Au 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And 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.

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.

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-- Bebe Maestro-- 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).

I joined an incredible Health Club, Royal La Rasante, 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.

Perhaps the best part of life here is the Parc de Woluwe. 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.

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:


A woodland seat, carved from a stump:

Addy, enjoying her favorite "Lait" flavored lollipop on a bench carved from a fallen tree:

Taking her time, meandering through the woods:


My sweet girl and lately, my absolute best companion and partner in crime:


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!

Our House in Pictures:

So, this post is dedicated to:

• Our friends and family who are interested in seeing where and how we live.
• New Foreign Service families who have yet to go to post and are curious about what an FS house might look like.
• Foreign Service hopefuls who want to know what an FS house might look like.

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:

The Living Room:

The Dining Room (table is set without the two leaves that make it banquet-worthy... it's enormous!):

The Kitchen:

The Reading "Nook" (just off the kitchen, so I don't have to cook alone):

The "Fun" Room:


Adela's Bedroom:

Flora's Bedroom:

Guest Bedroom:

Our Bedroom:

The 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.

Life is good.

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.

A list:

Dec. 22, 2010: Our shipment of household goods arrive! My husband's cousin and aunt from Germany arrive too.

Dec. 23, 2010: Unpacking continues. My mother and father-in-law arrive too.

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).

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 Gluwhein 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.

Dec. 26, 2010: Christmas is over but the entertaining continues.

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.



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.


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.

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.

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.

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!