With a Grateful Heart

This month has been pure, concentrated stress on a level I can barely comprehend.

But about a week ago, because of a speaking assignment at church, I relearned what it means to have hope. And today, while calling on every ounce of faith we could muster, we witnessed a triumph over government bureaucracy that was nothing short of miraculous.

We have plane tickets to fly home June 6. We're signing the papers on our new house June 9 (also the day dear husband starts his new position at work). We received the final court document for the adoption on May 20. Since then we've obtained a Certificate of Registration from Pasig City Hall, an annotated birth certificate from Quezon City Civil Registry, an amended birth certificate issued by the National Statistics Office, and an approved I-600 form from the American embassy.

The movers were at the house last Wednesday from 8 am to 11 pm while dear husband was in China (and while mucho birth certificate and other assorted drama was taking place). We lugged ten suitcases to the temporary apartment that night and got settled in. The movers came back Thursday to finish the job they didn't finish on Wednesday (after I took a half-day side trip Thursday am to the embassy to turn in documents). The husband got home about 1 am Friday morning; we spent Friday at the Department of Social Welfare and Development and then the US embassy again, then waited around for a passport interview that never took place.

Sunday: church; mega internet research on US IR3 visa process; internet cafe to print applications; photo place for new visa photos for the baby; paperwork bonanza
Monday: back to the US embassy to turn in appeal letter for early visa appointment; we're informed the process normally takes three months; rest of the day is spent wailing and gnashing teeth and making backup plans
Today: 6 am to 4 pm spent at Department of Foreign Affairs with some incredibly helpful people who waited and ran around and made calls and got signatures until eventually we got someone to promise us a passport by tomorrow at lunchtime. HALLELUJAH!!!!!! In the middle of this we get a call from the embassy promising a 7 am visa appointment on Thursday (an appointment we wouldn't be able to keep without the passport, so HALLELUJAH!!!!!!).

A great deal of praying took place today. We are incredibly humbled and grateful and still in shock that it looks like we'll make our Friday flight.

Tomorrow: after we pick up the appointment letter from the embassy and the passport from DFA we have to take the baby for a medical exam in preparation for the visa interview (something else we couldn't do without the passport). Then dear husband has a dentist appointment at 5 pm because he broke a crown eating duck tongue or some such thing in China.

Thursday: Visa appt. 7 am. With any luck they'll approve and stamp it the same day, and then we can go back to the apartment, pack our strewn belongings, and head to the airport at 4 am the next day.

Once we hit Utah we'll grab some sleep then pick up our van and drive to Illinois. Dear husband's fabulous family has already cleared out our storage unit (thank you x a million; we love you!) and loaded our stuff in my dad's semi trailer, which he'll be driving out when he gets another delivery in the area.

So many people have helped us make this happen. The only way I can even dream of making it right is by paying it forward, and by making sure my faith never falters again.

There's a line in one of my favorite movies, While You Were Sleeping, where Dad Callahan says something like, "You work hard, you struggle, face your trials, etc., and for one moment, everything's right, everyone's happy." Then Jack, breaking the news about wanting his own business says, "This is not that moment." Or something.

It's not just that I'm afraid to be happy about all this, even though I am a little afraid. It's not that once we get home we face making new friends, settling in, starting over. The potential there actually has me excited. It's the news we received a few hours ago: our yaya (nanny) had a great job lined up after we leave, but after a medical exam found out she has primary complex (a noncontagious tb infection of the lungs). Today her employer withdrew the job offer and she now has no way to support her family. :( Aw, man. She so does not deserve this. We're currently brainstorming ideas on how to make this right.

Someday we'll have time to take a breath and have our peaceful moment. Until then, we have hope, and gratitude, to carry us through.

Clearing the Clutter

Hooray for garage sales! We cleared out a ton of stuff, and made about twice as much as expected. Things that did not sell:

-3 child car seats
-A huge pile of paperback books
-2 paintings

There are no laws requiring child safety seats here (or if there are nobody follows them), so no big surprise there.

