Home Again!

Byron and I are just back from five days in France. It was a WORK TRIP so don't give me a lot of grief about "Must be nice!" But yes, it was nice. In fact, it was beautiful.

But last night, as I fell into bed back here in Lisbon, I was deeply delighted to be home. We had collected our kids over at Marty and Carey's, enjoying dinner outside in their garden as our reward for arriving just as the food was ready :-) We were home around 8pm and immediately put the kettle on. Trevor felt that we should sit around and chat with a pot of tea. Such a good boy, that one! And finally, one by one, we were off to bed.

And so, nestling in last night, I felt richly blessed. The window was open to the fresh night air. I had recently gone through the formal "Changing of the Duvet Ceremony", a ceremony I look forward to every year in which I trade out the fat winter down for the skinny summer duvet. The mosquito net was settled around us and I was safe and warm with almost all of my babies not far away. (Bless my kids for never complaining that I call them "The Babies.") The pillow was a good one. The sheets were smooth and clean. Nothing would disturb me now until the stereo played Brian Houston's Sugar Queen at the appointed time of morning. But that was hours away and the goodness of sleep awaited me.

I do so love to get into bed. And I love that the happy feeling of quiet and comfort produces joy in me. I love the travels. I love to share in all that's going on around the continent. And I do so love to come home.

sweet little song

some times we all need cheered up.

trevor made this little tune up the other night. he came up with it and recorded it with his little guitar that he got when he was ten and it only had three strings on it while he did all this. i think the guitar solo is especially nice. it works wonders on my mood. i hope it will do the same for you.

the fall of the fashion queen

well, it's started. heather is making rude remarks about what i wear.

nancy said her twelve year old judges her outfits politely but quite sharply. "well, i'd change those trousers and maybe your shoes, and i wouldn't wear that blouse." but I thought i had a little more time before heather delved into this realm. she is, after all, only seven.

but today, as i stood brushing my hair, she said, "are you going to go to my school in those clothes?" there was a not very veiled alarm in her voice. it's only a rummage sale at her school, you know. i was standing there in baggy jeans rolled up to my knees, bedroom slippers and a hugely oversized t-shirt bearing the emblem of the portuguese national football team across the front of it.

of course i wasn't going out like that! but the fact that she thought i might be revealed a lot. i guess i'm not her perfect fashion queen anymore.

in my reality

some moments in life are so surreal that i cannot wrap my mind around them, though i try very hard. football moments that go badly wrong must be corrected so that i can cope.

and so it is that, in my world, portugal beat greece in the final game of the euro cup two summers ago in lisbon.

and arsenal beat barcelona last night in paris.

other people get to create their own realities. i think it's only fair that i get to create mine.

truby's dilema

trevor's got troubles. he's a sixteen year old blond surf boy in a country of dark haired people. he also plays in a rock 'n roll band and is, in general, just a nice guy. all of this makes him kind of attractive to the young ladies.

girls call trevor. they ring him up. sometimes from other countries. he's always very pleasant on the phone. but i can't tell what he thinks of any of them. i've tried asking him but he's purposely opaque to pester me.

it goes back to almost six years ago when we arrived here in portugal and the whole group of new friends spent far too much of their time together talking about who liked who. i told them that was a waste of time. "stupid talk" i said. so now, if i ask about girls i'm quickly reminded that THAT is "stupid talk." well, it was stupid talk when he was ten. it's my business when he's sixteen.

so yesterday in the car i just asked him straight about one of the young women who is in contact with him. he was vague and funny as usual. but then he revealed the real problem.

"the trouble is, there are no cool christian girls in portugal". (bit of an over-statement but i let it slide.)

"if i go to the states," he went on, "there would be LOTS of cute girls. but the problem with them," he explained, "is that they're ALL americans!"

i objected silently to this as something to hold against a person. i am, after all, an american and i'm nice enough! but he went on...

"and if i went to africa, well, i don't think i'd find anyone there."

he paused for just a second.

"so i think i'm going to have to go to norway for a couple of years after college."

watch out, norway!

