The Quest for Great Hair

It has been time for me to get a haircut for at least a month. I made sure to get one before we moved to Japan, nearly 4 months ago, and I was starting to look a little shaggy. Having had one or two bad hair cuts in the past (the poorly executed pixie of 1998, the double layer bob of 2009) I am a touch gun shy when it comes to finding a new stylist. Not to mention, I left a great on behind – miss you Naomi! I had been researching where to go since I got here, but was not 100% happy with my options until I heard of an Aveda salon in a local shopping mall. I’ve always had luck with Aveda stylists in the past, in fact that was part of the reason I went to my last lady – still love you Naomi!

The Promised Land

The only problem was this: the salon was off base with employees whose English was only slightly better than my Japanese (which consists of about two words). My first obstacle was making the appointment. I found out that one of the services afforded on base is someone who could help translate phone calls. A very kind middle aged Japanese man called on my behalf scheduling my appointment bright and early the following Saturday. Mission one: complete.

Saturday came and it was time to get my hair did. My appointment was right at 10am, the time the mall opens but I headed out about an hour early with the fam thinking I would just walk around beforehand. I assumed this mall, like many American malls, would at least let you into the main building before the stores opened. I was wrong. We arrived at about 9:15 and ended up spending the next 45 minutes walking around the only place that was open, an attached grocery store. Side not: this is when I discovered a curry doughnut is quite yummy.  At precisely 10, an elderly security guard greeted the waiting crowd and opened the large metal doors leading into the mall.

Curry doughnut goodness

The Gate Keeper in a nice blue uniform

We power walked from one end of the mall to the other passing dozens of store fronts on the way. At the entrance of each store stood a clerk and as customers would walk by the clerks would greet the passing group with an, “Ohayo Gozaimasu” and a deep bow. It was like watching a perfectly choreographed kick line.

Starting to really like this place

I entered the salon ready to face my possibly disastrous ‘do, when I was lead to a chair and offered a hot tea and towel. So far so good. I was then escorted to a changing room where I was instructed (more like, mimed) to place my robe over my clothes and trade my shoes for slippers. With the sound of traditional Japanese music playing and my new comfier outfit, I was starting to relax.

Before pic: feeling stylish

 Finally, after getting my hair washed and my scalp massaged (lying on a bed with a lightweight cloth over my face to keep it dry) I was off to the chair to await my fate. The stylists English was FAR better than I expected. He knew key words like layer and trim. We even briefly chatted about his trip to New York and how New Year’s is celebrated in our respective home countries. He looked over the six or so pictures I had printed at home and pulled out his shears. With a snip, snip here and a cut, cut there 45 minutes pass and he’s finished. I looked and touched my hair turning around to see the back…it was perfect! It was exactly what I wanted. I felt both relieved and happy. I would have done a jig but I think that might have been inappropriate so I refrained. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I found my new stylist.

After pic: really happy!

Still loved it after washing it myself. The true test of a good cut.

It turns out you don’t need a common language to communicate with a good stylist; you just need to speak hair. I can’t wait until the next time I need a cut!

A Star is Born...Well, sort of...

For those of you who don’t know, I once planned on being a famous actress. I was confident in my skills as a triple threat, a feeling encouraged by my parents. I even attended a performing arts school for a year after high school. But life happened and, partially because of the school, my confidence dwindled and my love for theater changed. Don’t get me wrong, I still LOVED being on stage, I just wasn’t sure it was the right career for me. Plus I became serious with a certain military man, and wanted to be with him more than I wanted to see my name in lights. While my focus shifted, my feelings never did; not really anyway. I don’t regret giving it up, but I do still enjoy being silly on stage. And every so often if the opportunity presents itself, I get up the nerve to audition for something.

High school performance. Dig the pants!

Up until this last Tuesday, it had been 6 years since I had performed in front of anyone other than singing to my kids. Not even karaoke. And I love karaoke. And then I saw the audition information for an upcoming play with the base community theater. All day before I went I must have gone back and forth about going at least 50 times. I was nervous and have to live with these people for the next few years. What if they judged me? What if they laughed at me? Usually I’m ok with looking silly (frankly, it happens often). Putting yourself up to be rated and judged is an intimidating experience. But the opportunity presented itself so I put on my big girl panties and went to the audition.

REALLY old head shot.

