I'm mad at the State Department already

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

Thank Goodness for the Beave:

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

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

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

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

How can I NOT follow this man around the world?

Parting is such... sorrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slingadingdong: What to do?

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

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

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

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

As much as I whine...

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

Travel Orders:

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

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Whitney,

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

Thanks,

The People at the Foreign Service Place

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

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