Olive Oil Saves Me From Laundry

I'm doing an olive oil and egg hair mask. Why you ask? I have no freaking clue.

It actually came about quite randomly. I had an overly-ripe Brazilian avocado laying around that needed to be used. In case you've never seen one of these bad boys, they are about the size of an average Brazilian newborn.

Anyway, I could not, would not, eat the entire thing.  Talk about pooping on a sidewalk, this Momma would be a little too regular for her taste.

So what does a logical girl do in this situation? She smears it all over her head. I know what you are thinking, is there avocado in olive oil and egg hair masks? Don't get ahead of yourself.

No, of course there isn't. My little bitch of an avocado had already gone bad.  Freaking heat and humidity creating a quicker rate of ripening!

It was quite a disappointment but I couldn't see how a semi-rotten avocado would benefit my hair. I had gotten myself and my hair all excited so I had to come up with something else. That's when Google came to my rescue once again. It found me this site: Home Made Hair Masks.

It was pretty easy to decide which one to do seeing that I basically only have olive oil and eggs in the house.

And while I could have been a responsible Wife and Mother and completed by chores, I instead decided to be a wannabe beautician.

But regardless of my total lack of productivity, I'll have pretty hair. Now all I need to do is work on the butt and I'll be unstoppable!

UNSTOPPABLE! 

You Live in Rio de Janeiro. What are you Bitching About?

Moving to another country is not an easy feat, especially if you come as a family. There's a lot to get used to.  Rio de Janeiro is not any different. While this city has gotten far more foreigner family since I first came, the flow still takes some getting used to.

That is why I understand people complaining. If you are not overtaken by the beauty of it here, it's easy to see the ugly parts. And let's not kid ourselves, a lot of cities are like that.

But I have a hard time with people who choose to focus on the negative.  Rio de Janeiro has no chance in hell if you choose to focus on the flaws before the unique personality. There are just too many. In the wrong light this city looks like a beat-ass, 80 year hooked whose addicted to Meth. 

In the right lighting you would rush her home to Mother. Perspective is funny that way.

I know this from experience. It was very difficult for me when I first came.  I had been told so much about the danger that I was scared.  I didn't want to go anywhere alone. I basically stuck to the streets I knew in my neighborhood.

In my defense, there was a complete lack of infrastructure at the time. When I got here you could smoke in shopping malls, there was no information desk at the bus station (at least not one that I ever saw), and there were hardly any hostels (none in the 3 neighborhoods near me.)

And I bitched. I bitched to anyone who would listen. I complained about not knowing Portuguese and how no one in Mr. Rant's apartment could or would speak to me in English. Oh yes, I lived with the whole family, which could have been even nicer if I would have been more open.

Hell, my little 3 week intensive English course friends had me as a character in their end of the class skit. I was whining. Not one of the finest points in my life.

So I changed. It was a smack to the face to see how others were seeing me. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. I was living in Rio de Janeiro for goodness sake! I paid no rent, ate amazing food daily that I did not have to prepare, and was getting to know locals. All my friends were Brazilian and I only went to places where Cariocas hung out.

And you know what happened? I started adventuring out. I went places, met up with people anywhere, and I had a life. I started teaching English all over Zona Sul and making my own friends. It was great. I had things to do and they were things that I loved.

This continues on today. While the kiddos slow me down a bit, I'm still out and about.

Sure, I have some complaints about here, especially know with children. Some very little things are more of a hassle here than they would be at home.  Honestly though, I hardly see them anymore. I find life so much richer here than I do in the states.

While I still have my 'I hate Rio' days, I also have 'I hate the World' days.  Who doesn't? People are annoying and sometimes life is a bitch.

Shit happens. Get over it. You're here so enjoy yourself!

Montezuma Strikes Again

My Mother is officially on her Brazilian vacation.  I bet you are wondering, if she's been here for 4 days, how is she only official now.

