Wednesday, February 15, 2012

A lover's semi-holiday

Happy belated Valentine's Day! We spread the love all the way from the USA to Brazil with a care package from Nanny that included conversation hearts that we repackaged late Monday night to take to school for Sam's class.

Brazilians think we are completely ridiculous, for a lot of reasons, but particularly on this day, when we describe Valentine's Day, with we can most closely relate it to here in Brazil, "Dia das Namoradas." This is the Brazilian equivalent of Valentines Day, which falls here on the 12th of June, but is ONLY for "girlfriends and boyfriends." So we really creeped them out by sending Sam to preschool with treats reading "Marry Me" and "You're the One," to pass out to both boys and girls in his class. "Crazy Americans."



Putting together the treats, "Hole Puncher Man," and I sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Paul returned from putting Pete down for bed and I asked him to Google Valentine's Day to tell Sam the story about St. Valentine. I think it's important to honor our country's holidays or teach the boys about them so they don't lose touch with their inner lover's on days such as this. Paul refused, reminding me that all the stories about Valentine's Day were about being in jail and dying, which hello! Love?! That's what it's all about! Am I right?

So, Paul made up his own story, none of which I remember. Sorry Paul.



Oh and...PS: I'm never cutting his hair again, because those curls, it turns out, are attached to my heart and each time someone cuts one a little piece of me dies. It is really bad.



These, my tiny loves, extra huggy while saying goodbye to Sam for school. Paul waiting, keys and tiny puppy dog briefcase...ok backpack, in hand while the lovers tear themselves apart.




For our lover's holiday we treated ourselves to a trip to visit our Doula. One last appointment before baby girl is due, to sharpen Paul's labor massage techniques. Then we were off to dinner at Parilla Madrid, a Spanish tapas restaurant, where you can hope to, but not find any Spanish tapa on the menu, but instead a "Rodizio" of small Brazilian plates. Yummy, yet confusing in their culinary pride. I decked myself out in my least muumuu-like outfit I could wriggle in at this precious, advanced maternal state and photographed my least pregnant part. Just to prove to everyone leaving work in the embassy parking lot as I waited for Paul, that: "Damn girl! She's still got it." Whatever that might be, the sharp lines of my nose perhaps.



Paul's gift to me, though lovely (I picked it out) was caught up in the awesomeness that is DPO mail. My gifts to him, a variable cornucopia of odds and ends: an evening of arranged child care, a visit complete with Powerpoint diagrams of lady-birthing-parts from the Doula, a wedding photo framed after six years of marriage, one more night in our bed before he is forced out by the sheer mountain of pillows that I require to support my inner tiny human.

The government, however, did come through with a much awaited gift: Arriving just a day late (or so we are promised) the key to our future, The bid list. Part II, III, IV....I've lost track, of our lover's adventure soon to be determined...


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