It's Halloween

It's Halloween friends!  Here they call it "Dia das Bruxas" or Day of the Witches.  It's not really a Brazilian holiday, but one they are taking on as a result, I'm sure, of influences from other locations (say, the US?).  American pop culture has a strong hold here, and lots of movies, magazines and TV shows feature Halloween content this time of year.  I've been told celebration of Halloween gains popularity every year in Brazil.   In a way, it reminds me of Cinco de Mayo in the US.  An imported holiday starting as an excuse for Mexican restaurants to have a special and eventually turning up everywhere.

However, Halloween is celebrated quite differently here.  When I think of Halloween, I think of adorable little pumpkins, cowboys, supermans and princesses politely ringing my doorbell with requests for treats.  Here it is blood, gore, and all of the things we, in my house at least, avoid about the holiday. 

At least one school that I know of in our town is celebrating Halloween today, complete with costumes. (Thankfully for mom, that is not our school!)  I've seen some posters and decorations, even a few costumes in the stores.   They are witches, zombies, mummies, ghosts and so on.  Absolutely nothing cute.  Absolutely nothing I would allow even my 6-year-old to wear.

Last year we had a few high school aged kids trick-or-treat at our house, for which we were entirely unprepared.  As a result, this year I have a few things on hand.  But, it has been pouring rain all day.  I can't say I'm disappointed.  The pranksters won't even get started with the doorbell ringing until long after my kids are in bed.

So, how do we, as Americans in a foreign land, maintain our traditions for this (admittedly unimportant) holiday without taking on a great influence of the gore it's laden with in Brazil?

Simply, we celebrate at home.  I baked a squash and saved the seeds.  We glued them onto pumpkins that we cut out of orange paper.  I taught M how to make those cute little klennex ghosts and they adorn our house.  D cut out a few pumpkins and bats, H painted paper orange and we cut it into a pumpkin shape.  We baked cut out cookies and decorated them with Halloween sprinkles which we brought from the States. We won't have costumes, and we won't trick-or-treat.  But thanks to our Grandmas and DaddyHealy's recent trip back to the States, we have an ample supply of Halloween candy.  So much, indeed, that we decided to share some of these American favorites with our other American friends.  We made a bag for each American kid in town and put a little of this and a little of that, to sort of spread the joy of having candy corn and pixie stix this Halloween.   After school we plan to reverse trick-or-treat, and deliver these treats to our friends without any tricks.

Oh, and just for fun, at lunch time, we ate candy corn and pretended it was our vegetable.  Tee-Hee.  That is funny stuff when you are 4.  Happy Halloween everyone!

My Girl

There are an awful lot of reasons why I love this girl, and surprisingly, they have little to do with just how completely adorable she is.  Granted, I do love the ringlet curl piggy tails, I love how 'Little House on the Prairie' she looks when she wears braids.  I love that when I look at her, I am reminded of the gorgeous face and deep blue eyes that initially drew me to my husband.  But, those are reasons so very minor in the big picture of my amazing little girl.

She is a very dedicated little person.  When she decides on a path (for better or for worse) she carries it through.    She stands up for kids in her class when they are being picked on.  She adores H (when they're not fighting) and loves to play "mommy" or "teacher" to her.  She is very dedicated to animals.  She adores dogs.  She loves pink, and when she grows up she's either going to be a princess, or a dog, or maybe a dog princess.  Although her actions don't always reflect it, she loves Jesus passionately.  She remembers very little in the way of details and things about the US, but people are deeply imbedded in her mind.  She has shown the most stress out of our 3 kids over the changes we've experienced in moving here, but she has also been the most accepting.  She'll try anything and she's not afraid of something new.

 

She loves crafts and drawing.  It has been amazing watching the development in her over the past year.  Her drawings are taking shape.  They have more organization.  They have identifiable meanings.  It's something she learned on her own, and I love that it evolved without me telling her that she needs to add hands and fingers to her stick people, or that the sky has to be blue (because sometimes it IS purple, and if she had made the world it definitely would have been pink).

