How I got to know my neighbors one pair of underware at a time

If there is one thing I have learned from my 2 and half years of motherhood, that is: if your child is quiet for more than 10 minutes, he or she is up to something decidedly not good. Like, drawing with pencil on the walls (which would not erase sufficiently, not matter how long you try). Or, empty the flower pots on the balcony from all the dirt, spread it happily on the ground and wallow in it (you only guess this one from the soil smeared on his gleaming face). Or, eat some good old cat food. Or, load your shopping cart with 54 bottles of lady shaving cream. Or, toss all of his toy cars and trains out of the balcony, along with various pairs of his underwear and crib sheets drying on the rack on the balcony plus a big box of raisins, which is precisely what Son did yesterday evening.

I should have known--it should have raised my red flag that he was so happily and quietly occupied on the balcony for over half an hour while I was trying to decipher cryptic medical insurance statements and the Diplomat was battling a big piece of fish in the kitchen. And when Son proudly dragged us to the balcony to show us his work, I almost gagged--especially since two highly amused 20-something year olds from the building opposite ours cheerfully informed us that Son had been throwing various interesting things down for the past 30 mins. Horrified, we looked over the rail and since we live on the 10th floor, we saw a massive amount of cars and clothes on the ground, along with an assortment of his drying underwear strewn upon people's balconies below us. NO floor had been spared--each one featured at least one colorful pair of Thomas the Train or Monkeys or Cars undies, plus some sheets and shorts.

So, I spent the next 20 humiliating minutes going from floor to floor, asking people to go to their balconies and bring me back the wet underwear and whatever random cars had landed there. One thing I will say--my building has a shocking amount of single women living in it! Then I marched the now sobbing Son to the street and made him collect his gazillion cars from there, while I stood there sweating in the sun trying to look impenetrable and a bastion of parental discipline. It did not help that passers-by would give me odd looks and try to help Son while I would bark, "No, he is learning a lesson!"

I have now started my Consular training at FSI and I must admit that I unabashedly love it! Perhaps its rules-based nature appeals to my base lawyer instincts but I daresay that consular work and I were made for each other! I have also realized that I have about a month before I leave this beautiful land of America to begin the crazy Bangladesh experience so my obsessive planning nature has going into intense overdrive--the past two weeks have been spent dealing with scheduling our packouts, trying to figure out how to ship Fat Cat (the major headache in this process), getting our shiny new diplomatic passports (there HAD to be a snag in that one as well!), applying for visas, reserving tickets, booking hotels and a zillion other little details. It is all superfun. I also spent 3 hours in Costco on Monday and shopped to my heart's content for those precious American necessities without which my life in Bangladesh would be empty (like toilet paper, dried basil and olive oil, for example).  I will devote an entire post on what I consider necessities for posts in South Asia--I have a nifty spreadsheet on the subject. I will also post a curious picture showing my Costco bounty!

Swearing In, Transporating Fat Cat and the Diminishing Chocolate Bunny

(Yey, Blogger is up again!)
It has been a while, and yes, my life has been the usual and even a bit more of a circus. And if you think I am exaggerating, here is an example: after we hosted a dinner for a few friends last night at home and went to bed at about 3 am, today we went to lunch (slightly comatose) at our fabulous friends M&M’s house only to have M go into labor right then and there and have the Diplomat drive her and her husband M, screaming, contractions, breaking waters and all, to George Washington Hospital to deliver a baby girl 15 mins after arriving there. Congratulations, M&M!!!!

The previous Friday was my last day at A-100—along with my fabulous 160th class (also known as “The Vibrants”), I swore allegiance to the country and the flag and tried to pretend that I wasn’t crying during the taking of the oath. This past week I had what is affectionately known as “Gap week”—meaning, while waiting to take some nice, meaningful classes at FSI, I had a week to fill in with something. That is when I found out the wonderful world of distance learning at FSI—should you ever find yourself with a day or two to fill with something, take an online class, it is fantastic! I now know way too much about the administration of Fullbright Programs, and am remarkably proficient at WTO history. Good times.

