much about learning French before getting here because, "everyone speaks English." While that might be true in the professional environment, it doesn't seem to be true of the people with whom I do most of my interacting. The sales clerks, our neighbors, the people I pass on the street while walking the dogs, none of them seem to speak english, which makes my days long and very lonesome. I can't wait to start French class in January (of course, this will only help with half of the city's population because the other half proudly speaks Dutch.)<br /><br />I would be lying if I didn't mention the toll this has all taken on my marriage. I am finding that we are on separate fronts this last week, both fighting our own, separate battles each day, but occasionally taking a moment to fire at eachother. I was once told by someone who grew up in the FS, that Foreign Service marriages either thrive or explode into a million sad little peices. I am always thinking about this statement. I find myself, for better or worse, viewing the marriages around us under the same lens. Will THEY thrive or explode? Will WE thrive or explode? Will all this travel and transition make us stronger or drive us apart, resentment having built past the point of no return? I don't care how you spin it, this life comes down to a few simple facts. With all the excitement and diversity of experience, comes the reality that all members of a FS family give up their freedom to choose the physical path their lives will take. The Officer gives up his/her freedom in exchange for the career of his/her choice. The rest of the family gives it up for both the unconditional love of the Officer and for the security and lifestyle the job affords. Inevitably, there is some resentment.<br /><br />When Stefan walks out the door each morning here in Brussels, he goes to a place where everyone speaks English. He is surrounded by interesting information and all the resources he needs to be a success (at least in his job). He also had language training, so he speaks French, if not perfectly, well enough to do absolutely everything he needs to do a daily basis, including talk to people who both inspire and interest him. On the other hand, I am left behind, trying to raise two small children in a home without carpets, in a city where nothing is familiar or easily attainable; where I can't even order a cup of coffee without being overrun by self-doubt. I know it probably seems trivial to lament these things when you consider all the beauty and intrigue this city and its location have to offer, but it's still very hard and it's hard not to lash out at the person closest to you when you're feeling this utterly fragile.<br /><br />I promise tomorrow will be lighter and I will post little words and many pictures of our house, our neighborhood and all the things I see day to day.<br /><br />P.S. I apologize for what I am sure are many misspellings in this post. I can't seem to change the language on Blogger from Dutch to English! Once again, foiled by my lack of understanding of the local languages!Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-82741844014280954062010-11-30T22:23:00.001-08:002010-12-01T05:47:19.930-08:00Bon Jour Bruxelles!We made it. It wasn't easy, but we did it. And somehow, against all odds, it's 7AM and the kids and dogs are still sleeping. Stefan is in the shower, getting ready for work and it's almost like nothing has changed. Almost...<br /><br />Arriving at JFK on Monday afternoon, we had 11 bags, two dogs, two babies, two giant dog crates, a double-wide stroller, three adoring grandparents and a lot of nerves. We arrived with what we thought was a comfortable 3 hours early for our flight, but by the time we'd checked the dogs and our bags in, said goodbye to the grandparents, made our way through security and had a beer in the "lounge" (Stefan accumulated "platinum status" thanks to his previous job), the plane was boarding. In true Whitney-fashion, we still had to run for the plane and were the last to board.<br /><br />The flight itself was brutal, but could have been much worse. It could have easily been twice as long, so I am counting my lucky stars. After about 2 hours of excited babbling, Flora fell asleep and stayed so until we landed. Adela on the other hand, slept nary a wink and vomited all over herself and her car seat about an hour before we landed, forcing us and the flight crew to scramble to find cleaning supplies and something to supress the characteristic odor. I had a lovely French-speaking gentleman tap me on the shoulder in the midst of her embarrassed sobbing to alert me that "it is quite unusual for a child to cry so much, no?" I wanted to jump over the seat and throttle his tidy, European neck.