 

Someone here called her a "free spirit," and I guess I see what they mean.  But because I know her more intimately, I think of her as a lost spirit.  She has energy that needs to be channeled.  Love that needs to be returned.  Fears that need to be calmed and she craves reassurance.  She has admiration she needs to express, and talents she needs to share.  And although I find it hard as a stay at home mother of 3 to truly focus on the needs of any one child, I see an incredible need, and an incredible possibility to mold her and guide her into a wonderful, loving, sharing, and God-fearing human being. 

 

I recently realized just how much she needs to be heard.  She talks a lot (ok, all the time) and so we find her the easiest to --I hate to say 'ignore' but if I'm honest, that's really what it is.  I pick her up from school talking and I walk out of her bedroom after prayers and a lullaby knowing she's not going to stop taking until I'm out of sight.  She doesn't like sitting in the back of the van, because her brother and sister monopolize the conversation closer to the front.  She interrupts dinner conversation continually with "Excuse me, can I talk?"  She talks loud.  She talks constantly during family movie night. Sometimes other people in the family need to talk too and so we just have to push her mute button.  (I know, my parents are laughing about sweet karma right now.)  But it's been my new mission to really listen to her.  I am trying to carve out time in the day to just let her say all that she needs to say.  I want her to know her thoughts and her words are valuable.  And I am not naive enough to believe she'll then be quiet the rest of the day, but at least she'll know I heard her, and I love being with her.  Because I do.

Setting up her animal parade

Her favorite toy is a collection of Playmobil sets, primarily animals.  She sets them up in scenes and family groups.  She acts out birthday parties with them,  She rescues them from danger.  There is no animal that she doesn't love.  The only thing she really wants to do while we are living in Brazil is visit the Amazon.  Unfortunately, it's not exactly a family destination.  But we're trying to get her as much nature and wildlife as we can while we're here. 

Since we've now been living in Brazil for just over 1 year, here is a reminder of the little one who she was when we left the States, both pictures taken within the first few weeks in her new home.

She was helping me make teething biscuits for H.  Better than playdough!

She'd almost always rather be outside.

Her bedtime prayer last night ended with: "...and thank you God for horses, and cats, and ducks, and dogs, and sheep, and baby sheep, and 1-year-old sheep, and 2-year-old sheep, and lions, and mommy lions, and all the wild animals, and just keep them safe! Amen!"

 

There is no doubt in my mind.  She will change the world some day.

For the Record...

For the record, I just wanted to share that the method of choice here for transporting gasoline is without a doubt an empty 2 liter bottle.  I see people everywhere with recycled Coke bottles full of gas....carrying them on foot, even on motorcycle.  I am sure they must have gas cans here, but I have never actually seen one.

Theology for Four-Year-Olds

I am sure we all have our own visual image of things divine.  How do you picture God, Heaven, the pearly gates?

I was putting M to bed tonight when she started asking some questions about the end of the world.  Will everyone go to heaven?  Will Jesus show us the way? How will we get there? Will we fly in an airplane?  What about the people who don't believe in Jesus? Are they going with the devil to be hurt there?  What is he like? Does he look like a regular Tasmanian devil?

"Winter" Fruits

"Winter" and "Fruit" don't exactly go together in my northern upbringing, but here there is a whole array of tasty things to be found in the cooler months, and there is no need to go to the grocery store.  Over the months of July, August, and September, our wonderful maid, Loraine, brought us a variety of fruits she picked on the way to work. 

I really need to clarify this, because essentially, she was picking other people's fruit.  It bothered me a lot in the beginning, and it still does, but I have come to know it as common and acceptable.  In our town (in most neighborhoods), it is required to have a sidewalk and appropriately spaced trees planted along the roadside.  A lot of people plant fruit trees.  It's practical, really, if you must plant anyway, and they generally don't grow to an overwhelming size, so they are manageable long term.  Keep in mind that these trees are on the sidewalk, and outside of a person's gate or fence around their house.

It seems that every one helps themselves to whatever appeals to them, and though I have not taken other people's fruit myself, Loraine keeps us well supplied. 

