Taking a Little of My Own (Published!) Advice

I'm please to announce the publication of The Foreign Service Companion: Moving Your Household Without Losing Your Mind (Volume 1), (affiliate link) by many contributors, including me! I have an essay in the book about how to keep up with your workout routine in the middle of transition time. It's something I certainly struggle with but also something I try to make the best of. In fact, for a little inspiration I re-read my essay this morning. We are coming up on a move in two months but my half-marathon training starts in one month. I have to manage both. My definition of success is that anything that is not a disaster will be acceptable. Basically, I need to alive on race day, which isn't until September.

The book includes full chapters, short essays, and anecdotes by Foreign Service members and family members on how to handle all aspects of your move, whether your transitioning from the United States to abroad or vice versa. We've all been there and we want to help others who are facing these challenges. The book is now available on Amazon.com in paperback and Kindle editions.

Have fun with your next move! Remember, you're not alone.

The Auto-Rickshaw Bed Grand Reveal!

It's all finished! About six months ago we first had the idea to turn an auto-rickshaw into a bed. And last night Muffin slept in her auto-rickshaw bed for the first time.

It arrived in two pieces on two autos:

The pieces were unloaded and carried up the stairs:

Some parts that were supposed to be bolted were in actuality still welded, so we were stuck here for about half an hour:

But eventually it was all in Muffin's room and ready to reassemble:

She moved in her blankets and stuffed animals:

And then she was ready for bed:

The guys did a great job on the restoration and painting. You can see all our photos of the process here (auto shopping and restoration) and here (moving it inside).

"I want a second auto," were the words that greeted me after nap time this afternoon. Sorry kiddo, we love it and it was a fun project, but only one auto per lifetime.

Expat Women Still Confessing

Two years ago, the Expat Women site published its first book and I was among the many women who received a free copy to review. Since this is one of my favorite sites, when they asked people to publicize the book for its second anniversary, I am re-posting my original review (published June 1, 2011). To download a free sample of the book or buy it, visit Expat Women.

I'm a frequent reader of the Expat Women website. When the founders of the site contacted bloggers to read and review their new book, Expat Women: Confessions -- 50 Answers to Your Real-Life Questions About Living Abroad, I was excited and couldn't wait to start reading.

The founder of Expat Women has been compiling letters and answers from the popular Confessions column on the website and has put the most common subjects and frequently returned to topics into one book for easy reference. What I think everyone will take away from this book is that "You are not alone." Moving within your own country, even within your own town, is hard. Moving to a new country is very hard, no matter how prepared, organized, determined, or open-minded you are. It helps to hear others' stories for inspiration.

The book is organized into different topics, such as culture shock, raising children, death and divorce overseas, and moving back to your home country. There are questions from single women, women who are the working partner, and women who are the "trailing spouse." The women featured come from a range of different countries and backgrounds, not just the United States, which emphasizes the fact that we can all relate, because we all have some of the same thoughts from time to time.

I don't consider myself a seasoned expat, but I found myself already knowing the answers to some of the questions. One problem I found with the book is that regardless of the problem, the answers were similar or overlapped. There is a lot of advice geared around getting professional counseling, which seems like a difficult thing to do if one of your issues is a language barrier and there are no counselors or therapists practicing in your native language. There is apparently a huge market for life coaching, especially those who practice expat life coaching, of which I was unaware. Most of the advice is to relax and think through the problems and decisions and to have a positive attitude. Exercise and try to make friends. The same pep talk was repeated several times. I think there's more value in the variety of questions, knowing that whatever problem you have there's one other person out there with the same problem. The answer isn't always as important as knowing someone else already asked the question.

There is a lot of practical advice on what sorts of documents and paperwork we should all have in order, especially for when emergencies arise, such as financial papers, health records, wills, and documents pertaining to legal issues in your host country.

After reading this book my feelings that as a State Department expat I think we have it much easier than other expats were confirmed. As much as we grumble sometimes, we have an automatic network in place if we choose to use it. Much of the advice given in this book is similar to what you'll get from the Family Liaison Office. Our housing is mostly taken care of, we have medical personnel and security officers on-call a lot of the time. We have mail service. We jump in to a new assignment filled with people that have just gone through the same move and we have instant access to those people to show us the ropes of a new city.

I think the book can be a valuable resource for some women. It's easy to get so involved in our own little worlds that we forget there are others out there like us but sometimes it's nice to identify with someone.

You can download a free sample of the book here. The book is available for purchase from Amazon.com in paperback and Kindle editions.

I received a free promotional copy of this book as a Kindle download for review purposes. The views expressed in this post are my own. I was not compensated in any way for this review. I have not enabled Amazon Affiliate links in this post.

