Arriving in Suburbia

It's nearly Christmas. We've been back in the US for a year. We've passed another round of birthdays and made new friends. But big things are still happening.

Number 1 got braces. After years of recommendations and months of consults, we paid the fees, got the x-rays, and took the jump. For my almost 13 year-old it means monthly visits, no more popcorn, and a common bond among middle-schoolers.

Number 2 is turning 12 on Christmas. Our small-ish apartment is in boxes so having several of his robust buddies over to celebrate isn't really appealing. Which leads me to another first; Laser Tag birthday party. I don't throw my kids parties. It's just a thing. That's something "other" moms do. With one kid born near Thanksgiving, one on Christmas, and one after the New Year, the timing never seemed appropriate. But, for goodness sake, he's 12...in America. Laser Tag it is. Pizza, soda, games, the works. I just show up and pay.

Number 3 is the first kid in our family to be involved with the Christmas Eve Service at church. The whole month of December has been filled with rehearsals, costume preparation, and reminder emails. She is an innkeeper. She sweeps, shakes her head at the Holy Family, then points and directs them to another inn. My total commitment; 10 hours. Total payout; 2 minutes on stage and the knowledge that for just a moment, she was doing something really special all by herself.

Number 4 has been frolicking in tutus her whole life. In a flurry of events, she is finally in a proper ballet class. Each week she tip-toes away to class while I sit in the waiting room with other moms. It's all new for me.

When we move in a couple of weeks, we will live in a neighborhood, a distance away from the fourth floor of an apartment complex with a parking garage. We will utilize the backyard, the sidewalks, and the super-close commute to church and activities. For years when I was overseas, my state-side friends would groan about their duties as chauffeurs. I'm not doing too much of that, but I'm starting to realize why life in America is good. We can do anything.

Or equally...not do anything, which is sometimes good for me as well.

Moving in the Right Direction

We are on the move again. In April we will celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary. We will also move for the 8th time. As Granny puts it, "At least you won't become hoarders!" I know some of you may be asking, "Why do they do this to themselves?" Allow me to explain.

As parents, we are constantly analyzing whether we are the reason for future therapy for our kids. We wonder if we're wrecking them or if we are ever doing enough to help them succeed. Every time I sell a bed, discard an old toy, or repaint a wall back to builder beige, I wonder if I am causing my kids irreparable damage. I think not. Through our nomad lifestyle, our kids are always allowed to save their own special belongings, but they truly aren't that attached to their stuff.

We've tried to impress upon our family that household goods are just things. Memories with loved ones, vacations to exotic places, and enriching experiences can't be wrapped in paper and saved in a box anyway. The truth is, nothing REALLY belongs to us anyway --- except underwear. Underwear is definitely yours.

I've asked myself many times what lies in the future for our gypsy family. I've asked my kids about their future goals. Their top answers; mission work, the Marines, a flight attendant, a teacher, and any number of other professions that aren't limited by a specific location. Was this all part of the plan? Are these moves about my ambitions, career goals, or desires...or is it something bigger?

So why do we keep moving?

The honest answer? The truest thing I can tell you...God only knows. No, really, I'm sure he does. When I'm looking back at my life, I'm confident I'll have a better answer, but for now, I just wait patiently for the itinerary. When he lets me in on the next location, I'll be sure to let you know.

The Rebound

Last year at this time, my husband and I were planning the biggest Thanksgiving we would ever host. It wasn't for extended family. It was for 50 Russian orphans and their caretakers. They are not babies, like you would think, or even toddlers. They are funny, excitable, sometimes brooding teenagers. We had built a relationship with them during our time in Moscow and they had hosted us many times at their home and school. They had served us Borscht and Shashlik and proudly showed off their artwork and handcrafts. It was our turn to show them some American fun. We played games, laughed, and ate pumpkin pie. We joined with so many dear friends who donated food, energy, and time to create a memorable day.





During that time, my house was in boxes as we prepared to leave Moscow.

Now here I am, nearly a year later, in Washington DC. It doesn't always feel like home. Some days I walk outside my door and face all the exercise-clothes clad twenty-somethings or ride the bus with the military somebodies headed to the Pentagon. It doesn't feel like mine. It doesn't feel like I fit in.