The Diplomat and I are facing quickly the reality that we will be leaving for post in less than 2 months. The most complicated issue turns out to be Fat Cat. He is decidedly NOT a great traveler to put it mildly. Every single time he has been in the car on the way to the vet (typically just a couple of blocks away), Fat Cat begins hyperventilating emphatically the moment he gets into the elevator and then invariably either pees, poops or barfs in his cage en route to the utter delight of the Diplomat who is usually taking him there. As if this wasn’t enough, in the past few days I have also learned all the millions restrictions and complications a 16-pound cat on its way to Bangladesh faces. In my next post, I will spend some time trying to demystify the process. All I would say for now is—if you own a fat cat and there is a loving soul out there who’s willing to take them and never make them travel, GIVE THEM THE DAMNED CAT! And then give them some more money. They deserve it.

In the chaos and circus of planning our exit to Dhaka, we have found a sudden and unexpected friend in the face of a certain chocolate bunny. A good friend of mine gave us the rather large bunny when he came for Easter lunch a month ago. Ever the obsessive dieters, the Diplomat and I placed the bunny on the kitchen counter and from time to time had dispassionate discussions what to do with it. Each day it stood there on the counter, its shiny golden Lindt wrapper glittering attractively in the kitchen light, its red ribbon making it look feisty, and we would pass by it, give it menacing, hungry looks and go away with a sigh. Until one day when I went into the kitchen and noticed that something wasn’t right. With horror, I realized the bunny had been beheaded! I quickly looked into the living room to find the Diplomat sitting primly on the couch, watching very interesting programming on polar bear mating patterns. He gave me an innocent look and with a mouth, filled with a bunny head, said, “What??” From then on, the bunny faced a very quick demise. Every time we would pass by the kitchen, we would chip a small piece of it and hurry away in guilt. Two short days later and it was gone. We miss it. Quite a lot, really. So, anyone who is interested in donating a (preferably large) chocolate (preferably Swiss) bunny to us, we will be OK with it.

And so we're back from camping

The Diplomat and I have camped quite a few times back in our childless days. In fact, we'd like to think of ourselves as quite the campers, really! Before you conjure up some unreasonable picture of us in hiking gear, roasting fish we have just caught barehanded after trekking for 25 miles along perilous cliffs and sleeping in hanging tents off said cliffs, let me make something clear: our style of camping is shameful. We pack our car up to the brink with coolers full of meat and other exciting food, a $25, 2-person Walmart tent (it got traded for a $50, 4-person Target tent this year), a queen-size inflatable mattress, fluffy pillows, humongous sleeping bags, various libations and board games. Upon arrival in the quiet, serene beauty of our camp site, we back the car into the site and immediately take the contents of the car out until the site begins to look like the NYC studio apartment of a particularly hung-over 25-year old bachelor investment banker on a Sunday late morning. We spend the next 2 days sitting around in various positions around the camp site, poking the fire incessantly and ingesting impossible amounts of food and such libations, while playing intellectual games like Cranium all through the night. On Sunday morning, we swiftly pack the circus back into the tiny trunk of the car and drive off in clouds of dust back to the city, feeling rather re-energized and quite good about ourselves already.
This past weekend wasn't much different except for two things:
1) We were now bringing a very unsuspecting toddler to the scene and we were meeting with friends who have two twin boys about Son's age,
2) We got introduced to ticks. And not in a good way.

I had full intention of relaxing this weekend. I had even naively and somewhat sheepishly brought along a book "to read in the shade while resting" as I happily announced to the Diplomat while packing. I remember looking mournfully at the book all weekend as I dealt with Son while he, along with two other very active boys whom he befriended instantaneously:
--ran around digging up ants
--shoved his head into an old concrete water pipe shouting toddler obscenities inside
--rolled around the ground enjoying a nice dust bath
--screamed that he wants juice, chocolate milk, water, bread, cheese, horsey, poopy, his cars, his monkey and a myriad of other tangible and at times, intangible paraphernalia
--ate half of a watermelon and then spent the rest of the evening peeing the woods
--refused to take an afternoon nap, while I tried to have one to the tune of three toddlers crying loudly for 45 minutes
--demanded to poke around the fire
--ate pebbles
--refused to wear his shoes
--demanded to wear shoes
--hugged me with sticky watermelon fingers and ran them lovingly through my hair.

