Working yourself out of a job

One of our favorite parental refrains is this one: “What’s our main job as your parents?”  The responses vary from a decent answer of:   “To love us” to a smart ass answer of: “To do XYZ for me.”   That’s because they know what’s coming next.  “Our main job as your parents is to work ourselves out of a job.” 

Really, it’s one of Brett’s favorite refrains.  Utensil usage is still well below 50%, so I’m not convinced.  I honestly don’t see myself retiring from my job as Table Manner Counselor until age 65.  I’m glad Brett is teaching them “How to Treat a Woman” because that will come in handy when they are blowing their nose in their napkin.

I kid the husband a little however, because that philosophy has been put to the test with this move.  With our 15 year old still back in Seattle, we are getting a preview into how well we have fared in working ourselves out a job.  A job we love, and one we’ve worked pretty hard at.  (Note: we’ve also realized that some projects are harder than others.)

It is with mixed emotions that I am able to report that I think we are ahead of schedule (at least in the areas that matter.)

It’s not when a 15 year old sends a picture of his perfect report card, or stats on his basketball game, but it’s when he sends regular texts like this one:  “Thanks Mom.  I really appreciate those kind words!! I love you too!!!” When at an age where it’s in style to be cool and evasive, he can still tell the people he loves that he loves them with 5 exclamation points. 

Several months ago, Quinn told me that he has three main things he tries to live by.  To go with the flow, that practice makes perfect, and to be kind to everybody.   I saw that to be true in his life then, but even more now at a distance.  He is open to everything and deeply content no matter his situation.  He hasn’t asked us to send or buy him anything, only to be available for a FaceTime chat.  He works hard – with or without us around – maybe even harder without us because his drive is within.   And I have a log of texts that echo his kindness to me -- the person in his life that it would be easiest to forget to be kind to.

As my six year old nuzzled into bed with me last night after a bad dream, I was reminded of how good it feels to be needed.   To be needed in that visceral, tangible way.  That a hug would not just protect, but also overcome, anything scary your child had to face.  There is still so much to fear even after you’re 15, but if you’ve established a pattern of trustworthiness with them and taught them that there is Someone even greater to trust --- then maybe they can feel their hair being stroked while on a FaceTime chat.

When in Rome .... Solvitur Ambulando

Ahh, Bella Roma!  It is as wonderful and rich a city as everyone says.  Five days is hardly enough time to even take in all the piazzas and fountains.  Though I was there over twenty years ago, it felt both new being there with my husband and children and also familiar with the warmth and charm of the Italian people.  My maternal grandfather was 100% Italian, and it’s the part of my ethnicity that I most relate to.  Though my skin is not olive, olive oil runs through my veins.  I talk with my hands, I love a good meal, and mi familia is the most important.  And my face has been known to get red when angry.   But I will forgive you and forgetaboutit two minutes later.

For this trip, we decided to go broad instead of deep.  With over two thousand years of history and more churches than days of the year, we decided we would skim the surface – see the sites but not tour them.  Quinn just finished doing a paper on ancient Rome and so we promised that we would save some of the touring for another trip when he can join us.  Plus, given that our six and nine year old boys can’t even stand at the Trevi Fountain without tackling each other or competing for “longest coin throw” – we decided that touring the Vatican Museum would be a risk not yet worth taking.  But you bet your Roman artichokes that we stepped into Vatican City so that the boys could log their ninth country visited. 

Stationed at a wonderful rental apartment (the best!) between Piazza del Popolo and Piazza de Spagna, we loosely followed the Doris Kindersly Eyewitness Travel Rome Guidebook (a must have if you are going to Rome) and diligently followed my friend Gretchen Harmon’s day to day itinerary, restaurant and shopping lists.  Gretchen and her family lived in Rome for two years and following her tips and recommendations helped to make “big Rome” feel more like “neighborhood Rome.”    We knew where to find the leather goods (boots have been added to the collection), the cashmere (too rich for my olive oil blood), the hip teen clothes, and the best bakery in all of Rome (which we frequently often enough that they knew us.)  Watching Brett hold court with a group of high school boys who were practicing their English (who he is now friends with on Facebook) was worth an admissions price under the heading of “Experiencing Rome.”   Our apartment is owned by the delightfully charming Giacomo who invited us to dinner in his home on Friday night with his wife Betta and three children (of similar ages to ours.)  We had such a grand time that we spent Sunday morning again together, but this time touring the National Etruscan Museum on the outskirts of Rome to learn more about the pre-Roman civilizations.  Nothing was broken. 

