EverAfterLand

A Happy {Honduran} Halloween!

{Your eyes do not deceive you - this really is a post about Halloween!  And your calendar does not deceive you, either, I am just very, very, VERY late getting this one posted.  Enjoy!}

I don't think it's any big surprise that Honduras has their own set of holidays.  Or that they don't celebrate all the same holidays that we do in The States.  They are a whole separate country, after all.

But, being the true 'Mericans that we are, we insisted on finding a way to celebrate Halloween, even if the rest of the country was clueless as to what we were doing!

Essentially, there are three main components to Halloween:

1. Costumes
2. Trick-or-Treating
3. Pumpkin Carving

Checking off this list in a Central American country is not always easy, but we were not going to be deterred!

Pumpkins

The big Jack-O-Lantern pumpkins that are the mascot of Halloween just plain don't exist here.  In fact, I still don't know what the word for "pumpkin" actually is in Spanish.  Hondurans call them simply "calabaza."  Which means "squash."  Technically true - a pumpkin is a squash - but so are a lot of things.  Acorn, spaghetti, and butternut, are some of the others, to name a few.  The lack of a separate word was made woefully obvious today when the Lunch Menu in the Embassy cafeteria boasted a side dish of "Pumpkin and Vegetables," only to be dissappointed by a tray full of baked zucchini.

The few actual orangey pumpkins that can be found stocked at the beginning of October are imported. 

And Imported = Expensive.

Miss Priss, Lil' Miss Sunshine and I were at the local PriceSmart (the Latin American Costco) when they spied a display of pumpkins.  Giddy, they ran over and each picked one up.

"PUT THOSE DOWN RIGHT NOW!"  I ordered, as if they were tossing around Fabrege Eggs.  "Those pumpkins are $30 a piece, and I don't want to pay for it if you drop one!"

Gingerly, they placed the fruit back on top of the pile.

Nope, no pumpkins for us this year!

But that doesn't mean we can't improvise. 

After all, a squash is a squash is a squash, right?

I found these little beauties at The Mercado one morning.  They're cute, they're little, they're very, very green, but with a little paint, they are just perfect!

PUMPKINS......... check!

Costumes

There are a few stores here in Tegucigalpa that sell some Halloween things.  Most, of course, are leftovers from Halloweens Past, as in "the stuff that didn't sell in The States."  Want the latest Frozen or Ninja Turtle costume?  You're probably not going to find it here. 

No matter, because my little princesses didn't want to be either of those things! 

Instead, we had a Rainbow Butterfly....

And Toothless the Dragon from the movie How To Train Your Dragon.

Fortunately, I'm not afraid to break out the sewing machine, or take on the task of creating a costume from the few working brain cells I have left.

COSTUMES...... check!

Trick-or-Treating

Trick-or-Treating is much tougher to accomplish in a country like this.  Not only do most of the population have no idea what you are talking about (or even why you are wearing a costume), there's that whole walking-in-the-streets-at-night-is-probably-gonna-get-you-shot thing to contend with.

Fortunately, we are part of an outstanding U.S. Embassy who takes care of our Holiday Yearnings!

The CLO (or Community Liason Office) managed to put on, not just one, but TWO fabulous events to entertain the kiddies!

The first happens on a Saturday in October, and fulfills the need of a traditional Trick-or-Treat experience.  The Embassy uses one of the gated communities (they're almost all gated around here!) in the area.  First, there's a little party, akin to an elementary school's Fall Festival, with a bounce house, face painting and little crafts.  Plus a potluck of tasty desserts (gotta get the kids hopped up on sugar before they go find some more sugar!)

After a little Costume Parade,  the Trick-or-Treaters are let loose into the small neighborhood to fill up those candy bags - only to the houses that previously agreed to participate, of course. 

The whole event is about the closest you can come to a US-style Halloween in all of Honduras!

Our second event is held during the week, and is a Trick-or-Treat throughout the Embassy.  Each department decorates their section of the four-story building, and then the kids are escorted through to get their candy! 