Well, the answer to that is easy. Montezuma has visited her.  I don't know what it is with my Mother and Brazil, but shortly upon entering her bowels enter into an automatic cleanse.  It's quite humorous as we know, within days of landing, we will be hanging near the house. It happens every trip.

I sometimes try to figure out why.  Maybe it's a little bug that enjoys the company of her insides. Maybe she is drinking tap water as a nonverbal move of rebellion.  Or, quite possibly, we really have to stop eating all that Arabic food.  Whatever it is, it does not help hydration.

Personally, my body has never reacted to Brazil in that way.  I have found that Brazil creates a very regular and beautiful digestive routine for this body. On the other hand, it did take me a while to get used to all the beans. Let's just put it this way, you did not want to stand down wind of this charming little lady.  Then again, unbeknownst to my internet friends, hot air is not only escaping out of the mouth of this girl.

Ah well, we can't have it all.  I think I'm cute enough to pull off a little gas. Mr Rant, wouldn't you say so? 

Breastfeeding: A Difference in Culture

So Americans are boob people right? That's the theory anyway. Personally, I think they are Boob looking at people, not touch and interaction. It explains both the fascination with fake ones and their fear of breastfeeding. Cause let's be honest, they never feel real and what's the big deal with feeding a baby?

I really can't understand the last one. My boys were popped out in Brazil.  I wasn't even allowed to bring a pacie into the public hospital my oldest was born in, much less a bottle.  Actually, I had nurses in regularly harassing me to breastfeed him more. Let that milk come in!  And oh did it ever.

Then came life. I had to leave the hospital and continue on with my life, baby and breast included.  And you know what, that baby and breast came out wherever and whenever they needed to. Every member of our circle of friends, family, and any bystander nearby when I was on a walk got an eyeful of boobage.

And you know what, it was no big deal!  Because, here's the shocker, it's not a big deal.  I actually had a harder time with the amount of comfort Brazilians feel with breastfeeding as opposed to the other side. I had family coming up to look and love on the baby while on my breast.  Awkward but apparently only for me.

Once my second came, I was practically pornographic with my breastfeeding.  I guess I got a little too comfortable, as my husband actually asked me to be a little more modest.  Obviously that set me off on a hormonal rage that was totally irrational and made my brother-in-law practically vow to never procreate.  To say I feel strongly about breastfeeding is like saying I like to eat.

At the same time, to each their own. I feel that there is nothing worse than a miserable Mother breastfeeding.  Energy, spirit, pheromones, whatever you believe, it passes to the mini-me.  It is a personal choice... one that Americans do not appreciate.

That's what I don't get.  Why we have to see every woman's ass crack from 10 yrs old to 50 but can't see a top of a breast is beyond me. At least the breast is being used for feeding. Unless you are stuffing hot dogs in that crack, I really don't need to see it.

So what's the big deal?! Does this country really have nothing to bitch about that we can be offended by a Mother feeding their child? Do we really find it disgusting and inappropriate?  If that is the case, this economy really needs to drop. The comfort level needs to fall to a new low. If the US has reached a point where something so maternal and natural can be deemed NC-17,  it is LOST.

I dear you breastfeeding haters out there, eat your lunch with a sheet over your head. Hell, half of you eat like starving mammoths.  I'd love to send you to a special room to feed. Hell, if I have to cover up my hungry child, I don't want to see your ass inhaling a super-sized meal.  Consider this a compromise.

Oops, got a little feisty there.  Like I said, I feel passionately about breastfeeding. There is nothing better than milk, a little boob, and a snuggle.  All you men agree, don't lie!

In this way, I have yet another reason to stay an expat, besides the fact that we really don't have another option.  It is a universal fact that breastfeeding is the best choice and not the easiest, even in an accepting culture.  Every time a woman pulls out her boob, it's a little bit of a "thing" for her, no matter how comfortable she is.  I prefer to surround myself with people who understand that.

I will accept Brazilians telling me to put socks on my child in 90 degree weather, informing me that my child is too fat or skinny, and saying that they really should be walking instead of in a stroller (at 18 months in a big city).  And I am happy to have a Grandmother ask me, as with my second, why they are taking a bottle at 8 months instead of the breast.  You know why, because they actually care.

