Guns, Swords, and Light Sabers

We are not a gun family.  Despite having roots in the West, the idea of having a gun is about as foreign as us having a two headed dog in our house.  It is not going to happen (think of Seth's allergies).  Like never.

I don't like action movies much, I don't like comic books, we don't watch violent movies or cartoons or video games.  We are a peaceful folk.

Yet, despite it all my son has picked up on the concept of guns, swords, and light sabers.  He loves to play Star Wars.  Toujour.  Every day and always.  And you want to know how he is aware of this world?

At the shopette by our home there is a Star Wars novelization series. Over the past year every time I go to the American Garrison Shopette he stares at this novel.  He studies it, he reads the words he knows, and he thinks about Star Wars.

After a year of asking me about Star Wars I let him watch the Lego Star Wars summary of the plot of Star Wars.



He, along with 300 million other souls, has been hooked.

He plays Star Wars at every moment of his breathing pretend play time.

Today when I went to pick him up from preschool his teacher asked to have word with me. (He goes to an American preschool a few hours each week).  Apparently guns are not allowed in preschool, which I am glad about, but Tiger has taken to turning every toy he plays with into a weapon either a gun or a light saber or a sword.  He doesn't hit anyone, he doesn't get in their face, but they don't want that kind of pretend play and could I talk to him at home about it.

When I asked for more clarification they said I should redirect his play to something more palatable.  For example a light saber stick could become a magical weilding wand.  Any Harry Potter reading muggle knows wands can be much more powerful than light sabers, and in a lot of ways are the exact same thing.  

Ok, look I get it, I don't like guns either. However, guns are in the world and whether we plan it or not they are out there and I am not going to pretend that they aren't.  My son has to process the world and part of processing and dealing with the chaos is pretend.  I understand we don't want toy guns or swords at school but you cannot punish a three year old for turning his legos into a storm trooper blaster.  You wouldn't dream of telling a girl she can't be a play Cinderella because it demeans her value by making her dependent on being saved by a man.  Yet, they have no problem telling me I need to talk to my son about not playing Jedis at school.

I don't like gun play either but as long as he is not hurting anyone or being inconsiderate of other kids, should we really regulate imagination?

I think the fear is that a gun pretending three year old turns into a gun wielding 22 year old who shoots and kills, but I dare to say I don't think its that way at all.

I think the three year old who pretends he is a Jedi, pretends and pretends and then one day moves on to something like Beyblades.

I stand by gun control regulations and truth be told, I wish there were no guns.  I think they are terrible and not doing a whole lot of good. But I also think you cannot regulate imagination and pretend.  Kids need to process these things and if he turns your pretend toolset into pretend battle gear, so be it, as long as he isn't hurting other kids, stealing people's crutches, being intimidating or other rules of societal kindness.

There I said it.

Happy May

I am not going to sugar coat this one.  I hate May.  It used to be my favorite month, with my birthday and the beginning of hot weather, end of school.  It was dreamy.

But now it is an endless torture of celebrations and packing.

Here is my calendar:
May 1: Belgian Holiday: translation: Seth and Sunny pack day
May 11: Kids combined birthday party, because we will be in the depths of the seven hells of moving, temp housing, traveling, and jet lagging when their real birthdays come
May 12: Mother's day: translation: kid birthday party recovery day
May 18: a nod and a wink to me getting older
May 20: Whit Monday: Seth and Sunny scrambling
May 23: Tiger's real birthday and the movers are here
May 26: Memorial Day
June 1: Flights
June 4: Stella's Real Birthday

So do you want to see the pics from the birthday party?  We had a Spy Kids Theme

Kids practicing disguise wear.  Here is Tiger as Agent Jedi.

Tiger's BF Andrew who has the best English accent ever.

Playing hot dynamite aka hot potatoe.

Tiger flipping out he got a light saber.

Best photo ever.  Best costume ever.  Thank you Christene!

