Camille came home from school on Sunday and proudly declared, “I didn’t cry at all today! No tears and no puffy eyes.” Let’s ignore the fact that school started in August and it’s now October and it took that long to get to a tear free day. God bless Ms. Hamid, Miss Lea (the bus lady), and me. (And the teacher’s aid and the Arabic teacher and the music teacher and her friends and anyone else who was part of The Crying Game these past few months.)
She still prefers Bahrain and at every turn compares her old school to her new one. “In Bahrain we didn’t have to go to school in January.” (Yes, she did.) “In Bahrain, my school was a lot shorter.” (She gets home at 4 instead of 3:10, so it is a little longer.) “In Bahrain I saw my brothers every day and at my new school I never see them.” (That is true, but probably the only thing that is truly better about her old school compared to this one.)
It reminds me of when Mom and Dad moved us from Oakland down to Laguna Niguel in Orange County. We loved Oakland and didn’t want to leave, but to someone looking in from the outside they would have assumed we were happy to be rescued from the ghetto and dropped into the middle of Southern California paradise. Complaints like, “There are too many white people here” or “How many Target strip malls do you need right next to each other?” or “All these houses look alike. It’s boring.” might have seemed crazy to them, but it made perfect sense to us.
I’m not sure how much more I’m going to be able to blog. Abu Dhabi is the Laguna Niguel of the Middle East. Or Beverly Hills 90210 without the drama. I drive around and it looks like a flat version of Crown Valley Parkway. Perfectly timed stoplights intersecting palm tree lined streets with housing developments and gated communities tucked away on the side streets. Shopping malls everywhere. No Target, but we have Jamba Juice, Five Guys, Baja Fresh, Old Navy, Gap, Victoria’s Secret, Cold Stone, Chili’s and any other chain you could possibly want. Except Chipotle and In N Out. Everything is so normal.
After 4 years in Bahrain, life there seemed a little pedestrian, but moving here is almost a transplant to the US, with the added advantage of being removed from political news. And people wear a bit more clothing here than in CA. Or maybe a lot more clothing, it’s been a while since we’ve been back. Camille was pointing out the v-neck cut in her swimsuit and saying, “This is too low. It shows too much of my . . . you know.” Yes, your collarbone? That’s perfectly all right. I don’t think your Land’s End swimsuit is too risqué. #MiddleEastproblems
I have funny family stories, but they aren’t just mine to share anymore. I have one about a kid who was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do and then the way he attempted to fix the situation was not what I envisioned when I coached him through the plan . . . it was easier when they were younger and didn’t care that I was writing about them.
Putting that out there so I don’t leave anyone hanging. I either need new material or a pair of fresh eyes. Or a private blog so I can write all the stories now and then release them when the kids are grown and don’t care anymore.
I’m almost finished unpacking — the bomb dropped a week ago and I’m 96% finished. I haven’t found a place for everything yet, even after buying out half of IKEA to store all the kids’ treasures and Josh’s clothes. But I’m really close. Daily life is the kids at school, me trying to get myself to the gym (I’m only averaging 2 days/week right now), and then we have Rugby, swimming lessons, soccer, Awana, home group bible study and other activities spread throughout the week. For the first time they aren’t all doing the same thing so it feels different having everyone going in different directions. Caleb is rugby, Calvin is soccer, Carter and Camille are swimming . . . thankfully we have both an after school activities bus and a cheap taxi system so that cuts down on some of the extra driving.
Working on making this place home. I’m content, but still looking for a purpose. And something to write about.