<br /><br />There was very little turbulence and that was a blessed good thing because every time the plane so much as leaned too much in one direction or another, I found my heart in my stomach thinking of our nervous, four-legged family members down below. When we forced Otis into his crate at the airport, he was terrified-- panting and looking wild-eyed and vulnerable. Rudi seemed perfectly at ease, but had the fear of his previous life to contend with. It was with much reluctance that we said goodbye after security at JFK. Thinking of them in the belly of the plane throughout the 8-hour flight was arguably worse than cleaning the toddler-vomit from the crevices in Addy's car seat.<br /><br />All the anxiety was for naught because despite a very long wait upon arrival in Brussels, Otis and Rudi seemed less nervous than when we'd left them. They were happy to see us, happy to get out of their kennels and as relieved as we were . They were perfectly fine and still are, 24 hours later. I have no regrets at all about bringing them with us. Stefan and I are still most amused that our dogs are now in Belgium. How funny.<br /><br />We were picked up by one of Stef's colleagues, who was lovely and informative, but who laughed when were told her we expected our cable and internet to be set up at our house when we got there and that we expected to receive our household effects in time for Christmas. Despite her considerable skepticism, I remain hopeful.<br /><br />Our house is lovely-- spacious and clean and everything we hoped it would be. Our neighborhood is sleepy, but charming. There's a small square two blocks away with a large grocery store, a butcher, a bakery, a small gourmet shop, a dry cleaner, a gas station, and a book store. We have several playgrounds, or pleins du jeux, within walking distance as well.<br /><br />All things considered, we are very happy to be here and very happy with our home. I look forward to venturing out today with the girls and the dogs to see what else the commune of Woluwe St. Pierre has to offer.<br /><br />And for those we are interested, the State Department furniture is just as bad as we'd feared. So, I am glad I insisted on bringing as much stuff as we did. It's going to take an awful lot of decorative savvy to overcome the "scrolly knobs" and stylized upholstery.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-18481453736817556152010-11-24T12:15:00.000-08:002010-11-24T19:05:43.628-08:00The Final Days...Wow. It's been a really wild few days... er, weeks. We've been ticking off one item at a time from our "to-do" list, the vast majority of which seems to somehow involve the dogs. I have been at some type of veterinary establishment for each of the last three days, compiling Otis and Rudi's medical records and mounting proof that they are indeed Rabies free and fit for travel. Today's trip to the USDA in Annapolis was (hopefully) the final step. The tricky part of transporting dogs is that none of the paperwork is valid unless it's done within 10 days of travel, so no matter how organized and proactive you are, there's no way to really prepare ahead of time, with the considerable exception of knowing exactly what you have to do beforehand.<br /><br />So, all of our stuff has been shipped and by all accounts is on a freighter somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Our car was picked up today and will be loaded onto another ship on Friday. Our newly purchased luggage has arrived and is sitting, across the living room, staring at me, wondering when I am going to fill it up (gosh, I hope all that remains will fit!!!) It seems like everything is in order. There are still a few items on that "to-do" list, but nothing insurmountable-- just little things like buying a weather guard for our double BoB stroller and doing a couple of loads of laundry.