No One Tells You About the Smell: And Other Adventures of Eye Surgery in India

I'm typing this with limited vision. But I'm bored and my painkillers are now in full effect so I'm taking my chances with the bright screen for a few minutes. (Thanks to a high school typing class I can do a pretty good job with my eyes closed.)

On Friday I had my PRK eye surgery. It was about as terrifying as I imagined it would be for about twenty minutes. One relief was that they only force one eye open at a time; for some reason I thought they would both be forced open at the same time. The doctor was soothing and conversational, talking me through each step. I relied on my yoga breathing to help me relax. And then there was a horrible burning smell. I never made the connection between lasers and eyeballs burning together. I panicked a bit but there was nothing I could do except try to keep breathing. My fear of moving my eye and messing up the surgery overcame my revulsion of the smell. (Mike later told me that he intentionally didn't tell me about the smell because he knew I'd never go through with it.) They did my right eye first. My left eye didn't take as long and since I was prepared for the smell it wasn't so bad.

The surgery part when precisely and perfectly and surprisingly on time. But as usual for India, the follow-up bedside manner left something to be desired. They gave me some sunglasses that were hardly dark enough and set me down in a sunny, well-lit waiting room. They gave me a juice box, which was nice. They handed me a sheet of instructions that I couldn't read. They explained that I needed to take three different eye drops four times a day for the next week. One person told me to take them five minutes apart, someone else told me ten minutes apart. They told me to take one tablet for pain after lunch and another one after dinner and they told me to use a skin patch before going to bed. Then someone dropped me off at the door and I fumbled with my phone to call my driver. When he pulled up I gave him my instruction sheet from the doctor and told him to go to the pharmacy and pick up all the drugs listed. He parked me in the shade and went in. He came back a few minutes later and handed me a little bag and asked me to look at the sheet and check the contents of the bag to make sure they matched. I pretended to read and said "Sure, it's fine," because I couldn't see and I had no reason to assume that the pharmacy at the eye hospital wouldn't give me what I needed to recover from eye surgery.

Ah, but you know what they say about assuming things.

I got home that day before Muffin, so while I was still on the anesthetic from the surgery I fixed myself some lunch and made the final preparations to hunker down in my bedroom for the afternoon while Muffin stayed with the baby-sitter. I took a pill, put on my patch, and felt pretty groovy for the afternoon.

I took my dinner-time pill and did my eye drops and had a reasonably good night's sleep. I had a follow-up appointment first thing Saturday morning so I woke up early, took my eye drops and my last pill, and got on the road.

I'm a little hazy on the details from then. I remember sitting for a long time in a sunny waiting room again. I saw one doctor who said that despite some irritation in my right eye, both eyes were healing as they should be. Then they wanted me to wait and see another doctor, but he was in surgery. I watched patients go in and out of the office. I don't know how long I was there but my pill was starting to wear off and I was still in that sunny room. I got up and made a scene. My appointment was at 8:00 and it was nearly 10:00. I just had surgery, I needed to be at home resting, not sitting in a sunny room indefinitely. The first doctor I saw happened to walk through and witness my scene. He grabbed my arm and led me to another room. Within a few minutes I had my appointment slip for my Thursday appointment to have my contact lens band-aids taken off. I went home, took my eye drops, and laid down.

By Saturday night I was in agony. I couldn't understand why the pharmacy hadn't given me more pills, but I was too delirious to think about asking for more. I assumed my last pill that morning was meant to get me through the worst of the pain and I began to fear that my worsening pain now was due to an infection or botched surgery. I was loading up on extra-strength Tylenol, but it wasn't making a dent in the pain. I'm sure I was near passing out at one point on Saturday night. By Sunday afternoon my eyes were even more red and irritated than they'd been the day before and my pain was getting worse. Mike remembered from his own surgery that I was supposed to be feeling better by this point in the recovery.

He called the emergency contact number. And there was no answer. He called the main receptionist and from his side of the conversation it sounded like she kept asking why he'd called her instead of the emergency line. Eventually she told him to bring me in.

Considering how badly a visit to the emergency room could have been on a Sunday afternoon when Mike, Muffin, and I were already pretty cranky (the baby-sitter and driver were already gone for the day so it was a family adventure), it went better than expected. I saw two doctors who both agreed that my eyes were healing just fine and they couldn't understand why I was in so much pain. Finally one of them asked me if I was taking my pills and using the patch. I said I used the ones that were given to me on the first day but I was all out. I told them exactly how many pills and patches. They said that was only a one-day supply and I was supposed to get enough to last for a week.