Heather's Perfect Self

Heather is 7 and she’s perfect. Her tummy still rounds out into a beautiful ball, rising in a smooth curve above the top of her jeans. My tummy, on the other hand, hangs rather alarmingly over the top of my jeans. Would that I could sport a big, round tummy as charmingly as she does.

Last weekend we spent a morning on the sand while her brothers surfed Sao Pedro. I drank coffee with Carey in the cafe, enjoying the view of our kids as they enjoyed a Saturday morning session. Heather chased the waves up and down the beach with Christian.

Later on, as I made tea in the kitchen at home, Heather was still running around in her swimsuit. Pulling it up so that most of her squidgy cheeks hung out below, she asked,

“Why do some girls wear their suits like this?”

“I don’t know,” I sort of sighed, “it doesn’t look very comfortable does it?”

“It’s like they’re walking around saying, ‘Look at MY butt! Look at MY butt! It’s SO great!”

I turned toward the stove to hide my laugh.

“THAT,” I thought, “is EXACTLY what they are saying!”

Several years ago, when Heather was about three, she was running around the house with not much on. I directed her father’s attention toward the dimply little bum.

“Proof positive,” I said. “That is the female body in pristine form and there is cellulite on those cheeks. The female bottom is SUPPOSED to have cellulite!” I exclaimed.

I’m not sure he was entirely convinced….but I was.

I can’t claim to be the proud occupant of a pristine body, but I wear my dimples with pride.

Thanks, Heather :-)

tea with the chiropractor's daughter

when ali came to stay, i suddenly got very insecure about what i serve with our afternoon tea. byron has been telling me that i plainly allow our children to eat far too much sugar. he clucks his tongue and reminds me of how careful i was of what i allowed the two older boys to eat when they were in their major growth years. he tells me i allow heather to eat crisps for breakfast and chocolate for dinner. (that's a black lie from the pit, but never mind.)

well, we went to uni with ali's parents and we know what healthy people they are. they eat really well. they use soya milk and goat cheese. they use whole grains and lots of veggies. they do not sit around eating hobnobs with cup after cup of caffeinated tea!

so i got inspired and placed cut fruit, good cheese and wholesome crackers out with the afternoon tea tray. and ali enjoyed it.

several days later, though, as she followed me around the shops, she finally spoke up.

"would it be ok if i went and got some chocolate?" she asked.

within the hour we were settled on the tea porch with our bar of milk chocolate. we taught her the art of quick dipping where you plunge your strip of chocolate briefly into the hot tea so that just the very top layer softens. then you suck it off and start again. it's so fantastic!

i must admit i felt much better. our days of hypocrisy were over!

colin in charge

I love it when Colin is in charge of what we're listening to. Early in the morning, as we rush out the door for the school run, he remembers to grab the ipod. For the duration of the journey to school, we are treated to Colin's mix.

Some days, though, the whole thing can be quite jarring. Colin, who has recently become a huge fan of Bob Marley, will flip back and forth between Mr Marley and Blindside. Talk about culture shock! I go from the complete mellowness, (my blood all warm and tropical and my mind all dreamy,) of the Marley tunes to the gritty, urban cement of Blindside. Now I don't actually mind Blindside, but not when my head is in Jamaica.

But recently, Colin has chosen more co-ordinated mixes. And more and more, an old friend is getting play time. The Larry Norman tapes we own are now about 25 years old. We played them in Byron's room in the boarding house in San Francisco where we studied during our engagement. We played them in our tiny first apartment and in that dreadful faded orange Subaru we drove in those days. We played them as we bounced over the rough non-roads of East Africa with three little boys packed into our truck with us. And now Colin is playing them again.

The other day, as Larry crooned his (often ornary and frequently funny) lyrics to us while we cruised the streets of Lisbon, Colin piped up.

"Man! When I was little, this guy was my favorite artist. Now that I listen to him again, I know why. This guy is awesome!"

Larry Norman! I adored the album my sister brought home from a Norman concert in London in the early seventies and now, 32 years later, my kids are loving it too. A man for all seasons... What a guy!