The Tale of the Mysterious Cameroonian Housekeeper:

(WARNING: very long post. no pictures. read at your own risk.)

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.

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."

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.

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."

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.

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:

"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."

And also:

"Besides, she was punctual, and incidents of timing or lateness were very uncommon."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

At 3:30PM, I got a message. It read,

"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"

Hmph.

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.

My 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:

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 huge gourmet market called Rob within a reasonable walking distance.


We also found a fancy European Mall and a cultural center, as well as a nifty, little place called "Cook and Book," which is a combination book store, art gallery, restaurant and library kind of place. Crazy cool, right?

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).

Here's Addy on the stairs at the embassy, post-Christmas Party:


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):


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:

Week 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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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!

Bon 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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Adela, 2 years:

Flora, 8 months:

The House of a Thousand Couches/Packout Part Deux

Ooooops, 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. Oye. I am such an amateur.

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.

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 "FiFi," 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 tattooed 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.

All in all, It's really nice to have that part over with. The Oakwood apartment is no longer cluttered and feels like it could be any one's. There's nothing "Whitney" about it. Just a wash of beige and dark maple.

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 possibilities and opportunities for reinvention. It's a wonderful, challenging, overwhelming journey and we are just at the beginning.

The Incredible Flying Labradudes

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.

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!

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.

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...