I Am So Not Complaining

I walked into the Pharmacy with Tian in tow because learning to communicate a yeast infection to a pharmacist in a language you don't really speak is an important life skill. However, Tian was so disgusted by the thought of watching her mother communicate said thought that she flew from the shop before I could start pantomiming "itchy crotch".

TMI? I think not, for it was the yeast infection that should have stood as a warning for the rest of the day--a day for which Mastercard is made, if you can find a place that will accept a Mastercard that is not EuroMastercard.

But I am not complaining.

We took the tram to Parc Fleur de la Source, exiting at the end of the line instead of at that stop that said "Parc Fleur". Two hours of towing our luggage around behind us later, we found the park.

Look who was waiting for us in the park.

No complaints. It was cold and the roads were not built for rolly bags but the clouds eventually passed and the park, once we got there, was grassy, with a train and water features everywhere. And there were free toilets that didn't smell too yucky. Yup. No whining here.

And the peacock was waiting, too!

We caught the tram back into the city in the evening and found a Korean restaurant where the kimchee chigae was made with sugar and the pho (in a Korean restaurant?) lacked the mandatory basil leaves as well as the jalapenos.

But I am not whinging. It was food and it was hot, and I didn't have to clean up after us.

We got to the train station at 10:30 p.m., ready to board our overnight train to Toulouse at 11:55 p.m. I took Tehva to the station toilet where she managed to catch the door as another passenger exited. But the minute Tehva closed the door the room went dark and the floor erupted in a geyser. That sign that said, "Toilet cleaned after every customer" was totally true.

But no complaints. Our ankles were very clean and Tehva catching that door saved us 30 cents.

As I exited the toilet, I saw a scrolling message. In effect, it translated as, "There are no trains tonight because of the French strike. Thank you for your understanding, suckers." That explained the fact that we could not find our train on the marquis when we walked in.

But I am so not bitching about this. I booked the tickets in April, talked up the whole sleeper car thing for weeks, and suddenly found myself stuck in Orleans, France. But of course I was not alone in this endeavor--all of France knew not to be there, but Tony was there. And so were the three children who proceeded in the next hour to get wobbly lower lips and then confess all their troubles to a random Londoner in the Ibis Hotel lobby (where there were no rooms available at 11 p.m. by the way) while Tony and I, thanks to the kindness of Claude the night manager, tried to rearrange our train tickets via the internet.

Nope...no train

That didn't work out since our ticket did not register as ever having been purchased.

Claude sneered at us for reproducing too many times but did call over to the Best Western around the corner, explaining that they might be able to accommodate a party of our enormous size. For the right price.

We peeled the kids from the Ibis Hotel's lobby, where they had all sat drooling patiently on the plastic furniture, watching bad French TV. We led them to the Best Western, where we paid the right price for a tiny but tastefully decorated room that would allow too many children to sleep on various surfaces not really meant for sleeping.

I suspect that Claude got a kickback but at least we were not sleeping in the cold train station with the homeless woman whom Tehva inexplicably had named "Sex Worms".

On the way to our room in the Best Western, Tehva managed to break their classy throwback elevator. Fortunately they did not charge us for this infraction, but they did suggest that we might want to pay another $100 US for breakfast the next morning. In response we wearily asked how long we could stay in the room before they would evict us the next morning and then, like a couple of cheap whores, calculated how much money we were paying an hour for the room. It made us feel a little bit better.

But I am so not complaining because in the end we got where we wanted to go, and we got to ride the train first class, "JUST LIKE HARRY POTTER!"

But that is something else to celebrate entirely.

First class!

The Danger of Diversity...and the Joy

We are chronic Couchsurfers.

This means that we look for people who like to stay with and host perfect strangers in their homes at www.couchsurfing.org, and then we stay with them. Or, if need be, we host them. But now we are on the surfing end of things, which means we are putting ourselves out there to stay in people's homes.

