Really? Play-Doh World…try again.

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Everywhere we go we see advertisements for the Play-Doh Christmas land in the mall in Sinatra, Portugal.  There are signs all over the sides of the highway.  Advertisements in all the newspapers.  My kids were psyched.  This was going to be special.

We arrived and the Play-Doh world was closed…opening at 4 pm.  We waited the 15 minutes.  Maggie sees a sign saying no kids allowed over 8 years of age.  She is heart broken.  She wanted to play.  I asked the worker who told me that she was too big.  She asked me her age and when I said 11, she said that my daughter was a taller than most Portuguese women.  True dat.  It just seems cruel to end Christmas fun at 8.

So what was Play-Doh world?  Everything was covered in the stuff, even the train.  The kids got to play with Play-Doh…wow.  Not sound too cynical, but this was supposed to be a BIG deal.  A world of Play-Doh.  We envisioned work shops, games, rides….we got a dinky train and a few cookie cutters.  Next time we know to not believe the hype.

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Cows…pay attention. You are not wanted here.

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Every country is different, however road signs seem pretty similar everywhere.  I have seen my share of odd sign posts in Greece, a few odd ones in Egypt…my point is, generally speaking there are universal signs for drivers, but for added excitement,  some unique to each country.

In Portugal, before every freeway on ramp you see this sign.  It tells walkers, cyclists, cows and carts they are not welcome.  Can the cow read this sign?  What about the unmanned cart?   Curious.   It is a personal favorite.

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Maggie’s first fight. Hopefully…her last.

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Maggie has been complaining about this little boy since she started school.  In fact, on her first day there we were greeted by the head master and in the corner of his office we saw this boy sitting on a chair.  Obviously, a sign of things to come.

His name is Leo and he is only 9.  He looks like he is in middle school…huge, beastly child.  Bless his heart.  (I learnt, from living in the south, that I can say mean things as long as I say “bless his/her heart” afterwards.)  He was sent to board in Portugal, while his parents are living thousands of miles away in China.  Maggie feels terrible for him, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t scared of him.  He has declared war on all girls.  He threatens to kill them.  Cut up their brains.  Hit them with baseball bats.  She has been the victim of a few of his rants.  He has also pushed her a couple of times.  She comes home and details the terrible things he does.  He litters.  “Can you imagine?”  This is Maggie’s question to me.  Well, yes I can imagine he litters…seems low of the list of awful things he does daily.  He takes his soda cans and throws them over the railings at school where they land on parked cars.  She has never told on him because she is really just trying to stay away from him.  She did help a little first grader who was almost hit by Leo with a baseball bat.  But, let’s be honest, she had to do something then.  The little girl was almost pummeled.

I went to the school to address these issues.  They are aware of his problems.  He is in therapy.  He has had a rough childhood.  I am sympathetic, but not happy.  Fast forward, to yesterday.  Maggie comes home with a pretty bad cut on her arm.  It was bright yellow…the results of a cleaning with iodine.  Iodine! I haven’t seen that used on a cut since I was a kid, except of course when Pippa got an injury from one of her fights in Portugal.

She tells me that Leo tripped her on the basketball ball court.  Once she was on the ground he proceeded to kick her.  She yelled for him to stop and a teacher came over and intervened.  Thank God.  Besides the nice cut on her arm, she has a pretty nasty bruise on her bum.  The assistant head master told him to apologize to Maggie, instead he threw his soda can over the fence.   When she told him to pick it up, he refused.  The real head master was called.  Maggie said he screamed at the kid to pick up the soda can.  Leo then took his finger and turned into a knife and dragged it across his throat and told the head master he was going to kill him.  Then, he was sent home.

To say I am disturbed is sort of a gross understatement.  I couldn’t sleep all night thinking about Leo out for revenge and coming with a bat to hit Maggie.  I decided to keep her home for a day.  She is scared.  The boy is deranged.  Pippa thinks she should just beat him up and get it over with.  These girls really couldn’t be more different.

Alas, my priest husband called the school the next day to report why our daughter was absent.  In his far too gentle way, he said that Maggie was upset about the fight.  He expressed concern, but then he expressed compassion for Leo.   He hoped he was getting help.  He said he would pray for him and he understood the school needed to do what was best for all students.   The head master said he had all of the students safety in mind, but wanted to give Leo a chance at redemption.