Over the winter she brought these fun new fruits for us to try:

Loraine calls these "ameixa inverno" or winter plums. They are tiny (see spoon for scale), and have to be peeled. There are also several seeds clumped together in the middle. It's a lot of work for not a lot of fruit. But H loves them. She calls them "fruita," which means fruit, because Loraine always tells her (in Portuguese) "I brought you some fruita for your snack today." They come in sweet and sour varieties, and unless you planted the tree yourself, you don't know what kind you're picking until you try it.




 

We call these blackberries, and the name is pretty accurate, considering the color. They also taste very similar to a North American blackberry. However, one does not have to fight thorny bushes to enjoy these berries. The grow on trees! All over town!  All of the kids eat them, but especially the girls adore them.



 

There are plenty of things to report for spring fruits too, that I am anxious to share soon.  And summer is not far away.  Recently, Loraine told me it won't be long and I won't have to buy mangos anymore.  I know what she is getting at, the house next door has 4 trees loaded with tiny mangos.  It's far more than any household could dream of using, but I am not sure I'll be able to bring myself to "steal" them.  But maybe I won't have to.  It's on Loraine's walk to work.  Most likely, they'll end up on my kitchen counter daily.





The Up Side

Our 2 months without a driver's license were not exactly what you might imagine.  Although we could not drive, we could use taxis or have a driver drive our vehicle, neither of which are particularly convenient, considering carseats, schedules, and so on.  But it was an option, at least. We never really left our small town in those two months.  Shopping or dining in a different city was out of the question.  We went where we really needed to go, and the rest of the time we stayed home.  Most of the time, we made use of our own two feet.  We covered a lot of ground.  For the majority of the time, I walked the kids too and from school.  It's a 5 minute drive, but with kids, a stroller and hills, it's about a 40 minute walk. 

But you know what?  We had a LOT of time to talk.  We counted animals.  We made dinner menus.    We had little races to "the next telephone pole."  We talked about the school day.  We found familiar faces to smile at every day.  We went on bear hunts.  (We sometimes stopped for icecream on the way home!) We noticed things we had never noticed before while going the same route in a car.  For me, at least, it was a blessing in disguise.  It was hard to notice it at the time, but looking back I miss that time.  Sure, it was hard to get anything else done when I spent so much time walking the town.  Dinner was always late.  I don't miss walking to the grocery store.  But those minutes, those uninterrupted minutes gave us wonderful time together.  As a bonus, the long walk home meant by the time we arrived, we had walked, run and danced all our ya-yas out. 

I'm not sure why, but it doesn't seem possible to find those minutes to just talk and just be together now that we are driving again.  I miss it, and M must too, because yesterday she asked me if we could walk to school today.  And maybe we will.  But at least it's a choice we can make. 

Liberated

It's just a little piece of paper.  It's not even really laminated.  But over the course of the past 3 months I have learned just how valuable, how important, and how just out of reach such a little piece of paper.

This is my Brazilian driver's license.  To make the story brief, you can drive here legally for a very limited time on a foreign license.  Our time was up (along with all other Americans here for the Company throughout Brazil) quite a while ago, and although everyone had always "looked the other way," regarding having this legal document, in the end of July we were all instructed to do no more driving until we had our Brazilian driver's license.  Until last week, I have not driven our car in Brazil since July.

 

If you are thinking..."go to the DMV, stand in line like everyone else, take the 20 question test, write your check for $8, and drive yourself home," then you have highly underestimated the bureaucracy of the Brazilian government.

 

Overall the process of obtaining a license took me just a few days shy of 2 full months.   Because we have a driver's license from the States, we were spared the 20 hours of  expensive and time consuming "practical training" (driving lessons) that Brazilians are required to take.  Our process began with getting our US driver's license "translated" by an official government authority.  Then it had to be verified and notarized. (think: more time, more money) We provided a variety of paperwork proving identity, residency, etc.  Eventually, we were cleared to begin our "training" in a Brazilian driving school.  We had to pass a "medical exam" which was really just an eye test, and a psychological exam. (yes, a psych exam for a driver's license!) 