<br /><br />In five days, Stefan, Adela, Flora, Otis, Rudi and I will board a plane, bound for Brussels, Belgium. It is a fact that I have no way of processing in advance. I feel sudden moments of electrifying excitement. I feel utterly exhilarated by all the unknowns. I can't wait to see our house. I can't wait to take my first walk around our neighborhood. I dream of the local restaurant that will soon become "ours" on the nights I don't feel up to cooking. I can't wait to ingratiate myself to the local butcher, baker and candlestick maker! I want to make the most of every minute that we live in Brussels because if the last 7 months is any indication, time is going to go by terrifyingly fast.<br /><br />I do feel very blessed that our first post is one in Western Europe. While it might have been nice to be in a more affordable place, where babysitters and household help would be within our reach, I think the undeniable comfort of Europe and the excitement surrounding it is just what we need right now as a family. We've had a tough few years. My mother is very ill, as I've recently described. My father is arguably more ill, as he is a terrible alcoholic who seems to have reached rock bottom in the last year (let's hope) and has done everything in his power to bring the rest of us down with him. Subsequently, he and my stepmother are splitting up and that is proving to be as ugly and painful as it was the first time around for me. In addition, Stefan's mother suffers from Alzheimer's, the most tragic disease of all and one that requires all of his father's attention and patience.<br /><br />All of this has happened as we have been building our own family, trying to become whole and grown-up. With every joy we've experienced in the last two years, it seems some hidden challenge jumps out from a closet to threaten that happiness. It has been said that God gives you just as much as you can handle. While I am not entirely sure about the "god" part, I do feel as though the universe posted us to just the right place, a place where we can be comfy, cozy and free to focus on being our best selves. I look forward to that, more than anything.<br /><br />And on that note, here are two recent pictures of our girls. Addy is talking-- stringing together sentence after sentence. Flora is crawling and knows the meaning of "mama" and "dada." Her little mouth is rapidly filling with super sharp teeth and she's growing up way too fast for my taste.<br /><br />Adela, 2 years:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLymk5CvBdPvN5oP-OpTHWxPUQ9qYrr3QN3MY6DUZdm6LLxDhL3Q9PYWALhxVFQqiaN1BTTCb0fa7YVDzM206kAqrCHysHfMA92wCPAwB1RTijgtyxtEf_xraOjeHnrly4yRPUQMh8GdE/s1600/IMG00125-20101110-1643.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLymk5CvBdPvN5oP-OpTHWxPUQ9qYrr3QN3MY6DUZdm6LLxDhL3Q9PYWALhxVFQqiaN1BTTCb0fa7YVDzM206kAqrCHysHfMA92wCPAwB1RTijgtyxtEf_xraOjeHnrly4yRPUQMh8GdE/s400/IMG00125-20101110-1643.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543222843609615106" border="0" /></a><br />Flora, 8 months: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxufESlGH_ppv3Ld2EFlFw9-n-M5UxfzOL_EGJ5OsJy6soPy7o7orkxFqFQ5uHhWbCV7dfQBLz8vZycSNQRxXPKvOlcd5yY6LzgCXgoYUGLeLsDDsE7-oe3vM6gSE0tUUV66pnKekyTmU/s1600/IMG00038-20101110-1637.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxufESlGH_ppv3Ld2EFlFw9-n-M5UxfzOL_EGJ5OsJy6soPy7o7orkxFqFQ5uHhWbCV7dfQBLz8vZycSNQRxXPKvOlcd5yY6LzgCXgoYUGLeLsDDsE7-oe3vM6gSE0tUUV66pnKekyTmU/s400/IMG00038-20101110-1637.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543224093740316306" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-81158894459301920062010-11-10T12:44:00.001-08:002010-11-11T10:42:27.803-08:00The House of a Thousand Couches/Packout Part Deux<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ooooops</span>, guess I misunderstood the housing manual. I thought it said that we had one opportunity to tell them which furniture we didn't want. I was wrong. That opportunity is rare and well, they are going to provide full sets of living room, dining room, family room and bedroom furniture. Unfortunately, I packed TWO sectional couches, one a monstrous three piece and the other, a small two piece I intended to use in the playroom. I was thinking that I didn't want to sit on an uncomfortable, government-issued couch for two years and we had plenty of room in our shipment. As it turns out, they are currently unwilling to even consider the possibility of removing the two full-size sofas, love seat and two easy chairs from our furniture inventory (there's currently no furniture in the house because it's a newly acquired property). On the plus side, we will have plenty of seating should we choose to throw any massive house parties. On the other hand, we're going to be walking across couches to get to and from the kitchen and bathrooms. