Welcome to the Jungle!!

Well, folks, I can safely say that this was one crazy weekend yet again. The madness started on Thursday and unfolded like this:

1. Me marinating 6 lbs of chicken for tandoori grilling at 1 am on Thursday night, after we came from a romantic dinner celebrating my birthday with the Diplomat.
2. Friday: cooking industrial quantities of Indian food, partying with fellow FSOs and celebrating our future post and life in Dhaka.
3. Saturday morning found me and the Diplomat at Costco, buying a digital piano and a lifetime stock of Splenda and pickles.
4. That same night the waiter in Harry's Tap tried (somewhat successfully) to squeeze 20+ people at a table for 15, including a plethora of running children all under 7 who for some reason would not sit at the bar (the waiter's idea--he clearly did not have kids). Later that night, few of us bold, energized bunnies drove to downtown Washington to dance some clumsy salsa till the wee hours in Havana Village. I have to say that the Diplomat's salsa leaves someething to be desired--one of my friends felt compeled to intervene in the middle of our dancing to show him what to do.
5. Sunday morning, Son was having his usual manic routine of running hysterically all over the apartment as if chased by a panicked herd of goats, when he tripped over a big heap of matchbox cars, fell and apparently hurt his arm. After an hour of howls of pain, snot running down his nose (and wiping naturally and prodigiously in my nice, black shirt), followed by unusual quiet and staring at the TV, I decided to take the hurt child to the hospital. X-rays were taken (to the sounds of horrified yelling, some snapping procedures tried on the elbow, and finally a miniature cast of fiberglass adjusted on his arm--his first cast!! Seconds later, Son passed out exhausted by the events. Senseless, we carried him home, where, upon waking up, he took one look at the cast, then looked me straight in the eyes and said firmly, "No!" After 56 of those Nos, I took it off. You be stronger with your child, I suppose I am not that good of a mom.
6. Sunday night found us at Diplomat's aunt's place for some seriously great idlis and other unpronounceable Indian delicacies. Son proudly peed and pooped in her garden 3 times. Good job!
All of the weekend, amidst the insanity, I kept studying the Bengali alphabet, which contains only 50 characters, most of them pretty much the same to the naked eye of the amateur. That night, I had a horrible dream that a few squiggly letters were running to catch me through the streets of Dhaka.
7. Son proceeded to have a bad night of waking ups and refusal to sleep, while trying to viciously bite us if we approach the bed. Fantastic. I ended up sleeping about 5 hrs, which is a bad idea since today I started bangla classes at 7.30 am. Did I mention that I am also working full time, while taking 4 hour classes every day? Can you say FUN? I can't, I think I am asleep as I am writing this.....

It's My Birthday, It's My Birthday!!!!! I am getting a piano!

This may sound somewhat selfish to you, but when I was pregnant, my due date was the day before my birthday, and I thought--"Oh, no, I don't want Son to be born on the same day!" Some people said that it would be the greatest gift on my day. But I always thought that everyone should have their special day, and if both Son and I had the same special day, our individual importance would blend somewhat. Son agreed, put his feet down (literally--he was a breech baby) and made an appearance 2 weeks before this day. Good boy!
He gave me the great gift of starting the day wonderfully. No midnight wakings, and getting up with a smile and not a single, tiny tantrum, and a pee in the potty. Well, what could a mom want more??? OK, a Ferrari, but let's not get carried away...
I am getting myself a piano today! I can hardly contain myself.

I am getting a bit frustrated with my future employer, FSI. I have decided to take Bengali classes together with the Diplomat at the institute. All along spouses are told what a great asset we are and how we are encouraged to take language classes. That there are many options for working spouses, like early morning crash classes, Rosetta stone, distance learning, what have you. well, folks, not in Bengali, that precious commodity of a language. I actually must take Bengali, if next June I am to join the Diplomat in Dhaka as an FSO myself, so that we can be a so-called "tandem couple." So, we have been trying to figure out a way for me to take the Bengali classes, while still working. Everything is moving at a snail's pace.

At least I don't have to go through medical clearance as I already have one from last year, when the Diplomat was getting his. Security clearance, on the other hand, is a whole different matter. They haven't even started that one yet. Rumor has it that the time to complete those has been reduced to 3 months (it took 8 months for the Diplomat, but then again, he is a suspicious element), which gives me hope that i will be able to go to Dhaka as an FSO after all. So, Bengali must be learned....what to do?

The Foreign Service Oral Assessment day and Son turns 2

Believe it or not, Son turned 2 this past Saturday. We celebrated with gusto with new and old friends, and, as luck would have it, with my inlaws who are visiting us for the month of September. It was a memorable affair, filled with sangria, noise, sugar and gazzilion small Matchbox cars. It was catered by Costco, that lovely haven of our consumerism. I owe them a lot. FYI--to my delight, Costco in Virginia carries wine (not so in NY, a source of eternal aggravation to us).

The night ended somewhat questionably for the birthday boy, as he was utterly incapable of sharing his cars, even with the girls. Surrounded by about 20 small cars, he would not allow ANYONE else to touch them and tried to protectively snatch and carry all of them at once. It was not exactly possible and the other kids were playing with the cars, spilling from his clutched arms, which drove Son to a frenzy. He had to be removed from the party scene and brought upstairs to the apartment with his grandparents. Good times.

I am still internalizing the news of my passing of the FSOA. It has been a long process, and it still does not appear real in my head. Let me tell you about the day of Oral Assessment without breaking the obligatory NDA. It is an intense day, comprised of three parts--a group exercise (think model UN) with 5 other nervous folk whose hands shook uncontrollably whenever they spoke, an interview with stern current FSOs, and a case management memo writing exercise, which is as daunting as writing War and Peace. The FSO hopeful has about an hour between each fun part, during which he or she neurotically swaps stories with the other freaked candidates. Once all three parts were over, all of us sat down in the waiting room, our nerves tight as Stradivarius strings. It did feel a bit like a reality show, say "FSO Survivor" and we all waiting to hear which one of us was voted off the island. All of us kept talking endlessly so as not to permit the thought of the results to enter our heads. Business cards were swapped, marriage stories exchanged, jittery giggle puncturing the air, and every single time someone would open a door, all of us would jump up in the air in anticipation. It was possibly the most nerve-racking experience of my life. Even Flag Day wasn't so intense. I was one of the last 5 people called (out of 22) and rumor had it that the last people standing were the ones that pass. I can't vouch that it is true, but most of us left in the end passed.
I will be taking a Russian proficiency test soon to boost my score--my passing score wasn't the most spectacular, I admit. So, off to hit the books again. Ugh.