Time for a break

It happened yesterday.  I was at the boutique down the street from our house, buying a few last minute things for dinner.  The owner was adding up my purchases on her calculator, I was seconds from being on my way, and her cell phone rang.  A cousin from Guinea.  I was waved over to the steps to sit and wait for her to finish her call, and I almost cried in frustration.  That's how you know as an expat that it is time for vacation.  When the parts of culture you actually appreciate most days, like the appreciation for the moment, can drive you close to tears, and when the mildly annoying can push you right over the edge.  The traffic jams where everyone gets out of their car to discuss whose fault it is instead of just moving out of the way.  The paint falling off the ceiling because, like every other house in this city, the roof wasn't sealed right.  The dairy and vegetable delivery that shows up a day and a half late, and the delivery driver yells at YOU for not being home waiting.  The "express line" at the grocery store that is never enforced, until one day, you are so fed up, you ask for the manager and he explains that the sign just came free with the register, so he hung it up.  When, despite the insane humidity and the fact that rainy season officially started a month ago, it just wont start raining.  I need a break.

Luckily for me (and sorry for my friends who have to suffer through the rest of hot season), it is time for our annual vacation!  And that means it is time to pack.  Sigh.  Balancing what I will need with saving room for what I want to bring back...and, the added expat variable, what I may need should there be an evacuation while we are gone and I can't access anything for who knows how long.  Birth certificates?  Translations and apostilles?  Hard drives? The blanket I am making Bean for Christmas?  And what if I don't get to go shopping here again?  Do I have enough baskets?  Wax print?  I can never have enough baskets or wax print.  Gah, I should have bought more last week!  And what about those cute shoes that don't quite fit Sprout yet.  Think he will grow into and out of them while we are gone?

Clothes. U.S. summer and German fall.  Flip flops and boots, shorts and jeans.  How much wax am I really going to wear in the U.S. and Europe?  Is this too much?  Not enough?  Mother/daughter matching wax?  No, that is definitely too much.  But what if we don't wear it at the same time?  Better bring it.  I need all new shirts.  These are so worn out.  I'm not bringing any of them.  Well, I guess I better bring one to wear to the mall in case someone pukes on me on the plane.

What we don't bring, toys.  On vacation we are trading piles of construction rubble lining the sand streets and dodging honking taxis the second we step out our front door for neighborhood playgrounds we can walk to from each grandparent's house, orchards where Bean and Sprout run with the other village kids, stealing apples and pears, and family walks on paved, safe, tree lined paths.  If it is anything like the previous trips, they won't touch a toy for weeks (this parent's dream come true), so they each get a makeup bag to fill with their favorite treasures to bring.  Chances are they will forget about them the second we step off the plane.

What we do bring, milk.  Ten kilos of powdered milk spread through all our suitcases.  Because my kids spit out the fresh stuff in disgust.

Friend goodbyes.  Do you need me to bring you any cream of tartar?  A can of green chilies?  I'll see you in a couple of weeks!  Unless, ya know, we get evacuated because the ebola outbreak spreads.  If so, I'll meet you in Berlin or Istanbul.  Maybe Tennessee?

Two kids?  Check.  An entire purse dedicated to various passports, divers licenses and resident IDs?  Check.  The rest doesn't really matter.  Despite years of experience in attempting to pack light and still bring everything necessary, there is definitely something I forgot. But, it doesn't matter, because we are going to the land of Target, where I can replace almost anything.  The land of public libraries with story time, traffic lights, and a culture that waits their turn in line.  And what I also know from experience is that after all the fun at amusement parks, picnics in lush green grass, time spent with family and friends we miss terribly the rest of the year, ten weeks from now (inschalla), when we land back in West Africa, we will take our first deep breath of exhaust and burning trash, and it will feel nice to be "home".

#igtruth

Following this blog post that was going around a couple of weeks ago, my weekly coffee date girlfriends and I challenged each other to 24 hours of #igtruth.

The way I look at it, in this social media and blogosphere culture of both inadvertent and intentional shaming ("So what's your excuse?", Mommy Wars, "You have just as many hours in the day as Beyonce", etc.), at what point does Instagram become just another manifestation of the standard of having it all, but with no messy bits?  So, lets take 24 hours to document and celebrate our real life, imperfections included.

You know those photos of inanimate objects we all share, with our flawlessly pedicured toes in the background?  Thankfully, they don't show that my custom made shoes are way to big.

And those sweet, innocent little gifts our children give me?  Like the banana peel Bean hurled over her head while we drove home from her play date, one in a half seconds after mumbling "Here ya go, mama.  Hold this".  It smacked me in the cheek before landing in my lap, almost causing me to swerve into the car next to me.

I share pictures of the well-balanced, fun and organic lunches I make our kids just before they create me something amazing during art time, but what about those days when they eat take-out chicken nuggets while watching Cars 2?  An afternoon that definitely won't make it on one of those mommy blogs where every new toddler book or song gets a matching themed craft, snack and sensory bin.  And the dirty band-aid, unbrushed hair, and that gold headband that she hasn't taken off for 3 days?  Yeah.

I probably posted half a dozen pictures of Bean and Sprout helping The German build their train table, of myself lovingly painting topography and lakes, and of the first time they played with it when they took turns being the giant monkey who attacks the train station.  I usually crop it out of shots now, since 95% of the time it is covered with all the other junk we haven't put away.

All those photos of the vibrant fruit and veggies I buy from the vendor with a tiny wooden stand on the end of my street?  These were the best potatoes she had today.

The fancy meals prepared for friends in a cute and impractical apron?  Tonight it's shepherd's pie, because I have 5 kg of cooked ground beef to use after my freezer decided to defrost itself without warning.  And I'm going to use a gravy packet.

The romantic date nights photos.  But what about the nights when, despite an hour long routine of warm baths, stories, and getting tucked in, Bean and Sprout rejoin us at 9 p.m.and then we spend twenty minutes explaining why the people were riding a giant bee to the space ship on TV.

And lets not forget the shots of my feet, intertwined with The Germans, as we share a bottle of wine and watch the sunset.  What about the other 4 out of 5 nights, when romance is laughing til we snort while watching "20 Funniest Viral Videos" in bed?  Yeah, we were totally watching a cat video here.

So yes, I started yesterday morning with a leisurely coffee at the city's fanciest and most expensive hotel with four beautiful, put together, funny and cultured ladies. Then I came home to wired and crazy littles.  Some days I make my kids frittatas full of veggies and shaped like sailboats for lunch, then we make Montessori worthy mosaics out of recycled bottle caps.  Other days we eat takeout and color in our Disney coloring books. Some days I make three course dinners just for us that would shame even The Barefoot Contessa.  Other days, dinner all comes in one casserole dish and the recipe included a can of cream of chicken soup.  So as I crop, filter, and pose my way to the perfect Instagram pic, I'm going try to sometimes capture the truth too.  Because, as the cliche goes, that is probably what I will remember, cherish and miss anyway, like this morning's cup of too hot, store brand tea, at 6:30 a.m. instead of 10:30,  hastily gulped through now burned lips while Bean and Sprout race to be the one who gets to help The German feed the cat.  Yup, I've got it all.  Messes, tantrums, and short cuts included.