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Oye</span>. I am such an amateur.<br /><br />So, yeah, the pack-out was yesterday and I think the biggest snafu was the one I just described. I stupidly assumed that they would actually be pleased if we told them not to move in the couches. I don't know. Bureaucracy is so unpredictable and often, irrational. I really hope they take pity on us when they see the embarrassment of couches at our house.<br /><br />We also cut it impossibly close with our weight limit. I think we just made it with 4 lbs. to spare. We brought A LOT of stuff and here's why: when we did our initial pack-out in NJ, I was still recovering from childbirth and Flora (henceforth called "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">FiFi</span>," because that's what we call her at home) was only 8 weeks old. Addy was at her most irrational and it seemed impossible to spend the necessary time organizing our things. So, we have no idea where things ended up and those <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tattooed</span> packers did NOT inspire confidence. We thought by bringing just about everything, we'd be able to do a better job next time. That said, there's not much room to expand, so we're hoping to purge quite a bit of stuff while in Europe.<br /><br />All in all, It's really nice to have that part over with. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Oakwood</span> apartment is no longer cluttered and feels like it could be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">any one's</span>. There's nothing "Whitney" about it. Just a wash of beige and dark maple.<br /><br />2 1/2 weeks and we'll be in Brussels. The waiting is quickly coming to an end. I am carrying the weight of a thousand and one emotions. Sad to be leaving my family and friends, but elated by the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">possibilities</span> and opportunities for reinvention. It's a wonderful, challenging, overwhelming journey and we are just at the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">beginning</span>.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-68886993624088184592010-11-04T08:42:00.000-07:002010-11-04T09:28:15.756-07:00The Incredible Flying Labradudes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj035rF68vMg0-ZUWDBP1xQ-QAGVEWLELgEl_0Bc1_dzA3uR_uU01UmMA70TYqOHfyVSTF0dNIAFbiH0UlFkohTtMCYlNeSzhvkGDw4tvGPYkvejCTeXzYjx5LQ8v1GT0UVFGVUaVG0h8s/s1600/DSC_1215.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj035rF68vMg0-ZUWDBP1xQ-QAGVEWLELgEl_0Bc1_dzA3uR_uU01UmMA70TYqOHfyVSTF0dNIAFbiH0UlFkohTtMCYlNeSzhvkGDw4tvGPYkvejCTeXzYjx5LQ8v1GT0UVFGVUaVG0h8s/s400/DSC_1215.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535730705366444818" border="0" /></a><br />I have come to realize that when it comes to dogs in the foreign service, there are two schools of thought. There are those who have the "my dogs go where I go" attitude and then there's the "this is not a good life for a dog" folks. Unfortunately, I've noticed, that many people who have the former attitude are new to the FS, while those who think dogs are best left stateside are seasoned officers. This is a total generalization. In fact, we have a friendly neighbor, a 25-year veteran of the service, who dotes on his petite female Lab with as much dedication as any landlubber would. But in fairness, he seems to be an exception.<br /><br />As anyone who has kept up with my blog knows, we have two, large Labrador Retrievers. Otis, the elder statesman of the two, celebrated his 12th year over the weekend. Retrievers have an unfortunate average lifespan of 10-12 years. But this an average, which takes into account all the fluky passings of much younger dogs from heart attacks, strokes, and defects of other varieties. This reminds me of our recently departed friend, Mac, who was taken last month by a large tumor on his heart. He was only 9 and his death was unfair. It was also exceptional. MOST retrievers live well into the double digits, as Otis father proved by living to an energetic 16 years!