As an American, this is sometimes incredibly painful. Americans are not very gracious guests because we struggle with receiving things. We much prefer to give things and have them accepted, but accepting things ourselves is sometimes difficult.

However, accepting things has opened us up to all sorts of experiences. Here is what accepting hospitality has looked like today in France:

Picnic in the park, which has been built as urban green space on top of a parking garage

The Car Rally in the town center--we went for a spin in the James Bond car!

Outside the Farmer's Market in Ormes. Tian rode on the
back rack.

The boulangerie's offerings

And the local butcher with the itchy nose

Learning how to light a candle like a real Catholic in the Orleans Cathedral

So when we are Couchsurfing, our sanity sometimes is questioned, but so is the sanity of our hosts, and that somehow feels nicer than being all alone in the loony bin. The neighbors here in Ormes think that our hosts are insane for having us, perfect strangers, stay. At the same time, some tell us that we are loons for placing our children in grave danger by sleeping in perfect strangers' homes, eating perfect strangers' food, sharing a laugh with perfect strangers, and letting them all gallivant around foreign places with the offspring of perfect strangers.

Why do it?

Because the world is a big place filled with billions of diverse yet kind strangers. And gosh darn I really want to meet them all.

I was raised in a culture that simultaneously glorifies and demonizes diversity. Diversity is glorified so long as it occurs in a controlled setting--books, school presentations, and antiseptic encounters all count as healthy ways to experience and deal with diversity.

Experiences where diversity is more up-close and personal are potentially laden with danger. Staying with strangers in a private home in a foreign country goes outside the boundaries of controlled. At the point when we enter into that stranger's home, diversity potentially becomes something dangerous, threatening and untrustworthy. But it rarely works out that way. Instead we find commonalities and go from there.

True enough, if we seek out and experience that diversity deeply, the potential to offend becomes much greater, but so does the potential to learn and experience a truly different point of view while discovering that we are not really as diverse as we thought we were in the most important ways.

And so, while we are in France, we are endangering our children's lives and potentially being very offensive. But, man, it sure is fun.

The Best Lesbian

Silas hangs with the British Scouts Overseas on Tuesday nights and generally, since he is flaky, he has nothing to say upon pick up other than, “It was good.”

Because of the homeschooling thing and the apparent risk that all of my children will become unsocialized idjits (or already are), I like to do lots of follow-up questioning in a motherly sort of voice so that they can develop their floundering conversational skills. No need for the children to become statitics, right? “So what did you do tonight?” always comes next.

They always do boy-scouty things like pitch tents, light things on fire, play hiding games, learn to use compasses and tie knots, and Silas will explain these things in as much detail as the boy can muster. After a quick description of the evening is off of his chest, Silas likes to turn on 97.0 FM and listen to classical music all the way home.

But tonight I did not have to ask Silas anything. He got in the car with a grave expression on his sweaty little face (sweaty because I had left him to bake in the 100-degree-at-8:15-PM heat while I sat in Muscat’s ridiculous traffic) and grave because he had just received a head lamp as an award.

He went right to the point and, in a somber voice, declared, “I got a headlamp.”

“Oh, another one?” As we pack up, we have been finding headlamps and pieces of headlamps in our house almost as often as we have been finding roaches. “Well that’s pretty cool.”

“Mom, what’s a lesbian?”

Non sequitor anyone?

I scraped around for the names of some people we know who are lesbians but being Silas he couldn’t remember any of the people whose names I came up with. “It’s a woman who prefers to marry a woman,” I finally explained.

“Oh. That’s weird. I just got the best lesbian award. That’s what the headlamp is for. Because I am the best lesbian.”

Now it was my turn. “Oh. That’s weird. I don’t really think you would qualify as a lesbian since you are missing the required equipment. Was this an award from the other kids in your group?”

“No, it’s from one of the leaders.”

Stranger still since I would think that the leaders would know that a vagina is required in order to be a lesbian. “Well, did they tell you why you are the best lesbian?” Best to remain matter of fact about this.