I had essentially gone through the worst of the pain with no painkillers.

I told the doctors I gave my paper to the pharmacy and accepted the number of pills and patches they gave me. I said if I was supposed to take more, how come no one told me that and how come it wasn't written down for the pharmacist to know that? They apologized and wrote me a new prescription. It still didn't say how many days' worth to get.

And this is a problem I've had with doctors here in India. It's up to the patient to tell the pharmacist how much medicine to give out and that is totally ridiculous. Never mind all the abuse that's happening as people get way more pills than they need to drug themselves or sell them, but what about people like me who are delirious after surgery and have no idea how much medicine I'm supposed to be taking? It needs to be written down somewhere! This seems so obvious to me.

The pharmacy at the eye hospital was closed and another nearby pharmacy was closed so Mike drove to a hospital near our house and we decided on three days' worth of medication. (And if I need more I can send my driver out for it, since there's no concept of dates or number of refills.) By the time he got back to the car and gave me a pill, I was nauseous with pain and saw strobe lights when I closed my eyes.

Even with the meds, Sunday night was pretty hellish. But I was doing much better by Monday morning.

This post was written over the course of several hours, in between eye drops and pain pills. I'm feeling much better and even went out of the house for a little bit today, with sunglasses and a hat. My vision is getting better and my irritation is decreasing (the irritation in my eyes, at is, not with the health care system here).

Running, Writing, and Moving

Image from Pinterest.

I don’t really have time for any new projects but I’ve been bitten by the writing bug. Since it’s been so long since this has happened I feel I need to indulge it for a while. I’m working on a book about Burundi. I’m leaning toward nonfiction about our time there but it may end up as fiction based on my experiences. It’s cathartic getting everything out of my head and on “paper.” Reading all my old blog posts and flipping through the books I read before we moved there has brought up a lot of memories, good and bad.

Last week I flew through two 5K runs before my yoga classes. I can get a lot of writing done in my head when I’m zoning out on the treadmill. During our times of internet connection I’m working on our cat’s transportation back to the United States, our up-coming summer holiday trip, and myriad other preparations for our last few months here and our first few in the United States. When the internet isn’t working, I write.

We are getting into that crazed time that happens with every move. Today when I dropped Muffin off at her summer classes, they informed me that her music enrollment is up. I told them the date we’re leaving and they said, “Great, you can do the twelve-week program.” Twelve weeks. I’m not ready to have only three months left.

I kind of want to run outside tomorrow instead of on the treadmill. I should set the alarm now for zero-dark-thirty.

"No Stopping Monday"

Image from Centers and Squares.

I wasn't in the mood to write a Motivation Monday post this week because not much has changed since last week, quite honestly. But then on Tuesday morning, while it was still Monday in the United States, I woke up to the news of the bombing attack at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Mike had the news on his Blackberry and told me as soon as I woke up. I forgot about getting Muffin out of bed and headed straight to the tv to watch the news for a few minutes. I couldn't believe it.

If there's one bit of light in this senseless, cowardly act, it's that so many people rushed to the scene to help. Doctors and police officers who had just crossed the finish line as racers became first responders. The EMTs on scene to help injured and sick runners turned to treat trauma victims. I heard that agents from Mike's agency's Boston office showed up as first responders as well. Untrained spectators and runners just wanting to help ran in to carry others to safety and offer as much comfort as possible. Everyone dropped everything to help. Because that's what we do.

I have my Boston t-shirt on for heading out to the treadmill this afternoon.

Blogging Eventually Comes Down to Posting Cat Photos

This is Grendel. He was a twenty-pound Norwegian forest cat. He was the most lovable slug there ever was. He's no longer with us; he passed away in Africa. But I'm posting his photos for  Motivation Monday because I've been feeling like a slug myself lately. I think sluggishness looks better on Grendel than it does on me.

Mike was out of town last week and as I was single-parenting I binged on coffee, carbs, and sugar (see previous post), giving me just enough energy to muddle through the day and then collapse after Muffin went to bed. Starting over again each morning at 5:30. I walked one mile and went to yoga once. And considered myself successful.

As I'm typing this it's Sunday evening and I'm enjoying a glass of wine after a long week. This week has to be different though. I don't feel healthy. I know that all I need is a tweak of my diet, a few miles, and a little more yoga and I'll feel better. It should be so easy, but it's not.

...

I started this post last night. I glanced at the clock and saw it was 9:00. I realized my wine was giving me a headache more than it was making me feel relaxed so I threw the last few sips down the sink and got a glass of water. I shut down the computer and went to bed to read for a bit, thinking a good night's sleep would be a nice way to start the week. I slept terribly though and was crabby when I woke up this morning.