<br /><br />Now to the heart of the matter: We are flying to Brussels in less than 4 weeks and we have, just today, begun to get very serious about preparing our pooches for the flight. It has me thinking a lot about the impact this is going to have on my old pal. If you has asked me even three years ago if I would be willing to put him in a crate and fly him for 9 hours, I would have said, "absolutely not. We'll drive... or take a boat... or anything other than that!" But, now, our very livelihood depends on flying to foreign countries and Brussels is a very canine friendly place. There isn't really a choice... except that I could leave the old guy with my mother, which is completely uncharacteristic of me. I have never gone anywhere without him.<br /><br />But, I am definitely agonizing over this. I am definitely imagining all the worst case scenarios. He's very sensitive and easily agitated and he's utterly co-dependent, so no matter how you slice it, the flight itself is going to be torture for him. The real question is: after the flight is over, will he be okay and back to his old self? Will he suffer any long-term emotional damage? (You're probably wondering why I am not worried about Rudi. He's a rescue dog and has been through far worse. He's also kind of a silly bone-head. I have total confidence he'll come out the baggage hold wagging his tail, with the same goofy look on his face. He's also 6.) Ugh. I have said it before and I am going to say it again, having the dogs is the toughest part of all of this and it was the biggest obstacle to my agreeing to do it. Now, here we are and I really hope it's all just going to be okay...Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-430622476245800692010-11-02T08:17:00.000-07:002010-11-02T10:55:04.534-07:00Shameless Self-Promotion and Holy Shi@, it's time to Pack!Well, I am proud to report that I am keeping up a Halloween tradition started by my mother when I was a child. It's the one where the mother works tirelessly to construct a handmade costume for a child who will have no idea the amount of work that went into it until she has children of her own. It's taken 33 years, but now I understand the blood, sweat and tears that my mother put into all the amazing costumes she made for me as a child. I also understand the extreme pride she must have felt as I walked around in those costumes. I was so proud of Adela and of course, myself, when she wore this Madame Butterfly costume around the halls of the Oakwood, collecting candy of all varieties (much to her shock and amazement):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxDR4hDtRvKIgZZArQqlJRpdeDn1kNP3wpYJ2sAMmYTrZjzt_AuH7F2MrYFtCPYCVpI7juCYSzX0UggXC69GAvTJDluEPIDD5qscIOXRxDLBfiYG8Rt3PI8rVk-s5xXiHB510mjOtVy0/s1600/DSC_0700.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxDR4hDtRvKIgZZArQqlJRpdeDn1kNP3wpYJ2sAMmYTrZjzt_AuH7F2MrYFtCPYCVpI7juCYSzX0UggXC69GAvTJDluEPIDD5qscIOXRxDLBfiYG8Rt3PI8rVk-s5xXiHB510mjOtVy0/s400/DSC_0700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534973816119802482" border="0" /></a>Holidays are so much more fun when you have children to celebrate with. Seeing Adela's uninhibited joy was as powerful as anything I have ever experienced. Christmas is going to be SO FUN!<br /><br />In unrelated news, we have officially scheduled our pack-out. We decided to do it earlier than we had originally thought because we want our things to arrive in time for the big family Christmas we have planned in Belgium and because without all the stuff that has completely taken over our Oakwood apartment, it will be easy to move to another unit that isn't quite so surrounded by construction noise. Seriously, I know there are many who are suffering at the hands of this renovation, but we are one apartment literally surrounded by apartments (above and to each side) that are under construction. I feel like I am living an episode of "Candid Camera." Just when I think it couldn't get any more ridiculous, I hear a drill coming straight for my head from the ceiling above my bed. At this point, all I can do is laugh-- it's just too unbelievable that they would leave us in such a state...<br /><br />So, our HHE is going to get packed out from the Oakwood in a week and I am nowhere near ready. It's time to get down to business. I want to mention that we have a surplus of baby toys and clothes that we will probably toss into the garbage if no one else wants them. Is there anyone out there reading this who would like some high-fashion infant clothes and toys that suit the 0-12 month set? If so, please let me know and I will get them to you!