We ate and ate.  The food was consistently good and fresh if not spectacular.  I have high expectations when it comes to pasta.  We lingered over meals and played “Would You Rather:”

“Would you rather be roommates with Damarcus Cousins or Metta World Peace?” (Colin)

“Would you rather be teammates with NBA Player 1 or NBA Player 2?” (Colin)

Sub in different NBA player names, and repeat ad infinitum.  But wait for the gem.

“Would you rather be famous and an overrated knucklehead or really talented but poor?” (Colin)

And then there’s Lawton who was trying to get the hang of the game.

“Would you rather eat the rottenest blueberries or rottenest apricots?” (Lawton)

“Would you rather eat broken glass or knives?” (Lawton)

“Would you rather jump off a roller coaster or apartment building? Both landing on pavement.”  (Lawton)

“Would you rather marry a shark with sharp teeth or a snake?” (Lawton)

Would you rather sit on a snake or a porcupine?” (Lawton)

“Would you rather see a gross giant or Zombie?” (Lawton)

Brett responds: “Gross giant, but would you rather smell a Gross Giant’s smelly feet or swanus?”

It did get better.

“Would you rather have two great teachers and two bad teachers or four average teachers?” (Kate)

Okay, that was a little abrupt.

“Would you rather tour a church or a castle?” (Kate)

Lawton responds: “Are there knights in the castle and dragons in the church?”

Circle back.

“Would you rather have hops or speed? (Kate)

Rome is a wonderful walking city and public transportation is not its strength (we Seattleites empathize),  so we experienced Rome by walking.   Like crazy walking considering we have a six year old.  Fueled by at least two gelato stops every day, we estimate that we walked a cumulative of close to thirty miles.  There is a phrase in Latin called “Solvitur Ambulando” which means “it is solved by walking.”  We heard it first from our interim Pastor, and have since adopted it as a family mantra.  It proved very useful in the decision of moving to Europe, and even more useful in the times when things got a little hairy.   When things are breaking down, we keep walking – both literally and figuratively.  Some of us are better at adapting to new surroundings than others, and some need a “break in period” – so forward progress is the thing we do to hasten getting to the other side.   It also helps when you turn over the map and let someone else lead for a while.  We did that with each of the boys, and I’m pretty sure that the “follow the leader” game is perhaps the thing they will remember most.  The Pantheon was on the former side of the break in period, and our nine year old lead us back there for a “do-over” before taking us on a circuitous but outstanding route to the Colosseum.  I know having him walk us around -- revisiting the place where we needed an olive branch extended -- in deep love with his new favorite city, was the thing I will remember most.  I will try not to remember that Brett used the word swanus at the dinner table.

(See all Rome Photos)

Administrative Formalities (just a few dozen of them)

When we were moving from our first house into our second house (both in Seattle), I remember thinking: “Has anyone else ever done this before?”  The logistics around selling one house, buying another house, and then closing both transactions on almost the same day seemed like a puzzle only we had ever tried to solve.   No one tells you all the steps between the Open House (for the new house) where you fall in love with staged furniture and the Inspection Report (for the old house) where you curse the electrical wiring that you *thought* had been keeping you safe.   That same pioneer feeling then revisited me many times with our first child.  Because surely anyone who praised the benefits of breastfeeding had ever been engorged quite like this.

One of the great things about living in an Expat community is that there are in fact people who have done this all before.  And, even better, they have done it recently.  So recently that they still have contact numbers in their phones, and write ups on their computers.  And there’s something about living through a totally new experience that makes you want to pass it on to people that are trailing in your fresh footsteps.   This proves to be incredible helpful with travel tips, buying a car (still on our to do list as we are nearing the end of our 60 day rental), and registering for your commune.