The books--again, not a surprise. As a rule, you're more likely to see people reading fashion magazines (my Oprah magazines sold like hotcakes). There are many good reasons for this, including the cost of books and the language issue, and some not-so-good reasons, like Manila's incredibly pervasive fashionista fetish. It still makes me sad. Even though I like saying "fashionista fetish."

Good for the Soul, Bad for the Diet

We had a great visit with Dad and his wife this week. It was cool to revisit a few of our favorite tourist spots. The kids basked in the extra attention. And I got to reconnect with my dad, to talk about life and politics and other grown-up stuff.

And I have to say, my dad's a pretty hip guy: cargo pants, a Palm Pilot and digital camera--and of course the willingness to fly halfway around the world. Very cool. I'm pretty sure an MP3 player is in the near future. (Let me know when you're ready for iTunes, Dad. It'll knock your socks off.)

Plus we ate out a lot and I didn't exercise. So...bonus! Or not, since now I have to work twice as hard before our trip to China next month. Blah. If I collapse climbing the steps to the Great Wall, at least it'll be kind of a cool place to bite the big one.


A few pics from our visit to Intramuros:

The Reset Button

I figured I'd better write something to keep my average above one post per month.

Sigh. I had such great plans for the New Year. Yet here I am mid-month, all those good intentions nothing more than a list I made and stuck in a drawer somewhere.

I blame it on that huge red Reset Button (which was pushed against my will, I might add). You know the one where life throws huge, uncomfortable changes at you, new problems and plot twists to throw you off your game, and you adjust, realign, make peace with How Things Are Now, and even manage to make wonderful new friends, amazing friends, and then THEY MOVE AWAY. To CHINA.

I feel like I'm eleven years old, looking out the back window of the car as we drive away from my childhood home to start a new life somewhere else. It STINKS.

Now that I've had my tantrum...

Yes, our most wonderful friends the Openshaws have moved to China. We went to Singapore together, shared Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, went to movies together and played goofy board games and generally commisserated about life here in this weird, weird place. Now we're left behind in the Philippines waiting for the glacially slow adoption process to be finalized before we can figure out where to go from here, and when. The lawyer says plan for June or July. We were hoping for April. And some dark, ominous murmur deep in my gut says it will never be over.

So I blame my lack of productivity on dragging my shredded resolve back together one more time, hitting Reset and gearing up for this final stretch of our time overseas. I have to keep reminding myself that there are lots of good things about being here, that ultimately we're happy, we're blessed, we have our little girl already and are just waiting for it to be official.

Plus there are things to look forward to: the court hearing at the end of January, my dad's visit in February, and a trip to China in March. And if any more Reset Buttons rear their ugly heads in the meantime, I'm slowly learning that instead of reaching for the Self-Destruct I can grab the controls and pull up, dang it, pull up, right out of that tailspin and into the great beyond.

Back in the Groove

The bummer about being sick--other than the sick part--is losing my groove: the feeling normal and/or productive groove, the parenting groove, the errands groove and exercise groove and writing groove. By default, grooves that fall a lot further down the list, like the blogging groove, remain AWOL long after I get better.

But there are good things about being sick, such as:

-The glorious feeling of being well again;

-Sympathy presents from your spouse--namely, a nine-foot Christmas tree that fills our front room with majestic, twinkling splendor. And if that sounds overblown, then I'm not even close to doing it the justice it deserves. I love, love, love it.

In other news, now that the kids are on school break we've been looking for things to do. Five minutes from the house is a new little zoo shaped like a life-size reproduction of Noah's Ark. They have tigers, monkeys, birds, a petting zoo, a crocodile, lizards, and...

an orangutan!

I think the kids were there too, and I'm pretty sure I got cute pictures of them with bunnies and stuff, but this is the part I'll never forget. Just...wow. It was awesome. One of the coolest things I've ever experienced.

I might have to go back again next week.

Road Trip

We went for a Sunday drive a few weeks back to escape the city. We made a huge loop, going east and then south through the mountains and skirting a lake called Laguna de Bay, returning to Manila via the SLEX, or South Luzon Expressway.