 

Following that, we were required to spend between 24 and 6 hours in class time, depending on who you were, who your teacher was, what day it was and how well you convinced someone of making it easy on you.  (By the way, Brazilians are required 42 hours of lecture time).  These are the "theoretical" classes to teach driving.  At the end of said classes there was no test.  None. Zero.  No attention, retention, or even understanding required.  Off goes the paperwork, a week later (maybe more, depending on how often you call to check, and who your friends are) your license is available for pick up. 

Honestly, the overall process was not difficult.  In those 2 months it took to get my license, only 5 days required any action on my part.  The only thing required of me was to have an extraordinary amount of patience.  I did a lot of waiting...a lot.  And not always as patiently as I expect my kids to wait for my attention, by the way.

I did, however, love my driving classes.  I found it ironic that I was picked up for class by a taxi driver who never wore his seatbelt, talked on the cell most of the time he was driving and only stopped at one of the 5 stop signs we went through on the way to class.

At class I spent about 25% of the time looking up words in my Portuguese/English dictionary, I spent another 25% of the time passing around the shared cup of chimarrão (traditional hot beverage traditionally passed around and shared, even with strangers), the rest of the time I was busily in a state of awe at the things they were teaching.  As it turns out, holding your baby in your lap in the front seat is neither safe, nor legal.  (You would not believe the people who argued this point with the instructor).  They instructed us as to when you should actually stop at a stop sign (because the answer is NOT "always!")  They discussed the best process for passing over a speed bump (we have plenty in town), in which states you can bribe a police officer, that it is illegal to talk on the cell phone, eat, or drink anything at all while driving, and so on.  The classes themselves amused me.  I even picked up a few things that I didn't know after a year of driving here. 

The annoying thing was there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the process of obtaining the license.  Step 1 took some people days and some people weeks to complete.  The variation on hours of class time required was ridiculous.  The fact that DaddyHealy had a lengthy multiple choice test in his psychological exam, and mine was to simply write paragraphs about myself, anything I wished to write, seems absurd.  It was bothersome that the number of times you call or complain had a significant impact on processing time.  I was shocked, yet relieved, that you do not have to pass any exam, nor even have any understanding of basic driving rules and regulations in order to receive the license.   But, we learned a lot...not so much about driving, but some language, a lot of culture and an infinite amount about practicing patience. 



Taking Full Advantage...

It was probably too cold, but just to say we did it, we went swimming in August, just a few days after we got back from the States.  Remember, we're on opposite seasons.  So think of it as swimming in February.  We had a hot day, with still chilly water.  We lasted longer than I expected, but eventually the water froze us out.  But we did it.  There were only 2 months in the year we did not swim. Yay!

 

The kids have been taking swimming lessons since we got back.  I use the term "lessons" loosely.  But it has been keeping them exposed to the water, and perhaps challenging them to try some things they wouldn't try at home.

DaddyHealy makes it his mission to thoroughly mix up the pool.

Perhaps the smartest of the bunch, M knows that even when the sun is not shining, the tile around the pool is very warm due to sun exposure earlier in the day.  She is laying here to warm up.

The Perfect Ending

I had so much more to say about our time in the US, but as time and life got between those three weeks and now, so much of it has turned into just a feeling.  A very happy feeling indeed, but one I can no longer put into words. 

Fittingly, we spent our last hours in the States at the zoo we always loved and frequented when we lived on the prairie.  It was H's first time.  M had no memories of being there.  D, of course, knew the map by heart, even though he was only 4 when he last visited.  We fit in as much as we could before we had to leave for the airport.  It doubled as more time with special people. Building, building, building memories. 

H still talks about this visit.  She often wakes in the morning and tells me about "petting the sheeps."

D always was good at a peacock call...one of those formative skills he learned from DaddyHealy.  He likes to see if he can get a response.  Sometimes he does.



They all wanted to feed the giraffes.  Not surprisingly, M is the only one who actually let the tongue (look at it!) grasp the leaves from her hand.