Shared wisdom is a good thing too because getting your registration cards is like navigating the US tax code while waiting in DMV lines.  It is not meant to be understood, and it requires the patience of Job’s wife if he had one because children are always required to be present.  In the 3 hour morning that was Step 1 some 7 weeks ago, every page of every family member’s passport has to be copied – not by a copy person, but the same person that was serving you. That takes some time people.  And printers go down around the world it turns out (although they are much more relaxed about that in Europe.)  There’s then the chest x-ray step and TB test step.  Paid in cash, by the way.   Followed by another step 48 hours later to check the TB test, where a doctor looks at your arm and may announce if you are the only one with a raised bump, “You have antibodies.  I have antibodies.”  Translation being, we don’t *think* you have TB.   Then there’s the waiting step where more things need to be copied and mailed to you.  Once you wait long enough, you are ready for the fingerprint step where you have to hold your finger at just the right angle with just the right pressure, the photo step where seriously, you must not smile or smirk or tilt your head or think thoughts like “just what step are we on now?” Meanwhile, your hard-to-fingerprint children are still with you and you’re in a very small room with too many layers on because the “twenty minutes max” comment was the only bad Expat expert info you have gotten.   And then after today’s step, you have that same conversation with your children about appropriate behavior, and patience, and opportunities for a 5th chance.  Because next week’s step in a two part one.  We will return to pick up the registration cards - again with children, but in a quicker queue line.  Then we will go to another building where the registration cards will be copied.   And by next week you hope that you will not mutter under your breath something about knowing they do copying on site.   You’ll also pretend that you didn’t hear that passing comment that you will need to do this process all over again next year.   And you’ll reinforce with your children that they will definitely, definitely not be carrying their own registration cards because they want to show their friends their serious face picture. 

The expat gift of gab is a welcome salve for all these little nuances of legally living in a new country.  It’s also a wonderful spark for building community.   Because community isn’t just living together, it’s sharing experiences with one another.  We are so grateful for the community here – Brett’s work community, the school community, the church community -- who are sharing their stories with us – laughing with us, troubleshooting for us, and letting us know that some uncomfortable engorgement is completely normal.

I am a Euro Runner

It’s Monday.  It’s a new month.  I’ve been here six weeks.  It’s time. 

8am:  A  Runner’s Prayer

Create in me new legs, oh God

And renew the endorphins within me

Cast me not away from Thy pavement, oh Lord

And take not thy air from my lungs

Restore unto me the claim of being a runner

And renew the endorphins within me

10am: A Runner’s Nursery Rhyme

Euro washing machine, washing machine, quite contrary,

Just how long does you cycle go?

With itty bity water and a tumbling party,

And running motivation about to blow.

10:30 am: Pre-Run Playlist (inspirational)

(Ho!) I've been trying to do it right

(Hey!) I've been living a lazy life

(Ho!) I've been walking here instead

(Hey!)I've been eating lots of bread,

(Ho!) I've been eating lots of bread (Hey!) (Ho!)

(Ho!) So show me the front door

(Hey!) All the calories that I will burn

(Ho!) I used to wear a thong

(Hey!) I don't know where I went wrong

(Ho!) But I wanna live strong (Hey!)

I belong out there, you believe it too, you're my accountability

I belong out there, you believe it too, you’re my accountability (Ho!)

10:35 am: Pre-Run Playlist (hurtful)

It's time to begin, isn't it?

I get a little bit bigger, but then I'll admit

I'm just the same as I was

Now don't you understand

That I'm never going six weeks again.

11:30am Post Run Anthem

I’m breathing out

Let’s hope it’s not the last thing that I do

So I sweat my skin

And I count my mins

And I close my eyes

And I take it in

And I’m breathing out

I’m breathing out WAHOO!

Silver Linings Rantbook

It’s Friday and my attention span isn’t what it was in 1990, so a bulleted list for easy reading.  Speaking of easy reading, when I think about my style choices for this blog – “Body Font Size” is the one element I keep going back to change.  Eyesight isn’t what it used to be either.  Bigger still, huh?

Things I won’t rant about:

• Silver Linings Playbook.  I want to see that and whole bunch of other movies, but we got a gap here.  Not in our Lux English theatres, not yet on Amazon Video.   
• Tri-lingual-ness as table stakes.  Let’s all agree on “Bon Jour, bitte.”
• My Landord’s SLA.  I trust he is on holiday.
• Mumford & Sons is coming to Luxembourg!  Gotta love tax friendly countries.   What – we will have to wait??  Mumford & Sons is SOLD OUT?!   Super big sad face.
• European toilet paper.  We’ve all been there, and I’ve been to Africa.  The tree may be happy, Shel Silverstein, but the tush is only appreciative.
• Eat early, eat alone.  Metabolize that.
• Rain.  I come with 20 years’ experience, and appropriate gear.  I do however wish meteorologist/therapist Cliff Mass was here to make me feel better about it.  And sing me a snow lullaby. 
  
