Author: Robin Chartier

My vague sense of frustration today is how to know when to intervene in a situation in your child’s life and when to sit back and let things shake out as they will. Generally I have them handle their own stuff relating to school, but this past week Josh and I got all kinds of involved with Calvin’s school schedule. For his Junior year he opted to enter a very difficult academic program that spans 2 years, but when we found out that we’ll be moving at the end of this year we decided to pull the rip cord on the parachute and bail. We had to move fast because this week is the beginning of second semester and the last week that classes can be changed.

I say “we” because Calvin wasn’t sure what to do and I was very sure that this was the right thing for him and for the well being of the entire family. I wasn’t convinced he should go for the harder track in the first place and a semester of mediocre test scores and highs and lows as his grades went up and down confirmed that this was not a rollercoaster that I wanted to ride for another semester. So we quit. I went in and we met with his counselor who was very kind and supportive, but disappointed (which is why I went. So he couldn’t be talked back into staying with the more difficult schedule) and she helped us trade IB Biology for Physics for Dummies (not called that, but the physics teacher came into the office to make sure that I knew that this was a “Mickey Mouse class” well below his level, Theory Of Knowledge for Computer Gaming, and Information Technology for a Global Society turned into Photoshop. It’s what you do when every other class is full. He kept 3 of his Honors classes and subbed European History for Government so it’s not a complete downgrade, but enough of one that we should notice an improvement in his stress level for second semester. (And therefore, mine.)

Additionally, as he was going over the graduation requirements at the school he’ll be attending next year so he could pick classes that would meet those requirements, he noticed that because they have a Fine and Performing Arts emphasis, they offer classes like guitar, Advanced Chorus, Drama, and all sorts of other things that he is passionate about and now he’s very excited to be headed there. Praise God. Things are looking brighter already.

So there’s one more situation that is causing stress and frustration for him (sports related) and I’m leaning toward advising him to cut his losses and move on. I know we’ve done a good job of teaching him that life is not fair and we don’t always get what we want or deserve, but I also want to teach him to stand up for himself, to have pride in what he does, and to know when his efforts aren’t appreciated it’s OK to walk away. Or do I let him get banged up some more (emotionally) and persevere? For how long?

I was never a quitter, to a fault, and that’s just as unhealthy as quitting as soon as something gets hard. I figure if I’m ready to quit, then we must be well past the point of reasonableness. And I think I just figured out what to do . . .

I’m sitting on the floor in my pjs, surrounded by passports, birth certificates, immunization records, and visa information and scanning the documents one by one. We don’t have orders in hand, but we’ve been given verbal notice that we will be moving this summer so that means I have a mountain of paperwork to tackle to get the kids registered for school next year. I’ve already spent 3 hours on it and I’m only a fraction of the way through. I say this every time we move, but doing everything times 4 really becomes a logistical nightmare. At least since it’s all submitted electronically this time I’m not getting cramps in my hand from filling out forms times 4. On the flip side, it would be faster to do it by hand since my internet has been stupid lately. (like right now when I’m trying to publish this post and it’s down again.)

Scan Camille’s passport, upload to school database. Scan Caleb’s passport, upload to school database. Internet dropped out midway through the upload. Log back in, get back to Caleb’s application, find his passport scan, attach and upload and cross my fingers that it will go this time. Figure out how to turn a jpeg into a PDF so that I can submit Calvin’s passport in the proper format since he’s out of the country in Germany this week for a school conference and has his passports with him. I can wait until he gets back, but I work better when I have momentum and when I can do each section for all the kids at the same time.

Josh came home over the weekend. Just in time to save me from a big water leak in the kitchen. The dishwasher broke while he was gone and the repair people came to fix it and then reconnected it improperly so anytime we turned on the kitchen faucet water would run out of the pipes below the sink. Good times. And the internet is still spotty, but at least he’s around to commiserate and share my pain.

I know I haven’t said where we are moving. I didn’t forget. Knowing the Marine Corps and how things can always change, I’m reluctant to share it until it’s in black and white, hard copy orders. If I told you where we might be moving, then yes, that’s where we’re going. The reason there’s a rush to get the school admission forms completed is because the kids are applying to a American private school where there’s a long waiting list, but because they are US military kids they have priority for any available spots until March 1st. So I’m taking the verbal, “expect to get orders to XXXX soon” as confirmation and running with it.

3 hours later and I’m still working. At least in the downtime while I wait for each piece to be added to our electronic application (grrr, it just kicked me off again while I was uploading Carter’s shot record scans — maybe this next country will have more reliable internet, but I doubt it.) I got this blog post written and discovered there was a Beyonce Super Bowl controversy (really?) and checked in on the US election updates which I’ve decided are best viewed from afar.

Next up? School transcripts, standardized test scores, teacher evaluations/references, passport photos . . . times 4.

You know it’s going to be a bang-up day when it starts with you googling “cat diarrhea.” Thankfully the cat is actually using the box to take care of this business or I’d have an even bigger problem on my hands. It figures that his digestive distress would start up right after I took him to the vet for his annual checkup. He was such a brat at the doctor that he will have to be at death’s door for me to ever take him back. I’m still healing from the scratches that he inflicted on my forearms and neck from when I had to hold him down while she tried to take his temperature. We didn’t succeed. I have freakishly strong, panicky animals. (We went through the same ridiculousness with the dog last month.)