But the real tell, that time when I know I'm exactly where I should be, is when I am able to serve others. Last weekend I went with my 12 year old daughter to feed the homeless. This wasn't like a soup kitchen where I stand across the counter with a ladle and they shuffle through the line. We drove my mini-van downtown at 5 AM to bring sack lunches and coffee to the needy. Our guide knew most of them by name. We stopped under bridges, near park benches, all along the National Mall, and near bus-stops. We found lots of people sleeping on the grates. Sometimes we found them under construction tarps or wrapped in garbage bags to keep out the biting wind. They almost always had a warm word of thanks after reaching out their humble hands.

Of course my heart was filled with pride as my daughter served. This has always been her scene. The picture below is on her 8th birthday when she served from a food truck in 20-degree weather. She didn't want a cake or a party, just to serve others.




My kids are always inspiring me to serve others. Sometimes I don't know where to look. This time, it was behind the steering wheel of my van where I saw my town, up close and personal. The nitty-gritty. The unlovely.

In different seasons of my life, I've been the needy. I haven't had much to offer anybody during times of challenge or pain. I'm thankful for these chances to reach out. I'm thankful there is a little bit extra to go around. I'm thankful for the rebound.

My Major League Summer

I love baseball. I loved it when my grandma would send us Detroit Tiger's t-shirts from Michigan when I was growing up in California. I loved it when my brother had posters of Californian teams on his walls and my dad would tell us stories about playing as a kid and being called Little Willie Mays. I started loving it more when I would stroll past my teenage boyfriend's practice just to sit and watch him a bit. Seventeen years later and hundreds of games later, I will watch baseball with that guy anywhere.

When we were in Russia, baseball was pretty hard to come by. Every March we would all feel a lonesome sadness for what should be the beginning of the greatest American pastime. In 2012 when our beloved Tigers were in the World Series we couldn't seem to get the games to stream right. We missed most of it.

But we're back. We aggressively set out to make up for lost time. In April, my sweetheart whisked me off to Seattle for a long weekend and surprised me with tickets to the season opener at Safeco Field to watch the Mariners. It was raining. I loved every minute.



In May, we took our whole family to Camden Yards in Baltimore for an Orioles game. Actually, the Tigers were playing so we went to watch them. It was amazing. Our kids have sun-bathed in the Mediterranean and seen the Eiffel Tower, but the awe on their sweet faces when they entered the park was ten times more exciting.



For the June, July, and August, we supported our hometown team, the Washington Nationals. We went with friends, the kids, and sometimes alone. My husband would call me from work and say, "Hey, $5 tickets tomorrow. Wanna go?" I answered the affirmative every time. We learned pretty quickly that if you sit on the first baseline, MUST WEAR SUNSCREEN. No matter the weather or the score, the kids never wanted to leave.





We had planned a vacation up to Michigan in September, but we wanted to add a couple of days on the front end for some extra fun. Fun equals baseball. We stopped in Cleveland for an Indians game. Our seats were only nine rows behind the dug-out and we could hear the crack of the bats and the leather smack in the gloves.



And then a long awaited stop at Comerica to see our wonderful Tigers. It rained so there was a delay, but it was just as perfect as ever. I even sprung for Cracker Jack so the kids would have the real, American baseball experience.



But there was on last stop to be made in September. To end the season, we hopped on a plane for a well-timed business trip and caught a San Francisco Giants game. With boats in the bay and palm trees in the courtyard, AT&T is a pretty beautiful park. My favorite part was finding a little gated area behind center field where anyone can watch three innings for free.



I don't know if I'll ever have a summer like this again and it was good. It was good because it was spent with family and because it truly is the greatest game ever. Sure the Tigers didn't make it to the World Series, but there's always next year...

The Real Deal

I'm a homeschooler. I used to be one by necessity. Now I am one by choice.

Many of my friends are teachers (for real). They have real classrooms, don't get paid enough, and have way more students than they should. They have standards to achieve and powers to whom they answer. They do it with pride. They do it with joy. Sometimes they do it with tears.

In some ways more than others, homeschoolers are no different. I usually start petitioning for funding in May. I present to the "board"(my husband) the strengths and weaknesses of curricula compared to the needs of my students. I plan, I purchase, I plan some more. Sometimes with joy, sometimes with tears.

This is our fifth year of homeschool. This is my first year homeschooling in America. There are co-ops, field trips, classes, and everything I could possibly imagine. Some things seem necessary. Some things seem counter-productive.

