A room of my own.
What I want to say is something profound about how we’re managing during this transition and all the lessons we’re learning and resiliency we’re gaining. But what comes out — despite typing and deleting and typing and deleting for an entire weekend — is decidedly not.
In an internet forum for Foreign Service folks (officers and family members and probably a few WaPo reporters), there’s a woman who’s been posting old letters of a family member who happened to be a Foreign Service spouse back in the ‘50s. Mundane details fill them but there’s something fascinating about seeing how much has changed (and how much hasn’t) since then.
It got me wondering what my own dispatch about these past few weeks would look like…
The walls of the rooms seem to be inching closer together the longer we’re here. 350ish square feet felt like plenty when we arrived but I hadn’t factored in Joe teleworking quite so much and had counted on being able to get out more with Nicolas.
I’m not sure why the uneven sidewalks and rain gutters (trenches, really) surprised me, but they did. I gave up on the idea of morning “adventures” after a trek to Super Fresh (an overpriced Whole Foods knockoff) that took us 70 minutes roundtrip when Google said it’d be 40. The poor child was beet red when we got back to the hotel despite repeated attempts to offer him water and I looked (and smelled) a hot mess after lifting/carrying his stroller more times than I could count. All for $7 worth of yogurt that would have cost $4 in the States.
I had lots of ideas about how this time would be spent but they’ve all gone out the window. Thanks to the lack of space — physical, mental, emotional — I’ve basically stopped peer coaching and haven’t touched my portfolio pieces. And on the day we found out that our housing would be ready in mid-August instead of mid-July, I made the hard decision to postpone my final coaching evaluation period to a TBD point in time. I’ve been trying to keep my chin up about the stall. Some days more successfully than others.
It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t mention that it hasn’t been ALL bad:
Nicolas doesn’t seem to mind the cramped quarters or lack of toys & books. Somehow he makes do with what he’s got and manages to find ways to stay mostly entertained. And he absolutely ADORES the hotel staff — particularly his “girlfriends” in the breakfast room. (I can’t decide if they love him or he loves them more.) Joe and I marvel almost daily at how well he’s doing.
At the embassy cookout for the 4th, we met a few other families with kiddos Nicolas’s age and even got invited to a BBQ later that weekend at one of their houses. It was SO nice to talk to other adults and to watch Nicolas interact with other kids again. (Which reminds me that I should really reach back out and take them up on offers for playdates…)
We think we know where we’d like to send Nicolas to preschool and had an excellent conversation with the director. (Although that’s a mixed bag because they may not have a spot for him until November or even January…)
And we’ve discovered a pretty decent taco joint. (Which is good because takeout for dinner is getting super old. More options than Brussels and cheaper too but mostly fast food. Rotisserie chicken and tostones are good the first three times but I’m seriously starting to miss having a real kitchen.)
The best news is that we only have to tough it out for another couple of days. When Joe asked if the timing for our house was firm or just an estimate, he casually mentioned that it was rough entertaining a baby in a hotel room. Housing must have taken pity on us because they offered up a temporary apartment to crash in until our real house is ready. We’ll have more space, a real kitchen and can take delivery of our air freight (a couple hundred pounds of more clothes, toys and books). Plus, we’ll be on the housing compound for a little while. There’s a pool, a playground, and the chance to meet other families.
It hasn’t been the smoothest landing but I guess it could be worse. (I’m trying to be tragically optimistic here.)