It was a small room with only about 6 other auditioner’s with the director and assistant director sitting at the head table. I had prepared myself for a reading and was emotionally ready to go. We read a few pages as a group and I started to feel confident. I even got a compliment on my New York accent. I was feeling good, at least until they said it was time for the improv portion of the evening.

My NYC apartment. About two feet wider than the picture shows.

Improv??? I think I’m clever but having to be clever on the spot is not my idea of a good time. There was a reason I avoided improve classes. I sucked at them. Once again I had to gather my courage to get up in front of this small group of strangers and think of funny things on the spot. And then is started to be fun. These were not the same sort of people I went to school with in New York. Those people could be judgmental and critical. This group was welcoming and friendly and felt like they were in the same boat as me. My final test was to sing a song. Once again I haven’t sung in public in years and when I get nervous my throat closes up. I picked the only song I could think of: the theme song to The Cleveland Show. I started to sing watching the group sit in front of m, the assistant director videotaping for later review. I was waiting for my throat to close, for the sound to get strangled but it didn’t happen. I forgot to breathe once or twice but I sounded ok.

It turns out I was offered a part! I’m glad I faced my fear and can’t wait until I get to perform again.

Last time I performed on stage. Loved the costume!

On the Road Again, Japanese Style

I have lived here for three months and hadn't driven off base once. There are multiple reasons for this occurring. One is that my husband does most of the driving. He likes it and I don’t mind him doing it so it just works out that way. But the other more important reason is I just didn’t feel comfortable. Sure, I drive on base all the time. But it's small and I can only go so far before running into a wall or a fence. It isn’t like I’m terrified of being off base, but I just couldn’t get up the nerve for a few reasons.

Our very stylish ride. It impresses the ladies. 

I get lost easily. I am not exaggerating when I say I still get turned around in the town I lived in for most of my life. It’s a running joke in our family that I can’t get from point A to point B without at least one detour. My husband still marvels at my inability to navigate even after 15 years. I didn’t want to drive off base alone and get lost. I don’t even speak passable Japanese and I was afraid of being lost on unfamiliar roads with my two small children ending up on the other side of Tokyo. So we got a GPS to solve that problem.

Hands firmly on 10 and 2.

 I didn’t want to drive alone with my kids in the car not only because I would get lost (always assume I will get lost) but also I was afraid of feeling overwhelmed. I was still getting used to driving on the left side of the road, with the steering wheel on the right but to add my sometimes grumpy and always loud children to the mix was intimidating. So I wanted to wait until I didn’t have them in the car.

This Sunday I no longer had any excuses. We had to run a very quick errand to a local hardware store and I decided to drive. The kids were in good moods, it was early in the morning so traffic was light and the sun was shining. It was the perfect day and I was ready to tackle this challenge. With my husband in the seat beside me I pulled the car out of the spot and headed for the gate. And then I drove off base.

Having a moment here. Don't worry, I got it together.

 It was boring. I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I was relieved that I was bored. You know why? Because driving in Japan is like driving anywhere. Honestly, I wasn’t worried about anything. I’m sure it will be harder on a day with rain or tons of traffic but that’s how it is back home too. It turns out that riding in the passenger seat is more challenging than being behind the wheel (this is a subject on which both the hubby and I agree). In that seat, my body still reflexively goes to step on the break. But driving was easy.

I now feel like I can go anywhere. I am so glad I faced my fear and did something scary. I am even more glad that the fear was unfounded. It only took three months. 

Bathroom Breaks: A Cultural Difference

As Westerners we take some of life’s basic creature comforts for granted. So far just about every possible thing we could want we have found to make our lives just a little more comfortable. Whenever taking a trip back home we just expect curtain things, like bathrooms, to be basically like the ones you have at home. Before moving here I read as much about the Japanese culture as I could to get to know my new country. One of the things I had learned about was the bathroom situation. But I hadn’t encountered a traditional bathroom here until this weekend.

A lovely diagram on how to use this cammode. You're welcome.

 Everywhere we’ve gone in the last few months has had a western bathroom. But this week when we went to a light display at a local park, I was once again reminded we aren’t in Kansas anymore.  After an hour drive though heavy traffic Little Man had a bathroom emergency. We parked and he and I jogged over to the public restroom, opened the stall and met our fate. If you don’t know what a normal bathroom in Japan might look like, instead of a toilet, there is what looks like an in-ground urinal that has no place for sitting. Up until that moment almost all of the bathrooms have high-tech, heated seats. Not this one. It was a porcelain hole in the ground.