“Yes. At the camp we played a drama game where I had to pretend I was a TV. And I was the funniest. So they told me that I am the best lesbian. Am I a lesbian?”

“I don’t think so. Are you? Do you have something you have been hiding since the last time I saw you naked?”

“No! Mom!”

He remained perplexed. I remained perplexed. The headlamp remained unopened. And I remained unclear as to how to proceed.

There are countless different flavors of English that fly here in Muscat. English is the lingua franca, but when it comes to the nitty gritty, there are plenty of places where the Englishes collide. Is it a fork in the road or a bifurcation? Is it tea you wanted me to give to your child or supper? And then there is double fisting—dangerous stuff.

To the Americans it means walking around with a drink in each hand. Observe: “Wow! Double fisting it! What a party!” To the Australians and Kiwis, it means masturbating. Observe: “Wow! Double fisting it? Sorry dude—didn’t mean to walk in on you. Maybe you should come join the party instead.”

So maybe this was an English collision. Maybe there is some really charming double meaning for lesbian in the UK, especially when it is used in reference to a scout camp out. Or maybe when you put “lesbian” with “best” it means “funny clever guy who is good at drama games.”

Or maybe we have just run into overt homophobia. Or bullying and humiliation. Or perhaps, oh my, this honestly just occurred to me…perhaps he was declared the best thespian.

Whoa. Now the question becomes how many of those little boys walked out of that scout meeting tonight secretly thinking that Silas is a lesbian? 

My son the lesbian. I am so proud.

Shipping Cats from Oman to the USA--Step 3

Step 3 is involving getting the cats booked on an airline. Let me tell you, getting a straight answer out of the airlines regarding whether or not they ship cats as hand luggage, checked luggage, or manifest cargo only is like trying to get a cat to roll over and play dead on command.

Our first forays into this part of cat export were ridiculous. Etihad and British Air both swear up and down on their websites that they love animals and take the greatest care in shipping them, but when push comes to shove they really want nothing to do with the family pet. Or at least that has been our experience.

And since we are flying those airlines, that is where we put our initial forays into information gathering. Etihad's pet representative hung up on us after spitting, "NO! NO PETS!"

British Air gave a long convoluted answer, the end of which was, "Even though we representatives sound like we are British, and even though your ticket says you are flying British Air, you are actually flying American Airlines. And they don't fly pets through London. Have a lovely day."

And how can you be angry at someone who wishes you a lovely anything?

After much pursuing, calling, and actively seeking answers, we have discovered that in our haste to leave Muscat at the end of the summer, we booked ourselves on the wrong airlines.

KLM and Lufthansa are the way to go when it comes to flying with cats. Anybody else is not.

So since Etihad and BA/AA apparently hate us because we have cats and want to take them when we go, we had to go outside our booked routes to find someone who will ship our cats as manifest cargo.

Cost: Just the cost of sitting on hold on the phone, only to be snapped at. Let's call it 2 OMR, because it never took anyone too long to say NO CATS.

Hassles?: Yes. See above.

What to expect?: Expect to have to do a lot of leg work to get answers. Or just let it go and book Lufthansa or KLM.

Timeline: 2.5 months prior to departure

Shipping Cats from Oman to the USA--Step 2

Step two should have been to book our tickets on a cat-friendly airline. However, we had taken care of step two way before we started to investigate taking the cats back to the US with us. Up until about March, we had thought of leaving them here with nice new families, but nice new families who are willing to take former wadi cats are few and far between, so it looks like we are stuck with them.

Step 2 for us, therefore, has involved buying suitable crates and figuring out how to get the cats to the US with us, short of making them swim the Atlantic.

Crates
We bought a lovely set of crates at the mall for 22 OR each. However, Silas the Mathwhiz mismeasured the crates and, when we got home, we realized they were not IATA compliant (too small). Upon attempting to return the crates, we realized that we were not charged for both of them. So we returned one, but the other is still sitting in our front hall, useless.