After six hours we were awfully tired of the car. But the mountain air and the constant sea of green made it all worthwhile. Along the side of the road you could buy coconuts, wicker furniture--even Christmas decorations.

The view:

These cuties were selling quail eggs when we stopped at a lookout point to take pictures:

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Question (thanks, Angela!): How come it's common practice not to talk to your neighbors [in the Philippines]?

Answer: I have no idea! We tried introducing ourselves/engaging in small talk a couple of times, especially when a new family moved in across the street. It was perfectly friendly, but did nothing to establish any sort of neighborly relationship. People still prefer to stay within their enclosed spaces. Most of them honk their car horns when they come home, wait for their domestic help to open their huge front gates, then pull into their driveways while the gates are closed behind them. Gives you warm fuzzies, no?

Last month the Vice President of the Philippines attended a party a few houses down from ours. Apparently there were security personnel swarming all over the place. I heard about it second-hand, though, since I was tucked safely away within our own little walled fortress and had no idea anything was going on.

In contrast, the people you do see on a regular basis are the domestic workers. They're out walking dogs, gardening, tending children, or chatting with each other. They smile frequently and some of them are on friendly terms with our kids.

The antisocial stuff is obviously a learned behavior of people with money here, whether it's a matter of security, privacy, or just plain being uppity (or maybe some combination of those). It's all about perspective, I guess. Compared to the circumstances in which most Filipinos live, our way of life is wasteful in the extreme. Yes, the company pays our rent, and it's an amazing perk, and more house than we could ever afford on our own. Yet it's not so different from the standard of living we're used to in the US. But to those outside the village walls, it might as well be the moon.

Tricks and Treats

Halloween in the Philippines is hilarious, and slightly surreal.

Trick-or-treating does take place, in a weird sort of way. Many of the malls and businesses sponsor trick-or-treat events, usually a few days before the actual holiday. But the house-to-house routine really only happens inside the villages.

A village is a community of very large houses surrounded by a ginormous barbed-wire, cinder-block wall and a gate with guards. There are at least a dozen villages just within our little corner of Metro Manila. The villages are home to politicians, diplomats, executives--and foreigners with expat packages. Each individual house is surrounded by its own wall and gate. You interact with your neighbors as little as possible. The only family within our village we speak to and see on a regular basis is the American family down the street.

So. On Halloween each village opens its doors to trick-or-treaters from all walks of life, regardless of race, economic status, age, or the presence of a costume. Our village cheated and did this three days early. But the village down the street, where our good friends the Openshaws live, waited for the 31st and we were all about getting the authentic experience. Except not cold, dark, or spooky. We settled for hot and humid, and controlled chaos. And a marching band.
It works like this: The home owners (those who participate) send their house help to stand outside the gate with a basket or sit at a table and pass out treats. No Snickers or Reeses or Skittles or even Tootsie Rolls or Dum-Dum pops, unfortunately. Imported candy is expensive here, it melts, and there are HUNDREDS of trick-or-treaters, at least half of them well past puberty. Instead they pass out local treats: little bags of chips or hard candies or wafer cookies or whatever. All KINDS of strange stuff. Tiny cups of gelatin (very popular here), gummies--even something called Totoy Tongniks Crunchy Corniks (garlic flavor). It's a plus for our kids, though. Keeps Mom and Dad from raiding their stash.

The marching band

We had a blast. The atmosphere was festive. Giddy, even. I couldn't keep up with the eight-year-old. The five-year-old's feet got tired. The one-year-old was done after a couple of houses. But they looked so cute! And they got something so far and yet still so very close to the authentic experience. (Mom and Dad even got chili and hoagies at the Openshaws afterward.) Next Halloween when we've moved home and the kids are complaining about the cold, I can pull out these pictures and remind them of the trippy, tropical Halloweens half a world away.

Kellie, Amaya, and Avery

Pumpkins!

This will be our fourth Halloween overseas. Sadly, the first three were jack-o-lantern free. You just don't find pumpkins in the Philippines.