The CLO holds a Decorating Contest, so some of these displays were pretty creepy!  Twice, Miss Priss refused to get her candy.  And, yes, Miss Priss is the older one!  One display in particular had a man dressed as Frankenstein's Monster.  An already tall guy, he taped styrofoam boxes to the bottoms of his shoes, to make himself even more intimidating.  He didn't use a mask, utilizing make-up for his green monster face.

Miss Priss made fun of the packing tape on his shoes.

And then refused go near him.

Not even for C-A-N-D-Y!!

After we were safely home, plopped on the couch, sifting through candy buckets, I asked Miss Priss if she knew who the Frankenstein was.

She thought for a while, made a few guesses, and then cried, "Just tell me who it is!"

"It was your best friend's dad!!  I can't believe you didn't recognize him!"

TRICK-OR-TREATING....... check!

There was a lot of fun to be had this past Halloween!  Still, I'll be glad when we are back in The States, where this holiday can be done properly.  I mean, what kind of decent Trick-or-Treat bag DOESN'T contain one single Snickers???

 

At The Mercado - Mangos: The Deliciously Dangerous Fruit

Mangos.

They're lovely, right?  These softball sized fruits that look like a sunrise, all at once green and red and golden.

Tearing open the flesh reveals a savory sweet and delectable treat.  Crimson pearls piled high on tables and spilling out of baskets amongst the fruit and vegetable stands at The Mercado.

Mango trees are plentiful here in Honduras.  And while we do not have any in our yard, they can be seen reaching over the walls of our surrounding neighbors and in the gardens of many of our Embassy friends.

But there is a dark side to this sunshiney fruit.  One that us norteamericanos have little knowledge of, since most of us hail from areas where the mango is considered exotic and expensive.

One that poor Hubster had to find out the hard way.

Hubby woke up one morning with open blisters on his neck surrounded by red, swollen skin.  It looked like a really bad sunburn, but in such a localized area that there was no way to sunburn so horribly in such a pattern.

After checking in with friends and the Health Unit at the Embassy, Hubby discovered that the source of his angry rash was the sap of a mango tree.

Because mango sap = poison ivy.

I know, right!  Who knew?

Hubster had stood under a mango tree after a run the evening before, shaking a branch so the freshly fallen raindrops would cool him off.  A green mango fell and bounced to the ground, freeing up the sap to flow along with the rain.

We just didn't know!

As I discovered through a quick Google search, mangos contain the chemical urushiol, the same oil that gives poison ivy its potent power.  The chemical can be found in the skin of the mangoes, as well as the sap of the tree and possibly the bark and leaves themselves. 

So the next time you are in a tropical mood, and feel the need to devour a plump juicy mango, please take great care. 

If a mango gives you Mango Burn, and you have to take steroids to conteract the pain and swelling, then you might end up with Roid Rage, turn into Godzilla and destroy your whole town.

Don't let mangoes destroy your whole town!  Eat your mangoes with caution!

Observations on Memorial Day

This is a photo of Miss Priss I had taken when she was a bitty three-year-old at a Fourth of July parade in Bristol, Rhode Island. 

I had pretty much forgotten about the photo altogether.  But the other day, as Memorial Day was looming, the image popped back into my head and I knew I had to post it. 

Memorial Day is all about remembrance.  Remembering soldiers who sacrificed everything they had to give to help our country maintain freedom and equality and the pursuit of happiness.

I don't think anyone can measure what those things truly mean until you have lived in a world where they barely exist. 

Our home is in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.  A place that is still learning what it means to be good to its own people.  Where every parking lot has an armed security guard, and a truckload of rifle-bearing soldiers driving down the street is commonplace, and the noises we hear at night could be either fireworks or gunshots. 

We do not dare walk down the city streets here.  And we have our car windows (as do most vehicles in the city) tinted as dark as our eyes can stand it.  Not because we look like gringos, but because, in looking like gringos, we also look like money. 

The pursuit of happiness in this place is something that is much too far out of reach for most of the people here. 

