Travel Tips & Water Spritzing

I just came across an article about travel tips for dealing with long flights in one of my fashion magazines.  It was all about staying hydrated, eating the right foods, and there was something about “spritzing” water on your skin to help with the dry air.  I laughed.  

I just can't sit by and not comment, having gone what we just went through.

I have a travel trip that will get you through a long flight.  Try flying across the ocean with three little kids.  No wait, let’s make it easy.  Just start out with two.  If you need a challenge, then add in the third.  But at least one of them has to be a baby, toddler or two-year old.  Instead of bringing a water spritzer, bring extra clothes.  For everyone.  The goal is to not get "spritzed" by anything (like spilled drinks but most especially one of those little person's bodily fluids).  Put the extra clothes in one of your ten carry-on bags.  Trust me, when you show up at the airport with a gaggle of kids, they don't actually count everyone's carry-ons. 

Just try it once.  After that, anywhere you fly by yourself (without kids) will feel like a holiday.  Even if it's a really long flight, or you get stuck on a tarmac somewhere.  It will feel like paradise, just because you don't have kids with you.  You can talk to your spouse.  You can read the book you want to read, watch the movie you want to watch or listen to the music you want.  You won’t have a million pieces of carry-on luggage that you have to juggle while carrying a sleeping child.  You won’t have to wait at the door of the aircraft to pick up the stroller!

You might even have room to pack the little spritz bottle for the aforementioned “spritzing.”

American Boys

Usually, our annual trip back to the States is marked by culture shock reflections and finding humor in what we found remarkable.  As I mentioned the last time we were back in April, what was astonishing to me was the lack of culture shock we experienced upon our arrival in the U.S.  I commented as to how we seemed to have achieved some sort of balance between the two places – as if our hearts had achieved this ability to belong in both places at the same time. 

And like after our trip in April, I don’t have any of the standard cultural shock observations to share.  However, in our jet lagged fog the other night, I realize I have some observations of a different sort.  A reverse reaction so to speak.  I realized that this time, I am noticing  how American our children are upon returning.

A critical part of this immersion experience for us is keeping our children, well, Americans.  They have done such a good job at adapting and immersing themselves in their Belgian school and the European culture, that if we don’t work hard at nourishing their American roots, that part of the experience – the comparison that provides them (and us) with insight into our own culture by living in another – is less obvious.  Not only that, on a much more basic level, it will just make it very difficult to readapt and repatriate upon our move back.  And we all know that is coming at some point in the near (or not so near?) future.

 So here are a few observations from our first few days back in Belgium, and I will try to add to the list as we go along:

• The other night, as I pulled American a couple of cereal boxes out of duffle bags and put them on the counter (think Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops), the boys started singing the jingles for each accompanying cereal.  In fact, they also had at least a ten minute banter back and forth about a Toucan Sam commercial that resulted in them doubled over in hysterical laughter. (Keep in mind at ages 5 and 7 they are the target audience, and then throw in the jet lag  - it makes for a slaphappy kind of moment.)

• At one point, I came into the empty living room and was greeted by a loud television tuned into random coverage of a girl’s international softball contest.  It brought back childhood memories of the “Wide World of Sports” that used to air on Saturdays(?) and was always “on” in the background of a weekend afternoon growing up.

• Walking through the Amsterdam airport, the 7-year old saw the Burger King sign and declared that all he wanted was a burger.  (It was 5am local time).  Keep in mind that we were at the mercy of jet lag and suffering from completely wacky cravings at random times.  (No one in my family ate a single bite of airplane food the entire trip – except me who has learned that while traveling if presented with a gluten-free option at any point I have to take it as I never know where my next meal will come from.)  We succumbed to the kids’ craving and they all inhaled their food – which was better than the time in April where we sat at almost the same table and insisted that they try to eat the ultimately untouched croissants and fruit.  That morning’s “breakfast” was very much a transition moment, bridging one culture to the other.  My oldest even commented that it was not a very good burger at all and we explained that the Americans have the corner on the fast food industry.  (Seriously, though, how good could any airport Burger King burger really be at 5am??) But they all ate it, which was critical.  

 And now, as the jet lag fades, we are slowly but surely easing back into our life here.

U2 Baby!

I never in a million years would expect that I would be lucky enough to see U2 live in concert.  I mean, let’s face it, they are getting a little old.  Combine that with the steady decline in my own concert going attendance and the fact that I live my at-present expatriate life and the odds aren’t in my favor. 

More than a year ago (maybe two?), we got an early-on-sale email about U2 tickets.  The concert date was set for the end of June.  We would be pushing it to time it right with the end of the Belgian school year and our first few days of our summer vacation in Minnesota, but it was the first star to fall into place.  We shelled out for four tickets and made plans to go with my brother and his wife.

Then there was some sort of accident…a back surgery…(Bono’s, not mine) which lead to an indefinite postponement and shake-up with the ticket plans.  (Although, it’s not like they are hard tickets to get rid of).  We sold them to my brother’s friend.  But to be honest, it was a little bit of a relief not to have to pull the kids out of school early to try to get back with a plan to go to a concert on our first night back in the U.S. etc. etc. 

