Lamenting the Absence of "Stuff":

All the dust has settled. We are here and its quiet. We are moving through our days as we would anywhere else. Stefan goes off to work and I stay behind, watching him go, wishing he could stay because truthfully, now that the move is over and we are all settled in, I'm a little... bored. Hard to imagine that a mother of two small babies could ever be bored, but I think its one of my dysfunctions that I am not truly engaged unless there's some sort of major crisis going on.

I think if we knew where were we off to next, I wouldn't be bored because I would be able to obsess over that place and how to get there and what to bring and what things I could do to make that place home. I have been thinking a lot about the nesting process lately, probably because I can't really nest under our current circumstances and in the absence of being able to, I've realized just how much I need to.

My friend (and fellow blogger and trailing spouse) recently made a joke about how much she fears the presence of "government-issued furniture" in her home. For some reason, it took reading about her fears for me to fully realize my own. All these years, I have lovingly collected what I consider to be beautiful things for our home- furniture, vases, pot and pans, enamel dutch ovens, paintings, sculptures, photographs, rugs. And now, they all sit somewhere in rural Virginia in a storage unit. I feel like the rest of my family is locked up, out of reach, all alone, collecting dust.

It probably seems totally shallow (especially since I was inspired to write this post because of today's "Home and Garden" section in the NYT, which features about a hundred things I really, really must have), but it's not just about the stuff. Its about my identity and I really do believe that our homes are (or certainly "can be") an expression of who we are and how we view the world. (Is it at all ironic that as I write about how important my "stuff" is, there's an ad on TV for an upcoming episode of "Hoarding: Buried Alive"?).

What's the point of this post? I guess the point is, that every time I identify something exciting and wonderful (i.e. liberation from "stuff"), it's met with a new fear (i.e. liberation from "stuff"). While my husband is realizing his own dreams and identity, I am really struggling (hard) to find my own. It's like I have been stripped down to the barest, most basic version of myself. So while I have dealt with the separation from all my friends and family (reasonably well, if I do say so myself), I am still dealing with not being able to nest and make a home for myself, my children, my husband and my dogs and I am little scared... well, a lot scared... that I'm going to have to wait a really long time before I am able to do it again.

What a Week (plus) it's Been...

I'm still spinning...

Eight days ago, we were in New Jersey and this whole Foreign Service thing still seemed something distant and intangible. Now, a week later, we're here and fully in the throes. Stef has completed a whole week of training. We are calling our Oakwood apartment "home." I have attended (most of) the spouse/partner orientation. Best of all, we have the much anticipated "Bid List" in our hands...

Of course, I can't tell you anything about it. I can't tell you about all the wonderful places where we might end up living nor can I tell you about the few god forsaken places we might end up living. But I can say it's a great relief to have the list in our possession, so we can begin the process of processing all the possibilities and doing the necessary research on each destination.

As those of you who know us well would guess, our biggest concern is getting the "boys" to our new home, safely and without having to quarantine them (as you can see in the attached picture, they too are quite comfy in the Oakwood). As the girls get a little older, I think the available education will probably trump the comfort of the Labra-dudes, but for now, they are still the kings.

When we first began talking about the logistical aspects of FS life, my biggest concern was for my dogs. It still is. Otis is nearing 12 years old, so it makes sense to think a very long journey could be dangerous and overly taxing for him. We also need to go to a place where there is adequate veterinary care because in these later years, medical issues arise almost monthly. It's a lot to consider, but I still stand firm that I won't go anywhere Otis (and Rudi) can't come.

I will never forget the day I picked little, six week old Otis up from the breeder. He was the last of the litter to go home and boy, was he ready. When I got there, he was hiding under an end table from his mother and auntie, who were relentless in their rough-housing. He was so small and scared, but grateful to see me and to be carried off. We made an instant connection. We were fast friends.

Since that day, I have taken Otis everywhere. First, I took him back to college to finish my senior year (yes, I have had him since college!). Next, we went to New York for my first "real" job. Then, we went to the Hamptons, for my first "restaurant job." Then we drove cross-country for the first of many trips to the West Coast. We lived in Massachusetts, Montana, San Francisco, San Diego, New York, New Jersey, and now Virginia.