But it is something they continue to dream for their children and their grandchildren.

(Because, thank God, dreams are still free.)

I heard some chatter up in the States, as Memorial Day Weekend was approaching, that the holiday had become synonymous with "party" and is celebrated for having a day off of work.

Not enough people, they said, were using it as a time of solemn remembrance.

(Shoot, even my husband, just now, got on my case for almost titling this post "Happy Memorial Day!"  "It's an observance," he said to me sternly.)

But I beg to differ.  Relish in your extra day off, walk down the street with your family, knowing that you are safe.  Maybe not safe from everything awful in the world, but safe from most. 

Because the people we are remembering, those brave soldiers who came before, who won't make it to barbeque's and family picnics, did what they did so you can do what you do.  So you have the opportunity to be happy.

And free.

I hope all of you had a very happy, blessed and safe Memorial Day.

Feeling The Burn - Health and Safety in Honduras

Here in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, there are two main seasons.

First comes The Burning Season.

Before The Burn

Next comes The Rainy Season.

And repeat.

We are currently shifting from The Burning Season into The Rainy Season, but let me tell you, that change cannot happen fast enough!

“What the heck is a Burning Season,” you are probably wondering.  “Does it have to do with the temperature being burning hot?”

Nope!  Nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with air quality. 

When they say “Burning” they mean actual burning - with actual fire - of the fields and the land as a way to get the earth ready for planting before that Rainy Season starts. 

I can’t comment on what the rest of Honduras looks like since the start of the burns at the beginning of March.  But here in Tegucigalpa we have been sitting inside a cloud of retched smoke and ash. 

The people do not burn only the fields intended for farming.  They burn everything.

Ev-ery-thing!

In the Heart of Burning Season

Empty lots in the city, stretches of unused land along the highways, any spot of earth that has a couple of weeds on it will be burned. 

Why?  To get rid of the weeds.

Yes, I know, they make a spray for that.  Or a lawnmower.  But why use a spray when you can permanently damage the pulmonary systems of people who can’t afford the medication?

Burning has been used in this capacity for generations.  The government would like to put a stop to it, but what can they do?  This is a system where, after fireworks were banned a couple of years ago, we can still hear our neighbors shooting them off for special occasions, holidays, or whenever they feel the urge to be obnoxiously loud. 

“Hey, it’s Wednesday!!  Let’s light a firecracker to celebrate!”

I don’t think the demise of burning is going to happen any time soon.

But hold your breath anyway, because you don’t want to inhale the contaminated oxygen we’ve got around here!

First off, there’s the smoke.  Many days out of the week, the entire city is smothered in an awful gray haze.  Some days, I misinterpret the overcast skies as signs of rain.  If we could only be so lucky!  And because many homes either don’t have central air conditioning, or none at all, windows have to remain open on a daily basis.  After a weekend of no housekeeping, our shelves and knick-knacks look like they haven’t been dusted in a year.  The grittiness can be felt walking barefoot through our wall-to-wall tiled house.  And on bad days, chunks of ash can be found in the outdoor laundry room and all around the patio.   

It is possible to get accustomed to all of the mess resulting from the burns.  Consequences to our health are a whole other story.

Since March, 7-year-old Miss Priss and 4-year-old Lil’ Miss Sunshine have had continuous mild chest congestion, a little hacking cough and runny noses.  And there is no amount of Claritin that is gonna clear that up!  Thankfully, we are only here for a couple of Burning Seasons.  Imagine if they had to grow up in this year after year? 

But there is a country-full of people who do.  And as I gazed up at the sun during its ascent one morning, looking like an angry orange ball as it tried to shine through a thick, nearly impenetrable blanket of smoke, I wondered why the people here had put up with this for so long.

And I prayed for rain.

All Walled Up - Health & Safety in Honduras

The first time my Spanish teacher came over to our new Honduran home, she recognized it right away.

"Oh, yes," she had said, "I was here, maybe, ten years ago.  This is such a beautiful house!  The walls were much smaller back then...."

The Walls.