The little decisions that you make every day to stay healthy are difficult when you're tired, but I'm making them this morning. One cup of coffee, yes. Biscotti, no. Cereal with banana slices, yes. Glass of water, yes. Second cup of coffee, no. Banana-pineapple smoothie, yes. One step and one decision at a time.

There's a Color Me Rad race the day before my half marathon. I really want to do it as a relaxing fun run but some people have told me it's a crazy idea. I'm trying to decide soon, before the registration fee raises another five dollars. Any thoughts? 

Stay Hydrated -- Important for Baking as Well as Running

It's been a while since I've made macarons but I decided that Muffin is old enough to appreciate the work that goes into them now (she loves them; her favorite books from when she first started picking out books are macarons cookbooks; she knows that when Daddy travels to Bangkok or Singapore he comes home with macarons). We needed a project for today and I thought this would be novel enough to hold Muffin's attention. Plus, the dry weather is perfect for baking them -- even though it's monstrously hot outside (108 F / 42 C) so it's a little insane to be lighting the oven. We stayed well-hydrated with ice water and took cooling breaks in the air-conditioned parts of the house. And we had a very fun morning with a delicious reward.

The last time I made them I used Cecile Cannone's Macarons: Authentic French Cookie Recipes from the Macaron Cafe. This time I used Berengere Abraham's Macarons. I found Abraham's recipes to be, not easier exactly, but less labor intensive because they are in smaller quantities. There's a lot of waiting time, though, so they are not "quick and easy." Good if you like to clean as you go, bad if you have an anxious kitchen helper. As you'll see from the photos, having a smaller quantity means there's less room for mistakes if you want beautiful, photogenic macarons. I think I'll stick with Abraham's, though, until I become more practiced. Cannone's large batches can be saved for a big Christmas party. Abraham's are for having a couple people over for coffee.

We were inspired by the photo of the raspberry macarons, but we used store-bought jam instead of making our own. Muffin requested strawberry jam in half of them and raspberry jam in the others.

Mine

Muffin's

Muffin was so delighted with her work that it was worth the heat and the "wasted" batter of her imperfect cookies. I think she wants to do this every Sunday now. When we're back in the U.S. I want to take Muffin to Cecile Cannone's bakery in New York to see if "Madame Cecile," as Muffin calls her, will autograph Muffin's book.

Mommy Fueled by Coffee

This was Muffin at eight o'clock this morning. She wanted to water plants but we don't have any plants in the house. (I love plants but hate the upkeep, especially with a cat who eats them and a kid who sticks her fingers in dirt at every opportunity.) She found some melon seeds that our housekeeper left out to dry and the stash of empty egg cartons that I keep for just such situations and did some planting. I know I should go the extra step and get her some dirt. But, eight o'clock in the morning. Maybe I'll have the energy for dirt later.

We don't leave for school until close to 8:45. She woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 5:30. By six she was dressed for school and had her spoon and bowl out, ready for cereal. I was sprawled out on her bedroom floor half asleep. We had a terrible thunder storm last night, which thankfully Muffin slept through. I did not. The cat did not sleep, either. At the beginning of the storm she was at my feet, chirping nervously whenever there was a clap of thunder. By the end of the storm she'd inched her way up and was pretty much on top of my head. It was nearly midnight by the time the storm was over and I fell asleep. Then Muffin woke up crying at 1:15. It was a quick pat-on-the-back, kiss-on-the-head, and then back to sleep for her but it took me a while to fall asleep again. And then the Muffin Alarm went off at 5:30.

I planned on being much more productive while she was at school today but I ended up drinking coffee and staring off into space. 

How Do You Paint an Auto-Rickshaw?

"I want yellow paint and pink paint and blue paint and brown paint," is what Muffin says when asked how she wants her auto-rickshaw to be painted. We have to be a little more specific than that when we talk to the painters so this morning we took photos of some designs we like.

We're going with a classic yellow auto with a black roof. I like pink flowers under the windscreen:

We like the stripes on the back and sides:

I like the flowers on this "4-in-all" logo:

We like the "For Hire" font but we're thinking of having it say "Private" instead:

I like the bajaj logo and the stripes that came on our auto:

And we like this little light panel. We'll have toggle switches installed, some of which will control the headlamp and turn signals and some that will simply light up the buttons on the panel.

We have a lot to discuss with the painters. Most of the work is decals but we'd like to have the designs hand-painted on instead, for more permanence.

And of course, the obligatory shot of Muffin driving an auto. The drivers were so curious as to why we were taking so many photos. As thanks, we had to take some of them with Muffin.

Previous posts: Auto-rickshaws.