<br /><br />I swear I am going to a better job at organizing this packout than I did for the last one. I mean, my father-in-law made the joke that the movers might have packed "dirty pampers" the last time, and now, seven months later, I am not entirely sure that our stuff is going to arrive in Brussels without the distinctive smell of a 8-month old, soiled diaper. It was that bad...<br /><br />As I have mentioned in the past, this kind of organization and preparation is not my strong suit, so wish me luck as I enter into this next phase of transition.<br /><br />P.S. After rereading this post, I have to clarify that we would never simply throw perfectly good clothes and toys into the GARBAGE! We will, of course, donate them all if no friends or family are interested.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-1895582064131125132010-10-26T10:56:00.000-07:002010-10-26T12:43:45.397-07:00HOME SWEET/SOUR HOME!!!!There's good and bad in this post. I am going to start with the bad.<br /><br />I hate the Oakwood. There, I said it. I know I am supposed to grateful and, um, diplomatic as per my husband's request, but I can't keep it in anymore. I have been grateful and diplomatic for almost 7 months and what have I gotten in return? I have been ignored, mistreated and then ignored some more. So, Oakwood, there you have it, I HATE you!<br /><br />I hate you for your lack of charm. I hate you for your abysmal customer service standards. I hate you for the fact that you happen to be completely under-construction and my children haven't napped on a weekday for the last three weeks. I hate you for never so much as offering an apology for aforementioned construction. I hate you for all the calls I've made and gotten no response. I hate you for dangling the carrot of moving us to a renovated unit without construction noise and then never getting back to me give me further information one way or another. I hate you for leaving me, a chef, with a broken electric range. I hate you for choosing DISH network as a cable provider because it loses its signal at every climax. I hate you for making me use a code every time I log on to the internet and for letting me load an entire jumbo size dryer full of wet baby clothes and not telling me that IT'S OUT OF SERVICE! Ugh. I could go on, but I won't. Oh, there is one other thing: the goddamned vegetable peeler! Come on.<br /><br />The good news: I have just over a month of suffering to go and then we are off to our new HOUSE in Woluwe-Saint-Pierre, a beautiful French-speaking commune in the heart of Brussels. Yes, the wait is over. The housing folks finally located a beautiful, little house for us and we couldn't be happier. There's a lesson here for new Foreign Service folks: if at first, your housing option makes you want to kill yourself, ask for another option. Chances are they will try to make you happy. In our case, they found what amounts to a perfect situation for us. It has four bedrooms so we all have our own room, plus a room for guests, which I anticipate needing frequently (hint, hint, nudge, nudge). There's a garden for us all to play in (girls), garden in (me), and lay about in (furry ones). There's a garage for our car, a nicely-appointed kitchen, and a separate playroom for all the toys and kid-related clutter. It's a dream, really. I am so happy and grateful to be leaving this hell-hole and going to a place that feels like a home!Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-63897498145978853982010-10-14T11:15:00.000-07:002010-10-15T05:32:52.114-07:00Occupation: Mother?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXkIbTRAGKhli6SSkFJq6oor7llk7aYwSFX5xiu8ay6_C5Zb7JZGJ1rtbR8n7jx4a99Rfyh4mPRaabhrhVXQ2yWbGyqFHrJgMtGRK2jo3sbENu6bjPKVtMMfLtBzVp-SUjihufpYlXVI/s1600/IMG00150-20101011-0749.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXkIbTRAGKhli6SSkFJq6oor7llk7aYwSFX5xiu8ay6_C5Zb7JZGJ1rtbR8n7jx4a99Rfyh4mPRaabhrhVXQ2yWbGyqFHrJgMtGRK2jo3sbENu6bjPKVtMMfLtBzVp-SUjihufpYlXVI/s400/IMG00150-20101011-0749.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527967434405645938" border="0" /></a>I love my kids. I love being a mother. There has never been anything more fulfilling. I have a sense of purpose, really, for the first time in my life.