Every house of every neighborhood that has two centavos to rub together has surrounded itself with a nine foot wall of solid concrete.  Top off with steel garage and front doors, and you've got yourself a standard home in Tegucigalpa. 

Don't misunderstand, these are not what I would consider "compounds."  Imagine one of the common "new construction" sites that you would see in the States.  The plots are long and skinny, with homes that are also long and skinny, two or three stories tall, with postage-stamp sized backyards, and within a few feet of the house next door.  The neighborhoods of Teguc are divided up in this similar fashion, probably because of the rocky, mountainous terrain that makes building a ranch-style home next to impossible.  So, much like how neighbors share a privacy fence around their backyards, we share walls. 

And our walls reach from the back of the property all the way to the sidewalk.

As with many aspects of life here, things didn't used to be this way.  Speaking with Hondurans who were born and raised here, they are quick to tell you that, ten years ago, life was better.  People were safer.  Walls were few.

I am now a Social Sponsor to another U.S. Embassy family that is new to this lost city.  After they had settled into their home, I remember candidly explaining to the wife, "At some point, you may feel a bit like you're in a prison.  That's totally  normal!  Living behind walls and bars starts to get to you after a while, but it'll pass."

What does not pass quite so easily is the feeling of division.  In a world where the chasm between Haves and Have-Nots is vast, these barricades act as yet another reminder of the separation that exists here. 

I'll stay on my side of the wall.  All you other people have to stay outside of it.

I have a new appreciation for the freedoms we have in that great, ol' U. S. of A.  Children laughing as they run through each other's front yards.  Waving to neighbors while loaded down with groceries or buckling kids into carseats.  The ability to look out into the street from the first floor of your house.

For now, the walls will stay put.  There is no evidence of them coming down anytime soon.

I can only pray that they don't get any bigger.

Just My Baby And Me

Maybe it's because it's my "emotional" time of the month.

Maybe it's because Mother's Day is on Sunday, and I've seen one-too-many greeting card/grocery store/baby product commercials in honor of Moms that left me a bit weepy.

Or maybe it's just that I have gargantuan children that are becoming less cuddly by the day.

Whatever the reason, I've been particularly nostalgic lately.

It all started when I received a call from Lil' Miss Sunshine's teacher.  Sunny had a fever, and I zoomed right over to pick her up.

By the next morning, her fever had lessened enough that she still had to stay home from school, but was in a completely jovial mood.

She spent the morning coloring in her color books, me on the floor with her, searching out the best shade of pink in the crayon box.

Today, she was feverless, but had developed a whopper of a sore throat.  I thought it best to have her examined, to rule out the need for antibiotics.

Still happy as a lark, we headed down to the Embassy together to visit the Health Unit.  Everything checked out and we were on our way.

"Mommy.  Mommy!"

"Yes?"

"Was I VERY brave?" she asked.

"Yes, Sweetie, you were so, SO brave!"

We stayed at the Embassy a bit longer, me and my little sprite.

She picked flowers while I ordered a cafe mocha from the coffee stand in the garden.

"These are for you!" she said, and waited as I found the perfect place to display them - the button hole at the top of my shirt.

She was delighted by the rubber bands wrapped around the mail I received at the post office.  Happier still when the Post Lady gave her extra rubber bands for her very own.

She was enamored with the little convenience store tucked away at the end of a long hallway.  Knowing this was where the individual cups of Froot Loops were located, she half begged/half asked if I could buy her some.

"Of course, Sweetie!"

She flit and fluttered her way throughout the Embassy halls, jumping over the reflections of the overhead lights in the glossy tiled floors - deeming them to be made of fire and, thus, thoroughly avoided.

She grabbed for my hand, fitting her little palm into mine, as we walked up and down stairs and through corridors.  Giggling, chattering, and completely enchanting anyone that we came across. 

It was hard.

It was hard to not miss her - this preschool version of whatever it is my daughter will become - while she was still standing there, in her pink tutu and equally pink glitter shoes, wispy curls bouncing on her shoulders.