Right after Labor Day, on social media, lots of people posted pics of their kids' first day of school. Truth be told, we started school on a rainy day early August. I won't lie. I feel a little bit left out. Nothing is stopping me from posting these, but it's not the same. Just as everyone begins their yearly routine, we drop everything and go on vacation. Every September.

The night before we begin school, I lay awake obsessing over whether I chose the right books, whether Number 3 will ever master cursive, whether Number 1 will be challenged in Math. I think about what we'll eat for lunch and how much time we won't have to waste on learning each others' names. I lay awake perfectly certain about choosing homeschool and alternately terrified.

Sometimes I need to be grounded from perusing catalogs or looking through science books. Sometimes I need to be told to walk away from the work. Sometimes I need to skip grammar. No, that's not true. We never skip grammar. Maybe math.

All this to say that teachers are the best. Those who work in schools, those who volunteer, and those who teach their own kids. I'd like to raise my glass to toast teachers. To all my teacher-friends out there, you are the best! And that's for real.



With my "class" in St. Ignace, Michigan just before heading to Mackinac Island. September 12, 2014

Shame on you, Library

I hope I've been clear about how much I love the public library. Until recently.

Summer reading program. For this girl, who was never athletic, summer reading was my opportunity to shine. I could outread all my peers, win the prizes, and submit my name for drawings repeatedly. I couldn't wait to pass on this time-honored tradition to my kids.

Numbers 3 and 4 had to read 600 minutes (in increments of 10) in order to win a "prize" and be entered in a drawing. They both completed the task in three weeks, six weeks earlier than the deadline. Here they are with their filled-in sheets.



We rode our bikes to the library and walked up to the counter as a family. We wanted the children involved to feel the gravity of their achievement. The passionless volunteer cut off the entry portion and pointed to a box. The contents in the box were remnants of a local school book donation. There was nothing classic, nothing interesting, and frankly, nothing worth reading.

But the bigger point...a crummy, thrift-store book as a library reading program prize? My amazing readers were beyond disappointed. Number 3 said, "We get better prizes at the dentist, and that's for the pain we have to go through." I looked at my husband with horror. If we didn't get this kid a prize, and I mean a prize, she would probably never pick up a book again. Our school curriculum is only about 90% reading so this could be a problem later.

Dejected, we walked down the street to a little toy shop. It's the kind where the owner works the counter and knows about every toy in the place. It's a shop for brain candy. We told the girls they could each choose something for under $10 as a prize for all the reading they did. Number 4 chose a reusable sticker doll book. Number 3 chose a Magic 8 Ball. I'm not sure why that fits into the learning toys, but she's wanted one forever and the guidelines were clear. I immediately asked the ball if Number 3 would read books again. It said simply "It is certain." We bought it.

A few weeks later, we returned to the library to turn in Number 1 and 2's reading logs, four novels each. Here's how the librarian reacted;

"Wow! Great work!"
"Do we get a prize?" asked Number 2.
"Unfortunately, the prizes were returned due to a safety issue. Check back next week."

Since Number 2 had seen the drill earlier, he requested a specific toy at Target that was exactly $9.99. We went, bought the toy, and went home. Number 1 simply asked for $10 to be transferred to her bank account. Wise child.

So, to sum it up, the FREE reading program at the Library this summer cost me $40, an uphill battle for book-reading motivation, and maybe future counseling. Shame.

First of Many

A wise friend passed on some marital wisdom to me. I will share the basic gist with you.

One person has to be in charge during an outing. If it's his idea, he can plan meals, prepare for tickets, make arrangements etc. If it's her idea, she charts the map, packs the sandwiches, etc. If it goes wrong, you know who is responsible. If it goes right, you know who to thank.

This has worked so well for myself and my husband! I used to hate outings because he always had the good ideas and I was the pack mule and logistics planner. It wasn't fun. I already spend all of my days teaching the kids and then trying to navigate weekend "field-trips" became exhausting.

This past Friday night, we looked at the forecast and saw another sunny Saturday ahead with no plans. He started looking around and came up with a plan. We told the kids to be ready at 10 AM the next morning. I had the responsibility of getting myself dressed, applying sunscreen, and grabbing the bug spray (because he NEVER gets bit). Well before departure, my delightful travel agent had already been to the supermarket for Saturday doughnuts, had packed lunch and snacks, and got the address to our location in the GPS.

There was no arguing, no disputes.