Wow, mind blowing caring about other people besides yourself.

Children are a compromise and there is no romancing that.  Your job as a parent is to try your best to do your best for them.  Your job as a society is to support that.  I think we Americans forget that sometimes.

As for my regular readers, if you are wondering about this twist to the normal rants, as if there is a normal, it's because of Twitter. I follow a lot of Mommy Twitter Tweeters.  You can find my page at @rachelsrantings.  

Watch out Popular Girls!

I've decided I'm not taking this winter/travel bulge lying down, sideways, or upside any longer!  It has gotten completely out of control.

That being said, I know you expats are rooting for me to enjoy my time here, including indulging in everything we people abroad miss.  And you know what, if this were a subject in High School, I'd be the freaking' Valedictorian!  Not exaggerating.  I look as if I'm 4 months along with my 4th child.  And for your information, I am not.  My Mother insists that it's impossible to gain weight so quickly and I must be ovulating in a freakish manner or something.

Have I mentioned I love my Mother?

Well, sadly, no 4 ovaries or anything in this body.  It comes down to consuming about 10,000 calories, 8,000 of which being fat and sugar, each day.  Combine this with lowering my calorie expenditure from... let's just say a lot to just about nothing.  Only so much you can burn hiding out from the cold.

I decided I needed to balance things out a bit.  That's when I found my Dad's old jump rope.  I used to be on the jump rope team in High school.  Wait, did I just write that out loud?  Well, it's true. I was obviously that popular.

Anyway, I'm going to start jumping rope! Actually, I already did. My parents have an unfinished, yet still heated, basement that we have been using as our "outdoor" facility.  Two days ago I started to jump rope in the evenings.

I lasted 10 minutes the first day.

I was too sore the second day.

I lasted 15 minutes the third day.

I'm really out of shape!

But I figure, slow and steady win the race in the child's book section, why not in the fat burning one? Oh, and I forgot to mention the walking lunges.  Yeah baby, this girl is going to have a firm, flat American ass when I get back to Rio.   And we all know they go super well with muffin tops.

Watch out popular girls, I'll be back to 3rd string understudy shape before you know it!

Home, it does a Body Good

 I'm heading stateside to my native land to celebrate the holiday season and then some.  I'm excited for all the obvious reasons and some not so obvious.  Rule #3 of survival living abroad, I don't allow myself to focus on the things I miss. That goes out the window when a trip home approaches. 

Here is my mental list so far:

1. Drink milk!  Milk does a body good and it is one of the #1 things I miss about home. I don't know if our milk farmers spoon their cows at night, but they do something that works.

2. Curl up in a blanket on the couch.  I plan to abuse my Mother like the stepchild I never had, or at least don't know of yet.  For 1 hr out of the trip, if not more, I plan to curl up on her wonderfully soft couch in one of her amazingly soft blankets and let her run after my boys. Oh my, it'll actually be cool enough to curl up in a blanket without my husband calling me crazy! 

3. Good bad TV.  I've had so much good conversation, culture, good movies, and books while here in Brazil, it's time to drain the brain. You know, Celebrity Fit club and How'd you get so rich.  Good stuff that will just suck the brains right out of me, what's left after children anyway. 

4. Eat. My goal is to not put on the normal 10lbs (5 kilos) this time around. The more realistic goal is to only gain 10lbs (5 kilos). Let's think Christmas. Restaurants. Candy that I can't get here therefore eat by the truckload.  Salty snacks I also eat by the truckload. My theory is that if I eat as much as I want, I will eventually get sick of it and not miss the food/snacks when I come back to Brazil. It does work. I leave thinking if I see another Poptart I'll barf... not that Poptarts really count as food but I eat them anyway. 