Living overseas, we never dreamed that the concert would get rescheduled for a time that we were going to be in town, but that’s exactly what happened.  Fortunately, my brother’s friend recognized the cosmic enormity of this occurrence and agreed to sell us back the tickets. 

Last Saturday night, I got to go to the concert of all concerts in my experience to date.

The anticipation in the Twin Cities built steadily throughout the week.  From the time the semi-trucks rolled into town, through the assembly of the massive stage, to the wary eye the meteorologists kept on the weather reports, as the concert date approached.  

It was a hot and steamy week.  Saturday morning brought a few thunderstorms and rain showers.  We were wishing that the heat and humidity would therefore be broken.  But it was not to be.  The forecasts called for showers and the ever-vigilant news media advised concertgoers to pack a “rain poncho,” diligently spreading the news that umbrellas would not be allowed into the stadium. 

(Side note to my Belgian/European friends that are following this story: the U.S. likes to have a lot of rules and regulations, especially when it comes to public venues and massive congregations of people.  Saturday night, it was something about no umbrellas). And I’m not even going to try to explain the concept of a “dry” stadium or elaborate on how we handled that. Anyway, I digress.

Back to the rain.  We live in Belgium.  We laughed.  If there is one thing I’ve learned over the last few years of living here, it’s that we don’t melt in the rain.  We have rain all the time.  And it’s usually a cold, damp, unpleasant rain.  The thought of a rain shower that would follow one of the hottest and steamiest weeks of summer weather that Minnesota has seen in decades, sounded just a little bit like heaven.

Here was the extent of our preparations:  I packed a plastic grocery bag inside my new, cool, painted leather, vintage purse.  The purpose of this was to keep said vintage purse and the contents thereof, dry in case of rain.  We also put a stack of towels and a change of clothes in the car so we wouldn’t have to drive home all wet and soggy in case predicted weather reports came true. Which of course you know by now that they did.

It was amazing.  The rain made it even better.  Just as we thought, it was a hot and steamy night.  An hour into the concert, it started to rain.  Everyone around us pulled out their plastic ponchos.  I pulled out my plastic bag and safely tucked away my purse, the cell phone and my camera.  It rained steady for the rest of the time, only letting up at the end.  The concert goers in our immediate vicinity were a stoic bunch.  Their eyes were fixed on the stage and occasionally they lifted back their hoods if weather conditions allowed for it.  Clapping at the appropriate times, of course.  We jumped and danced and tried not to knock into them too much.  And in the meantime, we forgot for a few hours that we left a whole bunch of kids at home with a babysitter and just got to be at a rock concert.  

I Hate Target.

I hate Target.

Did I really just say that out loud? My Americanized friends here in Belgium are going to be so mad at me for even thinking that, let alone saying it out loud.  That’s almost like saying “I hate Oprah.” Which I’m not saying at all but they are two sacred housewife brands that go hand in hand. 

Anyway.  So yes, I hate Target and here’s why:

When we go back to the U.S., I don’t pack any toiletries.  Here, toiletries are expensive.  (Let me rephrase: Here, everything is expensive.)  For example, a bottle of Pantene Shampoo or Conditioner costs about five euros per bottle (or more) and is roughly half the size of a U.S. bottle of the same stuff for about three dollars (on sale?).  Figure in the exchange rate, multiple that example by all of the various toiletries a family of five needs regularly and that adds up.  But then again, it doesn’t really make sense for me to buy suitcases full of toiletries to “stock-up” when I’m back in the U.S., as suitcase space is usually reserved for items that we can’t find here in Belgium.  A happy medium is to not bring any of the expensive toiletries from Belgium with to the U.S., and instead make a Target-run within a day or two of landing stateside. 

This year, on our very first morning in Minnesota, I found myself alone returning from the rental car pick-up.  The three kids and one very ecstatic grandma were happily getting reacquainted at a park.  I needed diapers.  I swung into one of the many Targets on my route home to “get a few things.” 

Do you have any idea how overwhelming it is walking into a Target after an extended hiatus?  In the past I have always mentally prepared myself for this.  Gone in with some sort of shopping strategy.  I don’t know why I thought I could go in for “just a few things.”  Maybe because we were just back in April and I wasn’t thinking that it would hit me so hard?  Or maybe it was because I hadn’t even been on U.S. soil for more than 12 hours and the jet lag buzz was still peaking. 

But seriously, I needed diapers!  And I was alone in the car without the three kids!  Talk about the stars lining up.  Just a few things or not, it was a chance early on in our vacation to knock a whole bunch of “stuff” off of our never-ending shopping list.

I will not even tell you what my bill came to.  I will tell you that it included the usual boxes of colored sugar cereals necessary for any good summer vacation, several grocery items, the whole range of aforementioned toiletries -- including suntan lotion and bug spray (neither of which we really need much of in Belgium) and a whole plethora of children’s medicines and topical creams that are unavailable or require a prescription here.  And of course the handful of random non-essential “spontaneous” purchases that Target is so very good at.  A small plastic serving platter in a whimsical summer pattern immediately comes to mind. 