Our destination was Rock Creek Park in the heart of the District. We parked at the Nature Center to begin a two mile hike around the northern half. Some of our company was not excited about hiking for fun, but we set out anyway, determined to prove them wrong. A little ways in, we stopped for lunch on a rocky landing in the middle of the creek. Number 2 was in heaven skipping from rock to rock and teetering dangerously on a fallen log seven feet above the creek!



Number 1, being cautious as ever, fell in anyway and got soaked up to her middle. Numbers 3 and 4 couldn't be convinced to keep moving. They took their sweet time looking at tadpoles, frogs, and arranging rocks in a decorative way. The lunches my husband packed were delicious and filling.



When we continued on, we enjoyed the company of one another amidst the sound of the babbling creek. The boys' heads were sweating and we were all smiling from the exertion.

When we got back to our car, we drove to the South Side of the Park (this took 10 minutes) to see the Peirce Mill. It looked unpromising until we got nearer to the entrance. A volunteer helped my girls make corn-husk dolls while my son played in toy water locks. This cost us nothing.

After this, we watched a video about the family who owned the Mill (back in the late 1800s) and got to see the mill in action. My husband, who grew up working his Grandfather's farm, reveled in showing the kids all the gears and mechanisms of this primitive tool. At the end of the tour, we discovered that Rock Creek Park is a National Park, the first we've ever enjoyed as a family. We purchased a National Park Passport and can't wait to see some more.

Party in the USA

Last year we celebrated the nation's independence in Moscow on the green grass of the Embassy lawn. We organized our own celebratory breakfast, flag salute, parade, pie baking contest, water balloon launch, and general patriotism. It was my most favorite July 4th ever. It was spent with some of my favorite people and I had the winning pie, so that made it good. It is rumored that in the football game, my husband threw and his friend caught the winning touchdown against the Marines, but that's just heresay, no one can confirm.

This year, we played tourists in our new town, so we went to the parade. Many years ago, my little brother marched with his high school band on these very streets. We watched for an hour (eight bands later) and the kids were pretty bored. After seeing real-live tanks roll down the road at the Victory Day parades, it was a little lackluster. Plus, there was no candy? When did that happen? How long have I been away?

Number 2 with his esteemed Marines.


We went back home for the afternoon where we grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. There was homemade apple pie, but it wasn't the same. No Marines, no water balloons. How can a holiday feel more patriotic in a different country?

That evening, we headed out again to secure a spot near the Iwo Jima memorial. Clearly, it was a good pick because most of the newspapers photos were taken from the same spot. Here's one my husband took. It was beautiful over the monuments. Some of our favorite fireworks were smiley faces, stars, and the ones that looked like they were spinning.

We made it back home, washed our feet, and called it a day. But it felt like any day.

Help me Understand

If this is you, I don't mean you. I'm mostly referring to my shock at American culture.

When I lived out in the country in suburban Michigan, many moons ago, I got showered and dressed for the day because I thought it was a good idea. I could parade around in my sweatpants (lovingly called the home uniform) but I chose to be presentable most of the time, should anyone unexpectedly knock on my door.

This served well when I moved to Russia. There were always tradesmen in and out of the house, neighbors dropping by, new people in the neighborhood. Being dressed worked well. With one exception; if I was waiting on a certain service to be completed (such as toilet plunged, dishwasher fixed AGAIN, etc) and I found that it was being delayed, without fail, if I stayed in my pjs, it was then that the doorbell would ring. Every. Time. Magic.

In Moscow, the question about my attire was, "heels or no heels?" Most Russians are dressed to the nines at all times. Granted they may have worn that outfit three days in a row, but they look nice. Of course, accessories like fancy coats, earrings, scarves, and purses help. I tossed tennis shoes out the first year I was there. And flip-flops. Too casual. I adopted stilettos and calf boots. When I would visit back home, I was almost always overdressed. Habit I guess.

Now I live in America again. The land of the free. Free to shop and get the lowest price. Free to drive like a lunatic. Free to chew gum as loudly as possible when on the bus. Let me get to the point.

Free to wear sweatpants outside? Free to wear athletic clothes at all times?

Every day, I wake up at 5:30am. I make coffee and get myself going. By 6:00, I am working out. I'm talking about the kind of workout where sweat gathers in places that makes body parts squeak. The kind where I secretly turn the air down to 70 just for a few minutes so I don't hyperventilate. Let me tell you. There is nothing that could keep me in those clothes all day long. I immediately shower, apply make-up, and dress. By 7:30, my kids are just beginning to stir. We begin school at 8:00.