Mdm. Moustache

The Whims of My Son

I have a whimsical child.  There is no better way to describe my son.  He is oozing with whimsy.  He sweats imagination.  He lives in his imaginary world and plays out his own plots which most of the time is a world where he is a superhero who fights bad guys.  We don't buy him toy weapons but if you have imagination you can bite your toast and make it weapon shaped.

Batman Super Tiger with his block that he calls his shooter gun, no we do not have gun toys so he uses blocks.  I can't win.

Everywhere we go the plot thickens, at church, the hymnals become steps for him to get to the castle, outside a stick becomes a gun, in the house his sister is either the enemy or his ally.  He is always playing some variation of this whimsy and rarely leaves his world.

Yesterday was one of the few tolerable days so we had to embrace the sun and the rare chance to go outside.  We had some friends visiting so we went to Cinquantenaire Parc and had a picnic by the fountain.  All of Belgium was there.

Thank you Jonathan Castillo for this great photo of Cinquantenaire Parc.

Tiger took to running laps around the MASSIVE fountain.  We kept an eye on him but he was a good 45 second run when he was on the far side of the circle.

Then it happened, the boy saw something that caught his eye.  He saw something that he wanted.  He saw something that could be used as a weapon.  He saw something that could work as either a gun or a sword, this was perfect!!!  What was it?

A crutch.

Apparently Tiger is not the first child to think a crutch could be used as a weapon.

And then he took it.  And then he ran.

We saw this whole thing go down from the other side of the circle and Seth ran and then a friend of the crutch owner ran and Tiger ran faster.  It was like an episode of Tom and Jerry and Tiger was no cat.

Comical, horrifying, embarrassing, hilarious.  Sigh.  I love my son, I love my son, but man oh man he makes me work.

A Handwritten Note to the Old Continent

Dear Europe,

Thank you for the millennia of history, culture, language, and food.  Your influence in my life is profound.  However, there is something that you may have missed that has happened in the past 50 years that I thought I would give you a heads up to.

Check out America's handwriting back in the day.  Great read, but I can't read it with that crazy script.

A good example of European handwriting.  Thank you http://linguaphiles.livejournal.com/3891787.html

Handwriting.  Man, I hate to break your bubble but no one writes in cursive anymore.  No one.  There is this crazy thing that was invented in 1860 called a typewriter, and after that a computer.  The funny thing is, the entire world has stopped writing in cursive, do you want to know why?  No one can read it.

A note from our neighbors when we first moved to Belgium.  This is European print.

I don't get it.  You want things to be read-able right?  I encounter your weird cursive in stores, menus, notes home from school, even on placards.  It is like I am in a time bubble and you refuse to realize that printed text is more readable.  Then again I will not list my entrepreneurial grievances, there are too many to list.

Thank you Rick Steves

Your methods are well ingrained.  Starting at six years old you teach your kids to write cursive and nothing else, and let me tell you, hats off little friends but not a soul can read what you are writing.  There is something admirable about swirly handwriting but for mercy sake, learn print too and then like the rest of us when we are teenager abandon your cursive for heart dotted i's and move on to a mish mash of readable text.

 Found not in the trash at: http://www.avitable.com/2013/02/04/memories-among-the-trash/

And so I write this memo: cursive is dead, print is dying, typed text is king, and I can't read a thing you write.

Love,

Sunny the Interloper

Oooo La La!

I have been busy lately.  Not like, oh no! I have to go to two stores today!  Like for-real busy.

After getting back from our cruise we found a house for sale on the internets.  We thought it looked perfect.  Our realtor thought so too.  We put a bid on it, a bid we assumed would be rejected because we didn't more than asking price and there were a few other contracts.   We have never seen this house in person but we felt good about it and bid on it anyway.   I figured it would be rejected and went to Paris for the weekend with my good friend, Sara.

Sara and I have been friends for years.  Our girls were toddler buddies in Manila and went to the same preschool.  We would hang out at least weekly and she was the one I would call to complain about the maid and other third world problems.  We understand each other in a way that you only can when you have been through a crazy life like ours.  It was so fun.