We both looked at it and started figuring out logistics. It was small and open to the cold air. Trying to fit us both in there without losing a show was a challenge. But we figured it out without falling in. You know something else that you don’t see in a lot of public bathrooms? A means for drying your hands. I keep forgetting this fact and never remember to pack a towel. So as this very sweet looking elderly Japanese woman gently dries her wet hands on her very own wash cloth, Little Man and I were rubbing ours on our jeans.

 

The night went smoothly after that. Baby Girl stayed bundled up in her stroller, wrapped in her pink fur and blanket. Little Man ran and danced the whole way through. The tears were minimal and the lights were beautiful. There was a band playing American Christmas classics and lots of couples walking through the trees enjoying the romantic atmosphere (Christmas here is a time for couples, like Valentine’s back home).

 

There are little things like the bathroom that remind me we’re not at home. But there are so many other, wonderful things that make me love it here. I feel pretty lucky to get the chance to learn about and live among a culture that can be so different from ours and to do so with my little family.

But I really must start remembering a hand towel. 

Christmas Tree Lighting – A Tale of Two Children

 It was the best of Christmas memories. It was the worst of Christmas memories...

 Baby Girl and Little Man couldn’t be more different if they were trying. My son has always been adventurous and excited to participate in whatever was happening. My daughter is cautious and wary of large groups of people. So bringing these two anywhere is an exercise in patience and an interesting character study. One of the reasons having kids is so fun is because we get to participate in childhood activities without judgment or weird looks. This is why we try to take full advantage of holiday traditions like Santa, parties and tree lighting ceremonies. The base had its annual Christmas tree lighting a few nights ago followed by a party and visit with Mr. Claus himself. We were all ready to enjoy the evening; well at least three of us were.

Last year waiting for Santa

 When we arrived at the ceremony site we each took responsibility of a child. I took Baby Girl and my husband took Little Man. Instantly my Little Man started running around asking if he could join existing groups of playing children. Baby Girl kept trying to lead me back to the car. Little Man clapped joyfully with the music playing. Baby Girl dropped to the ground crying out for something I couldn’t identify. Little Man happily climbed onto his father’s shoulders to see the lights. Baby Girl cried like her puppy died while squirming in my arms. You get the idea.

 

Last years picture with Santa. Notice someone missing?

We followed the group to the next building for some treats and Santa time. While waiting in line my son was unusually well behaved, staying next to us the entire time. My sweet daughter kept dropping to the ground in fits of anger. People would try to say hello to her and she would flash a dirty look while sucking her thumb. The only thing that made her even a little happy was the food (by the way, it was pretty darn good). Since my daughter doesn’t like Santa and we didn’t feel like poking the bear, we decided to switch kids; I would take Little Man to see Santa and my husband would babysit our coats and hang out with Grumpy McGee.

For 45 minutes Little Man once again was unusually well behaved and actually listened while we meandered through the slow moving line. He handed his letter to Santa, took his picture and we were on our way back to daddy and sister without incident. My poor husband was glassy-eyed and leaning in a chair while my daughter was occupied for a moment with toys and candy. It turns out she had more than one freak out while I was with my pod-people son.

This is just one more example of how different my children are. Little Man grabbed the evening with both hands while Baby Girl resisted each new experience that didn’t include food. We will get better at balancing their personalities. For now, life is likely to stay an interesting blend of adventure seeking and enjoying the safety of home. 

Tokyo or Bust

So we finally took the train. We left the kids at home and walked over to our nearby station ready to take on the challenge. Not going to lie, it was a day I was a little nervous for. I had heard the stories about how complicated and big, not to mention how crazy busy the train system is here. I was sure we would get lost and possibly trampled. I still remember the first time I saw the images rail workers pushing more passengers into the cars. I was sure that would happen to me.

See what I'm talking about?

We boarded the first train. I noticed two things as I walked on the train: there were no seats available and everyone was quiet. It was the longest ride we had, clocking in at 30-ish minutes before switching to the next train giving me plenty of time for people watching. I saw people dressed for work, falling asleep or playing with smart phones. I saw parents with children of all ages. All of whom were either silent or speaking in low whispers. Oh, and this idea that Japanese children behave better than American? I would like to counter by saying, not better, just quieter. I am here to say, happily, children everywhere are just children. One perfect example was a mother with her two sons standing next to us who (quietly) bopped her tween on the head after he was intentionally squishing the younger one into the door and laughing.