I know I live in an athletic town. Seriously, I've felt like I should lie and say I run, just to get into a couple of conversations. But I didn't. I don't run. My chiropractor once told me that I don't have a curve in my neck so my spine is like a broomstick and my head is like a bowling ball atop it. Pounding bowling ball causes stress to the broomstick. Poetic, isn't it? No running for this lady.

I've always wanted to run. I just can't. I like runners. I wish I was one. But I'm not. Anyone who ran track with me in high school will validate these statements. I was on the track team, but I wasn't a runner.

So, this message is really a cry for help. Help me understand. Why the sweatpants? Why the athletic clothes?

Our grandmothers wore pearls, stockings, and blouses. Our mothers donned bell bottoms and t-shirts. If we are the generation who wears athletic clothes and sweatpants, what will our kids wear?

Number 2 wearing "United States of Awesome" and gym shorts. Yes, gymshorts.

City Folks in the Country

Memorial Day weekend, we headed out of the city and down to the Virginia/North Carolina border. As we drove south on 95, we could see that all those from DC were getting out while the tourists flocked in on the northbound side. No, thank you. After some meandering on a lesser known highway, we arrived at our friends' house to enjoy a long, rustic weekend.

These friends were neighbors in Moscow. We love spending time with them because we don't have to apologize for using expressions in Russian, our kids have many shared memories, and we just plain like them. Plus, I usually beat everyone at Catan. Hey, it's my blog, I can write it the way I remember it.

My husband grew up on his grandparents' lake. He knows how to fish, hunt, and do most anything with his hands. I was amazed at how quickly everything came back. He sat relaxed in a chair for hours on the dock. Though he travels the world by plane, he was so happy to take a road trip and get away. I haven't seen him that rested in awhile.

The very first day, the kids found a log in the lake. They played on it for hours and then were surprised at the red marks on their bellies. Who needs toys when you've got a log?

For the first night, our friend made a feast complete with borscht (Russian beet soup), khachapuri (Georgian cheese bread), and shashlik (meat skewers). The next day we had blini (crepe/pancakes) for lunch. It felt like home again. I made the all American dinner that night which included fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and apple pie.

Each day, we spent most of our time on the dock watching the kids, holding the new baby, and laughing about old times. One morning I was surprised to find the place next to me on the air mattress was empty. My husband was out the door before sunrise to try his hand at fishing for catfish, as he heard it was plentiful down this way. In a few hours, he and the kids had racked up a bunch using this nasty bait that smelled like sewage. He also discovered that catfish whiskers will whip you when trying to get the hook out.

During the day, my girlfriend and I took the younger kids strawberry picking in North Carolina. It took only a little while to pick 20lbs each! Since I hadn't picked in years, the strawberries tasted all the sweeter.

We grew up in the country. For the time being, we didn't know what we were missing. Namely, concerts, museums, architecture etc. Ignorance truly was bliss. Now our kids live in a somewhere-in-between. We want them to be acquainted with nature and it's joys, but also know how to analyze a painting or remain unfazed when people are nude at the beach (true story). We want both. I don't know how it will end up, but for now, getaways to the country will suffice.

It was time to go home again, back to the city where I can get all kinds of specialty foods, meet interesting people, and don't have to check for ticks daily. However, it was good to get away and remember the simple things in life. For selfish reasons, we hope our friends never leave that place. They've made a vacation spot for us and we are so happy to drive a few hours to see them. At one point, their son expressed that it "felt like a dream" to have his faraway friends close again.

When we got home, my husband cooked up the catfish and I made strawberry jam. Both things were delicious reminders of our time away.

100th Post!! (Reasons I Love Homeschool)

Since this is my 100th post (Wahoo!) I thought I should write about something really life-changing. Although getting married at 19, having four kids in four years, and moving to Russia were all incredible, nothing has impacted my life like home education. I would like to share with you today some of the reasons I love homeschool.

#1 Field trips whenever we want. We avoid the busy crowds and go off-season, Tuesday mornings, and never have to fight to see the exhibit. A few weeks ago our field trip was to Camden Yards to see the Detroit Tigers play the Orioles. Ironically it was "Field Trip Day" at the park and there were kids everywhere. Last week, the Tigers played in Cleveland and we watched the game on TV right after lunch. A little motivation to get done early always helps.