Still, we had a blast. And then our friends initiated us into the world of ticks. I'd rather have stayed ignorant. As I said, we have been camping in the woods for some years now and never really thought about them or even knew what they looked like. Until today when our friends took out a massive tick off the thigh of one of their sons and I almost fainted while watching them. Several hours and numerous paranoid body reviews later, I have successfully harvested three ticks off me and one off Son. To the Diplomat's horror, I have not been able to find any on him so far which leaves him morbidly convinced that he is a major tick carrier but that they are hiding in his hair only to re-appear when he is at least suspecting. He makes me check him for ticks on the hour. It is worse and far more repetitive than CNN newscasts on a breaking news day. We have for now vowed to never camp again.

In other, just as repetitive news, I took and passed this week my BEX exam in Bulgarian with 5/5 which apparently puts me at the level of an intelligent native speaker. Well, why, thank you!

Still here....barely

Yes, I am still around, and yes, I will still be writing. Hopefully, I will be back in full swing this coming week. The past week and half have been a four-ring circus even by my own personal circus standards. This is how it all went down in brief:
--impromptu dinner party with horrible semi-home-made pizza on last Fri night with a highschool friend of the Diplomat, along with his lovely wife and three toddlers. Both school buddies reminisced on their mutual skinniness and inappropriate moustache
--fabulous brunch on Saturday with the consular officer who granted the Diplomat his first student visa 15 years ago in Chennai
--intense Easter brunch with FS friends and a big ol' chunk of lamb
--mad planning of a post-Flag Day bash
--several rounds of intensive FSI training which drove us all to an all-consuming happy hour on Tuesday where many unreasonable beverages were consumed by all
--more mad planning of a post-Flag Day bash, some of after 12 am
--few receptions by current and former diplomats on Wednesday, followed by even madder planning of a post-Flag Day bash and clearing up space in my fridge for a huge cake meant to celebrate the birthdays of those in my class whose birthdays fell during A-100 training
--Thursday: driving of said cake plus two more plus a screaming Son requesting some of that cake plus a fellow FSO to FSI, where all cakes are met with unbridled enthusiasm by a hungry and bored A-100 class; cutting of cakes and trying to reign in myself not to eat 36 slices. NO HAPPY HOUR! Run to Target at 9 pm to buy tent for impending camp trip. Rejoice at finding a toddler inflatable mattress fitted with Cars sleeping bag.
--Friday--FLAG DAY. Oh boy...turns out, I am going to...Dhaka! Yeah, very funny. The day ends with a bash, which goes off without a hitch, thanks to me and my fabulous co-chair of the Party Committee, MK. We are awesome, yada yada.


We are off camping tomorrow early morning. Next week should be much calmer and I will regale all of you with stories of Son in the wild along with the Diplomat who still hobbles around in an air boot and sad facial expression. Unless I decide to run off in the wild with Fat Cat. Which is doubtful since he is at least 16 lbs heavy and it will be more like a really slow walk off in the wild, during which time I will be apprehended by Son (asking for milk, mango, water, a new car, strawberries, go potty or look at his imaginary boo-boo, all in that order) and the Diplomat (who will only look at me mournfully and ask for the remote control).