After a half hour of my quiet observations, it was then suddenly time to switch trains, the real test of a transit passenger. I was sure we’d get on the wrong one and somehow end up in another city entirely. We followed the large crowd up the stairs into the main terminal where we were relieved to find most of the signs and ticket kiosks were available in English. But we made it to our destination in one piece and feeling accomplished.

 

View of the city from the Imperial Garden

Wanna know what else I noticed? Tokyo is huge. Not just huge, massive. I have spent a number of years living in or near New York City. Tokyo makes NYC look like a quaint town. We got off the subway in a neighborhood called Roppongi, walked around and then headed for the Imperial Garden, another reminder of just how big the city is. Then we got lost finding food. And then we got lost finding the train station. By the time we made it back to base we had walked 8 miles.

 

Hubby in the Imperial Garden

I was pooped when we finally made it home. But you know what else I was? I was excited! I had done something kind of scary, traveled to a place where I don’t speak the language and can’t tell one character from the next. But my husband and I did it and we did it together. It took about an hour for me to start planning the next trip. I can’t wait to go back and even plan on taking the kiddo’s. 

Turkey Trot

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not athletic. I was the kid who barely passed gym. My poor father, who loves most sports, was saddled with daughters who had limited physical ability. I remember one cool rainy morning he took my younger sister and me to the basketball court to teach us to play hoops. We were terrible.

My husband is also athletic. He likes most sports, primarily ones that test endurance. As a member of the armed forces he is required to be at least moderately fit. But he actually enjoys it. He likes the early mornings and running and pushing himself physically. These are feelings I simply don’t relate to. This is why it is absurd that I decided to participate in the Turkey Trot 5k.

Seriously wasn't even tired after chasing Little Man everywhere before the run.

Now, my dislike for sports doesn’t mean that I don’t work out. I do. I have always liked dance and used to perform so that is how I stay healthy. I have videos and shake what my mamma gave me 4 to 5 days a week and hour each time. But for some reason I thought the 5k would be fun. I figured if I walked rather than run the 3.1 miles all would be fine.

We woke up at the same time we always do, 5:30 am. This is when my 3 year old alarm clock usually goes off; we still can’t figure out how to set the snooze on him. I dressed for the brisk 40 degree weather and we set out for the location. I agreed to walk over to the starting line mostly because I thought it was closer to where we actually live. I was wrong. It was roughly a half mile away. But I was feeling fine pushing our double stroller along, affectingly called Strollersaurus Rex, with Baby Girl sipping her milk and Little Man running alongside his daddy. We arrived at the tent with plenty of time to spare before the start of the run. The kids played while I was introduced to a couple of my husband’s co-workers. And then I found a spot at the back of the group waiting for the start to be called.

Drinking hot cider before the run. Clearly I'm a pro at this.

Going into this morning I knew that I would be moving slower than many of the others. I have never pretended for a single moment that I am a runner so I planned on walking. Not to mention that I was pushing about 70 lbs the whole way. They called start, the crowd moved forward and for a split second I thought I can do it! And then I started getting passed. By everyone. Seriously, little kids were passing me. If you’ve ever been non-athletic you might remember that feeling of dread when you realize you wouldn’t be picked for a team or that when you tried to play flag football you would truly suck. That’s the feeling that washed over me. I honestly thought of turning around and grabbing some yummy apple cider they had at the tent instead of continuing.

Superfluous Mt. Fuji picture. Our view during the run.

But I didn’t. I walked. And then I met another mom also walking with a stroller containing her 8 month old daughter. So, we walked together and chatted the whole way. We were passed by the runners coming back from the half way point. We were passed by both of our husbands. By the time we were three quarters finished both of our guy’s had turned around and joined us for the last leg. I finished in 50 minutes and 20 seconds, give or take. I was almost last (we had passed a group of kids). I was tired, my shoulders and arms were sore from pushing Baby Girl and Little Man, my hips hurt a little but I did it.

I don’t think I will be doing another 5k. Outside of meeting a few new people I didn’t really enjoy myself; didn’t feel that fabled runners high. What I felt was lame for taking so long but it was quickly dashed when the group we met started cheering me on as I approached.