It was her first visit to a zoo that she wasn't sleeping through.  We don't have anything like this here.  But now, suddenly, all those wild animals we read about in books have come alive for her.

At one point she just gave up.  As much as she wanted to see & do more, she couldn't.  The whole trip was exhausting for her (for us all!) and I regret that she still hasn't seen a live penguin (she slept through that part) and she missed the gorillas.  But, then again, she has seen more in her tender 2 years than her peers here in Brazil will probably ever see.



Grammy & Grandpapa stealing last minutes to hold her tight.

Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday

 

Some girls have all the luck.  Our H had 3, seriously, 3 birthday parties.  Three birthday cakes.  Three singings. Three days of presents.  Three times over the star of the show.  She loved it, every bit of it.  In fact, in one case when she was enjoying a piece of leftover birthday cake, she asked me to sing Happy Birthday to her. 

I have never seen her more excited about a birthday gift in my life.  An Aunt with really good taste earns more points.

Her first Brazilian birthday, with a sunshine cake and a candle that sent up fireworks and wouldn't blow out. (In the future I'll be reading packages more carefully.)

H's Michigan birthday cake, which was amazing, compliments of Aunt S.

We don't often get to celebrate our birthdays with cousins, so this was a special occasion indeed, 15 gathered around Grandma's big Amish oak table.

I love this look, frosting on her chin and making sure everyone at her Kansas birthday knows SHE is the queen for the day.

Pony Rides

I grew up with horses, and some days I wish the same for our little ones, especially M who is so taken by animals.  Our lives are far too transient to be pet owners at the moment.  Maybe it is in our future, and maybe not.  But in the meantime, we have some generous relatives who share their pony Easter.  I am sad to say I wasn't there to see the first time either D or M rode a pony.  But these are their memories, theirs and Grammy's

Grammy

We have a book.  Grandma's are for Giving Tickles.  The time we spent in the States just really brought that book to life for the girls.  It's not that M didn't remember her grandmas.  She certainly did, but she didn't have a bank of memories of spending time with them the way D did.  I wish I could find the book just now to quote it exactly, but generally it lists the special things grandmas do, like giving tickles, letting you stay up late, making the best hot chocolate, thinking you're the star of every show, answer all your questions, reading extra bedtime stories....  The week was filled with it.  All of it.  These pictures are precious to me.  We could make our own book.


H getting her tickles.

M securing that extra bedtime story.

Bribery

She actually told us she's not above bribery.  It worked.  First, The Wiggles on the I-Pad, then her ice cream.  She found our baby's weak spots and succeeded in using them to gain a fair amount of lap time.

H is shy, and she doesn't like unfamiliar people, I guess unless they have ice cream.

I-What?

We don't have an I-Phone, and I-Pad or anything else beginning with a trademarked "I."  We are, however, lucky enough to have an aunt who is cool enough to own (and share!) an I-Pad.  Is there anything it can't do?  She pulled up something for everyone....Cars games, animal games, The Wiggles, constellation trackers.... It could honestly keep a kid entertained for hours.  (That includes 39-year-old kids.) Then again, maybe that's why we don't have one.

 

Tub Time

I have some serious bath babies.  They all love a good soak.  (Can you blame them?)  One of the big appeals on our visit to the States was the ability to take a bath.  Here they shower, or squeeze into the tiny baby tub.  Everyone took a bath the first day we arrived in the US, and that evening one of the kids asked if they could take another bath.  At first I said no, and then after a quick thought, why not?  So yes, they took an awful lot of baths those 3 weeks.  The cleanest they've been in a while!

M loved floating in the tub, she was so excited to fit head to toe!

What really got my attention is the afternoon I found the girls, fully dressed, sitting and playing in the bathtub void of water. 

Beach Baby, Part 2

So, now we are out of order, but here is my other favorite picture from our US trip, and our 15 minutes on the beach.

