Things are spiraling down the drain fast.
We have one week to go until we leave on our big trip back to the States, stopping in Paris first for three days. The kids have never been to Paris, and Elise and I haven't been back since our honeymoon 12 years ago. I initially wasn't planning to schedule a visit to the Louvre, but the kids said they wanted to go and are looking forward to it. In their minds, the entirety of the Louvre is contained in the glass pyramid entrance they see when they watch one of their favorite cartoons -- set in Paris -- Ladybug and Chat Noir.
But that is still one week away. For the time being, at least, still, always, we are in Jordan. The days are hot and long. No one wants to go to the pool anymore. Pete wants to play soccer, but Sam doesn't. Clem wants to play Pictionary, but Pete doesn't. Everyone is sick of each other, sick of the food in Jordan. No one wants to cook or eat anything. The kids have stopped eating breakfast, and I have stopped making breakfast. I have resorted to setting bowls out for them in the morning, a box of cereal. Sometimes, I get the milk out of the fridge for them. Most days, I don't bother. Then, I get in the shower and go to work.
Last night, uninspired to eat or make anything, we fed them Dairy Queen burgers and blizzards for dinner. It might sound quintessentially summer if it hadn't been the byproduct of so much exhaustion, futility, and frustration.
Nothing sounds fun anymore. We recently celebrated our one year anniversary of living in the Middle East. This is no way meant as a reflection on Jordan, but to say we are ready for a break is the understatement of the year.
Except for the fact that Peter has finally come around to eating falafel. We went to the Family Restaurant for lunch last weekend, the highlight of an otherwise long, miserable weekend of no one getting along and what seemed like hundred false starts in which no one could decide what they wanted to do, so we ended up doing nothing until Clementine and I finally decided to walk to the store and took a detour to see if there were any new puppies at the pet store. Thankfully, there were.
Peter ate no less than 10 falafel balls and still wanted more. But the meter on our table was running out (a metaphor; the place is busy).
At dinner the other night, Clementine said she couldn't wait to go to Target. I look at her skeptically and asked, "Who are you?"
I have never known Clementine to profess a love of shopping or an affinity for Target and am convinced she picked this up from her mother or overhead someone else say it as though it is the thing you are supposed to have missed most about the States....Target.
She said if she sees someone working at Target (presumably, anyone in a red vest) she thinks she might hug them.
Really? Target?
Elise admits to just wanting to have her Starbucks (evidently, it might be in a plastic sippy cup now without a straw) and just walk down the aisle arms outspread to demonstrate the breadth and girth of American shopping aisles.
I can think of nothing worse. I can't imagine taking a transatlantic flight and having Target be the prize at the end. Of course, it is not the only reason to come back to the States.
I am most looking forward to seeing green, to the earthy smell of fresh lawn clippings. I think Elise is looking forward to the rain. It's funny the things you miss when ensconced in a foreign land, when something as quotidian as rain is coveted because it is nonexistent here. I'm excited to hear the rumble of thunder and to see the giant bulbous clouds like the udder of a cow turned upside down ready to spray rain down. I think about going to Lake Coeur d'Alene and look forward to the metallic, alkaline sting of fresh lake water going up my nose. I'm excited to drink good, hoppy IPAs. I have a beer to brew, but reference the paragraphs above for a moment and you understand why I have absolutely no motivation to make it, knowing it won't be ready until we get back to Jordan.
At this point, it just makes more sense to wait a week.
We have one week to go until we leave on our big trip back to the States, stopping in Paris first for three days. The kids have never been to Paris, and Elise and I haven't been back since our honeymoon 12 years ago. I initially wasn't planning to schedule a visit to the Louvre, but the kids said they wanted to go and are looking forward to it. In their minds, the entirety of the Louvre is contained in the glass pyramid entrance they see when they watch one of their favorite cartoons -- set in Paris -- Ladybug and Chat Noir.
But that is still one week away. For the time being, at least, still, always, we are in Jordan. The days are hot and long. No one wants to go to the pool anymore. Pete wants to play soccer, but Sam doesn't. Clem wants to play Pictionary, but Pete doesn't. Everyone is sick of each other, sick of the food in Jordan. No one wants to cook or eat anything. The kids have stopped eating breakfast, and I have stopped making breakfast. I have resorted to setting bowls out for them in the morning, a box of cereal. Sometimes, I get the milk out of the fridge for them. Most days, I don't bother. Then, I get in the shower and go to work.
Last night, uninspired to eat or make anything, we fed them Dairy Queen burgers and blizzards for dinner. It might sound quintessentially summer if it hadn't been the byproduct of so much exhaustion, futility, and frustration.
Nothing sounds fun anymore. We recently celebrated our one year anniversary of living in the Middle East. This is no way meant as a reflection on Jordan, but to say we are ready for a break is the understatement of the year.
Except for the fact that Peter has finally come around to eating falafel. We went to the Family Restaurant for lunch last weekend, the highlight of an otherwise long, miserable weekend of no one getting along and what seemed like hundred false starts in which no one could decide what they wanted to do, so we ended up doing nothing until Clementine and I finally decided to walk to the store and took a detour to see if there were any new puppies at the pet store. Thankfully, there were.
Peter ate no less than 10 falafel balls and still wanted more. But the meter on our table was running out (a metaphor; the place is busy).
At dinner the other night, Clementine said she couldn't wait to go to Target. I look at her skeptically and asked, "Who are you?"
I have never known Clementine to profess a love of shopping or an affinity for Target and am convinced she picked this up from her mother or overhead someone else say it as though it is the thing you are supposed to have missed most about the States....Target.
She said if she sees someone working at Target (presumably, anyone in a red vest) she thinks she might hug them.
Really? Target?
Elise admits to just wanting to have her Starbucks (evidently, it might be in a plastic sippy cup now without a straw) and just walk down the aisle arms outspread to demonstrate the breadth and girth of American shopping aisles.
I can think of nothing worse. I can't imagine taking a transatlantic flight and having Target be the prize at the end. Of course, it is not the only reason to come back to the States.
I am most looking forward to seeing green, to the earthy smell of fresh lawn clippings. I think Elise is looking forward to the rain. It's funny the things you miss when ensconced in a foreign land, when something as quotidian as rain is coveted because it is nonexistent here. I'm excited to hear the rumble of thunder and to see the giant bulbous clouds like the udder of a cow turned upside down ready to spray rain down. I think about going to Lake Coeur d'Alene and look forward to the metallic, alkaline sting of fresh lake water going up my nose. I'm excited to drink good, hoppy IPAs. I have a beer to brew, but reference the paragraphs above for a moment and you understand why I have absolutely no motivation to make it, knowing it won't be ready until we get back to Jordan.
At this point, it just makes more sense to wait a week.
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