 

After the run. Clearly some of us didn't want to be photographed. 

I am proud that my children were there to see me accomplish something outside of my comfort zone. I was happy to show them that it’s ok to feel uncomfortable and scared sometimes as long as you try your best. And then after you try, you can be rewarded with pancakes. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.  

Michelle and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I’m just going to say it: today has been a crap day. From start to finish, things have not worked in my favor. Today I am feeling very much like Alexander during his infamous no good, very bad day. In fact, I did something that I very rarely do; I had a temper tantrum of my very own. Let’s discuss…

You know those times when you wake up mad at your spouse because you dreamed they were mean to you? Mine was like that, only it was Patrick Stewart. I realize this sounds funny but the last thing I did on the internet was look at a pic of him goofing off around NYC with Ian McKellen, so there you go. Waking up after dreaming of rudeness left me in a slightly grumpy mood. After trying to shake it off in the shower, I joined my son in the living room and spent the next hour begging, bribing and threatening Little Man into being quiet so Baby Girl could sleep. 

Two of my favorite actors. They know what they did.

I then grabbed my laptop where first email I saw  was from the only licensed hair stylist on base saying she’s not accepting new clients. She very kindly asked me to check back in March. Ladies, you know how devastating news like this can be especially if you just left a stylist you love on the other side of the world. I started running through my list of to-do’s feeling a bit overwhelmed and decided to try and bake a little something for my neighbor. And then the worst thing in the whole wide world happened. I didn’t have the proper sized baking sheet.

This truly insignificant problem I faced was enough for me to have a temper tantrum right there in my kitchen. The kind I would normally send my children off to their rooms for. And then something even worse happened; my mood started rubbing off on Little Man and Baby Girl. My son was talking back and yelling while my daughter was throwing her body on the floor and feeding the dog off the table. 

She's mad because she didn't want to make her own Lego rocket.

There are days when I am more excited for nap time than I am for Christmas. Today was one of those days but alas, it was just as bad as the morning.  Thirty minutes in, my son’s alarm clock went off. An hour in he woke up with sleep terrors. And then again at the hour and a half mark. Two hours later the house was finally quiet when my husband walked in the door a couple of hours early, which woke up both kids for good.

My son's favorite book and today's general theme.

I sit here on the floor in my kitchen, tired and overwhelmed and asking myself why I gave in to the misplaced anger I felt towards a baking sheet, the single choice I made kicking off this long awful day (I have forgiven Sir Patrick as he was a figment of my imagination an cannot be held responsible). It occurs to me I have been feeling isolated and a loss of independence that are directly related to our move two months ago. Isolation because there are only a handful of hours when my loved ones back home and I are awake at the same time. This thought alone makes me feel far away. And the loss of independence because we have only one car which my husband uses to go to work. Sure there are other ways of getting around like walking everywhere or the shuttle, but these are not always practical options. Now there must be planning in order to run a simple errand. 

Look, we all have moments of insanity. I have forgiven myself and so has my family for behaving like a 2 year old. And rather than continuing the pity party (sorry no balloons at this kind of shindig) I have decided to take action. I borrowed a baking sheet. We'll have a second car by Friday. I will Skype and call my loved ones whenever I feel alone and will work harder to put myself out there when meeting new people. And I will have a much deserved glass of wine. Today sucked. But some days are like that. Even in Japan.

Drinky-poo

Letting Go of Mommy Time for Quality Time

There are few occasions when I get to run errands alone. On those days I leave the house early, grab my music and my headphones and rock out to whatever the latest my at-home DJ (a.k.a. The Husband) has loaded for me. I enjoy those moments like I used to enjoy going out for happy hour. That’s my way of saying, I love them. Saturday there was a craft fair and I am the only person in my family who really enjoys such things. I had planned on taking my happy lonesome tush and my music off to the fair for some shopping, a trip I had been looking forward to all week.

Oldie but a goodie. Little Man and me at a summer's party.

When I woke up that day I was still a little sniffy, but was ready for a morning of solitude. Then I saw my poor sad husband’s eyes. If you’ve read my last post you will note that we have a sickness running through the members of our home. Saturday morning, my husband woke with all the symptoms our children and I had been fighting the week. There was no way I could leave this man with two rambunctious (oh yeah, they were bouncing off the walls) toddlers while I basked in my music and alone-ness. So, I decided to turn my mommy time into a mommy-son date.