• Sports physicals and licenses.  There is an entire blog on this subject, but since we are still “in process” on this one – best to let it unfold before I rock your US-is-the-most-youth-sports-crazed-country  mind.   
• Pate.  I want to believe, but my gag reflux will not be suppressed.  You can go have a party with the oysters – those pompous shellfish who don’t have a hint of anything but the sea.  I still like oysters, just not  the ‘tude.   Pate, on the other hand, is turd.  (And I will eat turd if this opinion changes in next 2 years.)

Things I will rave about:

• European tipping policy.  Loose coins makes happy waiters.  Tipping the hairdresser 20 euro bills makes me blonde -- even blonder now .  Not exactly “yikes” blonde, but “whoa-this-will-take-some-maintenance” blonde.
• No bumper stickers.  Either everyone here unanimously supports the Grand Duke of Luxembourg, or they don’t believe they change anyone’s mind at a traffic stop.  Everyone’s child is obviously an honor student – reference tri-lingual-ness.  And clearly no truck driver wants me calling to report how well they are driving.
• 250ml Coke Zero bottles.  Oh, so petit and easy to hide.  It’s like four Dixie Cup swigs of home.
• Swipe free bus riding.  Public trust and transportation. Swipe once to activate your monthly bus card and then take a moment to locate your nearest entry and exit door, and use whichever you like.
• School lunches.   Move over Japan, you aren’t the only ones keeping kids happy with Bento Boxes.  You are however keeping my kid from enjoying recess because he “can’t wait” for lunch.
• Diesel.  Because I think I’m supposed to say that.
• Konrads Café & Bar.  A little piece of Seattle in the heart of Luxembourg City.  And tonight a concert by an Icelandic singer with my Seattle pal Angela!
• Much, much more … but we should pace ourselves.

PIN code RED

Yesterday, on the way out the door, my iPhone stopped working.  If it’s not ringing as you’re walking out, it’s shutting down and asking for PIN codes you don’t have.   Already late for pick up, and one of my appendages had decided he doesn’t want to come with. He wanted to stay home in the comforts of Wi-Fi (well me too!) when I needed him to get out and roam the Orange network.   So in my pocket he went.  We would have a talk in the car.  I would tell him it takes two to Tango. (wireless provider pun intended.)

Oh how we love thee.

You cannot drive and troubleshoot your phone at the same time.  I know that now.  I knew that then.  There is just something about that “No Service” message that makes you want to take immediate action.  I still believe you can drive and put on lipstick, but as soon as you waste one of three attempts on a PIN code you know you don’t have (let’s try my birthday!) – it’s best to stop, drop, and roll through the memory bank. 

 So … the iMemory.  I brought my iPhone with me from the US.  Before leaving, my carrier agreed to unlock my iPhone so that I could use it another network.  In real time, that sentence took me approximately 1,068 minutes to execute.  And I used to work there.  Legacy only gets you so far.  To complete my Authorized iPhone unlock, I would need to connect to iTunes to backup and restore my iPhone.  I reasoned I would take that step only once I signed a contract for service here.  To restore is to start again and we all know how much effort that takes.

I signed up for service with Orange two weeks ago.  It worked like a charm.  They swapped my SIM, all my contacts/photos/apps remained intact, and everything was the same except for my new local number.  In real time, that sentence took me approximately 14 minutes to execute.  I didn’t care that I was signing a French contract I wasn’t reading – I figured there was a diplomatic clause somewhere in there and lookey see! – I still have Facebook and Stitcher!  After cheering my sales rep on like he had just cured eczema (cancer would have been too much a stretch there), I did ask what about that “backing up to iTunes” to complete my authorized unlock from my previous carrier, and he shrugged and said: “But it’s working, no?”  Why yes it is, so never mind.  Merci!