But lo and behold, what did we find at the store today? Actual pumpkins imported from the US! They were puny and a little deformed and there weren't very many, but...PUMPKINS! I did a happy dance right there in the store.

It's been a good day. I got up early (for me) to pick up a document for the adoption, and things have been going swimmingly ever since. The line at city hall was short, and no one tried to charge me more than the actual fee, and a couple of guys behind the counter actually FLIRTED with me. I nearly dropped dead of shock right then and there. Dear husband gets flirted with on a regular basis, because that's just the way things work here. For me it took 3 1/2 years.

So between the pumpkins and the flirting and the short lines, life just doesn't get much better.

Oh, and an update on our rat problem:

Rat 4, People 0

We're dealing with one cunning rat. I wanted to avoid poison if at all possible, so we tried a cage-type trap. Result: food gone, no rat. Twice.

Plan B: We picked up a few of the traditional mouse traps (industrial sized) and baited them with cheese and Chips Ahoy. Twice more: food gone, no rat. Grrrrrr.

Tonight we break out the poisoned rat treats. Sorry, Mr. Fluffybuns. It's us or you.

Ant Warfare

I've blogged about bugs before. It's a topic worth revisiting. Because they just keep coming back.

Forget A Bug's Life. Forget the gentle, heroic ant in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. (How old am I?) Pay no attention to that catchy little song The Ants Go Marching.

Ants are evil.

They launched a full assault on the house today.

It's the rainy season, and for some odd reason the ants all want to come inside. They're not even after the food. If they find food, they eat it, but mostly they were just wandering around today making my life miserable. There were hundreds of them swarming around the front door, and from there they split off into a dozen strategic directions. They ambled across the marble floor in the living room, where our baby daughter spends a great deal of time crawling around. They surged through a crack in the kitchen window and set about exploring the sinks, countertops, walls, and cupboards. They had even built a network of roads where the walls meet the ceiling, with steady traffic traversing THE ENTIRE CIRCUMFERENCE OF THE--wait, can a rectangular room have a circumference? Sorry--THE ENTIRE PERIMETER OF THE KITCHEN.

I had no choice but to bring out the big guns: Baygon (the Philippines equivalent of Raid) and Lysol.

The battle is over, but the war will continue.

I also have a bone to pick with those loveable rodents of Ratatouille. Just after battling the ants I walked outside to see an enormously obese rat waddle past.

Let's just hope he doesn't have a friend named Remy.

Maligayang Pasko

Merry Christmas from the Philippines! Whaddaya mean it's only September? I'm nearly a month behind on my celebrating, judging by when I heard my first Christmas carol at the grocery store.

The Philippines has the longest Christmas season on the planet. Fake pine trees start appearing in the stores Sept. 1 (though as stated above, the music started even earlier this year).

I kind of like it.

This is a shopaholic country to begin with, but when the Christmas season hits, look out! The malls go all out with decorations and snarled traffic to match. Tiangges, or bazaars, spring up everywhere. Makeshift booths line the side of the road, selling a crazy, blinking menagerie of capiz lanterns and rope-light creations shaped like Santa and other Christmas characters.

My favorite Filipino decoration is the parol (pictured). Made from bamboo sticks and colored plastic sheeting, these 3D versions of the Bethlehem star come in all sizes and are a common sight at Christmastime. They look stunning hanging from tall trees, backlit with clear, twinkling lights.

So call me crazy if I lug out the decorations well before Thanksgiving. If I can't have snow, at least I can have my four-month long Filipino Christmas.

Whose Line Is it Anyway?

I used to hate waiting in line. You shift your feet. You wish for a place to sit, or something to lean against. You wonder why the goofball at the front of the line is taking so long. You avoid eye contact with the other people in line. You make small talk with the other people in line when the goofball at the front takes another ten minutes. You rage at the cashier/teller/ticket taker and every other person in the vicinity for wasting your time, for being so slow, for not opening a brand-new line just for you.