5. Not be aware of my surroundings. I know I'm aware here but I never really get how much so until I get home. That's what happens when you live in Rio de Janeiro. You are blissfully unaware of how aware you are. It's very Born Identity how you can walk along with your kids, chatting and scolding, yet still know there are 3 people behind you (2 are men) and 4 in front.  And it's not stressful, it's just how it is. The moment I land stateside, I get my symbolic cup of Starbucks coffee, which I don't even like anymore after living in Brazil for 5 years, and I let it go. Let the totally unaware American way flow with my laptop falling out of my backpack and my kids playing with my itouch while I barely pay attention. 

Of course there will also be many trips to Target, certain stores to buy items I only buy stateside, grocery stores to stock up on bring to Brazil items, and many other things. 

I'm the most excited about seeing my family. Being involved in the family gossip and trash talk. Seeing my nieces, annoying my brothers, and hugging my parents.  I'm even excited for the criticism and the inevitable 'If I were you..."  There's a beauty in living abroad.  Even the annoying things are charming. 

What do you look forward to when you go home for a visit? What are your favorite things about home?

Are you Calling me Fat? And other Handy Distractions

I use humor, shocker, daily in my life. It gets me out and into a lot of trouble.

So when my husband has a legitimate complaint about something, I like to think of ways to throw him off.  It's not that I don't want to hear him out. Of course I do, communication is the key to any successful marriage. But success can be boring and we all need a good laugh.

Thus, how to distract your husband when he is complaining:

1. Ask if he's calling you fat. You can throw this in just about anywhere.  For example my husband's last complaint: "Why can't you just put things away when you are done with them?" Answer: "Are you calling me fat?"  His answer: " What does that have to do with anything?  Of course I don't think you're fat..." And mission accomplished.  Men are afraid of accidentally calling their wives fat... well, mine's not but it still works.

2. Take off your clothes.  This works even better in public, total guess on my part, I swear.  In private they enter into naked-woman-in front-of-me mode. In public they enter into all-other-men-seeing-naked-woman-aka-my-wife-in-front-of-them mode. Both very successful.

3. Produce a homemade baked good. Could be cookies, could be cake, ideally is sweet. For example, he comes home and bitch bitch bitch. "Wait a second sweety. I have those cookies you like in the kitchen"  Husband: "Mmmmm cookies."  Done and done.

4. Tell him you called his Mother. This works best if you have a questionable relationship with said Mother.  This produces the Am-I-in-trouble panic and/or what-did-you-two-decide panic.  He'll ask why and the conversation will automatically switch course. Just be careful not to start talking shit. That will start a whole new argument. And, note to self, nothing distracts a man from protecting his Momma.

5. Bring up a lesbian experience you had in college. The wonderful thing about men is that you don't need to have a natural conversational entrance into a lesbian experience story.  He could be talking about a new car he wants and you ask if you told him about that sexual encounter you had with the stripper in college. All eyes are on you.  Keep in mind, these stories don't have to be real. He does not care either way.

6. Say blow job. This is a low blow, pun intended.  Last resort distraction option and may require fulfilling the desires that come up because you said these two sacred man words. Use this with discretion. 

Now use your force for good and go makes some cookies!

History Lesson

On my trip to Argentina, I was told the story of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo.  I plead American on this one because I had NO idea and do not remember ever learning about it in school.  And the story stuck with me.  I haven't been able to get it out of my head for days, thus this post.

In case you can plead as ignorant as I did, here's the summarized version.  During the gnarly Argentinian Dictatorship, the Argentinian government kidnapped pregnant women, or mothers and their very young babies, who were a part of the anti-dictatorship movement and killed them, giving their babies up for adoption to military families. 

The Grandmas, being fierce as only Grandmas can be, have been fighting to find their Grandchildren since 1977.  Some of these women were killed in the process to find the truth. They are searching for potential lost children and demanding DNA tests to prove their true paternity. 

Not surprisingly, some of these children (now in their early 30s) are resisting.  They either think they are the biological children of their parents or are protecting their adoptive parents, many of whom have said they saved them from certain death.   Some, obviously, just don't want the only family they know to be throw in jail. 