And I know this will come as no surprise, but I almost forgot the diapers.

And I know that this will also not come as a surprise, (and maybe even redeem my reputation back here in Brussels among the expat community), but we’ve been back home for roughly seven hours and I’ve already caught myself saying “I miss Target.”  More than once.  I guess I will have to add it to my love/hate relationship list.    

Home Again Home Again

Last year, we had absolutely terrible flights back and forth to the United States with the now 2.5 year-old.  If you are new to the blog, let me flashback.  She was 18 months old – old enough to be one of the newest members of the movers and shakers, a toddler with the newfound freedom of movement. But she was too young to understand that everyone had to sit with seatbelts fastened at the same time when that little red light said so.  She was in a car seat, which gave her long legs the perfect distance to “lock” and push against the chair in front of her.  It was awful.  My one saving grace, the thing that got me through, was to repeatedly remind myself (every second of every minute if I had to) that it was a finite period of time.  Time, thankfully, does not stand still.  No matter how awful it was, the seconds would keep on ticking by until enough of them had passed that the experience would be over.  I kept telling myself that eventually, the plane would land and we would be on the ground.

Today, though, time stood still.  At one point, I glanced up at that map at the front of the plane that said “Local Time at Departure: 19:03”; “Time Remaining: 3 hours 52 minutes.”  I think it said that for a good two hours.  I was so relieved when I finally realized that it had stopped working.  It made me think that it would be a good concept for a horror movie – to be on a plane where time just stops and it goes forever.  It would certainly be one of my worst nightmares come true.

This year on our annual summer vacation to the U.S., our flights were much easier.  For the most part.  My favorite moment from our flight home, was when I turned to the toddler and asked her what she was excited to see at her house.  She very seriously answered “my kitchen.”  It was one of those little moments of insight where they express something that's important to them.  And sure enough, when we walked in the door, she made a bee-line for her little pink sink and stove.

My least favorite moment was the taxi along the runway at Schipol, Amsterdam airport.  She woke up just before landing.  And it was the “shocked, I don’t understand where I am or what I’m doing here” sort of wake-up.  She screamed.  A lot.  And about the time we started the taxi in along the runway – which by the way, takes a good 20 minutes in Amsterdam – she was in a full-fledged temper tantrum unlike any I’ve ever seen in any of my kids.  Screaming, choking, and gagging (which sent fears of vomiting rushing through my mind).  Her back was arched, she reacted violently to any sort of touch, forget the seat belt at that point (she had wriggled down and almost chocked herself with it in an effort to get to the floor) so I pulled her on my lap and restrained her as best I could.  I was proud of myself for keeping calm, for not raising my voice, for tuning out every other person around me (even if most of the stares were sympathetic) and tried to just focus on doing whatever might help my distraught toddler.  I also managed to successfully divert the clawing scratches and thumping kicks (not only for myself but on behalf of anyone else within range). 

Thankfully, when that plane FINALLY reached the gate, and that all-important “ding” sounded to alert us that the “fasten seatbelt sign” had been turned off, she settled down and realized (between hiccups and shallow breaths) that her temporary nightmare was over.  

Exhausted and relieved, we started to pack-up our many, many belongings.  That was about the time that the guy behind me reached up to retrieve his carry-on from the overhead bin and then proceeded to drop it.  On me.  No worries, though, my head and back successfully broke its fall.  I’m sure by the look on his face, that his thought process was along the lines of “Oh my God, of all the people this thing could have fallen on, it was the poor mother who has been restraining the crazy kid for the last 30 minutes.”  Actually, though, I think he did me a favor.  It was a really good release to have a valid reason to publicly shed a few tears.  

I noticed this afternoon, that the top envelope on my junk mail stack was from our local grocery store.  The envelope advertised that we could be the winners of a trip to New York City!  I immediately threw it in the trash without opening it. 

Addendum:  It’s 6:59pm (18h59).  The toddler just shouted down the stairs “Mamma? It bedtime now?”  When do two-year olds ever ask that?  It is now 7:40pm (19h40).  Every single one of my kids crawled into bed on their own and is already snoring.  I set each one of them up with a flashlight and a stack of books along with specific instructions:  when you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, use your flashlight to read until you get tired again.  What do you suppose the over/under odds are on that actually working? 

My New/Old Blog

So.  I went to load a computer update the other day and got a message that my computer was full.  I guess that four years of blog entries on my mac account will do that.  Therefore, I am converting.

This will be my new blog spot - and I suppose that this move makes me an official "blogger."  But since I want to be a writer when I grow up, that's not necessarily a bad thing.

There will be a few changes.  Names will be changed to protect the innocent.  Sort of.  I will just be a little more anonymous than before.  And I will be careful not to rant and rave as much.  Ha.  I was always careful not to rant and rave.  More like question and reflect.  Hopefully, though, it will still be as entertaining as it always was.  So without further ado, welcome to my new/old blog and I'll get to it.