But after living in the Philippines, I've decided that lines are my friend. I miss them. I want them back. I crave orderly conduct and respect for personal space.

I went to the bank today. For an hour and a half.

They don't have lines here so much as blobs. Blobs of people who swarm around a counter until they catch someone's eye. But if there is a line, you never make the mistake of leaving a few inches between you and the next person. That's like standing on a chair and screaming into a megaphone: "Wow! Unoccupied space, here for the taking! Act now! I'm not really in line; I'm just here to raise my blood pressure!"

You get used to it eventually. After you move past the disbelief, the shock of violation to your sense of fair play, you swap your good manners for pure survival instinct. No more polite, "After you." No more hanging back until you can distinguish a clear pattern among the blob. Charge right into the fray. Snuggle up to the person in front of you and get cozy for the duration. Demand the attention of the customer service individual.

Walk right into that bank, shoulder your way past the milling crowd, and plop yourself down at the service desk to process your twice monthly transfers.

And bring a book. Because getting to the front of the line is only Lesson One.

Lesson Two: Waiting patiently while something that should take five minutes actually takes an hour and a half.

Pizza Emergency

So there is no 911 in the Philippines. We've never figured out how to summon an ambulance, and with the traffic here I wouldn't trust one to get us to the hospital anyway. Thankfully we live close enough to a medical center that Bryce can get us there with some fancy driving in five minutes.

There is, however, a handy number for Pizza Hut delivery: 911-1111. For all those pizza emergencies! (And we've had a few, believe it or not.)

Yesterday we passed an ambulance and saw a number painted on the side: 911-1121. Eureka! We now have an emergency preparedness backup plan. Plus it's nice to know the priorities of the people handing out telephone numbers.

Boys of Summer

Hooray--pictures! They're ridiculously easy to add, as it turns out. I swear that "add image" button wasn't there the first seven times I posted.

The boys will be going back to school in two short weeks. I think we're all counting the days. The Filipino school year runs June to March, coinciding with the start of the rainy season. Can't say I'm sad to leave the summer heat behind! The rains linger until November. I've always liked rain, and the storms that pass through are impressive to see. Last year's Typhoon Mileno was the strongest we've seen in Manila. Not your typical five-minute downpour! It was humbling, and we didn't even get the worst of it. The provinces are usually the hardest hit, with appalling loss of life and property.





Speaking of nature's power, the second photo was taken in Tagaytay above one of the many active volcanoes in the Philippines. The city of Tagaytay is built along the rim of an ancient volcano. You can drive parallel to the rim and glimpse gorgeous views of Lake Taal, situated inside the giant extinct crater. You can drive down to the water's edge, hire a boat to cross the lake to an island in the center, then hire a horse and guide to take you up a trail to the rim of the "baby" volcano (pictured). Of course the horses are more like ponies and the guides try to gouge your wallet at every opportunity, but it really is a cool little day trip.

Lawyers in Leopard Shorts

So we're in the middle of collecting paperwork for the adoption application. Weirdness abounds. Yesterday we had physicals. The measuring bar on the scale was too short to measure Bryce's height. Have I mentioned that Filipinos are not tall? I'm right at home here height-wise, but Bryce is off the charts. Everyone in the office stopped to stare and giggle. Poor Bryce.

Today we chatted about Charlotte Church and Princess Di and secret US laser bombs with a retired Filipino military officer-turned lawyer/notary who lounged at his desk wearing leopard-print shorts and a tye-dyed mumu. His wife (also a lawyer/notary) bustled around notarizing things, hovering to make sure her assistant used the typewriter correctly (haven't seen one of those for a while!), and generally being helpful: "sit there," "sit here," "sit there," "sign here," "everything is above board here, oh yes, all above board." Color me reassured.

I also got fingerprinted for a background check, sat around at the bank for half an hour to do wire transfers, bought a playpen, picked up pictures, dropped off and picked up more pictures, signed the kids up for school, found an adoption lawyer (of the tye-dye-free variety), filled out forms, and even found time for a hair appointment this afternoon to hide all the gray hair I'm getting.