How I Stock My Kitchen

I don't claim to be any sort of gourmet chef, but I think I can hold my own in the kitchen.  We eat pretty well, and pretty fresh.  It's not as if chicken nuggets have never graced a child's plate in my house, but I try to make that kind of thing the exception, not the rule.  Before we came, I was pretty confident that, for the most part, we eat whole foods.  It turns out that is not entirely the case, but generally speaking, making meals with simple ingredients has not been an issue for us.  That's good news, because it's the processed stuff that is (unhealthy, obviously) unavailable or extremely expensive here.  You can eat cheap, if you eat whole grains, legumes, meat, fruit and vegetables.  Processing hikes up the price at an alarming rate.

Our diet has certainly changed, in ways that I would have expected (enter rice and beans, tropical fruit) and in ways I didn't expect (snickers bars!). 

Generally, I make everything from scratch here.  We eat Brazilian, we eat American, and somedays we eat somewhere in between.  We have our small supply of highly guarded peanut butter and hidden valley ranch, but here is what I've moved to in the last 11 months:

I make my own broth.
I make my own spaghetti sauce, white sauce, casserole base.
I make my own salsa.
I make a lot of tomato-based products from fresh tomatoes.
I make homemade mac & cheese.
I make my own croutons.
I make my own bread crumbs.
I make imitation maple syrup with maple flavoring we brought from the States.
I made my own seasoning salt, poultry seasoning, and other spice "mixes."
I make (healthier and tastier) chicken nuggets.
I make granola bars.
I make "reeses" peanut butter bars.
I chop chocolate bars for chocolate chip cookies.
I make our salad dressing.
Oatmeal is our most common breakfast food.
I make marinade, BBQ sauce, and the like.
I've even tried homemade wheat thins.
I make nothing from a "packet mix."
We eat dried beans that need to be soaked overnight.
We pop our popcorn on the stovetop.
We make a Brazilian BBQ, or Churrasco, on weekends when we have time.
I scan internet websites for old faithfuls and new ideas using basic ingredients.
I have an "fake-it" cookbook that has cured some major cravings.
When something we love hits the store, I stock up in a way that is shocking to cashier.
We beg favors of travelling friends and grandmas ;) to bring us things we can't find here, peanut butter, good coffee, certain spices, tahini, etc.

We've had a love-hate relationship with favorite products.  The kids fell in love with a whole grain cereal bar I found, but once we shared the info with fellow ex-pats, we collectively bought out the store and have never seen more.  Learning our lesson, if we find a favorite product, we never let it sit on the shelf.  You hate to fall in love with a product, becuase you may never find it again.  Here is a list of things we rarely see, but if we do find (usually in a larger town) we stock up like you wouldn't believe:
previously mentioned cereal bars
tortillas
mexican food products of any sort
canned tomato products, such as sauce, diced, whole peeled, paste
chimichurri
sundried tomatoes
seedless grapes
blueberries (extremely rare, and extremely expensive)
celery
feta cheese
cottage cheese
cream cheese
pecans
vanilla extract
salsa  (!a new discovery at a store 1 hr away!)
tabasco sauce
one of our 3 usual cereals
greek yogurt

I find, however, that I am drawn by the lure of American made products.  If I see something from home I have an overwhelming urge to buy it.  Whether or not I have ever bought it in the States is irrelevant.  I cannot explain this phenomenon, other than I guess it's just a bit of gripping to the familiar.  Case in point, I can remember about 2 times in my life I have bought a snicker's bar, but when we were shopping at Sam's Club here (yes! They have Sam's Club! Too bad it's about 7 hours away), we saw snicker's bars.  I do not know what possessed me, but I put, not one, but two Sam's Club packages of snickers bars in our cart.  The same goes for any number of other "familiar" items.  Part of it is surely that it makes me feel closer to home.  The other part is probably the uncertainty of  never knowing if I'll ever see it again.

And so, we have a high shelf stocked with American products that I bought in bulk and on impulse, or someone lovingly hand carried for us.  We have a middle shelf full of staples that I bought in large quantities because they are our favorites, and then there is the rest, which is what we eat every day.

We have a fruiteria, a sort of fruit market, where I prefer to buy my produce, which really is my favorite part of eating here.