<br /><br />But I have a hang up. When I fill out paperwork that requires me to list my occupation, I always dutifully write: Mother. And there's no better occupation. I am proud and incredibly grateful that I am currently a full-time, stay-at-home mommy. But, there's the lingering reality that in the not too distant future, my girls are going to go off to school and will only need my physical presence before 8AM and after 3PM. I don't want to lose sight of this reality because if I don't stay focused on who I am independently of them, I could end up bored and even more purposeless than I was before I had these children of mine. Of course, me being me, I spend the time that I should be singularly focused on child-rearing, worrying about what I am going to do to fill my time when I am no longer child-rearing. Such is the plight of the neurotic.<br /><br />I have cooked up an idea (pun intended) that I hope will serve to fill in the gaps while we are pursuing Stef's dream career. I am, by training, a chef. I graduated from the California Culinary Academy in 2003 and have worked on and off as a chef for the last 7 years, the most significant "job" being the one where I ran a catering business in San Francisco. I know many would dispute the "cheffiness" of this job. I wasn't running a robust, professional restaurant kitchen. I was running a ramshackle business out of my own kitchen-- cooking for anywhere from 8 to 300 people. The only full-time employee was me. The rest were hourly workers, mostly friends, who were able and patient enough to deal with the long hours and unconventional setting, not to mention my own questionable brand of organization-- handwritten lists on greasy paper towels and post-it notes on everything from the fridge to the range hood. It was crazy, but incredibly fun and rewarding. It required a specific type of focus and quick thinking, in addition to a lot of creativity.<br /><br />But alas, I reached a point when I had to either "man-up" and get a professional kitchen or flee the business all together. My crippling fear of failure sent me fleeing to the world of marketing, copy-writing and event planning where there was little risk of failing and no hard-core personal investment. I don't regret it, though. If I had jumped headlong into business ownership, I wouldn't be here... I might not even be married to Stefan and then, I wouldn't have Addy or Flora. Everything happens for a reason, right?<br /><br />So, now, here we are. We are heading to Brussels at the end of next month. My oldest daughter is approaching the age where preschool makes sense (god-willing she's potty-trained sometime in the next year). And my youngest daughter is not far behind. It's reasonable to think that this time next year, I will suddenly have a lot more time on my hands. Having taken a pretty major hiatus, I am now ready to return to cooking, in some shape. Trouble is: working in a restaurant usually means leaving your family (and any social life you may have) in the dust. Long, odd hours on the weekends and in the evenings are not well-suited to successfully raising a family. So, I am in the midst of considering how to combine two occupations, which are indisputably at odds with each other: cooking professionally and being a dedicated mother.<br /><br />Until we get to Brussels and get settled in and I truly explore my options, I have nothing to do but "consider" the possibilities. So, for now, I am still a mommy and I am up to my elbows in Halloween costume construction (Adela's "half-cooked" Butterfly costume is pictured below).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2nqxYwOxrEhyphenhyphenY0I3bvWFfSX_OZf5BzSzYCYT9RSxJQsfGsc5o1Kh4L5Y952Glap9i9oP1pofEPHSlwbAyX4NQhZ8hXc7ZrpHKk21DBz746NOO0XJyKImjsIw0rln9O0wc9VVr4NyQwjY/s1600/IMG00158-20101015-0822.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2nqxYwOxrEhyphenhyphenY0I3bvWFfSX_OZf5BzSzYCYT9RSxJQsfGsc5o1Kh4L5Y952Glap9i9oP1pofEPHSlwbAyX4NQhZ8hXc7ZrpHKk21DBz746NOO0XJyKImjsIw0rln9O0wc9VVr4NyQwjY/s400/IMG00158-20101015-0822.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528247833246445410" border="0" /></a>Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056044919449824774.post-59691886547274275182010-10-12T18:26:00.001-07:002010-10-12T18:26:24.298-07:00The Birthday Present I DIDN'T Get and A Helpful Tip for Staying in New York City:For some reason, I thought the Gods were going to shine down last week and force the housing person's hand in Brussels... to send an email to my husband... telling us where we are going to LIVE for the next two years. But, that didn't happen.