Little Man was so happy to leave the house for the first time in days that he was beside himself. Even after he realized it wouldn’t be the type of fair he was hoping for (I had to explain more than once that there would be no games or balloon animals, just shopping) he ended up doing alright. Except for the moment when he lifted my skirt so all our fellow shoppers could see my goods; thank goodness for opaque tights. Or that moment when he got overwhelmed by all of the people and insisted I carry him even though we had a stroller, a purse and a small shopping bag. But he was right about one thing: they did have balloon animals, or rather, a balloon alien. A purchase that I still feel was worth the trip.

Coolest balloon alien ever. Totally won points for this one. 

We were there for maybe an hour then ended our morning with lunch at a local family restaurant. So I didn’t get to spend the morning with my iPod. I got to spend it with my son. There are plenty of days in my future that I will be able to spend alone. The ones I have with my Little Man are fewer every day. I have no illusion that these moments will last forever and this isn't to say I'll never again request alone time (a girl needs a break). I’m just glad I get to spend time with him while he thinks I’m still cool. 

Man Sick

We’ve all heard the term “man sick’ before and, while I try not to believe in generalizations, in my house this is a real thing. Both of my kids are sick. It’s nothing too terrible; just lots of snot (I hope you weren't eating). The difference between how my son reacts to sickness and how my daughter does is astounding. Little Man is about a day ahead on symptoms including the runny nose and low-grade fever. He hasn’t moved voluntarily from the same spot on the sofa in two days. I have to carry him into the bathroom and to the dinner table. He whines and cries every time he needs to wipe his nose. He is already a very affectionate child but now he won’t let me leave his side. Not a complaint, mind you, just a way of showing how truly pathetic he is at the moment.

The pout wasn't staged. He was actually making that face while watching T.V.

Baby Girl is also sick. She has the same runny nose, same low grade fever as her big brother. But somehow she is still running around in circles, pulling things off shelves and generally being a precocious 2 year old. See the difference? He is full on man sick (a trait he gets from his father, by the way) while she is mustering the energy for her usual shenanigans. And this isn’t something new in our household. This has been who my children are from the moment they got their very first sniffle. Little Man is a zombie while Baby Girl finds other things to do than worry about her illness.  

Also not staged. She's just naturally adorable.

The dynamic between the two of them during this time of illness has actually provided some mild entertainment for me. We’ve been doing nothing but watching kids shows and movies for a couple of days, all of which have been watched more than once in the last couple of weeks. You know how kids are, they pick a movie that they love for a short while but end up watching it so many times that they, and inevitably you, know the whole thing verbatim. That’s how I learned every song in The Lorax in 3 days. Anyway, now that her brother is withering away, Baby Girl has sensed the power shift and is now taking full advantage of his weakened state. She’s been sneaking up on him to poke him and then runs away in a fit of giggles. She will proudly steal his left over Cheerio’s (yes, I know it’s gross to eat his sick food, but I am only one woman) and gobble them down right in front of him. She is so proud of getting his goat that it’s hard not to laugh sometimes.

I know how this will end. Little Man will feel better in the next day or two and finally be well enough to fight back. I can already hear the screaming and unbridled anger over who gets to play with the new toy sushi set. But for now, I will enjoy the cuddles I get from Little Man and Baby Girl will enjoy her moment as King of the Hill. 

Bringing Home the Bacon and Frying it in the Pan

Me with co-workers a few years ago. I have on lipstick!

My last job outside of the home was about 2 years ago. I left it when my son was 11 months old. I had planned for a while to stay home with our children before even having them but the cost of adoption made it so I had to stay in the work force a little bit longer. I loved my job, and was pretty good at it too. But I missed my son every moment I was away from him. I would daydream between meetings of standing in my kitchen making beautiful meals, hair blow dried and quaffed , clothes perfectly matched, while my son would play quietly. I dreamed of a house that was always clean and tidy and perfect for the cover of BH&G, making time for exercise, crafts and home school. I honestly saw myself as the modern day Donna Reed. I figured, lesser people were good at it, so I would be too.