Alternatively, the vet has some snazzy green IATA compliant crates that we will go out and sink some cash into this weekend.

Cost: 30 OMR/cat for IATA-compliant crates. However, subtract the 10 OMR I might get if I sell the extra crate at a yard sale before we go. So let's call it 25 OMR/cat.

Hassles?: Yes. Don't let the 11 year old do the measuring. And watch those shop checkout people carefully. Or not and get free stuff!

What to expect?: Expect to have to check the IATA website like a zillion times to get the measurements for the crate right. Then expect to totally mess it up and have to measure again.

Timeline: 2.5 months prior to departure

Shipping Cats from Oman to the USA--Step 1

You know what just ain't out there? Information about shipping cats from Oman to the USA. So you know what I am going to do for you all? I am going to track this venture from point A to point Z for you.

Step one 
The export process began with getting the felines checked over and immunized, which we should have been keeping up on more thoroughly but weren't. They needed a valid rabies shot to get in, and we opted for feline leukemia as well, just so that they would be shipshape.

Since the cats involved are one-step-removed-from-being-wild-bin-diving wadi cats, they had to be sedated throughout this process because the whole wrapping them in towels and speaking soothingly to them thing just wasn't cutting it. The sedation, which I highly recommend for difficult to handle animals and small children, seemed to get wrapped into the cost somehow--one of the miracles of modern veterinary medicine in Muscat.

Arm ripper # 1--Harry

Cost: 80 OMR/cat, including a quick physical, a blood test, deworming pills, rabies immunization, feline leukemia/HIV immunization, sedation, and the individual attention from a vet for 45 minutes. And we got some new nifty stickers in their record books.

Hassles?: None. The vet was very clear and helpful with all parts of the immunization process, even calmly explaining that, although both cats looked dead after he had sedated them, I should not get my hopes up (he didn't say that really, but I said it to myself...yes, bad, I know).

What to expect?: Going to the USA, expect to have the vet react with relief. Shipping cats to the US is reported to be a streamlined experience. Here's to hoping.

Timeline: 3 months prior to departure

10 Reasons Why Standardized Tests Are Not So Standard

So after a minor kerfuffle over the necessity of taking our annual standardized tests--

     Tian: Tell me why we have to take these again?
     Me: Because next year you have to jump back into the box.
     Tian: So.
     Me: The Man would like you to have some proof that you haven't spent the year sitting in front of the TV.
     Tian: But they don't show anything important about who I am. These tests are dumb.
     Me: If you don't take these tests, I will never feed you again.
     Tian: Okay fine. If that's what I have to do to be fed...

--the annual testing rigamarole has begun. This year, some of us were motivated to jam through the tests and just get them done.

Yes, he wins the highly motivated tester
of the spring award. Yes, I was surprised, too. 

Others of us, however, were not so motivated because this year's tests were hard. This someone who will remain nameless throughout this blog post (I am feeling generous with my doofus children today since we are nearly done with school) made me shoot back to my days at the School for International Training, and straight into my Testing and Evaluation Course which, at the time, I just did not get. Okay, so I got the Testing part, because what teacher has never given a test? And I got the Evaluation part, because that is just like testing, right? But all of the other stuff that went with this course? Most of it, frankly, was lost on me, so much so that I cannot recall much of the course content at all. However, two things have stuck with me:

1.) The prof told a story on the first day about a seahorse and its aimless wandering around the Pacific Ocean. The story ended with the seahorse never getting anywhere because he did not know where he was going. The moral of this story is that seahorses do not know how to read maps.

2.) There is no such thing as a national test, or even a state test, that is standardized.

You can perhaps see why this second part threw me for a loop because of course there are standardized tests! Scads of them! And they all have nifty acronyms! The SAT, the ACT, the GRE, the GED, the CAT, the list could go on ad nauseam.