Her class had a Mother's Day party today.  We were  supposed to have brunch in her classroom, and then watch as the students performed a song for us.  I was disappointed to have missed this, the song that she had been working on and talking about for weeks.  A handmade gift that is now sitting by itself on a desk, the last to be delivered.

But this day turned out better.

As we walked out of the Embassy doors and into the bright Honduran sunshine, a grocery bag of Froot Loops and chocolate ice cream in one hand and a purse brimming with rubber bands slung across my shoulder, she breaks away from me, running on the uphill sidewalk towards the car.  Racing nobody but herself. 

I don't protest or call out to her, she is safe, and is already too far away.

I simply watch, my heart brimming with love and joy and blessings.

And try my best to be very, very brave.

 

Soooo, Where On Earth Have We BEEN????

Yet again, I have disappeared from the face of the planet. 

OK, maybe not the PLANET, but I definitely disappeared from my blog. 

Up until yesterday's post, I had not posted anything for a month.  A WHOLE ENTIRE MONTH!!!

I do apologize.  I swear, I had the best of intentions!

Here in Honduras, Easter is a pretty big deal.  I would dare say, it's an even bigger deal than Christmas.  And the girls' school gave them a whole two weeks off.  TWO! WEEKS!!

So you'd better believe we high-tailed it outta here!

Like every vacation I ever take, I had all sorts of plans.  Like writing gobs of posts, and creating elaborate art projects, and studying up on my Espanol. 

And like all of my vacations before, the books and crafts and keyboard never get touched.

They didn't even exit my suitcase.

(Although there's a good possibility they were all molested by Customs when we re-entered Honduras.  Does that count?)

So to answer the original question: Iowa is where we've been.  And what a whirlwind of a vacation we had!

Sure, there were the big things, like eating at the restaurants and shopping at the stores I've missed so much (I Heart Rudy's Tacos!!!), going on a Girls' Weekend with my mom and sister, and taking all the kids to an indoor waterpark/arcade/mega-playland for a couple of days.

But it's the little things that were the most exciting.

Like rolling all the windows down in the car on a beautiful, crisp, sunny day.  Something we wouldn't dare ever do in Tegucigalpa.

Or leaving my purse in the shopping cart as I perused the aisles of the grocery store.

Walking into a bathroom stall fully expecting toilet paper to already be there.

And (dare I say it!) flushing that toilet paper right down the toilet!!!!

Look at all that beautiful T.P.!

I ate strawberries from the carton without even washing them and simply rinsed apples off with tap water.

Tap Water!

Marvelous, drinkable, not-going-to-kill-you tap water!

We not only walked down the middle of the street in the cul-de-sac that my parents live on, but my girls spent an entire evening playing in that street with the neighborhood kids.

In. The. STREET!!!!

No walls.  No bars.  No barbed wire.  No alarm system.

My wallet actually left my purse in public.  Something it hasn't done since we arrived in this beautiful, but abused, country.

Soon enough, though, it was time to leave, and return to Tegucigalpa.

We are back in our Honduran Home now and have quickly reacclimated to our life here. 

And there were some things that I had missed about this place that you don't readily find up in the States.

Like access to sweet watermelon all year round.

And grocery baggers.  I was visibly annoyed when I had to walk my own groceries out to my own car back in the midwest. 

Oh, and the ability to drive like a jerk any time I want.  This Chica yields for NO ONE!

So Hello again, Honduras.  It's good to be home!

 

 

 

 

 

A Huntin' We Will Go - Part 2: Housing and Heartbreak

I had thought finding my first apartment in college was hard. I sweated bullets wondering if I would pass the credit check, or if my tardy payments and overused cards had finally caught up to me. (They didn't, and I passed!)

I had thought finding a house in San Diego would be hard. With the rents so high and the houses so tiny, how were we going to find the right house for us - and from the opposite side of the country, no less?