It only took a few weeks for reality to set in. I was home, alone, with my Little Man. All Day. My husband traveled regularly so there were weeks when it was me without any family around to ask for help. Working meant I didn’t spend a ton of time making other mommy friends so I knew no one. Little Man was an early walker and very adventurous which meant there was no sitting and playing quietly. He has always wanted all of the attention focused on him so cooking, cleaning and crafting had to be done either while he was screaming or sleeping. Workouts happened as long as I am

alert at 5am. I very quickly went from work attire to my mom uniform of jeans + top + boots/flats (footwear directly related to the season). My hair lived in a ponytail or top knot. It’s safe to say that my image of what stay-at-home mommy-hood would be and what reality was weren’t perfectly lining up.

entertain kids with selfies. 

But eventually we got into a grove and started thinking about baby number two. You would think adoption would take the spontaneity out of building a family, but not for us. We assumed that a second adoption would take a year at the very least but it was only two months of waiting when we brought Baby Girl home. Once again, I imagined I would be carrying baby around as my son strolled his way into toddlerhood. Once again, perception and reality didn’t match. And I began to day dream of work. I know I work, but I mean work. The kind that required me to get dressed and be important and have adult conversations. I also missed my paycheck. I missed having disposable income and felt somehow that my role in the family was lessened because I wasn’t contributing financially.

This job is hard. I can’t take a smoke break (quit) or a lunch break (have to feed kids first) and my adult conversation usually comes in the form of Real Housewives (no judging please). But when I reminisce about work I also have to remember that my commute was 2-3 hours every day, I only saw my son for an hour in the morning and on the weekends, I was too tired to do anything other than sleep or curl up on the sofa. So what my house is imperfect. I get to cuddle my babies. So what my hair isn’t always done. I get to be there when my son proudly announces that he remembered to go to the potty instead of having an accident. I also get to watch my Baby Girl develop a sassy, funny personality. These are things I would miss if I went back to work.

dyeing eggs one handed while holding a baby. work it!

For now, working is unlikely, simply because of our current living situation. Not speaking the local language seems to effect job prospects. I know I’ll go back one day, probably when my kids are in school full time. But even with the daydreams of the corporate world come creeping back so do the feelings of loss when thinking of leaving my babies. Being a stay-at-home mom is hard, but so is being a working-mom. Being a mom is hard. All I can do is try my best and make sure to add to the therapy fund once in a while. 

One Sick Mamma

I’m sick. It’s just a little cold but I have a stuffy nose, watery eyes and my body hurts. So what do I choose to do with my time? Well, I can promise you it wasn’t rest in my bed and drink plenty of fluids. Instead, my husband and I took the kids to a fall festival. And then we ran a couple of errands before going home where I promptly crashed for the next 2 hours on the sofa. I did choose to stay home from the BBQ next door but popped out a couple of times to help the hubby take care of the kiddos. And then in an attempt to give my husband a night off (one he didn’t request) I took the kids inside until bedtime. I chose to do all of this instead of lay in bed and I wasn’t even asked. This isn’t even the first time I’ve ignored what was best for me when trying to heal my body. I had sinus surgery a year ago and even the doctor said his patients who are moms tent to heal slower because they are constantly doing things other than resting. For two weeks I wasn’t supposed to lift more than ten pounds which meant not carrying Baby Girl. Not gonna work. Even my son thinks I’m nuts. He saw me sneeze and told me I should wait until I feel better to go to the train museum, a trip he’s been begging to go on for weeks.

Recovering from sinus surgery day two. Day three I found ways of sneaking out of bed even though I was still on painkillers. 

I had a conversation about being sick with a close friend of mine. She’s getting over a cold too and did the same thing I did; sucked it up and worked through it instead of giving her body the rest it so needed and deserved. She’s raising 4 kids, working full-time and writing a book. If anyone I know should have a day off, it’s her. We pondered what makes us keep moving even when our bodies are telling us not to. For her, it was a feeling of losing control. For me it was fear of being accused of laziness. Both are absolutely ridiculous.

What happens in my house if you hold still too long. 

So, with the insistence of my friend and my husband I took a nap during nap-time again and I loved every minute of it. I woke slightly more refreshed than when I laid down and was even nice to be around, if I do say so myself. My only chore was cooking but I was fully relaxed while doing it. I ate with my family and now am enjoying our 6^th showing of Despicable Me this week. Oh, and I will go to bed early, but only if I have completed posting pics, writing a blog and working on the Thanksgiving menu while also budget planning and figuring out what to do for our extra weekend day. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. 