Marine Ball 2009

Our kiddos.  She has added one more since this pic.  

We ate, lots. We shopped, until my legs thought they were going to fall off.  We mastered the Paris metro system.  We got 7 hours of sleep uninterrupted.  We saw the Eifel Tower, Notre Dame, Musee d'Orsay, Louvre, Sacre Coeur, and Versailles.  It was wonderful.

Then I came home to find out our offer on a house in McLean was accepted.

I leave in six weeks.  We will maybe own a home by this summer.

The moving estimator guy says we are over our weight limit, which is beyond me because we only had 4500 pounds when we arrived.  Somehow we acquired 3000 pounds?  Ugh, so now I will have to give, sell, and dispose.

Seth is going to see this house in person this weekend.  Everything is happening so fast and it is such a huge deal, but at this point, its fine.  Which is either denial or the peace that comes from doing the right thing at the right time.  Let's hope for the latter.

Whirl Around the World

I went a whole month without blogging.  Sorry folks.  It was a long hard cold gray month.  The kids got sick for two weeks and then Belgium decided that it would not give up winter so I started to feel like I was in a fog and that I might claw my eyeballs out or someone else's.  When life gives you eye ball clawing urges, you need a vacation.

And that is what we did.

We went on our second family cruise -- this time to the Eastern Mediterranean.  We went to Greece, Turkey, and Italy for a 10-day cruise on the Norwegian Jade.  It was exactly what I needed and I am feeling like a new woman.

The best part about this cruise was that Grammy and Papa (my parents) flew out to meet us.  It was the perfect amount of family time, kid alone time, kid with grandparents time.  It was so much fun and we got to see some great places.

The worst part of the cruise was the fever that both Stella and Tiger got on our second day of the cruise.  They were sporting a 103-degree fever so we took them to the ship doctor who, after $150 each (including the medicine), liberally gave some antibiotics and sent us off hoping we could salvage our vacation.  In two days they were both themselves and it was a lot of fun.

For those families with little kids considering cruising, I say go for it.  It was great and when you add up the lodging and food and everything it is a really good value.  We had two adjoining rooms and it was perfect.  I never worried about meals or what or when we ate.  It was easy and fun and they had a blast.  There were lots of activities to see and we got to see some new places with ease.

We saw Olympia, Greece and it was beautiful.  Tiger used his play drill to shoot at the ancient ruins while Stella decided she would become a professional photographer.

Tiger by the Temple of Zeus shooting flowers with his toy drill he thinks is a gun.

Picture by Stella.  Me and my mom at Olympia, Greece.

Athens was a sick day for us.  We were supposed to meet up with our FSO friends Marie and Ken and we were bummed to miss that.  We were stuck on the ship, along with the old, injured, and infirm.  But even though the kids were sick, I got to sit by a pool and read a book.  It was relaxing and I ended up getting a sunburn, which now looks like I have a massive case of dandruff because my scalp is peeling.

After Athens we went to Izmir, Turkey.  They don't speak English in Izmir.  We ended up ordering twice as much food at a Turkish McDonalds because the number two meal can sometimes be interpreted as two meals.  Nonetheless, it wasn't nasty French Quick Burger so we ate there anyhow.  (Stop judging me for eating at McDonalds in Turkey, the kabob stand just wasn't speaking to me!)

Me and the kids in Izmir, Turkey

I bought a cool ceramic vase and Stella bought an overpriced ceramic dog with her Jell-o stand earnings.  Yes, you got that right.  Three weeks ago Stella had a Jell-o stand and sold lemon flavored Jell-o to the neighbors in below freezing weather and came home with 10 euros (about $13).

Stella's winter Jell-o stand.  Yum.  This venture gave her $12, which she spent half on a Turkish ceramic dog.