<br /><br />As I have done before, I am going to have to ask for a pass because I am naive and new to this whole process. I am just not accustomed to having so little control over my own life. I feel like I am a fish out of water... with no fishbowl in sight. Of all the things I anticipated being problematic for me, this one is proving to be the most so. I need something to hold onto, especially since I have completely lost patience with the Oakwood and I am really hoping that our next "home" is a nicer, roomier and less "under construction" kind of place.<br /><br />There are things that those of us in the Foreign Service come to see as "acceptable" that people in the outside world would find impossible and astounding. I think not knowing where exactly you will be living until a few days before you arrive is one of those things. Yeargh. I am sure everything will be fine and that we will end up in a place that is completely adequate, but it's just plain weird to play a passive role in all of this. This is especially true for me-- someone who reads the Real Estate section of the newspaper with a microscope and fantasizes endlessly about the home I will someday own. Even when we've rented apartments in the past, I have taken such care to imagine where the furniture will go, what plants I will grow, how I will lay out the kitchen to its best advantage. I want desperately to be able to think about our new home in Brussels in this way.<br /><br />I am hoping that writing this blog will spur some kind of celestial action...<br /><br />Moving on, we went to the NYC area this weekend to celebrate my mother in law's birthday. We decided a month or so ago that given the size of our family, we needed to get a hotel room. The party being in Brooklyn, we tried first to find a hotel there, but were met with one figurative "no vacancy" sign after another. There was some event in Brooklyn that had claimed every room. Of course, Manhattan hotel rooms are completely out of reach for an entry-level Foreign Service family. Having moved to Falls Church, VA from suburban NJ (yet another fiscal compromise!), I had an idea: a brand new W Hotel opened in Hoboken last year and the room rates were reasonable and the proximity to the city unbeatable.<br /><br />This was our view during the day:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWUQObrzlGUJOauEACKoUdq4QfYa3tDVvKBZtWN6qgRPZMyfHB4vG418JmoyAE1Y-99FjCMHdd11zb6VMUZwOHqF7WcglB25W4SOmduZG1EpaYj5fwq8TZJzAHuyclqhCY8XQCQUOjAUQ/s1600/IMG00090-20101009-1638.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWUQObrzlGUJOauEACKoUdq4QfYa3tDVvKBZtWN6qgRPZMyfHB4vG418JmoyAE1Y-99FjCMHdd11zb6VMUZwOHqF7WcglB25W4SOmduZG1EpaYj5fwq8TZJzAHuyclqhCY8XQCQUOjAUQ/s400/IMG00090-20101009-1638.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527328719995079170" border="0" /></a><br />And this was our view at night:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Eej5gGYJgtxidMzX8f2b3t8KfhmBP3CTC3Twzi886p89JIsz3VCPVj58euTlonH3zmbs7W2HrcXo_OiK7U436yphWkJcHWQhHd8dOUxZ1rudYBKzsNz_UzYOH9P8evu7Z7298mXDYQ4/s1600/IMG00093-20101009-2316.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Eej5gGYJgtxidMzX8f2b3t8KfhmBP3CTC3Twzi886p89JIsz3VCPVj58euTlonH3zmbs7W2HrcXo_OiK7U436yphWkJcHWQhHd8dOUxZ1rudYBKzsNz_UzYOH9P8evu7Z7298mXDYQ4/s400/IMG00093-20101009-2316.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527329208499176066" border="0" /></a><br />And this was the view of a local t-shirt shop:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojRv2ncxlRQA96xNGX2rhHQHa2_v56a717bcN_8nmum2NaWgRclAdybq1nKyZrcz_xxjTpUGZi_oiaK69c34U-NrSZAeOltUT_LYIM8sRaz3QFscRXBGseiJbYXyunidZeXeRLkpV0xA/s1600/IMG00095-20101010-0934.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojRv2ncxlRQA96xNGX2rhHQHa2_v56a717bcN_8nmum2NaWgRclAdybq1nKyZrcz_xxjTpUGZi_oiaK69c34U-NrSZAeOltUT_LYIM8sRaz3QFscRXBGseiJbYXyunidZeXeRLkpV0xA/s400/IMG00095-20101010-0934.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527329635638345842" border="0" /></a>I didn't say it was without compromise, but they were well worth it. We had an incredible suite with an incredible view (as evidenced above) and we were just minutes from Manhattan and Brooklyn. I highly recommend this route for anyone looking to stay in the area who isn't able to drop a thousand bucks a night or who is unwilling (or unable) to squeeze into a sardine can.Devon Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07028749078321682271noreply@blogger.com2