Wine tasting and baby parties

Tough to believe but I find myself in week 4 of my A-100 training. Last week we were treated to a couple of days of somewhat different training, which was meant to teach us teambuilding and leadership. The teaching was certainly solidified by few nights of cheap beer, horrible wine and some karaoke of disturbing quality. As if we did not have enough, on Sunday I lead a team of 20 fearless comrades to a day of wine-tasting in Northern Virginia. We started at the Barrel Oak Winery where someone had the brilliant idea to taste all the wines offered there, which sounded like a solid idea until I realized that meant 11 wines. So, we tasted and tasted and tasted until they all started tasting great. Roughly an hour later, a group of wobbly but rather excited FSOs got back on the bus to Pearmund Cellars. 20 mins of careening past green hills and some rather unimpressed cows and we got to the cute little winery. Common sense suggested that we stop for lunch there but not before we were treated to a solid tasting of no one remembers how many wines in their barrel room. We finally sat down to lunch and several bottles of wine later realized that we don't have enough time or courage to go to another one. So we went home. To finish the day, the Diplomat and I, along with Son, drove to Fairfax (boy, that is far!) for a small Good-bye get together for our friends, where Son and the rest of the kids at the party delightedly played in the rather fabulous mud hole in the backyard. Nothing attracts a well-dressed toddler like a nice, solid mud hole.

On Saturday, I decided to devote myself to my poor Son and spent the day driving him from one playdate to another. It did start a tad inauspicious. We were going to a birthday party to one of his girlfriends and like the good planner I am, I had planned to stop at a cute little store called Giggle to get a gift before the party, which was starting at 10am. True to form, Son effortlessly threw a magnificent tantrum, immediately peed in his pants (which was unfortunate because I has naturally dressed him in his best cute outfit) and yelled to no one in particular that he doesn't want to go anywhere. 25 mins later, subdued and in his second best outfit, I dragged the sullen child to the car, promising (although it did sound more like threatening him) him that he will have a great time. Driving out of the garage, I realized that it was pouring buckets. Since we were already running about 30 mins late, my GPS decided to take us for a scenic ride through Georgetown and chirpily added what appeared like another 20 mins to the ride. Just for fun, I could not find parking in front of Giggle and had to park 3 blocks away and then run with the disgruntled child through the soaked streets to the store. Once inside, I found what I wanted right away which did not please one bit the rather peaceful and somewhat phlegmatic sales clerk, who wanted to show me all the wonders of his store one by one. I made the tactical mistake of asking whether he knew the Play Museum (the birthday location), and his face lit with quiet, inside light and he spent 10 mins on his computer finding it on Google Earth for me. It was 5 mins away. Realizing that by now we were roughly an hour late, I did consider going outside and rolling in the puddles while screaming in frustration. Instead, I took the soaked Son and ran back to the car. We arrived at the Museum leaving streams of water behind us. His outfit was further ruined by the fact that I decided to take off his dainty shoes and socks to prevent him from catching a vicious cold. Turned out that we had arrived in time for cupcake decoration, which delighted me immensely. The children were given all kinds of fun accoutrements to put on top of the cupcakes and Son spent 10 happy minutes putting blue sprinkles on his cake one by one. He then ate his creation by lowering his head towards it while keeping his hands clean behind his back. It was awkward, and his face was barely seen from the frosting, but boy, his hands were pristine! All in all, he had a fabulous time and I highly recommend the Play Museum in Bethesda. It is truly heaven for kids.

Afterwards, we went back home and he took a hefty nap of 3 hours. Upon awaking, we immediately left to visit his great pal E and his parents M&M, where we stayed till it was way past bedtime. Both mama and Son had a fabulous time.

At home, the Diplomat spent the entire day staring glumly at his newly acquired walking air cast. Turns out, he has 2 shin splints and no, I don't know what that means--go Google it. All I know is there won't be much tennis in this house any time soon. Aw, shucks!

Oh, they say the darnest things!

Week 3 of A-100 training is in full swing, and I'd like to take this opportunity to share some wisdom I have acquired recently. Details of our training must remain shrouded in tantalizing secrecy, but I will regale you with tidbits of hysterical humor that I was treated to:
1. Some cultures/people are Peaches and some are Coconuts. It has to do with the shell and the insides. What do you think YOU are?
2. If it smells bad, if it looks bad, if it sounds bad...don't sit on it (what??)
3. Pregnancy is the most contagious condition in the world (wait, is it in the air?!)
More to come as training progresses.