My favorite place to visit was Istanbul.  The kids were totally healthy at this point.  We had dinner with other FS friends (can you start to see some perks of the job here?) and got to see the fancy expat side of the city, which is good because the taxi ride had me writing off Turkey and then I was won over with the amazing suburbs of Erik and Christy's place.  Stella and Tiger loved playing with Austin and Ruthie and they were quick friends.  I love having FS family all over the world.

The second day in Istanbul my one wish was to go to a Turkish bath.  We had met some kindred spirits on the ship that were up for a naked adventure so we piled seven people into a taxi that seats five and went 1980s style, kids on lap, to a true Turkish bath -- not one you would find in a Fodor's book.

They separate it by gender so my new cruise best-y Jenn and I went behind the veil to the ladies side.  At first it was just me and her and her four-year-old son Peter, who apparently did not notice that I, his mother, or the very Ruben-esque attendent were totally nakers.

We were the only ones in the bath and the attendant charaded for us to wash up.  So we took the plastic bowl and started dumping this water all over our heads.  After about 20 minutes this woman came out wearing leopard panties, totally topless and yelled and Jenn and I for talking too much.  She then commanded that we relax.  Then she exfoliated me from head to toe.  I am talking Gattaca exfoliation.  Not a dead cell was left on my body.

Dumping water on me at the Turkish bath.  I put my sarong on for the photo because I am not a pinup girl.

After I was as pink as a newborn babe from being scraped clean the lady then scrubbed me with this strong soap seemed to be part Ivory and part Ajax.  It was nice.  She scrubbed me from head to toe and then dumped progressively colder water on my head 10 times.  It was wonderful and torturous.  After that I felt like I had physically been born again.  It was lovely.

Born-again Sunny.

As Jenn and I were getting dressed some older veiled women came in for their baths.  We finally got our chance to see life behind the veil of Turkey.

There we all were in our skivvies and a TV was playing.  Entertainment Tonight came on and an they had a story about Jake Gyllenhaall.  He was topless, like some of the women watching.  The attendent decided to change the channel and then this older toothless woman started throwing a fit and demanded they turn it back.  Then they all started hooting and hollering about how hot Jake Gyllenhaall was.  It was a wonderful day.

I should note here that Seth, my father, and our friend Bobby had a similar experience with a few differences.  Their attendant was a man, hairy as can be, and he exfoliated my father so much that he had a rash for the duration of the cruise.  He claims it is still worth it.  Seth thought it was great.

Being a new woman I then went to the Grand Bazaar, did some great people watching, and bought some trinkets and then went back on the ship.

That silver satin suit is A-MAAA-ZING.  At the spice market, Istanbul, Turkey.

Stella and Tiger befriended some darling kiddos and were thick as thieves for the rest of the cruise.  Stella loved to take the elevator by herself and get her own dinner.  The last night she and her friend, Grady, had dinner all by themselves, 15 feet from us.  It was reminiscent of Moonrise Kingdom, and it was darling.  They liked to do water color painting, formed a band and had a concert, and then had a raffle, which is funny because you could tell the ship had taught them a thing or two about gambling.

The last day of the cruise we went to Pompeii.  Let me advise anyone who has a three year old son, do not take them to Pompeii.  The ancient city was way over preserved and there were so many places to hide we had more than one occasion where Tiger or his little friend Peter ran away and hid.

Stella in Pompeii

Tiger and Peter recreating Roman war games in the ancient Pompeii amphitheater   

Tiger hiding from me in Pompeii.

The kids loved climbing and discovering the ruins.  It was a pretty cool place to see.

Loved seeing the world, loved hanging with my darling family and my parents and meeting new friends.  Miss it already.

92 Jours

I'll admit it I am in a foul mood.  Foul.  I am still shaken from Stella getting stuck in the bus doors, annoyed that it is a constant shade of gray outside, and that there are six men smoking in my garage, drilling a hole in the wall and digging up my driveway and trampling my tulips that are just starting to poke out.  When they take a break the neighbors I share a wall with fill in the silence with their cement hydraulic drill that seems to be non-stop as they replace their bathroom.