At this point, my iMemory is saying “But the email.  Step 5.  After restoring, your iPhone will be unlocked. You read that no?”  Crap.  My previous carrier has found me!  They know that I have not followed the instructions to complete my Authorized Unlock.  And I know that legacy has no merit where rogue IMEIs are concerned.  We are now in unauthorized territory and they have taken punitive action by shutting off my device.  With that realization, I decide that I must race home after pick up, connect to iTunes and restore my naughty iPhone.

 At pick up, I hurry my son into the car because I MUST DO THIS RIGHT AWAY.  And, there is another pick up in one hour.  I know in my heart that restoring my iPhone is more than an hour’s job, but I am not to be deterred.  RED LIGHT #1.  On the one hand, I need my lifeline back and on the other, I have done a bad thing for which I need to atone quickly.

Once at home, I go to launch iTunes.  Uh-oh.  I have not downloaded iTunes to the laptop we brought to Luxembourg.  (Insert shameless plug for Amazon Cloud Player.)  That feels like a set back.  RED LIGHT #2.  I then go to my web browser to find the iTunes download, and my Internet connection decides to freeze.  And while I’m not walking out the door at this point, I do still have my jacket on and so I feel like my iPhone and laptop are ganging up on me.  RED LIGHT #3.  Once the Internet connection is back up, I go to iTunes which is forcing me to a Belgium version of the download.  No, no, no.  I need the US version so my US carrier can find me and forgive me.  He does not know that I am in Belgium.  I’m not even in Belgium.  I’m in Luxembourg.  RED LIGHT #4.  That then leads me to logging in to my paid VPN service which will tunnel me into a US IP address so I can get to iTunes, US gignam style.  This file is big and my VPN tunnel is small.  RED LIGHT #5.  Mind you, I now have only 30 minutes left.  And where is the iPhone USB cord?????????????????  RED LIGHT #6.  A soft voice asks a question.  I think it’s my son, and so I tell him, “Eat whatever you want, but when I say – get your shoes on.  GET YOUR SHOES ON.  Mommy is about to restore her iPhone back to it’s factory settings and we don’t have a lot of time.”  RED LIGHT #7.  iPhone USB cord found, but wait, how will it work unless I put back my old SIM?  I go to find the Orange file with my new French contract and old SIM.  I find it, but the folder is empty.  RED LIGHT #8.  Why is the folder empty?  Because my husband is conserving folders.  He has re-filed it to a place that makes complete sense to anyone that is not panic stricken and about to lose all her contacts.  This eats up 7 minutes.  RED LIGHT #9.  I find the old SIM along with a paper clip and think: “Finally, some good news.  I woulda been pissed if the guy forget to include the paper clip.”  (Brett is conserving desk supplies too.)  At this point, I look at the clock.  I’m late.  I then look at my son who has eaten through an entire bag of chips.  Or was that me?  And I shout: “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE YOUR SHOES ON YET?!” RED LIGHT #10-12.

He muscles his shoes on.  Or was that me? I grab the new folder to bring with me in the car.  You cannot drive and flip through folders either, but I’m hoping for a few more stoplights.  And I’m in no mood to be reasoned with.  It is then that I see in the folder -- my new Orange SIM card holder.  It has a 4 digit PIN number on it.  A no-longer soft voice barks, “Mommy, why are you checking your phone now? I thought we had to go?!”

Enter 4 digit PIN number. Green light.

Wow.  I had missed the signposts all along.  I think we do that a lot.  We get on our path, and when things start to go sideways – instead of pausing to evaluate, we keep barreling straight ahead.  We may look for the easy way out – any 4 digit number will do!  Or, we may assume the worst – OMG, I have to reboot everything?! When really, the resistance we are fighting against is just trying to tell us to turn our head.  But we do need to stop what we are doing and look up if we have any hope of turning our “Grrrrrs” into “Ah. Gotchas.”  Temptations are put in our path to mess with us.  Trials are put in our path to refine us.  Even the 90 minute cell phone drama trials. 

Our days are littered with things to teach us, but we tune so much of it out.  I’m sure the Orange sales rep mentioned the PIN code at some point in our conversation.  But once I saw those bars flash on my phone, I probably stopped listening.   I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt here, but it’s a better story.  And certainly better than thinking that it was my bravado about having “worked in the wireless industry” that lead him to believe that I should have known about the PIN code.  Things we think we already know … Now that’s a whole other place we fail to yield.