One of the big cases going on is against one of the richest women in the country.  There's a huge back and forth that the government is against her and that her children were adopted out of love in a time where you didn't question the government. Her children have given DNA samples and been harassed into giving more.  No testing have been done since the two sides can not agree on where to do them.  Here's the original article: Time Magazine

My question is, who do you think is right?  I agree that the people should be punished for stealing these children and the murder of their Mothers. Of course!  But are the Grandmothers thinking of the children when they rip apart the only family they know?  Is it the best thing to send the only parents they have to jail and shake up their world beyond repair?  On there hand, aren't the Grandmothers only trying to mend a world that was originally shaken up by the baby stealers in the first place?

As a Mother, I'm torn.  I would hate for my children to have to deal with the pain of such a tremendous revelation.  Regardless of the intent, it will sting.  At the same time, I would break my heart to not have them know the truth or their family.  To die in anonymity, without my own child knowing who carried them with so much love is a thought that just breaks my heart.  I think that's what the Grandmothers are trying to undo.  I will say, it's hard to stomach letting something so wrong go unpunished!

What do you think?  Do we let the past go or do we expose it?  

Here are some more interesting articles on the subject: Truth vs Right To Privacy: The Battle of the Abuelas

and

http://www.npr.org

Mother's day or Grandmother's day or Great-Grandmother's day... who will win?

I had a very interesting day today.  For starters, I woke up thinking that I was actually queen of the world and not just someones wife and mother.  My poor husband and kids. It was all peaches and roses the first couple hours and then I threw my first fit.

The house was trashed. TRASHED. It looked like I had moved out and 3 men lived in it.  3 grown drunk men who like playing with toys and wore really small underwear. 

It pissed me off.  Should it have? Not really. Does it matter so much?  Not so much. Did it matter to me? Hell to the yeah it did.  It bothered me, big time.  I felt that my husband should have been on it knowing that it would bother me and it was my day.

So here's a side story. I'm married to a seriously amazing man.  He may not notice much when he's home, like a super large pile of dishes or a bunch of his socks or underwear on the floor, but he's a good man. Hell, he's in making a canoe for my oldest's class.  Long story short, we have parental homework sometimes.  Good school though so I'll let that slide.

So I throw my fit, we all calmed down, and we all cleaned up.  Next we had to go to my husband's Grandma's house for lunch. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to have to share my day. We all already know I was being a ginormous baby today and I didn't want to share.  We go.

Disaster. My youngest wouldn't nap. If he doesn't nap he doesn't sleep at night. I need him to sleep at night!  Everyone is yelling and talking super loud. The apartment is 2 feet by 2 feet for heaven's sake. We can hear the Grandma fart in the kitchen. There is no need to yell. But there is yelling because everyone is Brazilian and they can't, by genetic makeup, speak softly.

I give up on the nap and try to eat lunch. The kids were being impossible. Everyone was annoying me (remember, big baby syndrome) and fit two was had. 

In my defense, it was during my 2nd nap attempt and my husband and mother-in-law let my 3 yr old in to lay down.  It seems that I'm the only one who knows my 3 yr old.  He always does this.  He comes it to check it out, gets over it, and loudly states that he wants to leave. Wants to leave! WANTS TO LEAVE!

So I pulled my husband into the room, told him I was done and that we were leaving!  He is such a trooper and said ok.  You must know that this is very faux pas here in Brazil. You don't leave before the coffee. And once you say you are going to leave you actually stay another 40 minutes chatting.

We didn't.  Needless to say, not the favorite of the family right now.  This is what makes me miss my family in the US of A.  I could just say, look I'm a cranky sack today. My kids are being difficult. We're just ready to go.  And it wouldn't be a big deal.

Oh well.  Can't win them all. My littlest napped and was good and happy for round two at the other Grandma's house. We ate waffles.  Fun was had by all.  I don't think I'm going to win daughter-in-law of the year from my mother-in-law.  Then again, I could poop gold and I still wouldn't. Even if I shared.