When I look at the bid list, I look for mainly one thing: in which of these fascinating cities will Otis be most happy and comfortable? For some, this probably seems irrational and to others, it probably makes perfect sense. Despite all the wonderful people I have met along the way, there's only one who has always been there and always been very, very happy to be.

Otis has gone everywhere with me since the day I got him. And as long as his heart is still beating, he will continue to, for he is truly the best friend I've ever had and I won't go anywhere without him.

Oakwood: Temporary Apartment Living or Premature Retirement Community?

Well, the Oakwood has it all. There are potholders in the kitchen drawers, minimally sharpened knives in the butcher block, clean, recently-shampooed wall to wall carpeting in all the rooms. There is also a nice, clean pool in the courtyard, next to the pro-shop, tennis court and children's playground. There's a "community room" in the Clubhouse, next to which, is the on-site convenience store and a neat row of gas barbecue grills for communal cooking. There's a "Movie Night," and an "Ice Cream Social" and "Adult Cupcake Decorating." And Best of all, folks, there's an "Activities Center," which really makes my argument, that the Oakwood is secretly a premature retirement community, for me.

In all seriousness, I am pretty happy with the situation at the Oakwood because in addition to providing almost everything we need right here on the property, it also provides a window into what our lives might look like 40 years from now. We've always said that we'd like to end up in a place like this so that we don't crowd or overburden our children and I will say that if life in an "Adult Retirement Community" looks even remotely like life in the Oakwood, we'll be a couple of relaxed and happy old farts.

Life is easy here and given the circumstances of our lives, we need "easy." When we came to visit, we looked at the apartment and I grunted a disappointed mumble about sterility and lack of character. While these things are true- our apartment is sterile and completely lacking the character of almost all of our ramshackle previous abodes- there were many things we didn't consider at first glance. The most important of which, is the fact that it so easy to meet people here, it's almost laughable. Every where you go, to the playground or the Activities Center (for an adequately heart-pumping "Cardio Jam" class), there's a friendly face eager to talk and hear your story. It's comforting beyond belief to a woman who left everything familiar behind to follow her husbands dreams.

While it's not the stuff of a progressive homemaker's dreams, it is a good place to be right now. For that, I am grateful.

It's All Led Up to This Moment:

Ah, well, it's hard to know where to start. Should I start with the fact that both mornings I woke up in the Oakwood, I had no idea where I was (or where my husband was, thanks to the gargantuan king sized bed we now share)? Should I start with trumpeting the virtues of Ikea for making a generic corporate-style apartment something resembling home? Or how about the fact that the sound-proofing in this place is so adequate that both my children have slept past 8AM since we got here? Or more appropriately, should I start by mentioning that as my husband adjusted his tie one last time before leaving this tiny cubicle of an apartment, I looked at him and knew that the last 10 or so years of his life had come down to that moment?

It's amazing to recall the first time we talked about Stefan's dreams of working for the Department of State. It was the second time we met. We were standing in the grass near Crissy Field in San Francisco. He was telling me about why he was going to going to graduate school for international relations. He said, "I want to do something meaningful. I want to help people and make a contribution." I was so self-absorbed at that point in my life; I hadn't yet considered the fact that one might actually want to devote his life to making a contribution to other people's. At that point, I didn't view my own work, running a catering business, as making much of a contribution (now, I realize that you could make the argument that cooking for people, nourishing people, indeed impacts their lives, but that wasn't a part of my thinking at the time). It was almost 5 years ago that my husband told me that after he finished graduate school, he hoped to join the Foreign Service (at that time, he had taken the exam and was awaiting the results).

My husband failed the entrance exam this first time he took it. But, to his credit, he took it again after getting his Masters degree. We both viewed this second time as an opportunity for him to redeem his own image of himself. I said, "yes, take it. That way, you will know one way or another." Well, he passed and I thought to myself, "oh, shit."