So here is how THE test (I won't say which test we used, but I will say it was one of the biggies) missed the mark on assessing Unnamed Child this year because her reality is not the same reality of the group against she is being normed.

Really, it was fascinating.

1. Climate Conflicts 
When this is your daily reality

 

and then you are asked a question about dew in the morning, you think this at 7 a.m.:

2. Architectural Conflicts

When this is where the leader of your current country lives, and all important buildings are flat and sort of simplistic

and then you are asked to identify where the most important decisions are made in the USA, you are going to choose this place, 

which is also flat and sort of simplistic, saying as you do so, "This looks like a place the Sultan would make a good decision in" as you bubble in choice C.

3. Sporting Conflicts

When you play rugby in your spare time and hang with a million other little kids who play rugby or soccer, the words "baseball pennant" mean absolutely nothing to you, and when you are asked to identify the picture with the baseball pennant in the middle, you are left wondering both "What's baseball?" and "Are you talking about a pen?". Sad but true.

4. Signage Conflicts 

Let's say you are accustomed to seeing this sign

Let's also suppose that you live in a country where signs and signals are more or less optional. When you are asked, "Which sign means that you should continue to drive at a set speed?", which one will you choose? 

Yes, this one:

Your rationale will be that there is a similar one here that no one ever stops for. And you will also rationalize this sign, saying that you sure don't know what "Yield" means since you have never seen that word before, but it sounds like "Yes" and that means to keep going.

I am not making this up.

5. Dietary Conflicts

When you have half of your childhood in a place where corn comes pre-scraped from the cob, in neat little cups, where it has been seasoned with butter and salt and sprinkled with chili, talk of a corn doll only serves to confuse. "Do you mean it is a doll made from corn? Like yellow corn? Like with chili? What?!?" The rest of the question was lost on Unnamed Child since the thought of making a doll out of corn kernels was pretty incomprehensible. I am still trying to wrap my head around what she must have been thinking.

6. A Phone Book? Is That Like a Reading Book? But For Phones?

Enough said.

7. Educational Conflicts

    This is similar to the school that appeared in the test booklet. 

Unnamed Child thought it was a villa and so she was completely flabbergasted, missing the rest of the test question. I guess to the untrained eye it looks like an apartment building. I don't know, I guess it is hard to believe that schools look like that when you are used to seeing this in the private schools that we regularly frequent here:

British School Muscat

Royal Flight Muscat

8. Clothing Conflicts

If the coldest the weather gets for you is a summer day in Europe, then this kind of coat is going to throw you for a loop:

And why did Unnamed Child not choose this as an answer for, "Fill in the circle under the item you would wear if you forgot your hat on a winter's day"? Because, as she said, "Is that a real coat? I have never seen one like that. And winter isn't even cold. Duh."

9. Equatorial Conflict

"Fill in the circle under the number that tells how many hours of sunlight are in a day in the summer in the United States." She was completely floored by this question as here it is 12 hours of sunlight in a day almost all year round. So I totally unstandardized the test and said, "Look, think of Europe in the summer. How long are the days when we go to Germany? Or England?" That fixed it. 

Don't tell the testing service.

10. "What?!? You can have a license plate with your name on it?!?! What the..."

The information that followed, "Suppose you see a license plate with the name 'Susan' on it..." went unheard and unnoticed.

Okay, so I can already hear my mother trying to puzzle this one out. How can she not know these things? She spends almost three months out of every year in the USA! The best I can do is say that, when kids are young, what is here and now is what is real and what dominates their perception of the world. What was nine months ago is so, well, nine months ago. 

Yes, sometimes standardized testing is a necessary evil. But how much validity does it hold? Culture is measured just as much as information acquired. I hope next year's school administration is kind and understanding. 

And I hope they don't laugh too much at Unnamed Child for not knowing her behind from her elbow.  Thank goodness there was nothing about that on the test.