#2 We skip the stuff we know and move on to stuff we don't. This year, we avoided lots of the reading parts of the Science books. We went right on to the experiments. Yesterday the kids saw water snakes in the creek and studied them. They choose to watch documentaries in their free time. We got our standardized test scores back last week and they were all well above average in the Science department. Whatever we're doing, it's obviously working.

#3 Deep conversations at random times. Last week the kids got into a lively conversation with my husband about the Flat Earth Society. They discussed Columbus, astronauts' view from the moon, and other valid points. I sat back and observed. No one was out to prove anything, but they were able to use critical thinking to determine what they believe. A week later, they're still asking about it. This holds true for their faith as well. We expect them to know why they believe what they do, not just spoon feed it and make robots.

#4 Philosophy and Religion. This brings me to my next point. We discuss philosophy and religion all day long. We covered brief overviews of Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Native American religions, and many others. I want them to know what's out there and learn to make friends with people of all faiths. I acknowledge that homeschool allows me to present to them the Gospel of Jesus Christ on a regular basis and its effects on our family.

#5 Reading aloud This school year our family read 38 novels aloud as well as an Encyclopedia, history books, and the Bible. I don't lay in bed wishing I had read to the kids more. It just happens naturally, all day long. We read history, biographies, historical fiction, regular fiction. We read it. I know my kids know the sound of my voice. When I'm gone, maybe they'll remember this sacred time.

You may be thinking at this point, "Yeah, but these are all benefits to the kids. How has it impacted you?"

Well let me tell you.

#6 I have learned more history this year than all of my previous education combined. Because we are studying Ancient and American history, I learned so much about things I never read before. Today we learned about Nikita Krustchev. I visited his grave site last year in Moscow but I didn't know who he was. I do now. and my kids know. We read an entire Encyclopedia on American History. When would I choose to do that in my leisure time?

#7 Instant gratification. Last week there was a situation where I was explaining the conquests of Alexander the Great. My third grader said, "It's kind of like Putin. He has the biggest country in the world, but he wants that little tiny bit (Crimea). I guess things haven't changed." I get to be front and center when the kids "get it". I go to sleep at night knowing they learned something today and that I taught them. It may be an unpaid job, but on days like that, it feels like I got a raise.

#7 Flexible schedule. We always complete 180 days (36 weeks of school). The way we do it is entirely up to me. Sometimes we're feeling aggressive and we work through two weeks of material in one week. Sometimes we're feeling lazy and we take a week off. We always start in early August. We vacation in September. We take Winter and Spring breaks when it works for us. My husband is gone three weeks a month. When he's home, we don't work as hard. We enjoy him.

#8 I get to spend so much time with my kids. I don't think I'm better than you. I don't think you're better than me. I homeschool for my own reasons and you may send your kids to whichever school for your own reasons. Either way, we have the right to choose what we think is best for our kids. I'm glad to stand on my soapbox and explain my personal mission statement, but for now, I'm glad I get to be with my kids. I love them. Some days they make me crazy, but they're still my favorite people. Who better to teach them than me?

#9 The public library. This is my first experience homeschooling in America. The public library is the jackpot! Each week I pick up picture books about whatever topic we are covering that week (Civil War, Cleopatra, The Iron Curtain). I feel empowered. They feel empowered. It's like an energy shake for your social brain. A little better than FB I think.

#10 My kids actually like each other Most people say to me, "I could never homeschool. My kids would drive me crazy!" or "My kids can't stand each other." Because my kids are together all the time, they actually know how to get along. They have learned to cope with one who is getting cranky and how to help somebody feel better who was accidentally left out. It's a true honor to be around such sweet kids throughout the day, every day. After all, if I don't like them, why should I expect other people to?

To sum it up, homeschool makes us a strong family. I could write a million things more, but these are just the first that came to mind. At some point in my life I probably uttered the words, "I will never homeschool", but like most things, our refusal to try something usually ends up in facing it head on. Once I was a victim homeschooler. Now I do it by choice.

Reverse Culture Shock

Let me give you a brief education on culture shock. There are usually four phases: Honeymoon, hostility, negotiation (readjustment), and home. Within a household of six individual people, the phases come at different intensities and paces. The last time we went through this, my husband was in hostility stage and I was in the honeymoon phase. I was trying to convince him we could order pizza in a totally unknown language and make the best of it. He rode his bicycle two miles in -5F to pick up the pizza himself. Though his beard was frozen, he had warm pizza.

Now we have experienced reverse culture shock. Coming back to the US, the honeymoon phase was good. Going to places like Target on a Saturday night was like a salve for the soul.