He subsequently passed the Oral Exam and then my "oh, shit" turned into, "oh my god, you're actually going to do this to me." We were living our lives as if we were going to stay in the New York area indefinitely. We had moved back from California to be close to our families and get settled in, get married, make babies... we even looked at buying a house. He had a good job at Bloomberg, which he really liked. We were a young family, coming along in our way and everything seemed to be going well. But there was this thing that my husband wanted so badly hiding in the corners of every decision we made. Knowing how much it meant to him, I encouraged him and together, we waited over a year for his security clearance to come through. It was the last of many steps to his becoming eligible to be hired by the State Department. It came last March, but we had a very new baby and wanted one more before we made the move. So he put himself on the "do not call" list and we got to work. We made one more baby and spent as much as possible with our families.

And now, after all that, I am sitting in the Oakwood and he is off to his very first day of training. It is so amazing that it's all led up to this moment. This is what life is all about: identifying your dream and making it happen. I owe a lot to my husband for setting such an incredibly fine example, not just for my little girls, but also, for me.

Go Team America! Go Stefan! I love you so much and I am so very proud to be your wife.

Just kickin it

The Whitneys are on hiatus in the Hamptons. Yesterday included a trip to Montauk to watch Daddy surf (pictured above), a mid-afternoon nap and a delicious family supper at Della Famina.

We felt dinner was 75% successful because it only included three or so toddler outburts. We are the type of family who goes out to dinner... a lot. Of course, it would be a favorite pastime for a chef, but my husband also loves it. We love food. We love to cook it, eat it, read about it and talk about it. Therefore, it's important to us that we raise children who are interested in food and in the customs that surround the experience of dining out, like: sitting still, not screaming bloody murder, eating the food and not throwing it on the floor, etc., etc., etc. So far, I think we're doing a pretty good job because Adela knows to put her napkin on her lap upon sitting down and proudly uses her sippy cup to toast the start of the meal with us, "Cheers!" over and over and over and over and over.

Anyway, today's blog is devoid of any major epiphanies. Because we're just kickin' it while we can. The adventure begins again tomorrow, when we pack up the car and return to Jersey for some final goodbyes and a last trip to the pediatrician. Saturday is the big day. For now, I am enjoying the sun, the sand, the ocean and the family.

Our Bon Voyage Party: May 2nd 2010

(Note about the message on the cake to all you Francophiles: you might think it should say, "Bon Voyage and Bon Chance," but the "Bon Jour" is a special shout out to Tiny Flora).

Among our many blessings, we have a very loving group of friends and family who came together yesterday on an unseasonably hot spring afternoon to wish us luck and to say farewell. I haven't felt so much love since my wedding day. There were so many of the people I love in one place, for one reason: us. I felt like Sally Field winning the Oscar; "You like me. You really like me." It was magical, in spite of the fact that I had a wicked case of postpartum sweats, Addy was sleep-deprived and acting like an under-medicated mental patient, and Stefan and I were both at the end of our ropes from having been living out of our car for three days.

I would like to take a moment to directly thank my cousins, Meghan, Fred, Liz and Rob for hosting the wonderful affair. I would also like to thank everyone who drove HOURS to celebrate with us (especially the lovely Mike Brautigan who drove 4 hours each way). We are so touched. Knowing we have this community of people at "home," gives me the confidence and strength I need to raise my family under the unusual circumstances created by the Foreign Service.

More so than saying "goodbye," the party provided an opportunity to take stock of what we have in these people and relationships. It put it all in one place, so we could effectively count our blessings. This village, our village, is one that will keep us going and will keep us coming back. As Stefan and I held each other's hand and made a wish as we blew out the above pictured candles, I felt my heart swell with the knowledge that there was nothing left to wish for. At that perfect moment, I had it all... everything I could ever want.

Gypsy Livin'

Last night was our second night as a family of wayward gypsies. Thank goodness for the kindness of our extended family. Without them, we'd surely be shacked up at a Best Western Express lapping up frozen biscuits with powdered gravy. This scenario- car swollen with stuff, us on the road without a care, stopping for a hot meal and an accoustic, fireside "kumbayah"- would have would have been far more charming back in the good ole' days when "we" meant Stefan and me. Now, its something else entirely. We need more than a white t-shirt, jeans and a pair of aviators. Now, it's diapers in two sizes, bottles, sippy cups, tiny, plastic-handled forks, toys, blankies, dog beds, dog bowls, food and snacks for multiple species. The "Music Together" CD has replaced the melodic indie rock of our younger years and life has surely changed. My, my, has life changed.