I had thought purchasing a home in Virginia was hard. We were living in Rhode Island and trying to find the perfect house long distance (again). Hubby made an exploratory journey while I stayed home with the kids. A month later, I made the exploratory journey while he stayed home with the kids. Still, with our very patient realtor and the amazing power of the internet, we fell in love with the last house we looked at. (You always find it in the last place you look, right?)

But none of our previous searches had prepared us for the nightmare that Honduran House Hunting would become.

Hubster began the search early-on, months before we were to land here, through online real estate websites. (What, you didn't know Honduras has an internet? Well, now you do!) He contacted the Housing Office at The Embassy to find out what sorts of restrictions we had. Obviously, we are restricted by the amount of our housing allowance. But the Housing Office also requires us to live in one of a very short list of neighborhoods (fine by me, I haven't the faintest idea where the "bad" 'hoods are) and we also have a size restriction. Meaning that, based on our rank, our house could be no bigger than 1900 sq ft, not counting closets, staircases or bathrooms.

Crap.

As in, Oh crap, we've got WAY more crap than that!

But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. (I find that most of my stories from our new adventure have "chicken vs. egg" storytelling issues, I'm never sure which part to begin with first.)

I had mentioned in a previous post that most Embassy people who come to Honduras (from the State Department or USAID or whatever) are part of the Embassy Housing Pool. The Housing Pool is the main function of the Housing Office, which rents the required number of homes necessary in the approved neighborhoods, and keeps them maintained and (mostly) furnished. So when the majority of families land at this post they get to move right into a home and go about their lives.

For whatever reason, the military chose NOT to be part of the Housing Pool, leaving us to fend for ourselves in the Honduran Housing Market. Now, most military who are stationed here are usually replacing someone who is already here and about to leave, so most military personnel are able to simply "take over" the house of the person they are replacing. Easy peasy!

But!

Hubster is not replacing anyone. He is in a brand-spanking-new position. And so, we are thrown out onto the street, left to scavange some sort of shelter for ourselves out of sticks, cardboard boxes and fast-food containers.

A bit dramatic, no? Ha! If only it was that easy. I can assure you, the Housing Office would never approve us living in a shack on the side of the road. Not unless we can ground the electrical, put bars on the windows, hide it behind a nine foot wall covered in razor wire and install a fire extinguisher on the wall the size of a toddler.

Because, although we are NOT part of the Embassy Housing Pool, any housing we find MUST be approved by the Housing Office AND the Security Office BEFORE we are permitted to live in it.

And just to make sure we don't try anything funny (like moving into a shack on the side of the road) they hold all of our household goods HOSTAGE!

So when we found that wonderful two-story apartment that seemed to fit the bill just perfectly, we requested to have an inspection done by the Housing Office.

We were optitmistic. We knew there would be security requirements, sure, but the building was clean, maintained and had aged well. We crossed our fingers and prayed for a short list.

It was a short list, alright. Containing really only one word.

"No."

But.... why?

"Earthquakes."

Huh?

You heard right. We were denied permission to live in that super sweet crib because the Housing Office said they found cracks along the base of the building. And if there's an earthquake, we could go sliding off the hillside and down into the city below.

But how often do they have earthquakes here? When was the last one?

Nobody knows. Although the Housing Office lady was kind enough to email Hubster with a report of recent tremors.

"See, this is why we worry about earthquakes!" she added.

Oh.

And yet, every person we have mentioned this "earthquake" issue to is just as confused about it as we are.

See, what we learned very quickly (and perhaps because I watch way too much Castle) with this Housing Office, one never really knows the true intentions of their final verdicts. We never went back to inspect the house for those supposed "cracks." What was the point? Once the determination is a big fat "NO!," there is no recourse, no negotiations, no take-backs.

We were back on the hunt again. And this time, it would be WAR!**

** OK, there I go being a little dramatic again...... OR AM I????

 

Viral Vacation

Does that title make sense? Hmmm..... maybe not.

But, then, whenever I'm ill (like I have been for this past week) I tend to do things that maybe don't make sense. I apologize in advance for anything nonsensical you may read here today.