Customer service is pretty good here and I cannot get over the ultra friendliness of everyone. Whether it's fake or real doesn't matter. They seem to care about my cart of stuff. I've noticed my kids smiling a lot. They're singing in the stores again. In Russia we maintained the indifferent face everywhere we went. They are also enjoying wearing jackets and hoodies on warmer days instead of being forced to wear hats, scarves, and full snowsuits. My apartment felt huge, I loved hopping in the car to go anywhere, and I couldn't wait to go see the sights in DC.

We got our shipment, our apartment feels smaller (even after THREE trips to Goodwill), and I am annoyed having to drive certain places. Isn't there a bus that goes there?

After six months of being in the US, I am still utterly shocked at how loud patrons maintain their volume. We went out for dinner at Johnny Rockets for Valentine's Day with the kids. The lady behind us belted out a blast laugh every few minutes. Number 2 kept jumping out of his seat and eventually quit eating because he was afraid he would choke after such surprise. It seems loud everywhere, even the library.

On the up side, I bought all beef hot-dogs and Kona beer at my local supermarket last night. And Twizzlers, Bugles, and Hazelnut Creamer. Oh, and that Breyer's Ice Cream and the HoHo's.
I went to the Weanie Beanie and had a Washington DC special half-smoke.

I was reading a study today that said some are unable to assimilate into their host culture and end up adopting ghetto mentality. This means they find people who are similar to them in culture, experience, and memory. Without even realizing it, we've done that. Lots of people around here have lived overseas, packed up their whole lives, and whisked their families away for the adventure. Many have come back, managed to begin again, and still always feel out of place. We find these types of people at church, the supermarket, the library, and even at the local parks.

We are living among our peers. I find that I naturally gravitate toward those military spouses whose husbands are deployed. I find friends in single parents where I don't have to justify that my spouse is gone 70% of the time. I find friends in people whose demographics are starkly different from mine. The fact is, I've found people. People who 'get' me. People who are willing to invest in a relationship whether it's two months or two years.

This summer, some of my favorite friends from everywhere will stop by. We'll be together again, even if it's just for a short time. We'll enjoy baseball, beer, and memories of days past. And if I missed you this time around, I'll see you before too long. People like us can't stay away.

Butter is Love

My husband is out of the country 60% of the time. This leaves me with lots of time to watch my favorite movies, drink my favorite wine, and self analyze.

Those who know me well, know that I bake with real, unsalted butter. Always have. Always will. I also like to bake a lot. Cookies, pies, coffee cakes, whatever. For the last few months, I haven't enjoyed baking. My oven has seen little action and my kids forgot how to help in the kitchen. I was in a funk.

So, what comes first, the neighbor or the baked goods?

I say this because I recently made a friend who lives in my building. Let me be clear. She's exactly what I needed! We both love our label-makers, we homeschool our kids, we like alone time and each other. She has girls who play with my girls and everybody wins. After our first couple of visits, without even thinking about it, I gravitated toward my kitchen. I whipped up some cookie bars and some cake. I found myself running down the stairs to her place in my apron so she could have cookies fresh out of the oven.

I've always said that butter is love. I show my love for others with baked goods. When I lived in rural Michigan, I baked for my friend close-by. The guys at the feed mill next door always got slabs of banana bread or cookies. When I moved to Moscow, it was for the older couples in our neighborhood, and the single guys who never got homemade anything. When I moved again in Moscow, it was for the Marines and for my favorite neighbor downstairs. She was, quite possibly, my biggest fan. I knew it, she knew it. It worked.

Without even noticing it, I didn't bake in DC because I didn't have somebody with whom to share. Someone accused me once of trying to fatten up those around me with goodies so I look better. If that means touching the lives of others using real butter, then I'm guilty.

Where to get Greek food and other tips...

I have emerged from the winter. From moving. From feeling lonely. In celebration of my bliss, I took care of myself today. First I went and splurged on a curtain I wanted. I used a 20% off coupon at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I know this sounds common place but it has taken me two months to acquire such a valuable piece of paper. After the curtain, I went tanning. Judge what you may. I have Psoriasis and my skin has not seen the sun in a few months which causes me pain. I'm not an old lady so I won't start telling you about my medical ailments, but the sun helps, even if it is in a box.