HELP!  I know I married a priest and I know I am sending my daughter to a Christian school, but the kid wants to kill all girls!  I am all for compassion, but what about the baseball bat?  What about the kicks to my kids behind?  What about pretending to cut off the head master’s head?

I sent her to school today.  I told her to avoid Leo at all costs.  She didn’t need to be nice to him.  This goes against everything we have ever taught her, but so be it.  Fingers crossed.

Thanksgiving. We created one more vegetarian.

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It wasn’t easy.  Our new American friends offered to celebrate Thanksgiving with us.  They would buy the turkey and cook it.  They offered us the sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…the works.   I stuck to making the green vegetables and brownies.  We also hosted at our house.

The poor American lady had to move Heaven and Earth  to get a full turkey and the whole bird had to be less than 21 cms high or it wouldn’t fit in her oven.  The applicances here are microscopic.  My stove is slightly larger, but my freezer fits about 4 items…tops!  Anyway, she did it.  Awesome for the meat eaters in the family…which keep getting less.  Maggie, just two days before Thanksgiving, came home from school and declared that she was becoming a vegetarian.  I am a vegetarian and I have been one for almost 20 years.  Maggie was a vegetarian until we moved to Augusta, Georgia from Los Angeles.  You see in the South, Chick-fil-A is like a basic food group.  Everyone eats there and everyone eats chicken.

Like a sirens call, Maggie was driven by curiosity to want to eat at Chick-fil-A.  When she was about three and a half, she had her first chicken nugget and the rest is history.  She fell in love with chicken nuggets, chicken tenders and eventually turkey.  I tried to limit her intake of nuggets,  but it did become her go to favorite meal.  That was until about a week ago.  She came home from school and said it was over…she wasn’t eating meat again.  When I asked her why, she said that she was watching the kids eating gross food at school…octopus, lamb, pork…(this is Portugal, no pb&j sandwiches at lunch, except for my kid) and she felt like God told her to stop eating chicken and turkey.

What do you say when your kid claims that God told her to become a vegetarian?  I married a priest, who said he felt God told him to be a priest when he was 15 years old.  I can’t or maybe I won’t argue with her logic.  I would lose and I would seem like a creep.  I told her that was fine, but she would have to eat what I ate.  I wasn’t making another separate meal for her too.  So now comes, thanksgiving.

I had to explain to the people who brought over a gigantic turkey, that my daughter was now a vegetarian and only my priest and my little carnivore would be enjoying their turkey.  We had a nice holiday despite my crazy train daughter.  I was thankful for the meal and the day and that we were able to pull it together despite being in a country that doesn’t sell canned pumpkin or cranberry sauce.  We did it and we had fun in the process.

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Rainbows Everywhere

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It rains here.  Not a lot, so far, but enough big storms that produce dark skies and then immediately following…rainbows.  The kids run outside to track down the rainbows whenever we have a storm.  Spectacular.

I am told to try and capture the rainbows constantly…nothing can capture their beauty over the tile roofs with Lisbon or the Atlantic Ocean as the back drop.  Just make sure to get here to see them yourself.  You won’t be disappointed.

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Thankful Tree

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In preparation for Thanksgiving, I have my girls cut out leaves out of paper.  They write at least five leaves each of what they are thankful for.  They usually write that they are thankful for us and for family and for friends.  This year, they said they were also thankful for Portugal and God; a nice addition.

Maggie also felt thankful for rainbows this year.  It seemed like an odd choice, except that rainbows happen here all the time and they are spectacular.  Good call kid.

We put the leaves on branches that we collect and each person reads a leaf that someone else wrote.  One of my favorite traditions.  We couldn’t track down good branches this year. I had to break the branches  off of our neighbor’s olive tree.  The sticks wouldn’t hold the leaves, but the thought was there.

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I am wearing shorts people, not a bikini.

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I let to get dressed in work out clothes every morning.  It is a visible message to myself that I am going to excerise at some point during the day.

My husband, the priest, said that work out clothes are the standard apparel of every mom at every Episcopal private school he has ever served as the priest for…and it’s true.  I never felt out of place dropping off my daughters in my running shorts and t-shirt.  So, I was unaware that my ‘uniform’ was going to cause such a stir.