I told the vet about his inappropriate peeing and based on his general pissed off mood and the fact that he bit both my hand and hers and then jumped on top of the cabinets and I had to stand on the counter to retrieve him . . . we diagnosed him as a frustrated and angry pee-er. Lucky me. Now I have both the human and feline variety. A matched set. Pretty soon I’ll be able to get my PHD in angry peeing.

Her prescription for him was more time outdoors. Yes, please. Get out of my face. Anyway, it seems to be working since I’ve not seen any marking in a week and he seems less annoyed in general. It appears that he has also stopped stalking and harassing the dog. Another new irritating behavior that he picked up in the past month. The vet asked if there were any changes in the home that might cause the cat to act out and honestly, the only thing that has changed is that Josh left. I highly doubt that the cat cares that the person who likes him the least went away.

Zeki probably picked up a parasite outside that is causing his digestive troubles, but whatever. I’ll put that at number #3,241 on my Things That Are Important list. What is important is that Josh is coming home in 2 days. Inshallah. And since I’m always honest, I’ll be transparent and say that I am not missing Josh in a romantic, “I miss the love of my life” kind of way, but in the “Hallelujah, someone is coming with a life preserver!” kind of way. Sorry, Love. I’m sure after you come in and rescue me, the romantic feelings will follow.

Josh will arrive and inshallah, will make someone fix the dripping from my bathroom ceiling. Yes, it’s been like that for a month now. I just keep swapping out the saturated towels that I lay on the floor to catch the drips. I’ve messaged the landlord, I’ve told the repair people . . . no one cares and I’m beyond caring. Sure, I have people over and they have to dodge the drips from the ceiling when they go use the bathroom. Such is our crazy life here.

Maybe Josh be able to figure out why the internet keeps dropping out. Two days off, one day on, one day off and on all day, repeat. Today is an on day thankfully. I’m also hoping Josh can solve the mystery of my Copy Protected Tuesday. We have cable and a DVR through a local provider here and every Tuesday I’m not able to watch TV because on both live TV and recorded programs, I get a black screen with a message saying:

Yesterday, January 25th, marked the 5th anniversary of the beginning of the end. Police Day. The first day of the Arab Spring in Egypt. We had no idea at that time that we had only a week left before we’d be whisked away back to the United States and all we’d be left with from our time in Egypt would be my blog posts, a pyramid shaped ashtray, and an evacuation story.

After spending over 5 years in the Middle East it’s amazing how those 2 months in Egypt exist in Technicolor. Every time we talk about Cairo we can recall it as if we lived there for years, rather than months. On one hand the city has an intensity, a vibrancy, that is unlike anything in the Gulf, but I think the biggest reason those experiences are bolder in our memories is because they were our firsts. The first time I saw a car driving in reverse on a freeway (on our way from the airport to our flat). The first time I saw a guy texting while riding a donkey. The first time I smelled desert sand mixed with city smog. The first time I ate koshary (and walked past a dead body in the street on our way to the restaurant). The first time we had to dodge pedestrians on a 4 lane turned into 8 highway. The first time drinking chai on a rickety chair inches away from strangers at the next table.

I realized it’s kind of like giving birth to your first child. I can still remember that Calvin weighed 17lbs at his 4 month appointment and 19lbs at 6 months and that his first food was avocado at 7 months, but only because those firsts exist as a comparison to all the experiences to follow. Every subsequent sibling reminds me of Calvin’s firsts — how do they match up? Is this kid bigger? Is this one growing OK? The following experiences all are held up against the standard and then fade into a happy stack on top of it, not needed as a reference point because one already exists. Calvin’s firsts weren’t more special, but they were more significant to me because it’s how I learned what defined “normal” and it formed my expectations for all future Chartier babies.

As we wait for orders I wonder what I will remember about Bahrain. I know when I see a handmade carpet I will flash back to rug flops and chest high piles of carpets and the smell of dust and wool upstairs in the Magic Carpet shop with my bare toes testing the softness of the fibers. Muscat gave me my first shawarma from the gas station near our house — the char of the chicken, the softness of the bread, the garlicky sauce and the creamy sweetness of the avocado “juice.” I might have to dig deeper  to find those firsts, but they are in there.

I think Egypt is a Picasso. It is bold, in your face, ugly-beautiful, shocking, but memorable and as you look at it closely you see beauty in the chaos. It’s not for everyone and it generates a strong response of either love or hate. In comparison, Oman is a Monet. Beautiful from the first moment you lay eyes on it, it’s purpose is to be exactly what you see. It’s soothing, relaxing and there is nothing surprising about it except that it continues to be just as lovely every time you look at it, from every angle. Everyone loves it and there’s nothing controversial about it.

I’ve decided Bahrain is a still life, painted by a family friend. It doesn’t seem that exciting at first glance, but once you find out who the artist is and recognize the bowl of fruit and the kitchen table as the place where you sit and chat it takes on new meaning. Then you see that she added her cat in the background right next to the coffee mug that you always choose to drink out of and it’s no longer just a painting of a bowl of fruit, but it tells the story of friendship and shared stories and laughter and it becomes a prized possession. It’s not for everyone, but it’s one of your favorites because you know it well.

I’m thankful that I have so many different paintings to hang on my walls and I’m making room for more. What’s next? I’m really hoping it’s not a Jackson Pollock, but I’m open to almost anything.

My efforts to consolidate my driving find us at a coffee house on our faux-Friday night while the boys are at youth group.