This past Sunday we celebrated the Diplomat's birthday. Because of the Saturday night fiasco, I had geared up to provide him with a fabulous day, to start with taking care of Son in the morning while he slept. Which was going rather well, until Son demanded to see Daddy and started rolling screaming on the floor at 6.45 am. Delivering menacing threats to the stubborn child while whispering was not proving exactly successful and I was about to drag him out of the apartment at 7 am, when he poignantly peed in his pants just to prove some obscure toddler point. With a blood-curdling look in my eyes, I changed him in a flash and drove off to Harris Teeter, our fabulous neighboring grocery store which is open 24/7, God bless them. To my utter shock, I was hardly the only one there...as we started slowly rolling the cart down the isles, I began noticing quite a few customers who apparently thought that 7.30 am on a Sunday morning was a fabulous time to shop. Guess why--we all had a kid in the shopping cart. We would acknowledge each other with a gloomy look, and ask simply, "What time did he/she wake up?" Then we would nod knowingly to each other, sigh heavily and wander off grumpily in the vast expanse of the store buying entirely unnecessary items (like multiple bottles of wine) while the kids would happily wave around the complimentary balloon the store provides and ecstatically hit you on the head with it from time to time. Damn balloon!
The rest of the day was great even though I was severely underslept. I did try to squeeze a nap during the afternoon, while the Diplomat and Son were asleep. Sadly, Fat Cat was of another opinion and spent a good 40 minutes trying to find the best spot on top of my stomach and chest for his own afternoon nap. I guess I was overrun by a house full of sleepy men. 

Bend it like Beckham

Another week packed with action is behind us. For the 160th A-100 class, it was anything but boring.

1. On Monday, we had a happy hour in Arlington, hosted by our sponsoring class, the gracious 158th class. Much fun and cheap cocktails were had. The Diplomat and Son join us festively, annihilating many a chicken tenders and shooting fake hoops in the game room.

2. On Tuesday, we had a happy hour downtown DC.

3. On Wednesday, everyone took a drinking night off

4. On Thursday, a group of 25 went out to dine in Dupont Circle, certainly taking advantage of the ongoing happy hour.

5. On Friday, just when I thought everyone had had enough (and no more money), turned out that it was a colleague's birthday, so the festivities kept on going on a more domestic basis. Since we had just come back from a dinner with the Hawaiians and another couple of friends, after which the women and the kids came to our place to respectively have a drink and pull out every imaginable toy and throw it around, I decided to pass on the birthday party.

6. On Saturday morning, those of us with kids got together to watch our toddlers prance through a playground while we discussed bid list strategizing in the freezing cold. That same night, I joined my highly esteemed colleagues at the DC United-LA Galaxy (think David Beckham) soccer game after which I was supposed to meet the Diplomat at the Bombay Club to celebrate his birthday. Because of that, to the utter delight of the raggedy teenagers there, I showed up at the game wearing an elaborate and expensive shalwar kameez, 5 inch fabulous silver Michael Kors platforms, 3 lbs heavy silver bangles, plenty of makeup and carefully coiffed hair. Beckham looked hot from whichever angle you looked at him. I left the game after half an hour to meet the Diplomat at which point he called me to tell me that the babysitter hadn't showed up--apparently I had not confirmed with her. Suffice it to say that night did not end on a high note.

All of this with the threat of a shutdown hanging ominously over our governmentally-employed heads.
So yes, A-100 is a VERY intense experience. We also get a lot of training.
Living in DC has been very gratifying otherwise. Just yesterday I saw a car in the garage with a huge bumper sticker that read, "Starve a terrorist, ride a bike." Pondering its intended humor, I noticed with astonishment that the bumper belonged to a huge Honda SUV. Um, ok.

I am currently obsessed with a new reality show--Sister Wives on TLC. All I have to say about it--the wives seem to be having a jolly good time but the husband looks like one very exhausted, stretched out man who apparently chooses not to golf to have time for his 16 kids. Good man. Another thing that I noticed about the show is that every new wife is progressively slimmer than the previous one. Hm. I remain fascinated.