In the warmer months, like even up until late October, I saw people in shorts.  Most of them were tourists, but this area is also filled with surfers.  Cool dude Portuguese surfers.  Waves here are consistent and there are loads of different beaches that offer wave sizes for all levels.  I had no idea Cascais was a surfing destination.  Anyway, near the ocean wearing shorts might mean you are there getting ready to surf.  Wearing shorts going to Starbucks…not cool.

I went for a run, put on a sweatshirt and headed to the mall.  It is a 10 minute walk from my house and has everything to make me feel at home…Starbucks.  My first warning should have been when my neighbor pretended not to know me.  I waved as he walked past me, but no acknowledgement was shown on his side…odd, but he was walking with a friend, so okay, fine.  Then I get to the mall and people are openly gawking at me.  No shame in shaking their heads at my attire.  The barista at Starbucks doesn’t seem to take note, but she might be used to weird foreigners.

I felt naked.  I may as well have been walking around in a bikini.  I was given dirty look after dirty look from women, kids, old people…no one even tried to hide their disgust.  I started enjoying it.  It became more than amusing to me.  I was a symbol of crazy.  A freakish red headed, short wearing, freckled face lady out in the mall alone enjoying my frappucino. Joy.

Then next day, I was walking Piranha, our 15 year old Bichon Frise, in our hood.  I see our neighbor again, this time alone, and he acknowledges me.  He apologized for ignoring me the day before, but he tells me the Portuguese have strict dress code rules.  Shorts are not appropriate when the weather turns cold…point of fact, it was 72 degrees when I wore shorts to the mall.  He said my exercise shorts are very frowned upon.  Really?   I guess the Portuguese are going to have to get used to seeing me in my exercise shorts, because I have no plans on changing my wardrobe now.  I mean, honestly if I don’t put on my shorts, I may have to start dressing fancy.  Portugal is not ready for that…neither am I.

Thanksgiving woes.

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As one of the only American families at my daughter’s school, I was asked to make treats for the whole school to celebrate Thanksgiving. It seemed simple enough.  I have made countless treats at home for class parties and just because we live in Portugal it didn’t seem like it would be that different.  I was wrong…so WRONG.

My search for treat ideas began on Pinterest.   I saw turkeys made with candy corn,  cupcakes, pretzels, chocolate turkeys…you name it.  All adorable and all doable if in America.   I am by no means a fancy baker, but I can assemble a  candy corn turkey like no other.

Well, we have no candy corn here, or Hershey’s kisses or canned pumpkin for that matter.  Rice Krispies…not easy to come by.  Regular marshmallows, forget about it.  I wandered around grocery store after grocery store in my search.  I got quite good at begging for what I needed in  Portuguese.  Then, Pippa spotted it.  Pumpkin jam.  A whole self of pumpkin jam.  Great! Now, what the hell was I going to do with it.

I came up with brownies with pumpkin icing.  I have never eaten this on Thanksgiving before, but no one needed to know that.  I rushed home and made the icing.  Cream cheese, confectioners sugar, butter and my pumpkin jam. It was actually crazy good.  Win!

Now for the brownies.  Crazy fail.  Every ingredient was different from home.  I think I got some sort of messed up butter.  The flour was off…I am looking for excuses here people.  They were the most dense brownies known to civilization.  I could never get 75 pieces from this batch…in fact I got 10 pieces.  Ahhhh…now what?

I decided another trip to the grocery store was needed.  Then I saw them.  A small section in the cookie aisle called, “American Cookies.”  AKA, chocolate chip cookies.  Perfect.  I purchased 8 packs.  Unlike real American chocolate chip cookie packs that probably have like 30 cookies in a bag, here they only have 12.  I bring them home and put my pumpkin icing on them.  I add a few sprinkles…and voila…an American Thanksgiving treat.  Not really…but it fooled the kids in the International school. They devoured those cookies like an international group of locusts.

I was thanked profusely and told by a Greek student that they were so tasty, I could sell them.  No thank you.  I need a two week rest from the stress of grocery shopping in Portugal and from lying to the world that store bought chocolate chip cookies covered in an odd icing with pumpkin jam in it, is a traditional American Thanksgiving treat.

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