As I walked back to my car I passed a salon. Not just a standard place where I would take my kids. A real, fancy salon. I stopped in, asked if there was a haircut available and took the first chair. In Washington DC, so many young professionals are the most well-kept people I've ever seen. I desire to maintain my eclectic clothing style, but my hair isn't trendy in any standard. It was time.

The stylist was clearly European and asked me about my last cut. I told him it was in October. He visibly cringed. I remembered later that it was actually in December, but that whole month is muddled in my mind. Either way, we are talking about five to seven months of a lack of maintenance. My kids have each had three cuts since then. Why the delay? Why do mothers self-sacrifice all the time? At least I've been to the dentist, right?

Anyway, I asked him about his nationality. He explained that he is Lebanese Greek and has lived in the US for 22 years. Excited about getting an opinion on authentic Greek food, he suggested a few local restaurants. Then, the icing on the cake.

"For authentic Greek food, there is Taverna in Old Town Alexandria. People who own are from island of Crete."

"Excellent!" I replied. He went on.

"For the family, there is this wonderful restaurant. Do you know it? It is called 'Olive Garden'! For a small price of meals they bring you large jar of salad---for free! My kids don't eat it so there's so much salad for my wife and me. And sticks made of bread, so good!"

At this point, when I realized he was talking about THE Olive Garden, I had to contain my giggles. He told me of his travels to Paris, Athens, and large cities in the US. Still, he repeated his recommendation for this American/Italian franchise. Right before I left he threw in a shout-out for Outback Steakhouse, if you like that sort of place.

He firmly suggested that I not wait as long next time to have my hair trimmed. Maybe two months. Maybe when I see him again I will suggest Applebee's or TGIFridays.

My Best Friend

Perhaps my newest theme is to brag up the cool people in my life. It's my husband's turn. As you well know, we recently moved back to the US. Our 13th wedding anniversary was coming up in April and he told me to block out the weekend for some plans he had made. I imagined a concert maybe, an expensive restaurant, a nice hotel for one night. Nope. None of those things. He blew this one out of the water.

First he flew his mom down from Michigan so she could stay with the kids. This meant that my kids were overjoyed for us to walk out the door. He flew us to Seattle, Washington where we honeymooned many years before. I imagine you're wondering why we went there. Why not Jamaica? Florida? or the ever common Traverse City? Here's why. Even then, we had a sense of adventure. We wanted to do something new. Though we were only 19 years old, we wanted to create a unique experience together.

I grew up on the West Coast and I would tell him about the ocean and the way the mountains roll. Somewhere in a conversation we decided that Seattle was the perfect spot. His first ride on a plane was on that Spring day in 2001 just hours after we said our vows. Long before TSA check-points, before 9/11. We experienced rough air and he had a death grip on my arm. I tried to calm the nerves of my husband, hoping he would make it to our honeymoon destination with me. He did and now 13 years later, he travels 50% of the time, all over the world for his job. Monday he will begin a round-the-world tour bringing him to four countries on three continents in three weeks.

I am so flattered that he chose to spend his Stateside time with me on an airplane to a memorable location.

He had planned out the bus route from the Sea/Tac airport to our hotel and every possible detail in between. But he still had surprises. On the day of our anniversary, he surprised me again. we rented a car and drove to a resort to get a glimpse of Mt. Rainier. The ride up the gondola was beautiful and the weather was in our favor.


We spent most of our days roaming around town to all our favorite stops like Ivar's Seafood and Chowder and Pike Place Market.



We also went up the Space Needle with our Master and Mistress of Ceremonies who just happen to live in Seattle now. Crazy small world. Back in the day, it was the tallest thing we'd ever seen. Now it pales to the Eiffel tower in Paris, Hotel Ukraine in Moscow, and the Canton Tower in GuangZhou, China. It's still special in its own way.

But possibly the best surprise came on the last day. We rode a train to the airport to leave our luggage for the day, then rode it back into town for the Mariner's Season Opener. I haven't been to a major league game in years and to be there with my favorite person, in such a special place was absolutely stunning. He bought the tickets months ago and we were just above the first base line. I remembered quickly how to yell at the umps, cheer on the batter for a "good=eye" and hoot at a stolen base. I forgot how much I missed American baseball (not to mention the kraut covered dogs and 7th inning stretch sing-along).




When he gets back in a few weeks, we are going to see the Detroit Tigers play Baltimore. Immediately after the game, we caught the midnight flight back home. I'm glad I have a husband who knows how to treat his best friend and make new memories that will last a few more years.