Unless you find it hilarious, in which case I totally did that part on purpose!

Mostly, though, I wanted to apologize for neglecting my blog, and all of you, this past week. In all truth, I actually had a post all written up and ready to go - Part 2 of our House Hunting Saga. But I didn't post it.

I sorta didn't trust the accuracy of what I had written. Again, I get semi-delusional when I am sick. And it's possible I had written something about elves escorting us on a flying carpet.

Anywho!

In other news, between my girls getting SO sick, and my friend, JC's girls (who attend the same school) getting SO sick, I was getting a little worried about the hygiene at the private school they attend. Didn't anybody EVER wash their hands? Are the janitors not careful to clean off doorknobs and toilets with an antibacterial/antiviral cleanser? What the heck?!?

Then I received an email Friday night. Actually, it was the exact same email, sent from several different sources, each girl's teacher, each girl's principal, and the school administration. It explained that the school had an unusually high rate of children absent due to illness, and had discovered that two kids had confirmed cases of H1N1. That's Swine Flu, for those of you that can't remember the last five years. (And I'm definitely NOT referring to my Mom. My Mom remembers everything!) The school consulted with the Health Department of Honduras (yeah, I don't know what that consists of, either) and they suggested closing the school for five days.

FIVE D-A-Y-S!!!!!!

And I'm not even sure what that's supposed to do. Will the viruses be dead after that amount of time without a living host? Are they sanitizing all those toilets and doorknobs and playground equipment?

What if they forget the playground equipment!?!??!?

At least they decided this on a Friday, so the five days included the weekend.

The girls are thilled. I guess in Honduras, instead of Snow Days, you have Viral Vacation Days.

It's a little tough to make a snowangel in THAT!

Although, maaaaybe, if we get a bunch of that Scrubbing Bubbles stuff and spray it all over the floor.....

I mentioned I'm sick and nonsensical, right? OK.

As for me, I'm battling with some sort of chest congestion thing that involves a lot of hacking and coughing and horse-sized pills of Mucinex. You know when you're sick, and you think maybe you're not THAT sick, but then you climb a flight of stairs and you're all winded and gasping and your chest feels like it's closing up and you can feel your blood going through your veins and you realize it's a good thing you made it to your room, or the hotel staff would find you passed out in the stair well if you had to go any farther, and you really don't trust that one guy not to "accidentally" grab a boob when he picks your unconcious self up to carry you the rest of the way.

It's like that.

On the plus side, I am super at sounding like a gen-u-ine Grandpa/Evil Queen/Scarlett Johansson during our nightly bedtime stories.

Always a silver lining!

As long as I rest, drink lots of water, and keep myself off of staircases, I think I should be better soon!

At least, I hope so. Although, those Scrubbing Bubbles Snow Angels are sounding more and more like a good idea....

 

A-Huntin' We Will Go - Part 1: Presidents and Papparazzi

Hubby and I were fresh off the truck, here in Honduras, when it was time to get out there and find ourselves a house!

The realtor picked us up. She sorta had to. We had only been here for two days and we had no access to a car. Hubby sat up front, and I squished in beside an empty car seat in the back. The girls had a babysitter (thank goodness, so we could actually have complete thoughts!) and we were on our way.

As we drove to the first house, the realtor (who also knew English) explained to us which neighborhood the house was in, adding that it was also next door to the President of the Honduran Congress.

Oh, and he is also one of the leading contenders for the upcoming Presidential election.

As in, President of All Honduras.

Hubster's Reaction:

Wow! That's great! I bet The Embassy would LOVE for us to be neighbors with HIM! And the security would be REALLY GREAT around that house!!!

My Reaction:

OH HELL'S NO!!! Presidents need so much security because people not only WANT to kill them, they actively TRY to kill them! And who are you kidding? They don't want to be "friends" with us! We'll be lucky if we get to know their MAID!!!!

But we were almost there, and I was pretty curious to see what kind of a house the neighbor of the maybe-president would have.

The first thing I noticed, when we walked into the living room was not the lighting or the hardwood floors.