Family Picture Day

A few days ago I saw the family photo’s we recently had taken. A local photographer and fellow military spouse lead us to a nearby pagoda. The car ride was fine, the kids were in good moods and I was hopeful that this year we were all have great big smiles and giggles during the shoot. My kids are generally very happy and love to get their pictures taken except on picture day. Baby Girl has a willful streak and does not like to perform on command. Little Man has no problem performing for an audience, but has such energy it can be impossible to get him to hold still. The combination of these two personalities has proven challenging in the past. Last year my daughter screamed and did the ugly cry almost the whole time we were posing and my son kept running through the fallen leaves. But I KNEW this year would be different.

Well it was better than last year, at least. Everyone was in a great mood until Baby Girl fell. Not just fell, but face-planted into the gravel. She wasn’t really hurt and didn’t even get a cut but it was enough for her to get mad and not want to leave my side for a single moment during the next hour of photo’s. Any time I tried to put her down or let go of her hand she would scream. Most of the pictures include her thumb firmly planted in her mouth. But the tears weren’t too bad and I had renewed hope that they would turn out.

Courtesy of Sarah Pagano Photography

This morning when I saw the photo’s I was so impressed and happy that they looked so good! They perfectly captured who we were; my handsome husband, my precocious son and my serious daughter. But it wasn’t the pictures that moved me as much as what the photographer wrote accompanying them. You see, we are an adoptive family. For us, it is simply how our family was created; adoption is a part of our lives and we talk openly and honestly with our children regarding their individual adoption stories. We encounter a lot of curious people who want to know more about adoption, each with his or her own motives.  But what is most interesting for me is seeing how others perceive adoption. The photographer did what I find most difficult, she was vulnerable. She discussed how we as military members all belong to a large adoptive family and how it related to her religion as well. It was beautiful.

So I will try and explain what adoption is to me. Adoption is the most selfish thing I have ever done. I asked two other women, mothers, in their darkest hour to hand over the most precious gifts my husband and I have ever received. There will never be a day that I will sufficiently say thank you to either of my children's birth parents. There simply aren’t enough words and will never be enough time. So I try my best with photo’s and letters. I honor them by telling my children who they are and why they are special. I fight back tears from the overwhelming emotion I feel when discussing my love for my children and the gratitude for their birth parents.

All this from an hour spent wrangling kids and trying to get something good for the Christmas card. It’s amazing the sentiment a simple photograph can provide.

Information for Sarah Pagano Photography can be found at:

http://allthethings.co/sarah-pagano-photography/

Here's to New Adventures!

We moved about a month and a half ago. It’s not the first time I’ve moved. Not by a long shot. In fact, I have moved more times I can count, as a young girl and as an adult. I’ve been fortunate to have lived all over the country, making friends wherever I go. You see, my parents were both in the Coast Guard and my husband of 10 years, David, is in the Air Force. Moving is nothing new to me. But this was the first time I’ve moved overseas. And with kids. Oh, and did I mention we have toddlers? No? Well, yeah, two toddlers; Little Man is three and Baby Girl is two. And a dog. And a cat. So moving to the other side of the planet was an adventure. At least the beginning of one.

There’s been a lot of change in my life lately. But this blog isn’t just about the change we’ve been experiencing as a family. It’s mostly about the daily joys and challenges of raising kids. I know what you’re thinking; do we really need yet another blog about family life? The answer  is a resounding “NO!” And that’s ok but hear me out. I’m writing because I find it’s a good way to reach other families like ours. I am also writhing to help others see that this whole parenting thing is simultaneously the most wonderful and terrifying experience I have had in my life, a feeling I’ve heard echoed throughout the various play groups and book clubs I’ve had the pleasure of joining. Whether stay-at-home or working outside of it, being a mommy can feel lonely and this way I can share, hopefully humorously from time to time, my experience.

Just a quick glimpse into my daily life:  As I type this post, I am kneeling on the floor of my room, laptop sitting on the bed because this is where I could find a free outlet, while my daughter wolfs down a graham cracker and raisins (her 3^rd meal before 10 am) and my son is jumping up and down on the bed I currently use as a desk. I am desperately avoiding the pile of craft supplies that need to be organized and reciting the Serenity Prayer regarding the left over Halloween candy sitting in my kitchen.

This is my life, as I am sure it is some of yours as well.