I headed out this morning for the Brazilian fabric with the bushels of bananas. But came back with ready-made Indian pillows--bursting with acid colors and nature. The perfect "pop" for our neutral bedroom. All family members seem to enjoy the make-over. Georgia keeps repeating "bee" which is short for subir (pronounced sue beer) or "up" in Portuguese and proceeds to fall back into the neatly arranged row. And Bogart, our fat feline, won't stop sleeping on the bed (and was quite perturbed with the photo session). Finally, Felipe mmmmm'd approval--but how many husbands understand their wife's obsession with accent pillows?
I once read that the best part of traveling is coming home. And it's true. I am looking forward to being, once again, in my little nest with my dearly missed husband and my daughter. Minha Casa. Que bom.
But it would be that much better (No, it would be perfect.) if I could crinkle my nose like Samantha from Bewitched and zap my American family into my living room. I wouldn't have to say anymore goodbyes. I wouldn't have to watch Georgia blow nary a kiss goodbye. And nobody would cry. Ever.
However life on TV sitcoms is fiction and the season always has a finale and an end--just as my trip does. So tonight is the end--the last hurrah from Ohio. I drank NyQuil an hour ago, for my cold and to put me to sleep. I won't blog sadness.
So goodnight my dear family. I won't mention all the names lest I wake up on the keyboard in the morning. You know who you are wonderful siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, grandparents. Georgia has never learned so many names so quickly and she won't forget. We'll be back soon. Thank you. Love you. Goodnight.
We are down to our last evening skype sessions. It's like watching the Late Show for Georgia and I, only Felipe is a much better host than Dave. There are puppet shows, house tours (to remind us of what we are missing) and imaginary taste tests. Georgia shares her snacks with Dad and, well, tonight he tried to share his dinner with us. And boy am I glad technology is still limited i.e. the taste remains phantasmic. Because tonight's menu was boiled hot dogs. And even though I was proud he didn't dial a dinner (take out), I couldn't feign enthusiasm for a boiled greyish dog with a line of mustard, housed in a white bun--unless maybe it came from a cart, was at the ballgame, or, had "char-lines" on it from the grill.
Actually, I have never seen Felipe eat a hot dog--not even from famous Nathan's or at Coney Island. But, then again, I never left my husband for a month at a time. And I am feeling bad--even though he's a tad spoiled--for I have happily assumed the homemaker (domestic manager) role. I relish his slightly added girth and gourmet tendencies. And although we aren't food snobbies (have junk food cupboard), I work hard putting together home cooked square meals for Felipe and Georgia. And we'd never eat just boiled wieners for dinner--unless Felipe made them. But that probably won't happen when I get home.
Honey, Cannot wait to get out the pots and pans. xo
1. The Sartorialist 2. Testino 3. Valentino
I am working on packing my suitcases and it is a sorry state of affairs. Like all good Brazilians and foreigners living in Brazil, I have shopped up piles of goodies and haven't room for an extra set of tweezers (although those might get me caught in customs for possible weaponry these days).
But if the airlines allowed just a wee bit more weight allowance, I'd pack up a few more books from the ultra edited selection at Anthropologie. (Do those folks do anything less than perfect?)
I suppose a wardrobe for Georgia and a few items of clothing for mom and dad are more important in fashion terms than some lovely books on style?
You can't go around naked, after all.
Yogurt. Olives. Feta Cheese. Spanakopita. Lamb. I can just smell the simmering pots in Vefa's kitchen. And I want the book. I am thinking of having a Greek banquet on my table when I get back home--a belly stuffing celebration of the mother of Mediterranean food and my mom, who heads to Greece this week.
We will all be on international flights on Wednesday. And since the destination isn't the same, I am hoping the frenzy of travel will lessen the aches and shorten the goodbyes.
Mom, your patient is a lucky one as I know what it is to be in your care. May your assignment in Athens be wonderful. xo
PS: I have been speaking with the Greek God of Hope, Elpis, about a possible visit to Greece (and to Felipe, too). The Gods are conspiring!
I know. I know. Another Georgia post...
Georgia misses her daddy. We have been away for 15 days now and all parties are feeling it. So, tonight, after a particular long round of confused "Daddy?" utterings, I kept G awake to catch Felipe on skype. Georgia greeted him wearing her new Wayfarer sunglasses. And he upped the entertainment ante--a private skype puppet show. The roster of stars included just about every toy in her sorely missed box. And if there were to be reviews in the morning paper, you can bet tonight's performance would be sold out.
Honey, you are a star. And I love you for it. xo
I miss my pressure cooker. Well, actually I don't miss that nerve-racking-about-to-blow-a-hot geyser-hole-in-your-ceiling-contraption. I just miss the beans and the rice, too. After two weeks of kiddy menus filled with fried chicken fingers, spaghetti, hamburgers and fries, fries, fries, Georgia must, too. Or probably not--she's a kid after all. But I really hope she does. Because that's what she is getting when we get back home. Period.
In Brazil, the lunch menu for the majority of the population, and especially the children consists of: rice and beans, chicken, meat, or fish, and a vegetable. And this is served day in and day out and usually without complaint. Because it's tasty. Because it's healthy (protein, carbs, iron, vitamins--check, check, check, check). Because it's economical. And because it's easy.
As the USA continues to struggle with obesity, I have to wonder if it is because of the lack of a food culture. Without a culture of food, you are left to choice. And there are so many bad ones to make. After several weeks of trying to think of nutritious choices for Georgia (and often not ordering off the kids menu), I feel like just another exhausted mom contemplating the drive-thru in a quest to spare my brain another round of decision making.
So I'm not preaching here. I don't know the solution. I am empathizing--and looking forward to serving a heaping portion of rice and beans to my family. Mmmmm.