It was the sand.

SAND!

Akin to something you would see on an HGTV home-decorating show, there was a cut-out in the floor along one wall, creating an area about two feet wide and a few inches deep, filled with fine, white sand. The whole scene was topped with some sort of iron wall-hanging dotted with candleholders on the wall above.

"Perfect," I thought. "Who will ruin it first? The dog peeing in it, or the kids using sand in lieu of tea - all over the house?"

Nonetheless, it was fixable. Remove the sand and replace it with a bunch of potted plants. Totally doable!

Shoot.

We walked outside and saw that there was water damage in the roof that covered the patio. Did that come from upstairs? Nope. That piece of roof had nothing over it and could be repaired.

Nuts.

As we toured the upstairs, Hubbers was still daydreaming about his new BFF and making up nicknames for each other, while I was looking in every knook and crany, trying to find a reason, ANY reason, for us to NOT rent this house.

And there it was, a beautiful, glorious black and brown stain on the ceiling adjacent to the exterior wall in one of the bedrooms.

It even had some of the ceiling plaster lying on the floor, for good measure.

"Nope, we can't rent this place," I said. "If there's already leaking problems that they didn't bother to fix in a timely manner, I can't trust the landlords to make repairs after we move in, when that leak is bound to come back."

Hubs agreed, and we took off for House #2, leaving his bromance with the maybe-future-president behind.

The next house was in a gated community inside ANOTHER gated community. Now that's security!

The realtor did not have keys for the vacant house, but she did know the owner of the identical home across the street, and the housekeeper was kind enough to let us snoop around.

The home was lovely, save for one small problem - no grass in the backyard. But that was workable! Our beloved family dog, Eddie, would have to do his business in the front yard. And we could hire someone to pooper scoop!

We were still curious about the actual house for rent, though, and Hubby and I walked across the cul-de-sac to peek through the windows.

The five houses that comprised the community inside this gated area were located at the base of a large hill. At the top of the hill, construction had been started on something-or-other for the university located directly on the opposite side. There was freshly overturned dirt, several trucks, and many contruction workers milling about.

"Hey!" I hissed to Hubby, trying not to move my lips, "I think that guy is watching us!"

Hubster, of course, immediately looked up and saw the same thing I saw. One of the workers had stopped whatever it was he was doing, and was staring at us. We tried to ignore him.

Another minute later, and now a second worker had stopped what he was doing to join the first. Two construction workers were now analyzing us from their hilltop perch, standing side-by-side, their yellow hardhats nearly touching, gawking at the gringos.

"Ohmygosh, this is so WEIRD!" I commented to the realtor, trying to hide the fact that I was completely freaking out.

Another minute later, and the first worker had pulled out his smartphone.

"He. Is. Taking. PICTURES OF US!!!!!" I hissed to Hubster.

The realtor knew just what course of action to take. She whipped out her phone and started snapping pics of the two construction workers.

It took them a moment to realize what was happening, but once they did, the photography stopped, and the men went back to work.

"I can't do this," I explained to the realtor. "If they think we're odd, I can just imagine what they'll think of my blonde, blue-eyed six-year-old. I know we are a spectacle here, and I know people will stare when we walk by, but I need to know that nobody will do that right outside my house."

"I understand," she replied. "I have one more that we can look at."

It was an apartment, actually. A two-story apartment that comprised the first and second floors of a six story building. Three apartments total. With its own security guard for the driveway.

Sweet!

Inside, the apartment was spacious. Three bedrooms, an office, a playroom area adjacent to a family room. A dining room and a sitting room, I wasn't sure we had enough furniture for this place! And, because it was on the first floor, we had an actual backyard. WITH GRASS!!!!

No aspiring politicians.

No budding papparazzi.

It was the house of our dreams!

But as with all dreams, they don't always come true.....

Stay tuned for A-Huntin' We Will Go - Part 2: Housing and Heartbreak, where you'll hear someone say....

"Wow! Check out the size of THAT wood!"

Exclusively in EverAfterLand!