My driveway.  Not included, the smell of natural gas and cigarettes.

I am at that point in our post where we are going home in under 100 days and it just can't seem to get here fast enough.

Don't get me wrong, Belgium has been a fantastic place we have loved it.  We have made great friends, our kids have found good schools (well one kid), and we have been happy.  But today, I am done.

My neighbors to that I share a wall with are replacing their bathroom.  It has been non-stop cement drilling for seven days and today the gas company came (again)  and they have once again dug up my driveway, sidewalk, and now they are drilling a hole in the wall.  They also have been leaking natural gas into the air and smoking at the same time, which sounds like a terrible idea.  But really, what do I know?  An American girl who stays at home.

Which brings me to my next point, do I have a sign that says I am looking for a new career?

I have had no less than six people in the past two weeks ask me when I was going to go back to work since Tiger is almost four.

I admit I look forward to the time when Mr. Tiger is ready to enter the halls of kindergarten.  At that point I might be ready for a change in my daily schedule.  I don't know why everyone seems to think I need an office job to be respectable.  I have lots of ideas and maybe I will end up in a snazzy pantsuit but I have a few things I would like to try before I hit up the Dress Barn.

Like, get bored.  What would that be like?  Or, write that young adult romance novel I have had stirring around in my head ("Her palms got sweaty as he approached her.  Was he going to kiss her?  What she didn't know is that he was a time traveler, and her great great great grandson with a very important message.").  I would like to do so so so many things and I am happy to have a chance to do those things in their own time, but go back to an office job that I am not passionate about?  Never, well never say never, but no thank you for now.

Why can't feminism empower me to stay at home if I want to, create a fashion line when I move to Asia, and write a book?  Why does it have to be this boring hum-drum career office life that is the only way for ladies to gain equal footing? (Which is great for some ladies, but not this one).  Can't I make my own path?

Belgium, Europe, you are great but man oh man I miss my country today.

STIB Guillotine Doors, Dangerously Close

In my more than 5.5 years of parenting there have been a few close calls where danger comes so close,  dangerously close and barely misses impact, I just hug my children tighter an thank God and whatever angels out there who are looking out for my children.  Today was that day.

Image from http://www.simplybrussels.org/trip/transport

We had to go to the city to deal with bureaucratic stuff that is part of being an expat.  Coming home we have to metro and then take a quick bus.

When we finally got to our bus stop we slowly made our way to the back of the bus to get out.  Tiger was in one hand, Stella was in the other.  Tiger and I stepped out and Stella leaned to step out but it was too late, the bus doors SHUT ON HER TRUNK!

So picture this: feet, legs and butt in the bus, head and stomach outside of the bus and the bus is going to be moving any second.  I am hearing my little girl scream for help and half her body is still inside the bus.  I do what any mother would at this point and I start freaking out and gaining freakish amounts of strength to pull her out of the bus.  I manage to get one leg and then the other but her foot is still stuck and I can hear the pressure whistle that tells me the bus will soon be moving.  In a final attempt I pull, Stella's boot stays in the bus.  Also it should be noted that I was banging on the glass and screaming to get the bus to stop.  I think that is what saved her life because it go the attention of the other passengers who informed the driver.

It was then the driver opened the door.  Stella grabbed her cute little pink leather boot.

The following conversation then happened between me and the driver (also this was all in French, those lessons really paid off didn't they):

Driver: The doors are automatic I am not responsible
Me: (dagger eyes of disbelief)
Driver: It's not my fault.  It goes.  Is she okay?
Me: Stella, are you okay?
Stella: nods
Me: (more eyes of disapproval and shock)
Driver: laugh!

It was only when I got home I found a deep gash in her knee and a bruise on her leg from where the door tried to chop her in half.  She is shaken, I am shaken.  We are okay but it is not okay that that can so easily happen.  I want to fight it, I wish I could fight it, I wish I could tell someone and protest and throw a fit but I don't speak French well enough, I don't have the energy to figure out this foreign system of public transport complaints, and even if I did I doubt the effectiveness.  Instead I will focus on the extreme gratitude I have that I have a daughter who is home, safe, and in one piece.

Do me a favor will you?  Hug your someones special a little tighter tonight.

Hypothetical Slight

I love the internet.  I love that even though over 5000 miles (8k km) from my sister Shari, we can talk to each other every day.  And we do.  We talk all the time.  Sometimes we argue like we are kids again.  Sometimes we talk about how we are so much better parents than our own parents, sometimes we wonder how our parents could tolerate our pretentiousness, we talk about our brothers who never call, we talk about all sorts of nothingness and everything-ness.  I love it.  It makes the distance shorter.

Some days we talk about hypothetical situations.  Today's topic: if we and our spouse died who would get our precious little ones.

Now you should note, I am the favorite sister and sibling of Shari.  I call her every day.  I am a slam dunk winner.  Also to be noted, I am a good mom, or at least I have tricked Shari into thinking I am.  So when we did discuss who will get our kids and I did not come up as the front runner and winner, I was offended, in an appropriate sibling manner.

I am the sibling with the fewest children (minus John who just got married), I figured this was a slam dunk.  Nope.  Instead she picked the one with the most kids and the most stability.  Apparently moving every two to three years makes your life unstable.  I was totally passed over.

No amount of international school talk and experiencing the world first hand talk could convince my best friend and little sister that I would be the best choice of guardian for her kids.  Instead, Spencer, who has four kids already would add two more.  But really at four what is two more anyhow?

This has led me to think a bit about our life.  I love being able to live in places all over the world.  I love not just seeing it but having it be my life and reality for a few years.  I love that I get to see lots of places.  Staying in one places sounds suffocating.

I do worry about the stability it offers my children, and I try to be sensitive to that in the choices we make as we hop around the globe.  However, I am living my dream life right now.  Having kids and living all over is my dream and I hope this will give my children a deep well of life experiences and perspective that you could not get in any other way.

But to some, it is a nightmare of instability.  Too bad, those kids have no idea how amazing Aunt Sunny is as a supermom.

Winter, Snow, Shoveling, Seth, and Belgium

We have had a lot of snow the past week.  At least a lot for Belgium.  Not a foot but at least a few inches.  Because we are the way we are, and because my husband is amazing and from the land that claims to have the "Greatest Snow on Earth," we shovel and salt our sidewalks.  That is what you do when it snows and you do it multiple times so it doesn't ice over or get too packed down.  Snow has personality you know. Our neighborhood is also filled with a lot of old people, like old old, like Miss Havisham old.

Seth, being the awesome guy he is, gets out every day it snows and shovels our very steep driveway (so steep we can't use it to put our car in our garage).  He also shovels our entire block.  Then to make things great he sprinkles salt and sand down so no one slips and breaks a hip.  The kids and I chip in as well but Seth is the true boy scout.  Every time.

No one else comes out to shovel, you might get an occasional person who will shovel their stairs and you get a few people that will shovel DIRECTLY in front of their home but no one seems to feel the sense of a neighborhood community that we had at home.  I don't get it.  The other side of the block that Seth did not shovel is an ice rink.

The other funny thing is seeing the people when they look at Seth shoveling their section of the sidewalk.  They eye us suspiciously and then pretend that we didn't just make eye contact.  We had one neighbor give us a very confused, "Merci?"  I just told them it is just what we do where we are from.

This is a bit reflective of our time here.  Everyone lives close together.  Even in the more suburb areas, like our street, the lots are very narrow and the homes are close together.  The proximity in living is directly related to social distance people have with each other.

Our neighbors across the street and our neighbors next door have lived here for over 30 years.  They still do not know each other's first names (they claim they just say, "Madam" or "Monsieur" and there is never any need to do anything else).

It's weird and different but it's still a good time.

In the meantime you'll see us with the shovel and the snow.